Manassas (The Civil War Battle Series, Book 1) - Softcover

The Confederate troops stood up and aimed their rifles down the slope. The volley they fired scythed through the Union forces, cutting them down like so many stalks of ripe wheat. As Will saw the Federals go down, he waved his saber over his head and bellowed, "Charge!"

Down the hill the company went, with Will leading the way. Behind him, the infantrymen ran forward, yelling at the tops of their lungs. In a matter of seconds, they plunged into the mass of Union troops, who were still trying to recover from the deadly volley. Will slashed right and left with the saber, coating the blade with Yankee blood. Dust rose and enveloped him, a fine coating of it sticking to the sheen of blood on the saber.

A Union soldier came out of the billowing dust and threw himself at Will. Will saw the man coming but didn't have time to avoid him. The soldier leaped high and tackled him, knocking him off his horse. Will landed hard, and the saber slipped out of his fingers and skittered away from him.

The Yankee seemed to be unarmed, but he was determined to kill Will with his bare hands. His fingers locked around Will's throat. He had one knee on Will's chest, pinning him to the ground. Will tried to throw the man off, but the Yankee's weight was too much.

Suddenly, the Yankee stiffened. He was leaning over Will so that his grimacing face was only a foot away from Will's. The man's mouth opened and blood welled out. Will saw the point of a bayonet protruding an inch or so from the center of the man's chest. He fell to the side as his eyes began to glaze over.

Darcy Bennett yanked his bayonet out of the Yankees body and bent over Will to offer him a hand. "Come on, Cap'n," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the chaos. "Are you all right?"

Coughing a little as he dragged air through his abused throat, Will nodded. "Thanks, Darcy," he rasped. He looked around for the dun.

"Your horse run off," said Darcy. "Don't know where he got off to--"

Suddenly, a thudding sound interrupted Darcy, and the big sergeant stumbled back a step. Will looked at him in horror as Darcy slowly lifted a hand and pressed it to his chest. "Lordy," Darcy gasped in a hollow voice. "I'm hit."

Then he fell over backward, a dark bloodstain spreading under the widespread fingers of his hand.

"Darcy!" Will yelled as he dropped to his knees next to the sergeant. "Damn it, Darcy--"

"Brannon!"

Will couldn't believe his ears. He turned his head and saw a familiar figure standing ten feet away. Something had happened to Ransom Fogarty's cap during the battle, uncovering his ginger-colored hair. Smoke curled from the barrel of the rifle in his hands. His ugly freckled face split in a grin as he sneered, "I won't miss with this bayonet, Brannon!"

He lunged at Will, the rifle held low so that he could thrust with the bayonet. For a split second, Will crouched there frozen, and in that instant he cursed himself for forgetting about the Fogartys. He had never believed that they had given up their grudge against him, and now he knew he was right. Ransom was trying to kill him, and in the confusion of battle, no one would know that the Yankees weren't responsible for his death.

Will's instincts kicked in, and he threw himself to the side, avoiding Ransom's charge. He rolled over, and as he did, he saw his saber lying on the ground a few feet away. He reached for it desperately as Ransom shrieked a curse and came at him again with the bayonet.