It has been roughly one year since Ridley was drafted into the Union Army. He was drafted into the 91st New York Infantry Regiment. The officers attempted to tame Ridley’s rebellious nature during training. Cheating at cards and stealing small things from other soldiers, those were habits that Ridley couldn’t break easily. He was caught several times and after a while the officers talked about transferring him to another regiment but that decision was soon struck down. Ridley didn’t like people who yelled at him. He also didn’t like standing in the middle of a field waiting to be shot at.

At the first battle he fought he could feel his heart race with anticipation. He stood up straight and listened to his commanding officer give orders. The drummer played out a simple marching tune and they started to walk.

“This isn’t so bad.” Ridley said to himself as he marched.

Everything seemed calm until the first cannon was first. Ridley felt his nerves rattle.

He was so terrified during the conflict that he realized almost a moment too late the Confederate army was lined up in front of him. He stared down at a linie of men who took aim and fired at him. Bullets whizzed by. He paused for a moment as something wet and warm splash on his face. He turned only to see the man standing next to him was lying on the ground. His face had a crater in the center and the grass was stained with blood.

He would try to act all calm and brave but the constant noise around him was enough to shatter him to his core. His ears were constantly ringing as he frantically looked around, hoping someone wasn’t aiming directly at him. Fear and anxiety pulsated through his body. His heart was racing. Cannons went off around him and he could feel the blast echo through him. Ridley knew that his survival relied on how fast he could reload his rifle and fire back. He picked up his rifle and fumbled with the percussion caps in his pouch. He had to move fast. Tears came down the side of his face as he lifted his heavy rifle and fired. Every volly fired could have been his last. The fear weighed heavily down on him. Soon the enemy routed and fled the field. Ridley stood there in shock at the scene. For a moment he was happy but then he took a hard look around him. Some of the men that had fallen were not dead, only wounded. They moaned and cried out to him in pain and agony. Ridley stood there, unable to help. The first battle was over and so was his resolve.

Later that night he could hear the moans and the please for mercy echoing in his dreams. He woke up in a cold sweat and had to step out. He wasn’t the only one having issues sleeping. Some of the other survivors of their first encounter were sitting next to one another in silence around a campfire. Ridley joined them in silence. They didn’t need to say anything. They all knew what the other was feeling. They passed around a bottle and some tobacco. There was a horrific scream coming from a tent just twenty feet from them. The others looked away in horror as a silhouette was seen of a man being carried to a table and several other men holding him down.

“Poor bastard.” One of the men said as he took a gulp from the bottle. “Think it’s his arm?”

“I’d say his leg. Can’t imagine going through life without one of my legs.” Another man said.

“Worse if you get shot in the belly. Take you a good long while to die. Ain’t no doc above or below the Mason Dixon can help you.”

Ridley couldn’t turn away from the shadowy images as they danced on the side of the tent. When the screaming stopped he was handed the bottle and drank it all down. It was going to be a long campaign.

One night someone came by to see him. He was a much younger man. He had a smile on his face and a welt the size of a walnut on his cheek. The buttons on his uniform were still polished and he carried a drum with him along with a recorder strung to his belt wherever he went. Ridley had dragged his mat out by the fire and was curled up with a bottle of whiskey. The young man sat down next to Ridley and started a gentle tap tap tap on his drums. Ridley looked up and glared at him with exhausted eyes.

“Go away. And stop that drumming.” Ridley said. The man looked at Ridley with a smile.

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“Nope.” He said and kept on drumming. “Name’s Larry. I’m a drummer for this regiment.”

“Swell, kid.” RIdley said as he turned away. “Go away. I need to sleep.”

“Nope.” Larry said. Ridley started to get annoyed but yelling at a kid was not going to help.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?” Ridley asked. Larry kept beating his drum. He started to stare off in the distance as if lost in thought.

“What are you fighting for in this war?” Larry asked. Ridley looked at him with surprise. He pondered for a brief moment though the answer came to him naturally.

“To go home.”

“What’s home?” Larry asked. Ridley looked away with uncertainty.

“Family. My dad and my sister.”

“What about slavery?”

“I mean yeah, slavery is bad but that’s not why I’m here in the first place. I was drafted.” Ridley said. “You?”

Larry stopped drumming. He held his head down and then looked up at the horizon.

“I was drafted as well. But I refused to pick up a rifle. Just something I can’t do. I have friends on the other side. Some of them from Virginia and some from North Carolina.”

“I’m guessing that's why you wield a drum and not a rifle.” Ridley said. Larry looked at him and gave him a small smile.

“Yup. The officers really don’t like me. Tried to break me but it didn’t work. I only hope that when this is over I can see my friends again.” Larry said with a childlike smile.

Ridley let off a scoff. “Kid, let me tell you. Hope is a dangerous thing to have at this time.” Larry perked his head up and started to drum once again.

“I disagree. Hope is perfect for this time. Hope is the light we hold onto in dark times. I bet you hope that one day you’ll see your family again.”

Ridley didn’t say anything in response. He looked off with remembrance in his eyes of days long gone and only then did he recall the night before he left and the promise he made with his sister.

“Yeah…” Ridley said quietly. It wasn’t long before Larry marched on off away from Ridley, carrying the same tune with his drum. Ridley started to slowly close his eyes when he heard Larry’s voice one last time.

“Hey! Stop that. That’s my drumsticks.” Larry called out. Ridley opened his eyes and got up and followed the sound of Larry’s voice. He found Larry with several other men. One of them shoved Larry to the ground.

“Enough! Alright. Had enough of his stupid drum.” The man called out. He looked like he hasn't slept in days. In his hand held a pair of old wooden drumsticks. The man placed them in his back pocket and looked up at Ridley.

“This doesn’t concern you, friend.” The man said to Ridley. Ridley made a dash for him and collided into the man, knocking him back.

“Leave my friend alone and it will be no concern of mine, friend.” Ridley said as he stared at the man on the ground. The man got up and swung at Ridley. He saw spots and flashes of light as he hit the ground with a thud. The side of his face was screaming with pain.

“Fucking asshole.” The man said as he and the others left Ridley and Larry on the ground. Larry looked over at Ridley.

“Friend?” He asked. Ridley rolled over on his back and looked up at the sky with a devilish grin on his face. He raised his hand to show a pair of drumsticks.

“Friend.” He said as he passed Larry his drumsticks back. The two grew as friends after that. Larry would always hang around Ridley when he wanted to practice his drumming and Ridley would often make sure Larry wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone else. It was a comforting feeling for the both of them during the war.

One morning, the sun rose and the officers started to wake everyone up. Ridley woke up with a stir and a cold sweat. He didn’t sleep well the night before. As he looked around he saw everyone getting ready. Today they were going to meet the rebs once again. Though the fear had rattled him once before, now it seems almost like second nature to him. He got ready and lined up with the rest of the regiment. He heard the tap tap tap sound of the drums and they started to march.

The air was already smelling like burnt ash when they arrived at the battle. Smoke clouded the skies and the sound of gunfire rang like church bells. In a weird way it was starting to feel like home for Ridley. He pondered that thought for a minute. And looked at the scenery once again.

“This isn’t right.” He mumbled to himself. A little voice in his head whispered to him and reminded him of the life he had back home. And then the voice told him, “Run.” Ridley shook his head.

“I really need to get some sleep next time.” He said as he marched with his regiment.

He heard the drums tap tap tapping right beside him. He looked and saw Larry standing right next to him, keeping the beat going. The first few volleys felt routine for Ridley. He fired, his ears would ring; not as much as before. The other army returned fire and rinse and repeat. It had a flow to it and it was strange. Then something happened. He heard the roar of guns from across the field but the drums near him stopped.

He turned in horror to see Larry on the ground, curled up in a ball. He suddenly felt as if his whole body sank through the ground and into the Earth. He didn’t see the other bullet coming at him. A white hot flash of pain skidded his shoulder and the force alone threw him back onto the ground. Sweat poured from his forehead as he lied upon the dirt. He looked around and saw everyone running away. He wanted to move with them but his body refused to move. His eyes grew heavy and he fought to keep them open. Panic was all around him.