Chapter 1

It was an eerily calm night in the war-torn city of Blackborough. Just a few days earlier, the Capital of Emerald Isle was under siege by the soldiers of Moonstone Isle. Andrew walked down the poorly lit street. His footsteps echoed on the cobblestone road as he made his way to Lamb Inn. The old brick building was the oldest family run inn in the city. Andrew's hand slid along the wall, feeling the holes where bullets chipped the bricks and remembers fighting on that very street against the enemy just yesterday. The distant echo of cannons still can be heard as he entered the inn. "Well, look at that." The innkeeper shouted above the crowd, "Another brave soul has joined us. Are you here for a room or just some beer to drown your sorrows?"

"Rum if you have any." Replied Andrew as he sat on a bar stool. The Innkeeper nodded and went to get him a glass of rum. Andrew looked around at the packed inn full of soldiers. Some played cards while others told stories of their honor and glory during the battle, but Andrew just wanted to forget that horrible day as he lost many of his brothers in arms.

"If you need anything else just ask. Also, mind if l ask, what regiment are you part of son?" The innkeeper asked as he handed Andrew the rum.

"I'm currently one of the few that remain of the 83rd Black militia." He responded drinking most of the bottle of rum in one go.

"Oh." The innkeeper responded with a saddened look in his eyes, "I heard rumors that they got the most casualties. What was it? 50 percent?"

"65. Our job was to hold the streets just outside of the city center and we held." His voice trailed off for a moment before finishing his rum and continuing, "We held but barely. I lost both of my brothers off the first and fourth volleys. They were the best brothers one could have asked for." Tears started streaming down his face as he was unable to finish his story.

"I caught a glimpse of y'all fighting on this street." The innkeeper recalled as he put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "In all my years I have never seen a group of men so determined not to budge from where they stood. Y'all were an immovable object that could not be overcome." He remarked, sounding prideful as he took a puff of his cigar. "Go home son. Get some rest. Lord knows you may not have many good nights as the war goes on." And with that, the innkeeper went off to help more soldiers. Andrew got up and left the inn taking one more look at the sign with the Lamb on it. "We were all lambs on this street." He thought. "Lambs off to the slaughter."

Andrew didn't get much sleep that night as the battle replayed over and over in his head. He got dressed in his uniform which was all black except for the embroidered chevron that was an emerald green color. His forage cap had the numbers eighty-three in gold that was just underneath a pair of rifles in the shape of an x. After getting dressed and having a light meal, he joined nine other men of the eighty-third at the Lamb Inn. From there, the group marched together down the street in a formation to their regimental headquarters which was on a hill

overlooking the city. Upon arriving the group joined the rest of the regiment and waited for the colonel. After about ten minutes, Colenel Jack appeared from the commander's tent. He took a few puffs from his pipe and stroked his beard a few times while observing the men.

"Congratulations men." Colenel Jack said in his deep voice, "You have survived the battle, but it came at a grave cost for most of our brothers in arms." He paused a moment to take another puff of his pipe and pointed to the city. "You have served this place well and have fulfilled what has been asked of you. Now I give you a choice." He glanced nervously at the men before him before continuing, "You men can take the money you are owed now and leave. Or you men can come with me and when the war is over will be given farm land and if you men fall in battle your wives, sons, daughters, and parents will get compensation for your death by not paying taxes." He pointed at a table where an office sat. "Now if you men want to leave then that table there has your money. However, if you want to stay and fight with me, then sign these papers."

Silence rang out as the tension could be cut with a knife. Then John, who was always full of energy and one of the few friends of Andrew left alive, shouted, "I'm with you Black Jack!" Then from the back another voice yells "He ain't the only one! Count me in!" Then slowly but surely, one by one every one, all of the three hundred and fifty men signed on to continue the fight. That day on the eighty-third black militia became formally known as the eighty-third volunteer infantry, but to most the immovable eighty-third and those inside the regiment the black eighty-third.