In 500... (or less)

Victory on the Ridge

The fighting had been ferocious. Dead men lay strewn about like leaves on a windy autumn day.

Smoke from the battle hung over the ridge, the smell of spent powder filled the air.

The general could wait no longer.

"I cannot see a damned thing through this glass," he said, folding it up and tucking it into his pocket. "I must go and see our progress."

"But sir, do you think it is safe?" Taylor asked. He pleaded with the general to send a rider up to inspect the position.

"Nonsense," the general replied. "What kind of men are we, that we should send men in harm's way and bear none of the risk ourselves?"

With that he gave a gentle tug to his gray horse, setting out on a light trot across the open field. His guard rode along, their fears were lessened by the haze hanging over the field.

They could not proceed any faster toward the ridge, such were the craters from artillery shells and the bodies of the dead and wounded.

One man attempted to stand to salute the general as he rode by, but slumped back against the body of one of his comrades.

"General, sir, did we make it? Did we take the ridge?" he asked.

"I intend to find out, brave lad," the general said, stopping his horse to address the wounded soldier. He signaled for one of the guards to take the man up on his mount and take him back for medical attention, then tugged the reins to move ahead.

The bodies grew thicker as they neared the crest of the ridge. The once green grass was gone, replaced by a mixture of mud and blood.

"Dear God," the general muttered. "If it is victory, at what cost?"

On the gnarled and broken pickets were torn pieces of uniform, some with an arm or a leg yet inside. A soft chorus of groans rose from the ground from the wounded.

In the haze, the general saw a figure moving about. He instinctively rode toward it, unaware of whether it was friend or foe.

The man paid no mind to the approaching group of men. He reached out to steady himself on the twisted and shattered remains of what was once a tree.

"George, is that you?" the general asked as he got closer.

The officer turned to see who was addressing him. His coat was unbuttoned and he held his hat, standing in a sort of daze but otherwise unharmed.

"Yes...yes, general," George answered, slowly lifting his hat back to his head. "The position is...secure."

The general said nothing, only surveying the carnage along the ridge, where enemy bodies lay mixed with his soldiers. He hung his head at the terrible cost of the victory.

Taylor, sensing the general's sadness, spoke up.

"General Lee, sir, Cemetary Ridge is taken and all of Pennsylvania now lays before you," he said. "We should gather the army and press our advantage."

"Indeed," Lee replied, "if we had yet an army after this. Imagine if we had lost this battle at Gettysburg."