The Last, Long Night (#5 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series) (8 page)

Robert gazed out over his men and knew they had earned the exhausted looks on their faces.  They had marched all day down the Orange Turnpike until they moved past the old fortifications at Mine Run and then had moved quietly through the dense woods, which they called The Wilderness.  Now the troops had positioned themselves for a daylight attack. 

Robert had just returned from a briefing.  He knew they were to attack early in the morning.   The Union troops were completely unaware of the Confederates’ close proximity.  General Longstreet’s army and the backup they could provide were still a full day away, but Lee felt he had no choice.  If Grant got through the wilderness unscathed, the full brunt of the Union Army would have a clear path around Lee’s southern flank to Richmond.  If that happened, the war would be lost.

Attacking immediately would at least give the Confederates a fighting chance.

“This is it, Captain?”  Tabor materialized and spoke quietly, staring into the dense woods.

“We fight in the morning,” Robert stated simply.

“What if we lose?”

“We’re not going to lose,” Robert spoke what he knew was in Lee’s mind.  “If victorious, we have everything to live for.  If defeated, there will be nothing left for us to live for.”  He paused and let the words sink in.  “It’s simple, really.  We just don’t lose.”

Tabor stared at him, nodded, and slipped away.  Robert knew the young soldier would spread the word.  The men had every right to be afraid and nervous, but he knew they would fight with everything they had.

              Moses felt the same as what he saw on his men’s faces.  An ominous dread had settled over the entire camp.  Who could blame them?

After a day of steady marching, the Yankee troops were camped among the disinterred remains of the hastily buried Union dead at Chancellorsville. 

His men had tried to make light of it by pointing out that the greenest grass and the brightest flowers were fed by Union blood.  “This ground was made rich by our soldiers,” one of his men stated.  Most had merely stared at him, their faces tightening when one of them uncovered a bullet-shattered skull from a shallow grave and rolled it across the ground. 

“De men are right scared,” Pompey stated quietly, easing up to where Moses stood.

“Who can blame them?” Moses muttered.  “They’re seeing evidence of what is coming.”  His own stomach was doing flips, and he fought to steady his breathing as he stared into the deep woods.  He could tell the next day would be hot.  His men - former slaves used to the heat of the South - would be fine, but he knew it would be much harder for the out-of-shape Northern white troops who had spent all winter eating and lounging about camp.

The next day dragged by slowly in the hot stillness.  More and more Union troops marched in to join them, their line stretching for two miles on the Orange Turnpike.  Suspense and dread hung in the air as thick as the humidity that threatened to strangle them.

“Moses?”

Moses shook his head at Pompey.  “I feel it, too.  This isn’t going to be good.”  Knowing he had to focus completely on what was about to happen in the brambly cornfield they faced, he tried to keep his mind off Rose and John.

“You reckon dem boys of Colonel Ryan’s know what a good target dey make?”

Moses glanced over at the gaily colored uniforms of the 140
^th
New York Zouaves.  He shook his head.  “They sure will be easy targets.”  He couldn’t help thinking maybe those bright colors drawing Rebel bullets would mean more of his own men would make it.

“It done been a real honor, Moses.”

Moses whipped his head around.  “What?” 

Pompey’s face was set, his eyes steady.  “Iffen I don’t make it out of dat cornfield, I just be wantin’ you to know it done been a real honor.”

Moses stared at him and wanted to shout that everything would be okay, but he knew lying wouldn’t serve anyone.  Instead he reached out and gripped his friend’s hand.  “I feel the same way, Pompey.  You’ve become a real friend.  If I don’t make it, I want you to know how much I appreciate and love you.”

Pompey held his hand and gazed into Moses’ eyes for a long minute.  Then he nodded and turned back to stare at the cornfield. 

Robert and his men were concealed in the trees on the western edge of a bramble-choked cornfield.  Holding their positions, the Southern army had been watching the Union buildup all day. 

Robert knew the heat was choking his men.  He also knew his unit had a real advantage against the Union troops; his troops were used to it because they had been fighting in this kind of heat for three years.  Robert would take any advantage he could get. 

The order came at one o’clock in the afternoon.

Robert watched the blue wave moving into the cornstalks, closed his eyes for a moment, raised his rifle, and upon hearing the order, began firing.

The lines of blue began to melt away like snow…

“Let’s get them, men!” 

Moses and his men began running the minute the order came, straight into the cornfield thick with brambles and thorns.   They fought to break through the dense cover. Wild yelling, fortified by defiant determination, replaced fearful silence.

Moses struggled through the brambles and groaned as he heard screams of agony replace defiant shouts.  His men disappeared as if the ground had swallowed them.  Then the musket smoke settled in and obliterated almost everything.  Moses could barely tell where
he
was, much less where his men were.  He embraced the thought that these conditions would also have to make it harder for the Confederate sharpshooters to pick them off. 

“Retreat!  Retreat!”  Moses yelled.  He knew there was no way anyone would make it across that field, and he saw no sense in more slaughter. 

Moses’ body was drenched with sweat and covered with splattered blood from men shot down around him when he stumbled back behind the lines.  He stared around, numb with shock, then gazed back at the cornfield.  He knew that at least half of his men would never make it out.  Tears pooled in his eyes.

He caught sight of Colonel George Ryan, the commander for the soldiers clothed in the gaily-colored uniforms.  The colonel, weeping, peered through the dense smoke for some sign of his men.  “My God,” he cried, “I’m the first colonel I ever knew who couldn’t tell where his regiment was!”

Moses knew most of them lay dead or wounded in the ragged cornfield.

“Hey, Moses.”

Moses looked around at one of his men, covered with as much blood as Moses himself, but the soldier seemed uninjured except for the glassy-eyed shock that consumed him.  “Yes, Jasper?” he asked wearily, knowing he could receive an order again at any moment to advance.

“Pompey,” Jasper whispered, tears filling his eyes.

Moses stared into his eyes and knew.  His shoulders slumped as he relived Pompey’s handclasp.  It had been just minutes ago, but it seemed like an eternity.  He turned and stared into the cornfield.  He would look for Pompey when the battle ended.  Pompey might only be wounded.  There was a chance, as there had been with Robert.

Jasper read his mind.  “They shot him in the head, Moses.  He was gone real quick.”

Moses closed his eyes in defeat but he was grateful Pompey hadn’t had to suffer. 

Robert watched the wave of blue coats halt and then retreat.  He settled back against the tree, wiped sweat from his face, and knew it would start again. 

“Captain Borden!”

Robert sprang to attention.  “Yes, sir!”

“Move south with your men to support Jones’ Virginia brigade.  They’re being hit hard.”

“Yes, sir!”  Within moments, Robert’s men were on the move.  They arrived as Jones’ men stumbled back in confusion.  Robert’s men immediately took their positions and opened fire.  As soon as Jones’ men realized they had help, they found the courage to spring back into battle.  “Get them!” they yelled. 

The woods was a bedlam of noise; so loud Robert could no longer hear the sound of his rifle but only feel the recoil on his shoulder.  He kept aiming and firing; knowing his men were taking serious losses but sensing the Confederates still held the advantage – at least for now.

The Union troops surging forward faltered, and then fell back.  Hopelessly entangled in the vine-choked woods, they took flanking fire on two sides.

Robert watched as the Yankees staggered back to their lines in a complete rout.   Suddenly his eyes widened in astonishment.   “What in the…!”

He watched as the North’s commander wheeled and rode back into the open field, blood trickling from his scratched face.

“Surrender!” boomed a Rebel voice from the woods just to the right of Robert’s position.

              Robert watched as the Union officer shook his fist defiantly and spurred his horse across the field.  A barrage of bullets crashed into the animal and sent it somersaulting to the ground.  Robert groaned at the senseless waste while understanding the cheers that rose from the watching Rebels. 

“I can’t believe it!” one of his men cried.  “Look!”

Robert watched as the officer crawled out from under his horse and hobbled toward his lines with bullets whizzing around him yet somehow missing their target.