It was seven minutes past one when the cannons went off. General Armistead had been standing near a ridge when he heard the thundering boom. He turned and saw them go off one by one, each one a split second after the last, so that here was one long continuing blossoming explosion beginning on the right, erupting down through the grow and up the ridge. It was all like one gigantic fuse sputtering up. In a way, it was almost beautiful. In the distance, Armistead could see shells bursting on top of the ridge, on the Union lines, saw a caisson blow up in a fireball of yellow smoke, heard wild cheering amid the great sound of the cannon, but then the smoke came boiling up the ridge and he began to lose sight. Pickett was in front of him, out in the open, waving his hat and yelling wildly. And Longstreet…..well, he sat on a fence rail, motionless, crouched forward.

There was too much smoke to see anything at all, just Longstreet's back, black, unmoving and Pickett turning back through the smoke with joy in his face, and then the Union artillery opened up. The first shells came down in the trees beyond them. Longstreet turned slowly and looked. Then they began coming down in the field back there, where the division was.

"General."

Armistead turned to see the young newspaper man, Philip, standing next to him, his face pinched. Despite himself the general smiled. "Ah. Mr. Williams."

A roar bellowed overhead, followed quickly by the shattering of trees behind them. The General's brow furrowed as he watched the men behind him, even the generals, flinch and cover their heads from the explosion. But the pup beside him never even flinched. The man was an interesting one to be sure, but…..Armistead was afraid to ask what this young man had seen in his life to make him so….hard. Unflinching.

"So." Philip said. "This is it."

Armistead nodded. It was known, throughout the entire Confederacy, that this was the last big gamble. There was a chance, a very high chance, that this wouldn't work. That the Union army would crush the main body of the Confederate Army. But….

This had to happen. Just so that History wouldn't blame them for not even trying.

"Indeed." Was all Armistead was able to spit out. He pursed his lips as the scent of powder filled the air. "How do you think this'll go down?"

There was silence from the man beside him before Philip said, "Don't know. But we'll see what the last moments of daylights bring."

Armistead nodded and turned to leave. He had to receive his orders but Philip called him back.

"General, I have a, uh….a hypothetical question for you."

"Okay?"

Philip looked uncomfortable. But he managed to choke out, "What would you say about your world being controlled by a shadow government? One that was only out to benefit themselves, one….that would plunge the entire world into war just so they could keep their power?"

"I'd say that-"

Actually, he didn't know what to say. His brow furrowed.

"I'd say that type of government is exactly what we were fighting against. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

There had to be a reason, Armistead could see it in his eyes. But he just nodded and stalked off while behind him, a private called his name. He turned around and listened to the young boy as he relayed orders from Longstreet to join him and the others to receive their orders. He nodded and started to walk towards where Longstreet and his other generals had gathered. The general met Pickett, who had a large smile on his face.

"Oh God, Lo! Isn't it something? Isn't marvelous? How does a man find words? Tell me something to say, Lo, you're good at that! Lord, I thought we'd missed it all. But do you know, this may be the last great fight of the war? Do you realize that? Isn't that marvelous?"

There was a long series of explosions; a tree limb burst. Armistead could hardly hear, but Pickett was profoundly moved. He was one of those, like Stuart, who looked on war as God's greatest game. At this moment, Armistead seemed to be looking down from a long way away, from along, sleepy, hazy distance. George was grinning, clapping him on the arm. He said something about Sallie having the ring mounted. Armistead moved away.

He said a prayer as he moved, for Pickett, for Mary. God, if he closed his eyes, it's like he could almost see her face.

It may be for years, it may be forever

Hancock's face appeared in his mind, pulling tears from his mind. He remembered his promise, the declaration he made to Hancock and his wife that night before they all went off to war. He chuckled. He wondered if the general was on the other side, and Armistead, worriedly, feared the fact that he might have to raise a sword against his friend.

May God strike me dead if I raise my sword against you.

Well, all in His hands.

Armistead stood there for a moment before going through to the lines. He met up with Longstreet, and was informed of the plan. They would move in tandem with several different brigadier generals, and bombard the Union lines. There was a hesitation in Longstreet's speech, a sort of regret in his eyes as he informed the generals their task. Once they were briefed, they each went off to do their own thing.

Armistead met up with his division squirrelled away just out of reach of the Union artillery. He stared out at the green field that stretched before him and Hancock. There was neighing that caught his attention and pulled his eyes towards it. It was Dick Garnett, riding on a brown mare. There was a certain sleepiness that proceeded the battle, a quality of haze, of unreality, of dust in the air, dust in the haze. Garnett had the eyes of a man who had just awakened.

"How are you, Lo?"

"I'm fine, Dick."

"Well, that's good." Garnett nodded, smiling faintly. The two stood under the trees, waiting, not knowing what to say. The fire seemed to be slacking. Armistead sighed.

"How's the leg?"

"Oh, alright thank you." The man rubbed it absently. "Bit hard to walk. Guess I'll have to ride."

Armistead's stomach dropped. "Picket's orders: nobody rides."

All Dick did was smile.

"Dick," Armistead tried again, "you're not going to ride."

The man turned away. Armistead felt something settle in his gut, a cold panic that pulled and pushed at him.

"You can't do that. You'll stand out like…." Armistead felt breathless. "You'll be the perfect target."

"Well," Garnett said, grinning faintly, "well, I tell you, Lo. I can't walk."

And he couldn't stay behind. Honor at stake. That damn foolish honor. Dick Garnett couldn't let the attack go on without him; he had to prove once and for all his honor, because there was Jackson's charge, unanswered even to this day, still in the air where Garnett moved. The word on the men's lips, watching him as he went by, for Jackson was gone and Jackson was a great soldier…there was nothing Armistead could say. There were tears coming to his eyes, but he couldn't even do that.

Hopefully, there would be something to take his horse out early.

Of course, he could only pray.

Garnett said, "Just heard a funny thing. Thought you'd appreciate it."

"Oh?"

"We have some educated troops you know. Gentlemen privates. Well, I was riding along the lines and I heard on of these fellas, ex-professor type, declaiming this poem, you know the one: 'Backward turn backward, oh Time, in your flight, and make me a child again, just for this fight'. And there's a pause and a voice say in a slow drawl, 'Yep, a gal child'."

Armistead watched the grounds as Garnett continued. Nerves, strange thing to feel after all these years. All that time on the battlefield in years past, all those men who died under his command, it was a strange thing to feel now that he was staring down his own mortality. It felt like Armistead was staring down the hang man's noose, a sense of foreboding that was heavy and weighed him down. He sighed as he followed Garnett before bidding the large man farewell and good luck as he approached his division. His heart thundered in time with the cannon fire.

And then…..a silence that was far more overwhelming than the fire of the cannons.

The bearded man shoved down the nerves, attempting to calm his heart and his shaking hands as he turned moved his men forward in front of the trees. The other generals moved forward as one, and they sat in silence, waiting patiently for the final order. Armistead jerked his head toward the sudden cheering that rose from the left. There was a soaring feeling as he watched General Lee, astride his trusted stallion, Traveler, ride among the men.

And boy, did they love him.

They cheered him on as he rode by, some people tried to even touch the man's gloved hand. And being the general that he was, Lee obliged the soldiers. Armistead watched as the man dirtied up his spotless white riding gloves as he clutched the men's dirty hands.

Armistead said a prayer as the order came down the line.

Ready to charge!

The men fell back into line. Armistead glanced down at his watch before the bugle call arrived and they stepped forward toward their destiny.

3:45 p.m.