I led the Thoheeks of Vawn’s brigade into the midst of the Ehleenee; and finally, after I’d sort of accounted for a dozen or so of the mega-nerds, they decided to book it out of there. We let them go and turned to reform on the ridge. No time to rest, though, ’cause like another batch of Union zods were trying us to the north. I let Mr. Ed take me to the action. It seemed to me that this battle was like shaping up just the same as the Civil War battle. No biggie, the defensive lines were in the same places, for the same reasons, you know? Cemetery Hill and Cemetery Ridge were the logical places to make a stand. Well, I knew that sooner or later, the Union was going to try the right again, making a bid for Cemetery Hill and Culp’s Hill. I just didn’t know when. All this time the fighting must have been Heat City down at Devil’s Den, and 1 warned Milo to send some boys down to fully case it around.

About now I see this old, old dude walking up the back of the ridge. I go, “Just what we need, I’m sure, a spy." So I bounce over to him and I go, “My good man.”

“This’s the battle, ain’t it?” he goes.

Total Dudley. “Yup,” I go.

“I come here to help out.”

Now, it is slightly obvious to me that Nathan Hale here is like completely ancient, seventy years old and gray and grizzled, with this dinged-up old sword over his shoulder. I thought it was sweet of him to offer, but a warrior woman and leader like myself can’t take the time to watch after these like sightseers. 1 start to open my mouth to tell him, you know, that we all appreciated his guts and all, but . . .

He rushes past me, whips his sword in a circle over his dumb-bunny bald head, and hacks down an Ehleenee son of a bitch who had almost snuck up on me. I blinked at the geezer, you know, totally freaked, but I didn’t know what to say. He looked up at me. Finally I go, “Very good. Carry on,” like I was this rockin’ steady Milo Morai type, which I’m not when I’ve almost been killed.

I didn’t see much of Grandpa until after the battle. He went on to collect three totally hairy wounds for himself and whole slews of new notches on his sword. Whoa Nelly, life in the old fox yet, I’m sure.

So it was like that all morning and all afternoon: one surge after another, dinking one part of our lines and then another. We met each charge, though, and the shouting and clanging of swords and the death-cries of Union and Confederate dudes were fully ready to drive me dizzy. There was nothing to do but hang in there and put up a good fight, especially when your horse wants to gallop into the heaviest part of the action, right, and doesn’t know the meaning of the word “retreat.”’ I knew the meaning, but Mr. Ed must have been absent the day they were teaching that one.

The Moon Maidens were our artillery all this time, but Milo couldn’t spare any infantry to like support them. They softened up the Ehleenee with their arrow showers well before the enemy got into sword range, so every rush up the side of the hills cost the Union plenty even before they touched steel with us. As the sun set, Strahteegos Lahmbrohs, the Dim Bulb, had a big part of his army like totally lying on their bellies all along the ridge, really just yards from the Confederate positions. The Ehleenee had gotten within feet— okay, within inches sometimes—of overrunning our brave dudes, but every time, just at the maximum moment, the Union rebels lost their drive, or the Confederate regulars and their Freefighter pals found like a new hardness of will. At last, that part of Lahmbrohs’ strength was totally used up, and the men hung on to the side of the ridge, waiting for dawn and another order to like attack.

But Lahmbrohs was not ready to call it quits just on account of night was coming on, okay? He made one last push against the far right of the line, like on Cemetery and Culp’s hills. That attack was more successful, like they actually broke through the defense and charged into the unprotected Moon Maidens. 1 was still mounted and ready, although I was about to like rolf, for sure, i was so totally wasted. I didn’t know if 1 could handle another fight, but 1 go, “Maureen, honey, go for it, party hearty.” Mr. Ed, bless her little heart, was right with me, so off we went to save Moon Maidens. I mean, they never so much as laid a “hi” on me before the battle, but I’m not one to like be all stuck-up about something like that, you know? Right.

Well, there was one furious fight in the twilight. The Moon Maidens stood their ground like good little girls, and pelted the Greeks with like a nonstop hailstorm of deadly arrows. A Pitzburker veteran told me like he’d never seen anything so terrible and bloody. I never even had a chance to use my sword—the Moon Maidens were skewering their attackers faster than reinforcements could get close. After a while there were no more Ehleenee willing to like stand up against these like totally excellent archers.

Night fell, but wouldn’t you like know it, 1 wasn’t done yet. I was leading Mr. Ed down to a stream to water her, right, with four or five other tired Confederate buddies, and like we look up and on the other side of the water there’s this lame bunch of Union men. So we went at it right there, hand-to-hand, and it didn’t take long to totally burn those dudes. We didn’t get one scratch between us. It was just like this pointless hassle that kept me from supper and had me fully edged, I’m sure.

There was a strategy meeting in Milo’s tent, set up all secure behind our lines. Milo talked, we listened. He goes, “Tell your soldiers that they all did a fine job today, but the battle isn’t over yet.”

Prince Byruhn of New Kuhmbuhluhn goes, “Where do you think Lahmbrohs will hit us tomorrow?”

“He failed today on both flanks, again and again,” Milo goes. “I am almost certain that he will concentrate on our center, at dawn.”

“He still has a couple of thousand men spread out on the face of Cemetery Hill,” said Strahteegos Klaytuhn of Pitzburk.

“I haven’t forgotten them. They won’t get any sleep tonight, and they’re exhausted. When the sun comes up, the fighting between your Freefighters and those weary Union boys will start up by itself. I don’t expect they will stay in the battle very long. They are almost spent as it is.”

So I go, “Then it’s like the center I have to worry about, right?”

Milo gave me a warm smile. He goes, “Our center is where our best men are, covered by squandrons of Moon Maidens, in a solidly dug-in position, high uphill from the attacking Ehleenee.”

“Pickett’s Charge,” I go, fully freaked but like knowing that it was coming all the time.

“Pickett’s Charge,” goes Milo.

I kind of like remembered something I learned from Daddy. General Longstreet had told Robert E. Lee that no fifteen thousand men ever put on any battlefield in history could take our position. 1 was like really hoping he was right, you know?

The meeting ended a little after that, and then it was nighty-night, y’all.

Come the morning, Milo was like totally right about his first prediction: The Ehleenee on the hillside made these completely wimpy swipes at the Pitzburkers, then gave up and bailed, happy trails. They probably had the best chance of getting out of Gettysburg—I mean, Getzburk—alive or something, 1 don’t know.

All that’s left is the charge itself. I sat Mr. Ed in the center of our line. ! could like hear the wailing voice of the bloody God of War in my head, but the God of War sounded just like, you know, that Freddy Mercury, the lead singer of Queen. First I could hear him doing “We will, we will rock you!” But it totally wasn’t like any fun to watch what was going on. That’s all we did, was watch. Like the Moon Maidens picked off every one of the poor bastards while they were crossing the low ground. Freddy Mercury shifted right into “Another one bites the dust.” Suddenly like everything went quiet. None of our boys were shouting or anything, and you know none of the Ehleenee were in a mood to whoop it up, for sure. It was weird, the silence I mean, and I felt this creepy tingly feeling. I go, “Maureen, like this is so ill.” But there was nothing to do but watch. They kept coming on like lemmings, hustling their buns to suicide. “Gross, gross, gross," I go. They kept coming.