April 2nd, 1865 [morning]

George jumped awake at the sound of gunfire. It was still mostly dark, the sky above him being a dense shade of gray. If he could guess, it was four in the morning. More firing and horrible screams could be heard in the distance. Had the confederates begun attacking the Union at last?

“God, let it be so.” He breathed, as he stood hurriedly and painfully. It was a sad hope, because the Confederates were weak with hunger and fatigue, but it was something, Pennon reasoned.

As he plodded to the dilapidated main street, he noticed General Lee and his assistants, Generals Longstreet and Hill, shaking their heads sadly, while gazing and gesturing toward the sound of the battle. George’s throat tightened as he came to the realization that  the encounter was unexpected to the Generals.

He ran to where he had a vantage point of the battle. He stumbled frantically over debris and sleeping men in the streets as he hurried to higher ground. It wasn’t even light enough to distinguish between blue and gray, but the fighting was in the Confederate defensive trenches, and Pennon assumed the Union had surprised the poor men suffering in the trenches.

George noticed Matthew walking hurriedly toward him. ‘What the blazes is going on, George?”

“Yankees attacked the trenches, Matt.”

That was all that was spoken between them as they stood watching the indistinct commotion in the distance.

The sky lightened to a rosy hue, it cheery color seeming to mock their dire circumstances. Pennon and Sandler stood side by side, tense, knees and arms locked, their breath almost never coming in or leaving, as they waited in apprehension.

George strained hard, looking toward the trenches,  in an attempt to discover their fate, but eventually he was forced to close his sore eyes.

When he opened them a minute later, the field was partially illuminated. As far as his eyes could see, every standing man on the field wore blue.