Pritchard and Ditch were placed with their backs to the edge of the trench, which was now filled with dozens of bodies, both rebel and Union. Lieutenant Gabel marked off ten paces and arranged the six soldiers in a line.

“Looks like we dug our own grave,” Ditch commented, glancing over his shoulder into the trench.

“Somebody else dug my last one,” Pritchard replied.

“Detail,” the lieutenant said in his deepest command voice. He raised his saber. “Prepare to fire!”

“Excuse me,” one of the soldiers said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but I can barely see them two boys through all this fog. With your permission, could we move a little closer?”

“For your information, Private,” Lieutenant Gabel said, lowering his saber, “regulations clearly state the prescribed distance for a military firing squad is ten paces.” He made no attempt to conceal his irritation at being interrupted.

“I’m sure they do,” the private said, “but I’m guessin’ whoever wrote them regulations never had to conduct a firing squad in the Ozark Mountains in November. This pea soup is so thick, I can barely see the front sight of my own rifle. Iffen I don’t get closer, the only thing I’m gonna be shootin’ is Arkansas mist.” The other members of the firing squad nodded in agreement.

“Very well,” Gabel relented. “Detail,” he loudly commanded, again raising his saber, “move forward five paces on my command!” He waited several seconds for effect. “Move!” The line advanced five steps. Pritchard and Ditch were now vaguely in view.

“He surely likes the sound of his own voice,” Pritchard remarked.

“Probably got a future in politics,” Ditch said.

“Sir.” The same private spoke up again, this time in a hushed tone. “With all due respect,” he glanced nervously about, “we’re way out ahead of our lines, and this area is crawlin’ with Union troops. A feller can’t see five feet in front of his nose in this fog, but he can hear just fine. Would the lieutenant mind keepin’ his voice down?”

“Proper military protocols will be observed,” Lieutenant Gabel said, making no effort to lower the volume of his speech. “Get back in line, Private.”

The private complied, muttering under his breath.

“Detail,” Lieutenant Gabel commanded for the third time, once more raising his saber. “Prepare to fire!”

“Do you have any last words, Atherton?” Gabel asked, as his men readied their Fayetteville muskets.

“No last words,” Pritchard said. “Only regrets. I regret I didn’t get a chance to put a ball into your pea brain.”

“How about you, Clemson? Any final words?”

“Yeah,” Ditch said. “Kiss my Missouri ass.”

“Ready!” the lieutenant said, in his loudest and most official command voice. The firing squad conducted a half turn, brought their rifles to port arms, and cocked the hammers back.

“Aim!” Gabel commanded, in his parade-ground voice. The rifles were raised.

“Fire!”

The sound of gunfire erupted.

Chapter 16

Chapter 16