Over a dew laden hill capped with wheat, the light rattling of several drums is heard off in the distance. To the left and to the right, as far as the eye can see, men cloaked in gray with rifles slung over their shoulders stand unshaken by the ever loudening rumble of the union cadence. A tall, dignified man sits upon his statuesque horse, gleaming into the rising sun, seeming to welcome whatever sentinel may be rushing upon them. The beating of drums continues to grow, inundating the hundreds if not thousands of increasingly anxious boys waiting to get their first taste of blood. Suddenly, and without warning, a group of drummers behind the company begins pounding out their own cadence with all their might. The previously nerve wracked young warriors feel a surge of confidence flow through them. The man on the horse breaks character, galloping down the line hollering, "Today is your day boys! Many of you won't be going home, but you are responsible for saving your mothers, wives and sisters, it's all on you, this is your battle!" All the time, the drums grew louder and louder, as though they are coming from above, beckoning them to reach for their destiny. As they look away from their officer, they realize that the enemy has covered considerable distance. As the blue coated enemy crests the hill, like a swarm of hornets infesting the carcass of a rotting cow, the horseman cries out "Fire with everything you've got!" A young boy from Tennessee rushes to the front of the line, as he lifts his rifle to line up a shot, he cannot hear his hollering comrades falling, only hears rhythm of the conflicting drums fighting to dominate their ears. He looks back to the front to see a large iron ball hurling from behind the opposing forces toward them, as he prepares to fire, the ball hits its target and suddenly silence, black, and odd warmth are all he feels.
A crowded stadium roars with a desire that can only be quenched by the best the musical world has to offer.
