Shiloh Church April 6, 1862
Noticing the youth next to him trembling, Cahal reassured the young man, “Hell, boy, it’s just like shootin’ squirrels back home. Only difference is, squirrels don’t shoot back. So ya gotta get them before they get you.”
Soon the air resembled a pink blizzard as the bullet-shattered blossoms fluttered to the ground amid a confusion of terror, noise, and gore. The sweet scent of April flowers and peach blossoms mingled with the acrid odor of gunpowder and the coppery smell of blood.
Pushing hard for hours, K was near exhaustion, but the Union forces were creeping backward. The firing became routine. Take a step and fire; reload; take a step and fire; reload. The repetition was soothing. For every step the Confederates took forward, the Union moved back a step. Progress for both sides was hampered by dead and wounded bodies lying everywhere. Blue was hard to distinguish from grey when covered in the red of the battlefield.