Authors: William R. Forstchen
Emil stepped up to join his friends. He started to say something, but couldn’t. Lowering his head, he gently reached out and touched the headstone.
Andrew caught a whisper of an ancient prayer in Hebrew. “Yisgadahl, v’yiskadash …” With head still lowered, he finally stepped back.
As if by unspoken agreement, the three looked back at Andrew and nodded. They turned, Pat in the middle, the other two with hands on either shoulder, and walked off, leaving Andrew alone.
There was nothing more to be said, Andrew realized. The tears were all but gone, replaced with a sad yet happy memory of all that had been, of all they had done and all the dreams still to come.
Here at last the Lost Regiment had found a home and a country. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a precious keepsake of the other world.
“It was always yours, Hans,” he whispered through his tears. “I just hung on to it for a little while.”
He placed the object on the grave, stepped back, and saluted.
“Good-bye my old friend.”
As he started to turn he saw the colors passing by the edge of the cemetery, the regiment following in close order, accompanied by the band still playing the “Battle Cry of Freedom.”
Coming to attention he saluted the passing of the colors of the 35th Maine, the 44th New York Light Artillery, and the flag of the Republic.
Colonel Andrew Lawrence Keane, commander of the Army of the Republic, quietly left the cemetery to rejoin his friends … leaving behind, on the grave of Sergeant Major Hans Schuder … the Medal of Honor given for heroism above and beyond the call of duty.