Faith by Lyn Cote

branches of trees stuck in the ground in a row, with their sharpened tops directed toward the enemy. Even with obstacles in place, this defensive position showed that Pemberton was no one to lead these men. Dev mentally excoriated the Confederate general’s lack of strategy. He should have positioned all his men with the river before them, not behind them! No wise general took up such an untenable position. He’d heard that Pemberton had graduated from West Point, no doubt at the bottom of his class.
    “Dismount!” Dev slid from the saddle and, along with the rest of his company, handed the reins to several men who were taking their turns remaining in the rear to hold the horses. The US cavalry acted as scouts and as dragoons, which meant fighting mounted or on foot when necessary. “Spread out and join in!”
    His men obeyed and he followed suit. The main body of the army was advancing close at their backs. Pemberton must know that. “Fool,” Dev cursed under his breath.
    The infantry arrived at the cavalry’s rear within minutes and Dev’s companies blended into their ranks. The artillery rolled into place and began barking hot lead over their heads. The blues swept onward, some sinking waist-deep in the swampy loop left by the meandering river. All under fierceattack took positions wherever they could hunker down. Still their assault on Pemberton’s forces was relentless and without mercy. The blues drove the grays back toward the river. Some of the cotton bales, hit by hot grapeshot, caught fire. Dev cursed their general again.
    The gray line finally broke. The Reb drum call for retreat came. Gray soldiers poured onto the bridge over the river, but others boarded a steamboat on the river, crowding it dangerously. A bullet seared Dev’s cheek; he ducked down. Ahead, the remaining Rebs did their utmost to protect the retreating soldiers.
    The blue wave steadily pushed more and more grays onto the bridge or the steamboat to escape across the river. Dev urged his men on. If they could catch the Rebs out here, Vicksburg would fall quickly without defense. The killing could end . . . here.
    The man beside Dev screamed and fell. Dev dropped to one knee to help him. Dead. Dev closed his eyes and, crouching, moved forward. They had to stop the Rebs from getting to Vicksburg. If they could halt them now . . .
    A shell burst and Dev fell to the ground, covering his head with his arms.
    Faith’s face flashed in Dev’s mind. He shoved it aside. He had to stay alive. That was all he had to do today. Just stay alive. With honor.

    When the gunfire finally fell silent, Dr. Bryant harried the wagoneers to set out. At the edge of the usual commotion of gathering supplies for the wounded and getting teams ofhorses harnessed, Honoree and Faith stood outside a hospital tent, overseeing the loading of fresh bandages and stretchers. Ella was busy filling canteens for the nurses to take with them.
    Faith tried to focus on what she was doing, but Colonel Knight’s face lingered in her mind. Did he still live? Had they stopped the Rebel retreat?
    “You!” Dr. Dyson appeared out of nowhere. “You, girl,” he said belligerently to Honoree. “Go with the wagons.”
    Faith moved with Honoree, heading to their tent to get more supplies for the battlefield wounded.
    “Not you, Quaker,” he snapped. “Just the girl. You stay here.”
    Faith turned. “Wherever Honoree goes, I go. Thee knows that.”
    “You’re not in charge here. Now for once do what you’re told.”
    Faith stared at him, taking Honoree’s hand. She lowered her voice and leaned close so he could hear above the surrounding voices and noise. “Thee knows that we are volunteer nurses and thee has no real authority over us.”
    His face flushed.
    “Please do not embarrass thyself any further. Now either I go with her or Honoree stays here with me.”

    Only hours after engagement, Dev watched the Rebs burn the bridge behind them. Flames shot skyward, white