Seven years ago, America was at war with itself. Not for land or power, but to end slavery and to ensure the humanity of this nation. Through the eyes of the government, the war was a great historical event that would live in infamy. But, to the men fighting, it was a blood bath. Gettysburg was thought to be the turning point of the war and would ensure the North would be the victor, but the soldiers didn't see it that way. They just watched as people were slaughtered. There were no uniforms that day, no Yankees or Confederates. No one out there cared who would win, they just tried to survive. To the generals and the government, the death toll was just a number on a piece of paper, but the men knew that every number had a name, and every name had a face and a family.

After the war people returned home, some missing arms and legs, others had gone mad with the memories of the battlefield. The North had won and every slave was declared emancipated. But families on both sides didn't care. They just wanted their husbands and brothers home safe and for them to be welcomed with open arms. War, no matter what the cause, has its consequences.

I didn't know this back then, hell I was only eighteen. I was just like the rest of the south, ready to go fight for their beliefs and become men. I thought it would be fun. Thought the South would defeat the Yankees and there would be no consequences. I went in with my brother Charlie and best friend Jim Mason

I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of, and I'll do a hell of a lot more before I'm through.