Family Ties

Jacob sighted down his rifle. He picked which man he was going to shoot first. Or not. As that section had been blown to bits by a cannonball. But the hole was filled immediately. Now where his first target was stood a boy no more then seventeen.

Okay, Jacob. Calm down. Soon they'll be in range. It's up to you to keep Jacob Junior safe. And Mary. And Sean, possibly. Okay, just a few more feet.

Just then he cracked off his first shot. It cut through the man right next to the seventeen-year-old. With Jacob's shot, the whole wall became a wall of smoke. The first Union line fell.

Jacob passed back his rifle. After that shot it was just, basically, shoot and go. Jacob fired another shot. Passed back that rifle. Took the next one. Shoot. Pass. Grab. Shoot. He followed this routine. Over and over again.

Then Jacob stopped. This time he decided to take aim. He looked through the smoke cloud. Then he saw an officer, sword drawn. Screaming at the top of his lungs. The Jacob fired. The officer crumpled down, dead. He had a bullet in his head. Back the shoot, pass, grab, shoot routine again.

* * *

That night, Jacob wrote another letter to his wife.

Dearest Mary,

I love you so much. All the way, even in the bottom of my heart.

Today, we were victorious on the battlefield. The Union losses were heavy, but luckily, we didn't lose too many men. Jacob Junior is well. As am I. I hope everything is okay at home. PLEASE take care of yourself. I pray to God that you are okay. And that Sean is in good hands.

Love and God bless you,

Jacob

Jacob looked up from the letter. His son was standing over him, and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Father! Can't you hear the cries of the wounded? How are you immune to it?"

"My son, no one can be immune to pain and suffering. I hear them, but I realize there is nothing we can do. If we go out there, we will surely be shot. By the Yankees, if not our own men."

"But Father, the--"

"Jacob, hush. There is nothing you can do. You are eighteen now. You can make your own decisions. I won't stop you. But I beg that you don't go out there. If you do, you might not come back."

"Yes Father."

Then his son exited the tent. And some number of feet outside of the tent he yelled, "Damn those Billy-Yanks. Damn them to hell. If You don't, then I will make their live a living one!" He paused. "Don't worry, wounded. I'm coming in after you." The second part he said softly, so only the Confederate camp could hear.

Jacob rush out of the tent, "Son, you think about this damn thing you going to do. Think about me. Think about your mother. Think about Sean."

Jacob Junior gave his father a dirty look, then marched off to fetch some of the wounded.

* * *

He never came back. The next day Jacob cried his eyes out. I should have stopped him. I should have, I should have. Why?

Then the battle resumed. Jacob kept praying that his sons were okay. But he kept up his routine. Shoot. Pass. Grab. Shoot. Then something unknown possessed him to take aim through the smoke.

Jacob surveyed the scene, looking for the perfect target. Then on the sidelines he saw something. What in the name of hell is that? Damn these old eyes of mine. He strained his eyes farther, trying to see the lump on the landscape. Just then, and officer walked in front of his line of sight. Bam. Officer down. Pass Back. Grab. Take aim. Why am I aiming? He focused on the mound. Oh my God! That's--that's a Confederate soldier. Could it be Jacob Junior? Just then Jacob took aim, and nailed a Union solder, through the eye.

But as he let off that shot, something ripped through his shoulder.