One more rerun

I wrote this back in 2008 also.

At the time I do not think it garnered a single comment. I enjoyed writting it any way.

From March 20, 2008 (avery great day):

March 20, 2008
One April Morning

He opened his eyes and for a moment and did not know where he was. It was the grey twilight of predawn. The dew was heavy and there was a thin veil of fog drifting from the river. He heard the snap of twigs and the hard breath as someone blew on the previous nights embers. A few more huffs and he heard the pop of the wood as the fire caught hold of the kindling.

He rolled from his blanket and made his way through the thick underbrush behind the camp. He unbuttoned his fly and relieved himself. He pulled up his suspenders and buttoned the top button of his shirt. As he walked to the fires he picked up a few sticks for fuel. He stopped at his blankets and pulled on his jacket and wide brimmed hat. He shivered a little as the eastern sky grew pink. Jacob Hoffert offered a prayer of thanks for the new day.

Steeling himself, he reached for his haversack and moved toward the nearest fire. He saw Jonathon there. Jonathan was the last of his original mess. His pard Isaac had gotten bronchitis and was left behind 12 days ago. Seth had simply disappeared. Along with Jonathan, the four had been childhood friends back home. Jonathan had always been kind of a bully, teasing him about his size. As Jacob approached Jonathan said something to the man across the fire. The man turned to look at Jacob and rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. Jacob dropped the armful of wood next to the fire. "Watch it runt" said William Hazlett, who was even bigger than Jonathan. As Jacob squatted next to the fire the wind changed, blowing the smoke from the green wood into his face. Jacob tipped his canteen into the lidded coffee boiler and set it near the flames. Matthew Walker joined the others around the fire. He stirred the embers and knocked a large piece of wood into Jacob's mug, knocking it over. "Hoffert, you are just a Jonas" Walker said, shaking his head.

Jacob reached deep into his haversack and found a cotton poke. In it was a handful of coffee beans he had roasted the previous evening. He had taken the beans and placed them in his rubber blanket, then pounded them into rough grounds with his rifle butt. He righted his cup, added some more of his precious water and dropped in a scant handful of coffee. Jacob noticed the others' envious looks and reluctantly offered the bag. He knew these men, who treated him so badly, would not hesitate to use his whole stash. When the poke was returned, only a thumbwidth of coffee remained in the bottom of the bag.

Walker placed a skillet on the embers and began slicing some salt pork. Jonathon was breaking hard tack into pieces to fry in the grease of the pork. In the distance they heard the sentries fire off the charges from the night before. A few more shots sounded up and down the line. They all looked toward the Southwest as a few shouts were heard, but the call was too far off to make out the words. Motion and more shouts were moving up the line as the firing began to grow heavier than merely the pickets clearing their Springfield rifles. The firing grew into a steady roar as the sound of the long roll was heard. More and more drums took up the call. The soldiers snatched up their accoutrements as their own drummer beat his skins. The officers echoed the shout of "Fall In" as the men raced to the stacked arms, breakfast forgotten.

The bullets began to crash through the branches as the men fell into a rough line before the stacked muskets. "Take arms" was followed by a hasty "load" as the shouts and shots of the Rebel soldiers became clear to their right and front. At the far left of the line --the 'short' end -- Jacob felt the First Sergeant at the left end of K Company move in line next to him. Everyone was loading in haste as the men in butternut erupted from the treeline 30 yards away. They stopped in a rough line and fired a volley. Half of Jacob's own C Company and all of K Company turned and ran. Jacob hastily brought his rifle to full cock and fired a shot without aiming. He turned and ran towards the ridge behind him. The hungry Southerners stopped to loot the camp and pluck the burning bacon from the fire.

The company reformed and fell back to the treeline. A clearing was before them. The armies stood toe to toe, the shots buzzing through the trees and undergrowth like a swarm of hornets around their nest. Jacob fired. His shoulder ached and his face and mouth were black from the powder as he bit into the cartridges. Constant curses and shouts of "dress center" and "close up" came from behind him with numbing regularity as his comrades bled and died in the line. After a few hours there was a lull in the fighting. The shots and killing did not stop, it just became less heavy. Ammunition was brought forward and Jacob took a drink from the brackish water in his nearly-empty canteen. He could see the Rebels rolling artillery into place across the clearing. The sound of battle was so loud he was nearly deaf. He heard a thump like a dropped melon and saw Matthew Walker's head explode in a red mist.

Suddenly the late morning was split with a mass barrage of cannon shot and shell. Branches fell from overhead killing the lieutenant. Pieces of wood flew from the trees as parts of bodies erupted in fountains of blood. The smoke hid the carnage as Jacob Hoffert loaded and fired, loaded and fired. The big guns spurted flame as if the gates of Hell were opening, men died calling for their mother and a few crawled to the rear and hopeful safety. With a blood curdling yell a wave of men in grey and butternut uniforms erupted from among the canon. With bayonets fixed they charged the Union line in the treeline. Jacob Hoffert felt a stinging blow across his side as he was grazed by a musket ball. He did not notice the blood crusting his head from a falling chunk of wood, blasted down by the case shot of the Confederate guns.

The line fell back again. This time to the river. A short heavy officer with a dark beard directed him into line with other troops he did not know. Units were mixed, makeshift regiments formed from individual companies and soldiers. Jacob was hungry and thirsty. As darkness fell, the firing to the front slowed and finally ceased. He fell into a restless sleep born from exhaustion. Suddenly the night sky blazed in red as the gunboats in the river began firing on the Confederate lines.

A body dropped down beside him, it was Jonathan. "God, I am glad to see you" Jonathan said. "I thought we were all gonners". Jacob Hoffert could only nod his head in the dark. He hurt all over and the pain in his skull only seem to intensify the burning crease on his side. Jonathan handed him a damp piece of hardtack. It had a bitter taste, from mud or blood, he did not want to know.

"What happened?" he asked his childhood friend. "The Rebs were supposed to be in Corinth."

"I guess they was here instead. They must of not got the message". deadpanned Jonathan.

"And where is here?" Jacob spoke the words so softly he was barely heard.

"Well the sign on that little white church back by camp said Shiloh Meeting house. I guess that is where we is". Jonathan looked at his scrawny friend, sighed and rolled his eyes.