The fields of wheat swayed in the sun. Jeb knew the scene would not stay peaceful long. Soon the fields would run red with blood and the warm summer air would be replaced with men's screams carried on an acidic haze of gunpowder. McHenry elbowed him, nodding forward. It was time for them to move. Jeb took a deep breath and crept forward with the other troops, careful to keep his head below the tops of the wheat. He'd read about this battle in history class. He knew how many men would die. He knew he was on the winning side, but the cost was still great.

Jeb thought back, while the eerie silence consumed everything around him. It had been less than a month since he'd wound up here. He'd been driving down an old country road on the outskirts of Javelin in 2004. He thought he'd been in an accident and maybe picked up by some of the Amish people who lived in Henniven County. But, as he recovered from his injuries, he started to realize that it wasn't 2004 at all. Somehow he'd found himself in the year 1863. He recognized the technology of the time as Civil War era. He was glad, when he finally understood what had happened, that they passed off his early mutterings as a "fever", and still accepted him into their folds. The H. L. Hunley had been sunk already, and was being re-commissioned. Jeb knew the submarine would be lost again in a battle against the United Stated Navy on February 17, 1864. He desperately wanted to get a hand on that sub, and to have someone listen to his thoughts and ideas on ways to better prepare the ship for the battles she would face. What was more, his great grandfather was lost on that submarine, and, with him, much of his family's fortune.



Do you love SteamPunk? Check out this group:

The Steampunk Boiler Room  (E) Discuss, learn, practice, promote, write and review Steampunk, Sci-fi & Fantasy with us. #1776068 by Beck Firing back up!