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Forrest answered as his Spencer exploded.
    The old sweat took the .52 caliber shell in the throat, the impact smacking him back against the wall. His legs folded under him and he toppled sideways.
    The men’s eyes showed tacit pleas for guidance from the lieutenant. The young officer dragged his shocked gaze away from the gaping wound in the dead man’s throat and struggled to find his voice.
    “You’ll guarantee the safety of my men?” be asked hoarsely.
    “They’ll get treated like lambs,” Hedges answered tonelessly.
    The lieutenant nodded, and threw his rifle into the corner indicated by Hedges. Then he unfastened his ammunition belt with its attached holster and tossed this in the same direction. When all the men w e re disarmed, Forrest moved forward and relieved the dead Rebel of his pistol and rifle, adding them to the pile.
    The evening was giving birth to the new night now and in the gloom invading the room the pale faces of the Rebels were distrustful. But the most frightened man of all was the fat little engineer who had jostled himself into the centre of the group.
    “What now?” the lieutenant asked.
    “Strip,” Hedges answered.
    Several of the men gasped.
    “What?” The lieutenant swallowed hard.
    “You heard him, and he outranks you,” Forrest snapped. “You want me to blast some more little ’uns, Captain?”
    Hedges spat at a beetle crawling across the floor. He missed. “Give them three seconds.”
    Before Forrest could open his mouth to start counting, the men were fumbling at their tunic buttons.
    “Me, too, Mister Captain, sir?” the trembling engineer stuttered.
    “You’re sweating so much, Casey, I reckon you’ll be doing yourself a favor.”
    The little man hurried to take off his coveralls.
    “Just the uniforms, caps and boots,” Hedges intoned as several of the men began to pull off their underwear. “Rhett might be peeking and we wouldn’t want to get him excited.”
    Looking even more defenseless in their state of undress, clustering closer together as if for protection, the Rebels stared dejectedly as each of their six captors stooped down from the half circle of guards to select and don a uniform and then pick out an ammunition belt. The best fits provided Hedges and Bell with the rank of sergeants and the others were kitted out as privates. A spare trooper’s uniform was selected for Rhett.
    “Grey never was my color,” Seward complained. “Only reason I joined the Union army instead of the Johnnie Rebs.”
    “Take their guns out and dump them!” Hedges ordered, snapping his gaze from Seward to Douglas.
    Nobody said anything else until the task had been completed, which entailed two trips by each man. The beetle made another trek across the dusty floor. The heel of one of Hedges’ newly-acquired boots crushed it.
    “Obliged for your help, lieutenant,” the Captain said, backing towards the door. “We’ll need seven of your horses as well.”
    “But lambs we don’t need,” Forrest pointed out.
    Hedges shrugged. “So give them the chop.”
    His was the first shot, crashing into the chest of the young lieutenant. The man stumbled backwards, spraying his blood across the grubby underwear of his troopers. Screams and sobs rent the near darkness that had come to the room. The helpless Confederate soldiers, with the frantic engineer in their midst, clawed at each other in an attempt to force entrance to the kitchen. But then the other Union men began to fire into the panicked group, each explosion heralding another scream which was instantly swamped by more gunshots.
    Blood gushed from countless wounds in the heads and bodies of the Rebels as one lifeless form after another was added to the heap of carnage. Bone, flesh and blood spattered against the wall and door. The wide-eyed dead stared through the gloom into the hate-crazed faces of their killers. In the silence which followed the slaughter, gunsmoke added an acrid taint to the hot air.
    “Guess