Disclaimer: The book "The Killer Angels" was written my Micheal Shaara.
I do not own it or any portion of it.
Chapter 1: The Boys in Blue
Sergeant William Cole of the 12th New Jersey Comapany D marched with his
unit, calling cadence, "One! One! One, two, one!"
They were on their way to a town called Gettysburg where, apparently, a bit
of a fuss was being stired up. The fight for the states was becoming increasingly
bigger everyday and this worried Cole.
The musket in the hands of Cole at shoulder arms was an 1842 Sprinfield 69 caliber
smoothbore. It felt heavy and weighed down his arm. He called, "Right shoulder shift!
Arms!" and the unit brought the guns up to their right shoulders with the lockplate up
and their hands on the butt. It was a rather comfortable position.
The 12th New Jersey was a relatively new regiment in 1863. They first saw action in
Chancellorsville tow months prior to Gettysburg. Now they were on their way to deal with
the greybacks once again.
The sun was setting and it looked pretty on the horizon of a wheat field just beginning to
sprout summer wheat. The regiment would soon set up camp for a chance to rest before they
made their march into the town and drove the rebels back down south.
AFTER A MILE OR SO the Lieutenant Colonel halted the regiment and told them to set up the
camp and they did so. Each unit in their designated place along the field lined dirt road.
When the camps were set up fires started to roar and meals were prepared. Willaim Cole just
had hard tack and coffee. His stomach was a bit unsettled from the long marches and endless
drills. Now, with more death on the horizon, he was nearly unable to eat.
"Hey, Sergeant!" a private called in his Irish accent.
"Yes, Private?" Cole said. His tall frame standing. The fire really accented his features.
Brown hair sat atop a slightly slanted forehead under his kepi and above his striking sapphire
blue eyes.
"Why don't you come play some poker with us? The first lieutenant is in on it, too."
William let the idea roll around in his mind before he spoke, "I guess I'll come and play."
He followed the private over to the set up table and sat down. He anted up and was dealt in.
His five cards held two-pair.
"Check," the lieutenant.
"Now, I am to assume that this is a clean game, correct?" William said as he produced an 1853
Pocket Police 36 caliber pistol. "If any of you cheat me..."
"It's clean," the Irish accented private named Dael McCrain said. "Put that thing away."
William laughed and pocketed the pistol. "Check," he said.
The night went on much like that. In the morning, though, the tents would be struck and the Union
boys would march onto Gettysburg; onto the fields of death.
I do not own it or any portion of it.
Chapter 1: The Boys in Blue
Sergeant William Cole of the 12th New Jersey Comapany D marched with his
unit, calling cadence, "One! One! One, two, one!"
They were on their way to a town called Gettysburg where, apparently, a bit
of a fuss was being stired up. The fight for the states was becoming increasingly
bigger everyday and this worried Cole.
The musket in the hands of Cole at shoulder arms was an 1842 Sprinfield 69 caliber
smoothbore. It felt heavy and weighed down his arm. He called, "Right shoulder shift!
Arms!" and the unit brought the guns up to their right shoulders with the lockplate up
and their hands on the butt. It was a rather comfortable position.
The 12th New Jersey was a relatively new regiment in 1863. They first saw action in
Chancellorsville tow months prior to Gettysburg. Now they were on their way to deal with
the greybacks once again.
The sun was setting and it looked pretty on the horizon of a wheat field just beginning to
sprout summer wheat. The regiment would soon set up camp for a chance to rest before they
made their march into the town and drove the rebels back down south.
AFTER A MILE OR SO the Lieutenant Colonel halted the regiment and told them to set up the
camp and they did so. Each unit in their designated place along the field lined dirt road.
When the camps were set up fires started to roar and meals were prepared. Willaim Cole just
had hard tack and coffee. His stomach was a bit unsettled from the long marches and endless
drills. Now, with more death on the horizon, he was nearly unable to eat.
"Hey, Sergeant!" a private called in his Irish accent.
"Yes, Private?" Cole said. His tall frame standing. The fire really accented his features.
Brown hair sat atop a slightly slanted forehead under his kepi and above his striking sapphire
blue eyes.
"Why don't you come play some poker with us? The first lieutenant is in on it, too."
William let the idea roll around in his mind before he spoke, "I guess I'll come and play."
He followed the private over to the set up table and sat down. He anted up and was dealt in.
His five cards held two-pair.
"Check," the lieutenant.
"Now, I am to assume that this is a clean game, correct?" William said as he produced an 1853
Pocket Police 36 caliber pistol. "If any of you cheat me..."
"It's clean," the Irish accented private named Dael McCrain said. "Put that thing away."
William laughed and pocketed the pistol. "Check," he said.
The night went on much like that. In the morning, though, the tents would be struck and the Union
boys would march onto Gettysburg; onto the fields of death.