CHAPTER 1

The Texans had formed a line of battle across a road just east of Glorieta Pass. As the battle began, the sound of the Confederate artillery barrage reverberated from mountain to mountain. Despite being outnumbered, the Texas infantry and cavalry managed to maneuver from one rocky position to another until they forced the Union troops to retreat nearly a half mile to the rear of their original position. A charging column of Federal troops attempted a counterattack against the Texans, but they were immediately engaged by sharpshooters positioned in the hills on either side of the pass. After the sharpshooters sent volley after volley raining down on the Federal troops, decimating their ranks, the Texas cavalry charged forward and completely routed the attacking Federal troops.

The day was sunny with a bright blue sky and a slight chill in the air. Leroy Wiley shifted his muscular body for position and tossed to move one blonde hair that had escaped his cap and fallen down over his brown eyes. He could see for miles in every direction. He smiled and thought to himself, The battle's going our way. It won't be long now.

Leroy heard his company commander shout above the noise of the battlefield, "We've got 'em this time, so give 'em hell, boys!"

Leroy could see the captain running up and down the line of troops encouraging his men until a volley from the Union lines sent a Minié ball through the captain's chest, killing him instantly.

Whizzing round filled the air as the Union forces established a deadly crossfire that seemed to blanket the entire battlefield. Leroy realized that he had been a bit premature in his earlier assessment of the battle. He looked up at the sun.

Damn, he thought. It's almost like the sun's standing still. If we don't whip 'em by nightfall, maybe they'll just break off the fight and pull back when it gets dark. But nightfall had better hurry.

While Leroy's brother, Carter, was reloading his rifle, he hunkered down, folding his six-foot frame into the most inconspicuous position that he could manage. Perspiration dripped from his straight brown hair and stung his brown eyes, the only feature he had in common with his brother. Two inches taller than Leroy, Carter was thin and wiry and not as physically strong as his brother. Their features were similar, but Carter's face was intelligent, almost delicate, whereas Leroy's face looked as if it had been chiseled from granite.

Carter was older than both Leroy and Clayton, their other brother. Clayton was constantly on Carter's mind. When the three brothers had enlisted they had intended to stay together, but Clayton had been assigned to an infantry regiment together with most of the boys from their home in Smith County, Texas. Carter blamed himself for not objecting. He had been told that it would probably do no good and that it might even go against them, but nevertheless, he regretted that he hadn't even tried.

Carter could hear the whistle of the Minié balls as they flew overhead and impacted all around him. Suddenly, the soldier next to him cried out as he fell backwards. A Minié ball had ripped through the man's left shoulder, soaking his gray jacket in blood. Carter shook his head in disbelief when the man staggered back to his feet and resumed firing. As the fighting intensified, Carter moved over to be closer to Leroy.

"Just think of it as target practice, Carter," Leroy spoke as he squeezed off another round. He knew how much his brother, a lawyer by training, hated to kill anything. Leroy, on the other hand, was determined to kill enough Yanks to make the battle's balance sheet a bit more even.

"You don't have to try to make me feel better, Leroy. I know what I have to do," Carter said a bit defensively, but Leroy wasn't listening. He was trying to hear what one of the officers was saying, but the noise of the battle made this almost impossible. "They're coming again, men!" the officer shouted.

"Concentrate your fire to the right."

"Damn," Leroy pointed his rifle at the charging line of blue. "There's just too many of them. I thought we had them on the run back there."

"Maybe we ought to pull back," Carter shouted.

"No chance of that now. We gotta hold on, then maybe we can push 'em back."

"I don't see that happening," Carter yelled as he struggled to reload his rifle again.

"Well, Carter," Leroy's voice trailed off as he squeezed off another round. "We gotta make it happen. Just think of all those fine Yankee rifles they'll drop if they have to make a run for it."

"Right now, Leroy, I'd just as soon stay put," Carter replied. He took a deep breath and added, "Rifles or no rifles."

"Ah, Carter," Leroy laughed, "We can't do that. It'll spoil all the fun."

"There's no fun to be had, Leroy." Carter shook his head sadly as he looked across the battlefield. "Not in a place like this."

Both sides kept up a steady stream of fire as the battle raged. The Union troops had suffered heavy losses during the early stages of the fighting, but they showed no sign of giving up. They reloaded their guns and sent a hailstorm of bullets raining down on the still resolute Confederates.

The rebels charged once more but were met with such deadly fire that the companies leading the were almost completely annihilated. Bodies were everywhere. Torn flesh and shattered bone lay in crimson puddles of blood. Carter felt sick to his stomach as he stepped over one man whose head had been ripped from the rest of his body by a cannon ball. The dead seemed to be the lucky ones, as the wounded moaned and cried for their loved ones.

As they made their way across the battlefield, Leroy didn't bother looking at the wounded. He kept his full attention focused on the enemy in front of him. Finally, they reached a cluster of trees that ran alongside a shallow mountain stream. The trees screened the Confederates momentarily, but Leroy and Carter could see Union troops moving forward, getting into position on the far side of the stream. "These are mighty thin woods to hide in." Leroy shook his head as he looked around. "I figure we're in a heap of trouble."

"I've felt that way since we left home," Carter whispered.

"Look over there." Leroy smiled. "Look at 'im. A Yankee officer all posed nice and straight on his fine, well-fed Yankee army issued mount. I'm gonna pick him off and get that horse. I like the looks of 'im."

"You can't do that!"

"Won't be much of a problem. The cocky son-of-a-bitch is too far out in front of his men. He's showing off and just asking for it."

"Leroy, I can't believe you're thinking about stealing that man's horse in the middle of this battle. Hell, you don't know if you're even gonna be alive to ride the damn thing."

"Watch this," Leroy aimed carefully and calmly squeezed the trigger. The Union officer's hat flew off. He was obviously startled. The officer raised up and looked around; he had an almost quizzical expression on his face.

"Over here, you son-of-a-bitch," Leroy called out while he reloaded. The officer turned and looked in their direction.

"Leroy, shut up. I think he heard you." Carter pleaded.

"Hope so," Leroy finished reloading and brought his rifle up to fire a second shot. "I want him to be just a little bit confused as he's going through the gates of hell."

Horror was etched on Carter's face as he watched Leroy's next shot hit the front of the officer's head. It seemed to explode in a shower of red.

"Stay here," Leroy held his hand out and motioned for Carter to stay hidden. "I'm gonna get my new horse before that Yank bleeds all over it."

"Leroy, for God's sake!"

Leroy started to make his way toward the horse and rider. The Yankee officer was slumped forward but still seated in the saddle. He was obviously dead and what was left of his head was lying against the neck of the frightened animal.

"Hold your position!" One of the Confederate officers yelled when he noticed Leroy moving forward. Leroy stopped and looked around. Carter motioned for him to come back. Leroy could see the concern on Carter's face. It suddenly occurred to him how much courage Carter had, to fight in spite of his fear ­ not that Leroy didn't know fear; he did. But he had learned to deal with it while facing the hardest-fighting, most ruthless army in the world, the Comanche Indians.

Leroy ignored the officer's order and continued moving in the direction of the horse and its dead rider. He paused momentarily as he scanned the wood line. Suddenly he ran forward and grabbed the reins of the horse. With one quick continuous movement he shoved the dead Yankee officer out of the saddle, mounted the horse, then raced back to the cheering Confederate lines through a hail of gunfire.

"Damn fool," Carter heard one officer yell. Carter agreed with him completely.

Leroy tied his new horse to a bush in a ravine that gave it some protection. By the time Leroy rejoined Carter the forward units of the Confederate troops had received orders to resume their assault against the Union position. After some initial success, the attack began to falter.

A second line was sent in, but they too met the same fate. The Wiley brothers' company was part of the third wave of Confederates that charged forward to attack the entrenched Union line. Under heavy fire, they advanced, and began to return the Yankee fire. Cannon shells and Minié balls ripped through the air. Horses and men fell around them. Suddenly a wave of Union troops rose out of their positions and charged the rebels. Carter, who was already confused and disoriented by the noise and smoke that blanketed the battlefield, felt as if he and his comrades were about to be overwhelmed as the Yanks' line of battle steadily advanced across the rough terrain.

Damn, thought Leroy, as he looked behind him to see if any more Confederate infantry was coming to their support. This aint gonna be no Sunday picnic. After repeated assaults by the Union infantry and cavalry, the Texans were sent reeling backwards. The Union troops were firing as many rounds of cartridges in each one of their attacks as the Confederates had been issued for the entire engagement. Most of the Texans had held their positions until their cartridge boxes were empty. The Confederate losses continued to mount.

"They're coming at us from three sides. There's just too many of 'em," Leroy shouted.

Uncertainty and confusion spread among the Confederate ranks. Most of their officers lay dead or wounded so badly that they were incapable of assuming command of the disorganized troops. Leroy and Carter stood with their backs almost touching and continued to fire at the approaching Union army. Although he seldom allowed himself the luxury of laying blame, Leroy thought of General Sibley, their much maligned commander.

"Damn Sibley!" Leroy muttered through clenched teeth. "That stupid bastard is responsible for all this." "Things are looking bad, Leroy," Carter shouted to his brother over the din of battle. "What are we supposed to do? Looks like we gotta pull back."

"If we can," Leroy turned and fired at a charging Yankee cavalryman and then watched him fall to the ground. Briefly he thought of trying to catch the Union horse but immediately dismissed the idea as too risky.

"After whipping their asses at Valverde, you'd think we'd have 'em just where we want 'em. Instead, here we are in a devil of a fix." Anger and disgust flared in Leroy's eyes. "All this thanks to our beloved commander, Henry Hopkins Sibley, who ain't here with us, I might add." He spat the words. "Once the bluebelly cavalry got mixed in with our infantry, any fool could see what we had to do,"

"Somebody's gotta do something." Carter reloaded quickly. "They're tearing us apart!"