The crackling ring of musket fire breaks against the hillside. Men fall screaming all around me. A cannon bellows out a rumbling cry in the distance. This is our third assault on the rebels at Breed's Hill. The field is littered with our dead. The steady gun fire is dying, becoming sporadic. Ammunitions run low on both sides. The drum beats out a command to charge. We claw our way up the hill and collide with the rebels. They have no bayonets. We quickly overwhelm them and they break into retreat.