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Redemption’s Edge

  Prologue

  May, 1865

  Persistent, thundering explosions enveloped the area in an unending drumming that caused otherwise courageous men to cover their ears and recoil on the ground. Bullets whizzed past as twelve pound cannonballs exploded all around them, shattering everything and everyone in their path.

  The incessant screams of those injured and dying intermingled with the shouts of officers who tried in vain to rally their men for a counterattack. The dark night sky became the backdrop for brilliant flashes of white and orange, which turned red as the smoke wafted upwards, choking the air and reducing visibility to a few short yards.

  The general controlled his horse with expert movements, while commanding those around him with stern, calm orders that belied his inner turmoil. His aide, a man two years younger, screamed, then fell from his horse, grasping his chest as blood soaked through his clothes.

  He had no time to stop and help the wounded soldier as others looked to him for a miracle he knew didn’t exist. Outnumbered and outgunned, his troops, although brave and battle seasoned, were no match for the onslaught before them.

  “Retreat!” His command rang out over the gunfire a moment before an explosion rocked the ground in front of him. He worked to control his horse, and almost succeeded—until a second explosion crushed everything in sight. The stallion bucked, panic overshadowing the general’s skill at directing the fifteen hundred pound animal. A third volley sent dirt, rock, and shrapnel in all directions.

  Blood stained everything in sight. A thunderous war cry left the general’s lips. His body thrashed as his weight tilted and his arms flailed in midair. He reached up, hands grasping for purpose, yet found nothing except open air.

  “General Pelletier, wake up.” The major’s hands gentled on the general’s body as the convulsions subsided. The thrashing stopped and the general’s eyes opened to a sliver of daylight penetrating the slim opening in the tent.

  “You’ve had another dream, sir.”

  Pelletier remained motionless a moment, focusing on his aide, the man who’d died in his dream, then drew in a shaky breath as he pushed himself up.

  “How long this time?” He scrubbed a hand over his face and walked to a small table holding a metal bowl and pitcher.

  “A couple of minutes. Not long.” The major held out a towel as the general splashed water on his face and neck, letting it drip onto his sweat-soaked shirt.

  Brigadier General Dax Pelletier slipped into a clean shirt, tucked it into his pants, then pulled on the well-worn boots he favored. As he accepted the belt and sword his aide offered, a shout came from outside the tent.

  The major stepped into the sunlight and up to a young officer who stood at attention, holding the reins to his horse in one hand and a message in the other.

  “I’m looking for General Pelletier.”

  “I’m his aide. I’ll be sure the general gets it.” He took the message and looked at the man before him, who couldn’t be more than eighteen years old. “Go get yourself some food—and some sleep.”

  He returned to the tent. “A message for you, sir.”

  Dax opened and scanned the note, disbelief crossing his face. He glanced at his aide, then back at the words on paper. “Did you read this?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox. The war’s over.”

  ~~~~~