July 1st 1863

Bone weary and saddle sore, I surveyed the vast field before me. "This will be a bloody slaughter." I cursed.

"More than likely lad." Shamus replied genially as he took a generous swig of whisky. "But we have our orders don't we?'

"Aye we do, but I don't see the point of wasting the horses on a charge into heavy artillery. It's foolish." I grumbled taking his offered flask. I winced as the Scots' whiskey burned a trail to my empty stomach.

Shamus and I had been together since the beginning of the War, having first joined the Virginia  62nd Infantry, then later the Virginia 18th Calvary. We both came from small farms in the Shenandoah Mountains. Both of us had inherited the skills of our forefathers with horses and had quickly risen in the esteem of our fellows. Him due to his ability to procure whisky as if by magic, and myself due to my talents with spirited horses.

I could feel the change in the air, the shift from excitement to fear. We could see the Union forces assembling upon the field before us. Their cannon and Calvary outnumbering ours. I took a good look at our assembled forces. Our cavalry had dwindled in numbers, our men were poorly equipt and many didn't even possess shoes. Not that it mattered now, the July heat causing me to wipe my brow with my handkerchief. But those men would need shoes come winter. If they made it that long.