With the 9th Pennsylvania Cavalry Army of the Ohio Somewhere near Perryville, Kentucky October 8, 1862

Eighteen-year-old Asa Wallace Hickok clutched his well-worn blanket closer, eyeing the smoldering embers of his meager fire with suspicion. Horses whinnied in the darkness and the sound of heavy equipment being moved closer caused a shiver of apprehension. He and his regiment of Pennsylvania Volunteers were bivouacked on this hillside unsure of just what was going to happen next. The quiet of the late hours of the night hung eerily on his shoulders and despite the chill air a trickle of sweat ran down his back staining his already dust-covered blue serge uniform. Steam rose from the punctured tin of beans he was heating while his stomach growled. He and his comrades had slogged the muck and mire of the countryside all day long and had hunkered down now in a vain attempt to get some rest and maybe a morsel of food before the dawn. Water was scarce and the only source lay below them.

Johnny Reb was encamped across the narrow defile caused by the creek where earlier, unknown to either side, both had stopped. Water for both men and animals was getting scarce and the warring armies had sought out the little stream not realizing the "enemy" was so close by.

Asa spat the tobacco plug he was chewing into the cluster of dried leaves littering the ground. "Them 'Johnnies' in gray is callin' us 'Billy Yank,'" he muttered, grinning sourly at the hoots and catcalls that occasionally could be heard as the combatants settled themselves for the night. "Well, I don't know where that name comes from. I'm sure there's plenty of boys named 'Billy' here in these southern hills. Crazy these 'Johnnies' are, thinking they can just up and start shootin' at a Federal fort that's been protectin' their coast line for years. 'Course, I suppose those fancy Southern cotton plantation owners think they can do without us ordinary folk just fine."

Realizing that the two armies had stumbled across each other quite by accident while searching the drought-ridden countryside, Asa was sure the feeble flickers of their fires betrayed their location as well as those of the Rebs' did. "Strange how here in the dark we could almost be friends and yet tomorrow we'll be doing our best to kill each other." Reaching for the ash-covered tin of beans he gingerly removed it from the embers with his bandana-wrapped hand. Grub had become harder to come by as the troops moved farther away from their supply lines. They both were trying to live off the land but lately the pickings were mighty slim. The locals were none too friendly he'd discovered. It was hard to tell which side these Kentuckians were on. He peeled back the top of the can and spooned some into his mouth with a frown. What he wouldn't give for a dish of Grandma's chicken stew and a decent cup of coffee. He wondered if he would ever get a taste of home again.

A sound startled him and he hastily set his tin aside while reaching for his weapon. The rustle and scent of tobacco brought him to full alert until he heard a familiar voice whisper hoarsely, "That you brother?"

Asa exhaled, rolling back to his hunched over sitting position as he watched the dark figure of his older brother David crawl toward him from the shadows. David handed him the remainder of his hand-rolled smoke and the two sat silently watching the last of the small fire die. The live ember on the tip of the small cigarette flared suddenly. Asa cursed and hastily stubbed it out, breaking it apart and mixing the shreds with the spent ashes. "Damn," he muttered, "might just as well have put up a sign saying, here we are."

"You're too fussy, Ace," David chuckled. "Ole' Johnny's just as anxious about us seein' him. He knows we're here even better than we do 'cause he probably knows where he is and we sure as hell don't. I know I haven't the least idea. Now," he paused, "if we was home in our own mountains we'd be feelin' a lot better about our situation, I'd say." He shifted his weight and eased his back against the outcropping of rock and brush behind him. "Might as well just sit back and wait. I've been hearing the rumble of artillery being moved about for some time now. Morning is some time away yet but sure as shootin' they'll come a runnin' at first light. If we're lucky the sun will come up behind us and be in their faces. I swear I'm so turned around at this point I don't know which way is up much less east or west. I reckon we should be thankful there wasn't much of a moon tonight. Do you suppose the generals took that into consideration when they thought up this idea of our shooting each other to pieces tomorrow?" Taking a swig from his canteen, David handed it to Asa and grinned when he heard the boy's reaction to the jolt of homemade whiskey he had just swallowed.

"Where in the Holy Name of God did you come by that," Asa sputtered, "likely to burn the roof right off my mouth! Got any more?"

"Hah!" was the answer. "Don't you wish, but I think I can find some tomorrow if I'm still standin' at the end of the day."

Both brothers leaned back suddenly sobered by the reminder of where they were and what they were there for.

"Shut your crazy yaps," a voice from behind them hissed. "You idiots know voices carry in the dark almost as far as firelight does."

"Geez, lieutenant, they know we're here, same as we know they're there, been listenin' to their caterwaulin' for some time now. Might as well sit up and talk to each other seein' as how a lot of us won't be here after tomorrow."

"None of us will be here after tomorrow, dummy. We'll all have moved on. One way or the other," he added and crawled away.

Asa and David moved closer together and stretched out with feet toward what was left of the warmth from the fire. Asa's mind turned to home and family ... Grandpa's farm, the neighbor's smithy, the warm sun on one's face while plowing the fields. The whinny and sweat of the horses being shod or driven to pull the plow ... the scent of himself and his big brother as they worked along with their grandfather and uncles.

After their mother's death their father had left his three sons and their sister, Elizabeth, with their maternal grandparents. Letting his mind go back to what seemed to be a life he could hardly recall, he smiled while he dozed when the wonderful smell of Grandma's bread baking and those pies coming from the oven crept into his reverie. That "little man" she used to make from the pie dough scraps brought the sugary taste to his mouth and for a brief moment he was back in that kitchen watching her. He sniffed his damp sweaty uniform and the memory of the crisp, clean aroma from freshly laundered clothes drying in the sun teased his nostrils. That gentle, sweet scent full of sunshine and pure air reminded him of the lovely young woman who lived not too far up the road. Rebecca, he thought, I wonder what she is doing tonight. He looked at his brother who was gently snoring. I don't know if she writes to him, bein' as how he is so much older but she does write to Tom as well as me. At least that's what he says. Is that a good sign or a bad sign? She is a generous-hearted woman. I'll say that for her. Maybe I should have spoken for her before I left for this war? Sometimes I think maybe I am the dunce that David says I am. My tongue gets in the way whenever I try to say something that is really important to me. I guess I'll just have to hope that she knows how I feel. Women, folks say, are good at things...