Chapter 1
The battlefield breathed death. He could smell it, almost taste it. It had been ten straight hours of musket fire and cannons roaring all throughout Antietam. After all he had seen, Cyril Redstone was beginning to believe there were no rules to warfare.
Clad in a uniform that might have been pristine blue—if not for mingling stains of mud, ash and human blood—Cyril crouched down in the trench with an eye set upon Jimmy Franks. ...
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