The fight had consumed me. We rushed forward without a second thought, believing in our leaders’ judgement. Baring our muskets and rifles, we charged, screaming with the insanity and bravery that had been gathering inside of us.

My brother was beside me, looking just as scared as I was. We stopped and crouched low to the ground, pointing our guns in the direction of the rebels.

In an explosion of smoke, they fell around me like dominoes, some dead, others crying out in pain. In the time period of less than a second, these once proud men were reduced to whining children. The ones that had not been hit, myself still miraculously included, could do nothing for them as we were ordered to keep moving. They grabbed at our feet, screamed for assistance, but we could give them none. In all the madness I had lost track of my brother. I had never felt a greater guilt, but I pushed the thought from my mind as I took aim once again, praying to God he was still with the living.