On Hallowed Ground

Forewarning: I apologize if this is boring, but I need to jot down my thoughts before they fade to nothing, like the smoke of musket fire.


It's a long drive from Augusta, Maine to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It's fragmented with pit stops. I leave from work at 9 and grab a shower at home (along with a goody bag provided by mom and dad). Driving after nine and a half hours of labor is frustrating and exhausting, but I arrive at my Captain's house in Lowell, Massachusetts at midnight, quickly followed by sleep, which is abruptly interrupted at four in the morning.
"Nick, get your ass up," Captain Dave whispers.
Groggily, we pack our rifles, uniforms, and equipment into the car. On the outside, we have attached an antenna for our CB radio. First stop, Connecticut to meet up with boys from the 1st Maryland. I should mention here that I am a member of the 15th Alabama, Company G. Of course, this piece is mainly to remind myself of what I have done. But, should some poor soul find this, they'll probably wish to know some particulars.
Anyhow, I digress. Upon meeting up with several members of the 1st Maryland, whom I should describe in further detail soon, the convey headed out for Pennsylvania. A stop in New York resulted in breakfast, much needed at almost ten, when I'd been awake for six hours without food.
Here, I'll parlay while the rest of the boys eat. We have Geezer, the lady's man, who'll flirt with any woman, his age or less. Rocky is a full blooded Sicilian and funny as hell (that statement is true for all of them). Elvis, named for the King (only because he had a dream of meeting the King), is the most talkative, I'd say. And of course, Captain Laiche is an easy going, pipe smoking fella.