April 3rd, 1865 [dawn]

George Pennon glanced over his shoulder at the now completely empty city of Petersburg. If the rebel army wasn’t just outside, slowly crossing the Appomattox, no one would have ever believed so many people were there just yesterday.

“Here we are, Sandler.” He remarked as they stood in their position, waiting for their turn to step onto the bridge. “We ached and prayed for the order to head to the Carolinas, and now we are stuck waiting. “

“I never imagined it would take all night to get the army across. It's fully dawn, and now, look! We are in the direct line of fire of the Yanks!” Matthew sputtered, gesturing toward the ominous Union army.

“I wonder what’s keeping them from attacking. One cannon barrage would kill hundreds of us instantly.”

They moved forward a few steps with the rest of their corps.

George continued. “It doesn’t make any strategic sense. Unless he plans to capture us instead of kill us, that is.”

“I think you are right, George. Either that or he has human sympathy, pure and simple.”

“Very doubtful.” Pennon muttered as their corps finally made it to the bridge.

 

 

Little did they know that General Ulysses Grant and his army had plans to cut around in front and, when there was no river behind them for escape, they would block and surround the Confederates. Then he would tighten the noose until there wasn’t any life left.