Confederate Ghosts Day 1 The Campfire

“I’m through with this fuckin war, through with marchin in the dust, through with gettin shot at. I’m done, I’m goin’ home,” spouted Jenkins as he got up from the fire.
“Quit bein’ a pussy, ain’t one of us here that don’t wanna be home” countered Carlton.
“I ain't no pussy.”
“Sure acting like one.”
“Evenin’ boys” greeted Sergeant Bromley as he popped out of the darkness. He strode towards the embers and squatted to warm his hands.
The soldiers were motionless, only their eyes darted towards each other.
“I understand ya Jenkins” continued Bromley, “If I ‘member right you live in Carl’s Corner, what’s that, about 13 miles that way give or take.” He pointed to his left and over the groups head. “If I was this close to home, I would be thinkin’ what your thinkin’.
“Well, that’s the way the Yankees are attacking from” said the Sergeant, he paused and rubbed his hands together over the coals, emotionless he continued, “Carl’s Corner is gone, the Army’s your only home now.”
Sergeant Bromley rose and looked purposeful at the group, their eyes fixed upon the figure standing in front of them, he instructed “get some wood for the fire, it’ll chase the chill away.”
He then turned and took a few steps to leave the camp but couldn’t resist turning to say, “and boys, get some sleep tonight, tomorrow we’re gonna give them Yankee invaders all hell, I promise it.” Bromley smiled, touched his hat and faded into the darkness.
The group remained still with their thoughts. Sergeant Bromley was killed three days ago.