The Rebels fell upon the Union men with vengeance borne of all the indignities endured since their capture, the few northern men within their ranks swept along with the anger. There was no mercy, only brutality, as both armies fought to survive a world gone insane. Men turned to run from the bayonets, only to be stabbed in the back. Attackers fell from rifle shot, victims fell littering the ground with dead and blood. The sound of the fight was worse when empty rifles were used to beat flesh and break skulls. There was no time to reload in close combat. The men used whatever they could find to fight.

The battle flowed in to the woods behind the Union line; the Rebels pressing their advantage fiercely, leaving behind dead and dying men freezing in the bitter air and snow. Through the confusion, Robert pushed his way in pursuit of Lieutenant Pace, his hunt guarded by the four remaining skirmishers.

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Desperately loading his pistol, Pace glanced up to see Major Kane coming his way with murderous intent upon his face. The fighting flowed across the path of the rebel officer, becoming a wave of interference that slowed Pace’s ultimate doom. Fear welled up in the boy, generated by the sheer hatred on Kane’s face. Suddenly, he was no longer immortal and the risk of death was all too real. Paper cartridges dropped from his nerveless fingers, then Pace was turning from the battle and running, seeing it all as if from a great distance, the efforts consuming all his energy.

In the distance, among the trees, a Union soldier in a winter cloak was beckoning, helping Pace in the impossible moment. Who it was he did not care. What comforted him was the simple fact of his rescuers presence.

The young lieutenant disappeared into the woods, the screams of the dying following him.