Stories set in the aftermath of conflict often turn inward, focusing less on the fight and more on what it leaves behind. The Devil’s Shadow series by Burt Tyson follows Captain Robert Hester through that shift, tracing the path of a man shaped not just by war, but by what comes after it.
The collapse of the Confederacy leaves Captain Robert Hester with nothing but the remnants of a life that no longer exists. Wounded and marked for death, he must navigate a world where survival replaces structure and personal choice takes the place of command. What follows is a journey shaped by loss, consequence, and the struggle to hold onto a sense of identity.
That transformation takes hold in The Shadow Appears, where Hester returns home and faces a devastating loss that reshapes his entire path. The war becomes something deeply personal, driving him into a relentless pursuit alongside his loyal sergeant. Moving through a broken landscape where former soldiers have become outlaws, each step forward tests the limits of his code and pulls him further from the man he once tried to be.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
The buzzing woke me. I opened my eyes. It was morning. I saw the blowfly on the sheet that covered my chest, staring at me through his two large eyes, his wings vibrating in the still air.
I didn’t even bother to shoo him away. It was a waste of time. There were too many of them. There shouldn’t have been. It was the last week of March in Richmond in 1865, and there should have been a few in sun-warmed windows and no more.
But this was the Chimborazo Hospital and blowflies were everywhere, along with the groans and cries of wounded men— many dying—and the ever-present stench of disease, gangrene, human waste, and blood.
We were a sad lot. Too little medicine. Too little food. Too little hope. Too much pain. Too much fear. And for many, too few limbs.
But it was far better than the field hospital where I had lain for a day after being shot. Or the jolting, painful wagon ride to Richmond.
I had been here since the middle of December. First, it was the wound and the blood loss. Then, the fever had come. And, now, it was just the weakness. I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed—a pretty pitiful sight for a cavalry officer.
I heard the click of cavalry boots on the wooden floor before I saw the figure. Captain Jonathan Washburn stood at the end of my bed. His left sleeve was folded up and pinned at the shoulder. I could never get used to seeing him without his arm.
“Well, Captain, I suppose you’ve malingered long enough. You have new orders. Get yourself dressed. We’re taking you out of all this.”
“I’m being released from this hell-hole? You mean that?”
“I do, indeed. Turley, front and center, man. Get yourself out here and help the captain.”
Sergeant Josiah Turley materialized as if out of thin air. A lean, wiry mountain boy, Turley was raw-boned, with a shock of red hair and a disposition to match.
It was Turley, more than anyone else, who had saved me.
Buy on Amazon Kindle | Paperback
