Prologue
It was already dark outside, when the bulky, burly figure of confederate Lieutenant General James Longstreet entered the dimly lit field hospital in the evening of July 2nd, 1863. With careful steps, trying not to disturb any of the sleeping or comatose patients who were lying on simple cots or even directly on the ground, the bearded officer found his way up to the first floor, where two field surgeons were standing besides the bloodied, massive body of a man, whose uniform jacket proved him to be of general rank.
„How is he?“, Longstreet approached one of the surgeons without a greeting.
„We drugged him, sir. He should better be left asleep“, the man with a former white but now deeply red-stained apron answered.
The man on the surgeon's table began to move, wakened by the short conversation between the former two.
„Didn't see much, my boys went in, hit the orchard... How did it go, sir?, he murmured into Longstreets direction, his voice under great pressure and obviously speaking with high effort of being heard.
„Alright, General“. Longstreets still strained voice showed the loss of some of it's bearers emotional burden.
„Did we take the ridge?“, the wounded officer asked pleadingly.
„Yes, you did. You were magnificent today!“, Longstreet answered with a forced exhale. He thought of the prize. Many good men gone from rank and file...
„Could you please get a message to my wife...?“, the man on the table wanted to know. He showed first signs of losing consciusness soon.
„Of course General, what should be delivered?“
„Tell her I am hit but we fought like hell.“, Brigadier General William Barksdale of Mississippi whispered before slipping into a dark and dreamless sleep.