Levi stood at a loose attention, his brother Emrys next to him, the other two hundred and sixty odd men in two lines spread out between the two batteries that they were ostensibly guarding. It was getting late in the day, the occasional wild cannonball screamed nearby, the smoke from the batteries blinding them to the front for moments as they fired. Levi couldn't see much, the peach orchard to the west had been a maelstrom of give and take all day between the Union and Confederate troops who fought over it. The Taylor brothers stood on Levi's left side, Patrick with dark hair falling out of his blue cap, his chin and upper lip sporting heavy facial hair, was writing in his diary.

"We're spread too thin." Emrys said, speaking loudly to be heard over the rattle of musket fire and the booms of the cannons.

Levie scanned the area ahead of him, his gold yellow eyes paying careful attention. A gentle slope down a farmer's field that went down into a little creek called Plum Run. He noticed it too, there was a big gap between where they stood and where the union line continued to either side of them. The 1st Minnesota were hardened veterans by now. After fighting campaigns for three years with the Union Army of the Potomac their numbers, though never great, had been whittled to the two hundred and sixty-two men who now made up the regiment, nearly a hundred and fifty less than a fighting strength regiment.

"I agree," Levi responded. "Sickles pushed too far, he should have just held Cemetery Ridge and blasted those rebs into oblivion as they marched to us."

The regiment had been held in reserve all day, which was just fine for Levi. They stood on top of the ridge and had watched the battle unfold. The Minnesotans had arrived late in the day yesterday and so had set up camp in the rear. Then ordered to guard the batteries in reserve in case the battle went poorly for them. Although Levi didn't know what two hundred and sixty men could do if the battle did go poorly.

There was a disturbance that rippled through the line, men pointing forward. Levi looked and he saw what was causing the commotion, blue dressed men running from the peach orchard, straight at them in the rear. The front had broken, gray clad individuals could be seen lining up outside the trees and firing into the retreating backs of the Union soldiers.

Levi heard Colonel Colvill swear off to his right, he was near the end of the line looking through some spotting glasses. "If those rebs push through our center here they will turn and roll up the whole right flank of the army!" the Colonel said to a junior officer. Levi looking forward again, his golden eyes could see four sets of flags bobbing over the long gray line that had emerged from the orchard and was coming fast at them, four regiments heading straight for them, over fifteen hundred men.

A mounted man came thundering fast, jerking hard on the reins to skid his horse to a stop near the Colonel, it was General Hancock.

"My god! Is this all the men we have here? What regiment is this?" General Hancock yelled out to Colonel Colvill.

"Sir! The 1st Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, Two hundred and sixty-two men General!" Colonel Colvill saluted with his sword and responded. 

General Hancock stood in his stirrups and pointed at the advancing Confederates. "Colonel, do you see those colors?"

Colvill looked back out at the advancing flags, waving over more than a thousand men, and nodded the affirmative.

"Then take them!" Hancock yelled.

"We will try, sir!" Colvill saluted again.

 Hancock whirled his horse to organize a defense with the time the suicidal command would buy him.

Emrys looked at Levi, an icicle had stabbed his chest as the General gave his order. This would be the last moments on earth for most of them, with that one command, and every man knew it.

"FIX!" the preemptive command rang out from the sergeants, two hundred and sixty-two hands reached down to the blades held in waist scabbards, the normal whisp of so much cloth moving at once drowned out by the booms of the cannons to either side. "BAYONETS!" the second half of the command came out, the blades whisked out and rattled at the ends of the muskets as they were pushed down and twisted, locking them in place.

"The regiment will move forward at the double quick! Arms at the ready!" The glinting bayonets came off shoulders and held at forty-five degrees, blades ready to stab into flesh. "March!" hundreds of left feet moved, and the line jumbled for a second as the slow jog came together at a matched speed.

Levi could feel his heart pounding faster, the wolf inside desperate to get out with the imminent melee that was about to ensue. He glanced at his brother, Emrys' eyes glinted, and he had a hungry smile on his face. Emrys reveled in this war, he thrived. The brothers always volunteered for night watch or a raid. Emrys because the night allowed him to take his wolf form and hunt the enemy, and Levi to keep his brother's blood lust in check.

As they got closer to the gray line spread before them, they watched as there was a pause. To the enemy that outnumbered them six to one, it seemed insane that this rag tag regiment was coming for them. Levi watched as muskets came up, wavered a moment, leveled off, and then an acrid smoke wall exploded, hiding them from sight. Minie balls whizzed and ripped the air all around them. Men fell on every side screaming or silent, still the Minnesotans jogged, maintaining the line. A second volley ripped into them; more men went down.

"CHARGE!" Colonel Colvill screamed over the battle noise.

"HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAAAAAAAAHH!" The regiment yelled out; a meager thing given their small numbers. Levi heard Emrys join in next to him, but his yell was more of a howl.

Just before the small trees that were on this side of the creek bed, many gray clad soldiers appeared scrambling up the little embankment. They went wide-eyed as the steel of the Minnesotans met them at the top, the little regiment crashing into them like a blue wave on a gray rocky shore.

Levi plunged his bayonet into the man in front of him, they locked eyes as the man dropped his weapon to grasp the musket that had pierced him, Levi growled, twisted, and pulled the blade out. He kicked the man down and jumped into the melee of the creek bed.

Emrys had stabbed, pulled out the bayonet, aimed and fired at a second man. He was howling in delight at the bloodshed all around them. Levi swung the butt of his musket, blocking a rebel's bayonet to the side, then jabbed the heavy butt into the man's face, his nose exploding in red. As he grabbed his shattered nose, Levi swung back around and stabbed the bayonet into him again. He turned and saw a rebel leveling a musket at Emrys, Levi fired from the hip, his bullet tore into the man's thigh. The man fired, but his bullet went wide, his leg giving out. Emerys jumped on him, stabbing with his heavy bowie knife he carried.

"Hold here! Form up here!" Colvill was motioning the remaining men into a line on this side of the creek. Levi saw in surprise that the rebels had retreated to the opposite bank and were forming up as well. He got back into line, standing with maybe a foot gap between each man. He began to methodically reload his musket as he had drilled for hundreds of hours and many battles before. "Show them Minnesotan marksmanship men! Fire at will!"

With only a few dozen yards between them, the brutal slugging match began. Volley after volley was exchanged across the creek. Many of the Minnesotans found cover behind trees or rocks, the small numbers making more of a skirmish line than a proper battle line.

Levi could hear Emrys laughing as he loaded, aimed, fired, loaded, aimed, fired. Levie scanned in front of him, he reached his hand down, lifted the cartridge lid, brought the paper up, bit off the end, poured the powder down the barrel, spit the ball in, wadded the paper, seated the ramrod pushed the load down and tamped it. Turning the rod over, seating it back under the barrel, a bullet whizzed and clipped his ear, he ducked from the pain but kept going, pulled out a primer and placed it under the hammer, cocked, shouldered the butt stock. He aimed down the barrel and waited, a rebel stood from loading, and started to raise his own musket. Levi pulled the trigger, smoke blinded him from his target, he brought the butt down to the ground to start the process over, but he kept his head up, the smoke cleared a bit, and he saw the man sprawled out on his back on the far side.

"Their enveloping us!" A sergeant came and grabbed his elbow and pulled him back, the right side of the line turning to face the threat as the rebels came to surround them. "Do not give them an inch!" The order was screamed up and down the line.

Levi's mouth was dry, his lips burned from the saltpeter, and were black from the powder. He glanced around quickly, searching for Emrys. He was leaning on a tree reloading. There was blood covering his coat, but Levi couldn't tell if it was his own or someone else's. He fired on a rebel that was running to cross the creek, dropping him halfway, to make the muddy water flow red. He pulled out another cartridge and bit off the end. As he spat the ball into the barrel, he looked to his right and saw a blue line coming across the field. The reserves had arrived to plug the hole with the time the Minnesotans had bought them with blood. He took aim once more at the smoky wall that indicated the enemy and fired blindly, not bothering to pick out an individual.

"Fall back! Reserves are coming fall back!" The orders finally came, "1st Minnesota to the rear!"

Levi grabbed a wounded man and helped pull him up the bank. He looked back and found Emrys making his way up as well. His left arm was dangling useless at his side.

"Retire in good order! Form line and fall back!" Looking forward again, Levi saw the 1st Minnesota flag and hurried towards it with his burden. The man could walk and started to make his own way to the medical tent far in the rear. He was missing a hand.

Levi lined up and reloaded his musket, Emrys came and stood behind him being wounded, but he still smiled, the white teeth with pronounced canines making a stark contrast to the blackened and blood smeared face. Looking to his left, he found the flag in the center of the line. If it could be called a line, as they started walking backwards, several more men fell to stray musket balls coming from the trees. As the blue line went around the small band to push back against the attack, many whoops and cheers went out to the Minnesotans.

"About face! March at the quick!" The line turned and marched calmy back the way they had come. Levi glanced at the sun expecting it to be low on the horizon, but it seemed like it hadn't moved at all, they had only spent fifteen minutes in Plum Run exchanging volleys with the overwhelming enemy.

He could feel the wolf in him, barely satisfied with the carnage and death he had been able to exact. He was glad he had been able to keep control in the creek bed, the smell of blood always made the wolf go crazy.

Back in the rear, they took a count of the casualties. Of the two hundred and sixty-two men who had marched into the creek bed, only forty-seven remained fit for duty. Levi knew that with the quick healing ability his brother possessed, that would be forty-eight tomorrow. Still, 85% casualties hit hard to men who had campaigned together from their home state for three years.

"When we get home, Emrys," Levi said, addressing his brother quietly. "I'm taking Molly and the boys west. Out of Minnesota to the territories, where we can have our own ranch and be away from all this."

Emerys scoffed, "Your inner wolf won't let you live peacefully, brother. we are born for this."

Levi laughed scornfully, "Maybe, but there will always be something to fight, you know that. You're welcome to come with me."

Emerys gave a non-committal grunt in reply. He was licking his arm and earning a few stares in the process, though the brothers' odd ways were accepted by now.

Levi saw Isaac Taylor writing in his brother's diary. "Where's Patrick?" He asked softly.

Isaac finished writing and wordlessly handed the open book to Levi, who read it. The owner of this diary was killed in a charge July 2nd, 1863, at Gettysburg.

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Authors note.

The charge of the 1st Minnesota described above did actually happen much as I have recorded. Patrick and Isaac Taylor were real people whose presence at the battle I have borrowed for my own narrative goals. Patrick was killed in the charge and his brother Isaac wrote the final entry into the diary as I have written. Colonel Colvill survived the charge, though he was hit by three musket balls and needed a cane the rest of his life. The brave charge of the 1st Minnesota is regarded as the saving grace for the Union Army at Gettysburg. Without the time they bought for General Hancock to plug the gap that General Sickles recklessly opened by pushing too far, instead of a victory for the Union after the 3rd day it could have been a major loss on the 2nd. The 85% casualties sustained by the unit was the single worst casualty count by any unit during the war on either side by mere percentages if not numbers lost. 262 men answered the call to plug a hole in the line and took on what some historians estimate to be 1600 Alabamians, whose attack they managed to blunt with sheer ferocity and determination.

I hope you have enjoyed this first entry, Levi has much more in store for him ahead when he gets back home to Minnesota. Hope you join me for the adventure!