It was a slaughter for the next minute. The Sharpshooters took their favorite stances, some kneeling, others finding branches to rest their barrels on, a few going down on their stomachs. Rifle fire rippled up and down the line. Barely a dozen Rebs made it to the far slope.

"Hey, you're Yankees!"

Startled, Quinn saw a freckled face peeking up from behind an old, rotting tree stump. It was a boy, no more than nine or ten, about the same age as his own son. The boy stood up, gaping.

"Goddamn it, get down!" Quinn shouted, and running up to the lad, he pushed him back down behind the stump.

"Green uniforms. You're the Sharpshooters!" the boy cried happily. "I seen pictures of you in the illustrated papers."

"Sonny, just what the hell are you doing out here?"

"Came out to tell you what was happening, but them dirty Rebs stopped me."

The boy rubbed his backside. "One of them spanked me.

' Said he was going to take me back to my ma and make sure she whopped me, too."

"He was right, too, you little fool. You should be home."

"Ma tried to keep me in the cellar, but I snuck out."

Quinn sat down by the boy's side. A couple of men were looking over at the two, grinning.

'Take a hickory stick and give it to him, Quinn." One of them laughed.

The boy looked over at the man and stuck his tongue out "Where do you live, sonny?"

"Over the next hill, farm across from the tavern," and as he spoke he pointed off to the west.

"Keep moving!" Berdan was out in front again, back to the enemy, sword held high, urging the men on.

"You stay put right here, boy," Quinn said. "Once we get up to the tavern, I'll send someone back to get you and bring you home. And don't you move an inch till we come back for you. Your ma's most likely worried sick about you."

"Oh, you won't never get to the tavern."

"What?'

The boy puffed his chest out

"That's why I snuck out; I'm a spy."

"What do you mean we won't reach the tavern?"

"Why, there're thousands of Rebs over there, whole lines of them. They've been marching by for hours. I figured it was my duty to tell you. Will I get a medal for it?"

The men to either side of Quinn were already up, moving forward.

Quinn watched them heading out then looked back to the boy. He grabbed him by the shoulders. "Listen, sonny. We're not playing a game now," and as he spoke he squeezed the boy's shoulders. 'Tell me the truth. Tell me what's going on over by your house."

"Like I said, sir," and now he could see that the boy was becoming afraid. His eyes were wide, and his voice started to break.

"Rebs, thousands of them on the road, marching toward Fairfield, right past my house, just over the next ridge."

Quinn looked toward the next ridge, where the surviving Rebs had disappeared. Dust appeared to be rising up on the far side.

"Stay here. Don't you move. Don't move." The boy began to cry.

"I don't want to get whopped. That Reb spanked me awful hard. Don't let Mama whop me too."

"Just stay here, son. I'll make sure your ma doesn't whop you, if you promise to stay here."

The boy nodded solemnly, brushing the tears from his muddy cheeks.

Quinn stood up. The skirmish line was down almost to the creek. He set off hard. Running toward the middle of the line.

Berdan was riding in front, urging the men on. A few shots smacked overhead. The men were eager, pushing forward, already across the marshy ground. The left flank was into a pasture on the far side of the road, the right wading through waist-high corn.

A volley exploded from the woods atop the next crest, several hundred rifles firing at once. In an instant dozens of men were down.

Berdan's horse reared up, shrieking with pain. The colonel hung on as the beast staggered, turned, and then flipped over on its side as another round tore out its throat. Horse and rider rolled over into the stream.

"Jesus Christ Almighty!" Quinn screamed, as he leapt into the muddy water.

Berdan's horse kicked spasmodically, the colonel trapped underneath. Quinn leveled his rifle against the horse's skull and fired.

"Get him out!" Quinn screamed. Half a dozen men struggled with the carcass, pushing and shoving, one of them suddenly pitching over, the back of his head exploding.

Quinn grabbed Berdan by the shoulders and struggled to keep his head above water. The men dragged the horse a few feet, one of them pulling out a knife to slice a stirrup free and then cut the reins that were tangled in Berdan's limp hands.

"Is he dead?" someone cried.

Quinn felt for the colonel's throat.There was still a pulse.

"You and you! Get a blanket, use it as a stretcher, round up a few more men, and get him out of here!"

Quinn stood up, looking around. Where the hell was Trepp, second in command?

He thought he caught a glimpse of him off to the left, but it was impossible to tell for sure. A captain was suddenly standing over Quinn, looking down in shock as they dragged Berdan up onto the bank of the creek and then rolled him into a blanket It was Fuller, Company B.

"Sir, there was a boy back up there in the woods we just took!" Quinn shouted. "Says he lives over beyond the next ridge. Says that thousands of Rebs have been marching past his house all morning, moving south toward Fairfield."

"What boy?"

"Sir, a boy hiding up in the woods."

"So?"

Fuller ducked down low as another volley erupted from the next ridge, one of the men attempting to carry Berdan going down with a gut shot.

"Sir, I think we're tangled into something here. Someone should go back now and tell General Sickles that we're facing a large force. A division, maybe even a corps, moving to our left flank."

"What boy? What's his name?"

Exasperated, Quinn stood up. Fuller was obviously rattled, his eyes wide as he looked at the colonel, who was moaning softly, the wounded man next to the colonel curled up into a ball, fumbling to keep his guts in with his hands.

"Sir!"

Fuller looked back at him.

"I didn't ask for his goddamn name. But he's a local boy, sir, and I believe him."

"We get boys telling us tall tales all the time, Quinn. Jesus, am I suppose to tell Sickles we're getting flanked all because of a report from a boy?"

"This isn't Virginia, sir. It's Pennsylvania and I think the boy was telling the truth."

"Get on with your duty, Quinn."

"Sir! I think the general needs to be told."

"I'm getting us the hell out of here, Quinn. The colonel is down. We're going back and sort things out. And I'll be damned if I make a report based on what a boy said."

"Yes, sir. Damn you, sir."

Quinn turned and started back to the right "Quinn! You might be a pet of the colonel's but goddamn you, you'll face discipline for this!"

Quinn ignored him, sprinting along the creek bed till he reached the right of the line. Turning, he darted into the com, moving a few dozen feet, falling down, then getting up and sprinting again. Stalks of corn were leaping into the air as minie balls snapped into the field. Puffs of smoke, just ahead, showed where the advance of the skirmish line was.

Quinn, half crawling, pushed through. A lieutenant, obviously frightened, looked over his shoulder as Quinn approached.

"I saw the colonel go down," the lieutenant gasped. "I know."

"What the hell is going on?" The lieutenant half stood up even as he spoke. "Looks like we're pulling back."

Quinn got up on his knees for a quick glance, then ducked back down. "Lieutenant, sir, we gotta get up on that ridge. Captain Fuller's pulling us back, but I think we should move forward."

"Into that?’

"Sir, one good sprint, and we'll be into the woods. We need to get a look over that ridge," and he quickly explained what the boy had told him.