Waves of Yanks in blue charge our rag-tag unit fighting to hold the line. Shaken, I reach into my ammo pouch, pour gunpowder down my musket’s barrel, jam a spark cap in place, cock the hammer, squeeze the trigger.

Blam! A big puff of smoke bellows from the muzzle. Still, my Confederate comrades drop. Above the din of gunshots and cannon fire, my sergeant screams, “Fall back!”

It is Saturday at Civil War Days in Huntington Beach and while there are no bullets, the passion, the action and, at moments, even the fighting is very real.

I step backward, loading as I go, hoping to stem the tide of some 200 Union soldiers. I stumble over a fallen Union soldier. He is a young man, younger than my son.

He reminds how the Civil War tore apart families. He also reminds that this all-American war tore apart this nation but then knitted it back together – a legacy as important today as it was when Abraham Lincoln was assassinated 150 years ago.

TIME MACHINE

First, let’s clear the air about the current controversy over the Confederate flag, an issue which for some lingered over the battlefield.

After the June killings in a black church in Charleston, S.C., I sparked a successful battle to take down the Mississippi flag at the Plaza of Flags in Santa Ana. But that was about what the Confederate banner means in America today.

Civil War reenactments are about history, and we learn from history. The Confederate cross should be on the battlefield in Huntington Beach – it wasn’t – if it was historically accurate just as it was historically accurate to see some women (dressed as men) as well as a black man fighting for the Confederacy.

Yes, with some 400 combat reenactors and thousands of visitors, Civil War Days are about much more than flags or even guns.

Walking into Huntington Beach Central Park is like stepping back in time. There are several villages including a civilian one. A man with an assortment of tools that look more suited to repairing buggies than repairing bodies demonstrates what it meant to practice old-timey medicine.

Women in skirts with hoops big enough to hide a Smart Car stroll past A-frame tents that are little more than canvas tossed over poles. Hawkers, well, hawk their wares.

JOHNNY REB

Soldiers in the Union encampment strut about in full uniform, while soldiers in the Confederate camp are a comparatively motley crew. Some favor farmers’ clothes. Most wear a mix of well-worn uniform and civilian attire. Some, particularly officers, are in full regalia.

I duck into a crude tent stocked with supplies and grab whatever I can find. My shoes have leather laces and with no inserts feel like slippers – until I walk. Steel plates on the heels keep the shoes safe, but do little for my feet.

Rough cotton pants include a button-up fly but no belt loops. Fortunately, I find thick cloth suspenders. My shirt is a simple pullover. The jacket is wool with seven brass buttons. My canteen is tin with a cork cap. The food pouch is canvass coat

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