A doctor, his hands, sleeves, and shirtfront drenched in blood, saw Billy Blythe’s coat and stepped over the recumbent bodies toward him. “You need help, soldier?”

“I’ll be back on my feet right soon, doctor,” Blythe answered. “Bleeding’s stopped and I’ll be back in the line when I’ve got my breath. You look after the others, sir.”

“You’re a brave man,” the doctor said, and moved on to find another casualty.

Blythe grinned, then lit a cigar. “Reckon you’re doing the right thing, Tom,” he said to Dennison.

“I am?” Dennison had knelt ready to fire another shot, but just then a bullet struck the wall’s top and ricocheted on into one of the trees that shaded the graves, and Dennison slumped back down beside Blythe.

“Keeping your men in reserve,” Blythe said. “That shows you’ve got your wits about you. I admire that.”

Dennison shuddered as a shell exploded nearby to rattle the stone wall’s far side with scraps of metal. “We can’t stay here all day,” he said, some small part of him recognizing that there was a duty to fulfill on the field.

Blythe twisted round and raised his head above the wall. “You could take your men back to the woods now,” he said. A few moments before those woods had been edged with Yankees firing at the graveyard, but those marksmen seemed to have disappeared and, for the moment at least, the nearer edge of the trees seemed deserted, but another Yankee attack was coming, which suggested that the southern edge of the trees would once again become a battleground. Which meant that Blythe would wait. If the rebels regained a firm hold of the trees then he might go back and find a place to hide, but till then he would let the stone wall shelter him.

Dennison snatched a look at the shattered branches and riven trunks of the East Woods, which looked as though a giant ax-man had gone berserk among its trees, then ducked back. “Maybe I’ll keep my men in reserve,” he said.

“Good decision, Tom,” Blythe said. “But I doubt Starbuck would agree. Starbuck just wants your men dead. Hell, he don’t care.” Dennison looked scared at the mention of Starbuck and Blythe shook his head. “Reckon you’ll have to deal with Mister Starbuck if the Yankees don’t oblige you. And that means dealing with his lackeys too. Like Sergeant Rothwell. Perhaps Bobby Case can help you?”

“I ain’t seen Case,” Dennison said. “Maybe he’s dead.”

“You’d better pray not. You’re going to need friends, Tom, otherwise Starbuck will have you on a court-martial. I know you’re doing the right thing, and you know it too, but will Starbuck know? You’d better make sure, Tom. I’d hate to see a good man like you sacrificed by a Yankee bastard like Starbuck. I reckon you’d best find Bobby Case and talk to him. Do your duty by the battalion and your country.”

Dennison looked shocked at the thought of being court-martialed for cowardice. “Deal with Starbuck?” he asked faintly.