Page 16 - Crossing the Deadline

MICHAEL
SHOULDERS

Henry Dorman, Big Tennessee, and I are sitting, our backs against the
southern wall, when, without warning, a cannon shot sails from the

eastern hilltop, over the fort, and lands in the cornfield to our west.
The explosion is close enough to make lanterns rattle against the fort’s
walls. Soldiers who had fallen asleep fumble for their guns and peer
out from their stations into the darkness.

“That shot didn’t miss the fort by much!” somebody yells from the
eastern wall. “Recalculation will bring it closer.”
Colonel Lathrop runs from the tiny building used as the command
center. “What do you see?” he asks Major Lilly.

“Nothing. It’s hard to see ’em with darkness and trees giving them
cover.” STEPHEN’S JOURNEY
“How could they miss the fort?” I ask. CROSSING THE DEADLINE
“They didn’t miss. It’s a warning shot.” THROUGH THE

I clench a gun with one hand and my bugle with the other and CIVIL WAR
stare into purple darkness, waiting. Each minute seems like an hour.
Everybody sits in silent anticipation for a second shot.

Manufactured in the United States.

SBP A NOVEL BY MICHAEL SHOULDERS