Soldiers and Ghosts

Staying busy eats time.  After 4 o’clock in the morning the feel of dawn is in the air, although still dark, dawn is imminent.  The chirping of many birds sneaks surreptiously into the chilled morning air.  Unnoticed at first, then ubiquituous.
Joshua feels confused and a little hesitant.  He’s surprised that after all the bragging on him, no one seems to be taking his warnings and alerts seriously.   As far as he can see, he is the only Rebel moving around in the dark getting ready for anything.  He hasn’t enough rank to order anyone else and if he did, not being from this outfit and out of its chain of command, rules him out.   He actually begins doubting himself.  He’s going to look mighty silly and showoffy in the morning when everyone wakes up to find him in his little one man fort, ready for battle repulsing the Yankee hordes.  “Dammit!” he mutters, “Ah could have swore we would be attacked."
   “Ahm gonna look like a damn fool when the boys get up in a hour…”  The young man does not know the word, but ‘mortified’ describes the feeling growing in his stomach now.
Joshua’s earlier instinctive flash for impending danger is on full alert.  All day he found himself on edge inside.  He could not put his finger on it, but something is wrong,  he is sure of it.  There has been more troop activity than normal on the Union side.  The majority of those soldiers are combat veterans. Although Maj. Gen. Burnside’s IX U. S. Corps did not shine in the Wilderness, Spotsylvania or Cold Harbor, they were present there and took part in heavy action.  There were colors from the states of Pennsylvania and New York.  These two states always field disciplined, hard fighting regiments.  Someone said reconnaissance reported the presence of at least one whole Negro division, the first such large colored formation.  Josh clearly remembers their Morale and Esprit de Corps at Spotsylvania when General Ewell was ordered to take his III Corps out and feel for the enemy’s intentions.  The colored troops stood their ground firmly that day.
Confederates here are certainly faced by a numerically superior force.  If Grant and Meade put this many quality troops out here, there’s a reason.
But the more time goes by alone in the dark, the more doubt creeps into his mind.  Abruptly he gets an urgent need to defecate; not from fear or impending combat, which is normal, but from fear of looking foolish and overreacting.
Miserable now, he gropes his way to a toilet slit trench about 50-feet to the rear, close up to the parapet wall on the south side of the salient, opposite the kitchen tents way on the other side.
To his relief, he has a good vigorous movement.  The smell is strong and pungent, healthy.  Josh finishes and stands to pull up his drawers, trousers, and accoutrements.  He gets all his combat gear adjusted on his body, grabs his rifle and heads back to his fort.
Suddenly, the ground seems to buck under his feet.  “What tha…”, he exclaims.  Then in the brightening predawn he can actually see the surrounding ground rise up. Consecutive to this strange anomaly a great rumble emanates from within the earth directly under him, followed at once by a monstrous blast so huge Joshua has never seen or heard the like.  His world explodes in wild flying confusion.  Helpless, Josh is flung spinning into space.  He seems to rise forever as the world is torn to shreds around him.  He cannot see of course, but along with him and the dirt, the air is full of flying cannon, men, horses, shells, livery, small arms, uniforms and the men in them, all in the air and rising still.
The blast seems to go on and on.  It isn’t just a bang like a cannon shot, but a prolonged, gigantic BBOOOOMMMM!!!
Hundreds of men and horses are ripped apart by the very force and magnitude of the explosion.  Many never know what killed them.  Hundreds of others feel their legs rent, arms yanked off, lungs punched flat.
When the explosion reaches its zenith, hundreds of feet high, thousands of tons of earth and material stop in midair and crash back down.  Many men and horses not hit initially are killed or injured now.   A great cloud of fire-filled dust and debris, propelled by the heat, continues to shoot skyward at great speed railing into a mushroom cloud that will be seen in Petersburg miles away.  It hangs malevolently over the salient.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster objects crash back to earth, Joshua included.  The immense explosion came so suddenly, the shock so great, he scarcely realizes what has happened.  The initial blastwave shot sand and pebbles into the side of his head and face, sandblasting the face and hands to the flesh beneath.  Miraculously, nothing fatal has hit him yet. But he fully expects a mortal blow at any moment as he crashes to ground beyond the sandbagged perimeter of the Salient.  He lands flat on his back, his head jolting hard against the now powdery loam on top.  He lays thus for what seems an eternity, is in reality just seconds.  He opens his eyes to see the whole world rushing down on him.  He will die now, he thinks.