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vatisitgrandpapa t1_jbc0tbr wrote

The normally differing color and condition of their uniforms didn't matter much any more. Both wore tattered rags stained mainly red, and most of it wasn't their blood. The soldier sitting on the left silently passed a tin container to the other young man.

"It's coffee, the good stuff shipped down from up Boston way," the first soldier reassured the other when he glanced suspiciously at the steaming liquid.

A long, surprisingly companionable silence stretched between the pair before the second soldier passed a rough, likely homemade pipe and a sweaty cloth bag full of tobacco.

"That there's the best 'baccer you're bound to find in this whole country," he bragged, "and that's about ALL we got in abundance. Tobaccer... and lice."

The first soldier laughed as he gratefully accepted the pipe. His side was low on tobacco and the other fellow's side was short on coffee. It was a hell of a thing. They had probably been shooting at each other in the chaos of the battle yesterday. Now they were sitting here trading delicacies as pleasant as a Sunday in a park.

"Say, Reb... What do you figure they'll call this battle?" the first soldier asked, puffing away at his borrowed pipe with something approaching contentment.

"They can call it the Fight at Fort Fornication for all I care," the second soldier said after a long swallow of the hot coffee. "Hell I don't know Yank, probably Sharpsburg after the town."

Yank all but rolled his eyes, distracted from trying to blow smoke rings.

"No chance, it will be called Antietam after the stream," he insisted and they argued about that good-naturedly for a few minutes. It helped to pass the time.

There was a truce on for now as both sides tried to collect their dead from the battlefield, from the bridge over that creek. From the sunken road they were already calling in hushed whispers the Bloody Lane. From the cornfield where more lay dead than anywhere. That was where they now sat, watching.

"Well, hell.. I'm going to get back to it Reb," the Yank said standing to his feet with a deep sigh. He extended his hand a bit awkwardly but sincerely to the other man.

Surprised, the Reb drained the rest of his coffee and handed it back before clasping the other man's hand.

"I'm right sorry y'all had to invade our land," he said almost jokingly, but there was genuine regret in his eyes.

"It was you southern sort invading this time if you'll recall," the Yank replied dryly.

They both laughed and stood there for a second longer before the Yank handed the pipe back and they went their separate ways.

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goathill t1_jbd8dk8 wrote

I appreciate the accurate history behind this story. Well done!!

2

vatisitgrandpapa t1_jbdrsnb wrote

Thank you! I want to write a full length story about the battle one day so it was fresh in my mind from research. More died in the cornfield than on the beach at Normandy or on 9/11. It's hard to imagine.

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