Prisoner in Time (Time travel) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Christopher David Petersen
hurried down the hill toward the retreating men. All sense and logic seemed to fade as raw determination replaced his reasoning. Arles was now focused. He had his foe on the run and the taste of blood on his tongue. Nothing would deter him.
Racing down the hill, he fired his weapon, then stopped. With a quick roll of his wrists, he unfurled his proud Confederate flag from the gun barrel. He waved it above his head for all to see and continued on. He ran a few more yards, stopped, reloaded his rifle and fired on the escaping enemy once more.
“Wooo... wooo… wooo…” Arles shouted at the top of his lungs, yodeling the infamous Rebel yell.
Reloading on the run, he now continued his crazed pursuit. Twenty seconds after his last shot, he fired again. The bullet sailed through the air, descending lower in elevation toward the Union masses. Moments later, one man cried out in agony as the lead mini-ball tore through his wool jacket and embedded in his spine. The unlucky soldier fell forward and impacted the ground. He lay motionless, trying to breathe in spite of his paralysis. Seconds later, he was dead.
Arles let out another blood curdling Rebel yell, reloaded and continued forward. A satisfying smile curled up the corners of his mouth. He felt invigorated… he felt alive.
-----*-----*-----*-----
A half mile away, high up on the distant bluff, Gen. Hood watched in curious fascination at the spectacle unfolding beyond his orders. Looking through his field glasses, he watched a curly red-haired soldier, wave a Confederate flag above his head, jump from his protective trench and chase the enemy downhill. Suddenly, a rush of excitement raced through him as he focused on the recklessly brave soldier. Standing in his stirrups, he bent forward subconsciously, trying to get a closer look.
“My God!” he shouted loudly, unsure of the fate of the lone man.
“Sir, what is it?” Captain Gabriel responded, now riding up beside his commander.
He passed his binoculars to his officer and pointed.
“I don’t know if that man is inspiringly brave or profoundly stupid.”
The Captain stared through the binoculars at the heroic sight. He became mesmerized by the lone soldier waving his flag and chasing the enemy while firing. He felt a rush of pride to know the man he just spotted.
“Sir, that’s Sergeant Moore,” Captain Gabriel shouted. “Sergeant Arles Moore.”
“My God man. How could you possibly know that?” Gen. Hood asked, in surprised tone.
“Flaming red curly hair, Sir,” Captain Gabriel responded. “I recognize him from Captain Livingston’s unit.
Still looking through the field glasses, he felt a gloved hand pull them from his eyes. Momentarily surprised, he released his grip on the binoculars.
“You don’t mind if I have these back, do you Captain?” Gen. Hood asked in joking tone.
“Sorry Sir. It is an inspiring sight.”
With a concurring nod, he quickly moved the glasses to his eyes. Staring intently, he said, “That brave man, Arles Moore, is a hero. He deserves a medal.”
-----*-----*-----*-----
Standing at the top of Compton’s Hill, a thousand men stared in awe at their brave comrade. Their disbelief was eclipsed only by their pride. With pride also came a sense of responsibility. Their friend, their comrade, had crossed from the safety of the hilltop and was now bringing the fight to the enemy. Their sense of duty could not allow him to fight alone. One by one, they leaped from the safety of the trench and headed down the hill to join him.
Arles continued his rapid chase. Firing three rounds a minute while on the run, he was a force unto himself. He stopped for only a moment to pull back the hammer on his musket and fire. With the enemy now only two hundred yards away, his accuracy became more deadly, felling a higher number of soldiers with each yard he gained.
Arles stopped for a moment. He
Racing down the hill, he fired his weapon, then stopped. With a quick roll of his wrists, he unfurled his proud Confederate flag from the gun barrel. He waved it above his head for all to see and continued on. He ran a few more yards, stopped, reloaded his rifle and fired on the escaping enemy once more.
“Wooo... wooo… wooo…” Arles shouted at the top of his lungs, yodeling the infamous Rebel yell.
Reloading on the run, he now continued his crazed pursuit. Twenty seconds after his last shot, he fired again. The bullet sailed through the air, descending lower in elevation toward the Union masses. Moments later, one man cried out in agony as the lead mini-ball tore through his wool jacket and embedded in his spine. The unlucky soldier fell forward and impacted the ground. He lay motionless, trying to breathe in spite of his paralysis. Seconds later, he was dead.
Arles let out another blood curdling Rebel yell, reloaded and continued forward. A satisfying smile curled up the corners of his mouth. He felt invigorated… he felt alive.
-----*-----*-----*-----
A half mile away, high up on the distant bluff, Gen. Hood watched in curious fascination at the spectacle unfolding beyond his orders. Looking through his field glasses, he watched a curly red-haired soldier, wave a Confederate flag above his head, jump from his protective trench and chase the enemy downhill. Suddenly, a rush of excitement raced through him as he focused on the recklessly brave soldier. Standing in his stirrups, he bent forward subconsciously, trying to get a closer look.
“My God!” he shouted loudly, unsure of the fate of the lone man.
“Sir, what is it?” Captain Gabriel responded, now riding up beside his commander.
He passed his binoculars to his officer and pointed.
“I don’t know if that man is inspiringly brave or profoundly stupid.”
The Captain stared through the binoculars at the heroic sight. He became mesmerized by the lone soldier waving his flag and chasing the enemy while firing. He felt a rush of pride to know the man he just spotted.
“Sir, that’s Sergeant Moore,” Captain Gabriel shouted. “Sergeant Arles Moore.”
“My God man. How could you possibly know that?” Gen. Hood asked, in surprised tone.
“Flaming red curly hair, Sir,” Captain Gabriel responded. “I recognize him from Captain Livingston’s unit.
Still looking through the field glasses, he felt a gloved hand pull them from his eyes. Momentarily surprised, he released his grip on the binoculars.
“You don’t mind if I have these back, do you Captain?” Gen. Hood asked in joking tone.
“Sorry Sir. It is an inspiring sight.”
With a concurring nod, he quickly moved the glasses to his eyes. Staring intently, he said, “That brave man, Arles Moore, is a hero. He deserves a medal.”
-----*-----*-----*-----
Standing at the top of Compton’s Hill, a thousand men stared in awe at their brave comrade. Their disbelief was eclipsed only by their pride. With pride also came a sense of responsibility. Their friend, their comrade, had crossed from the safety of the hilltop and was now bringing the fight to the enemy. Their sense of duty could not allow him to fight alone. One by one, they leaped from the safety of the trench and headed down the hill to join him.
Arles continued his rapid chase. Firing three rounds a minute while on the run, he was a force unto himself. He stopped for only a moment to pull back the hammer on his musket and fire. With the enemy now only two hundred yards away, his accuracy became more deadly, felling a higher number of soldiers with each yard he gained.
Arles stopped for a moment. He
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