Sitting here, in front of my hospital room window I can see a widen view of God's beauty, thinking to myself of how so many people take it for granted. Life that is. Having the freedom to move about how they please without any worries or cares of it being taking from them. I know what your think why do I seem so bitter? Why is it that I speak with such a caustic tone? It's because I was at war fighting to keep there freedom alive, I feel so disgusted over the fact that they don't even seem to care that I lost more than my leg. Tell me what's a body without a heart or soul. I am no more than an empty shell of a man. Yes as I sit here I look back on my last two months at Battle.
The National army showed great strength and strategy. It was well organized, composed up of only the best that they could lay their hands on. Commanders, who were experienced and well trained soldiers who had an appetite only for enemy blood. I was among the best. We were sure to win the 2nd Battle of Death's Run, or as it was well known today in the South as The Death Bed. Pope, one of our strong, and knowledgeable General of the National army, but compared to Jack Stone of the South, he was nothing more than a ungainly child playing in a mans game. Both armies had their strengths, especially the South’s army and it's numbers, and Jack’s notes. Like in most confrontations the attacker will most likely lose the most. When the South’s charged they took out a number of rival's but because of the placement of the South they had better cover and clearer shots. And when the South army retreated their losses were increased overwhelmingly. Jack felt that the battle was a fair fight but Pope didn't use his head when he sent his troops into the battlefield. Majority of Pope’s recruits died or ended up like me, in a hospital fighting for their lives simply because of the freedom I fought for out there.