Storm Clouds Rolling In & On To Richmond (Books 1 & 2 in the Bregdan Chronicles) by Ginny Dye - HTML preview

Chapter Ten

“Down! Everybody down!” Robert shouted. He dropped to the ground, rolled over onto his back, and frantically reloaded his rifle. All around him his men were doing the same thing, their curses filling the air.

Robert rose up on one knee, took quick aim, and fired.

He wouldn’t go down without a fight. With his shot off, he dropped once more to the ground and reloaded. He also took a moment to look around the thicket. How many of his men had he lost? He could count at least twenty down.

How many were dead? How many wounded, in need of the surgeons up the hill and behind the lines?

A fierce surge of anger engulfed his body, but his mind was calm as he considered all his options. The best he could do was try and get as many of his men out alive as possible. And take out a few Union soldiers along the way.

Robert rose on his knee again and fired. He could feel his men’s eyes on him. “Got me another one, boys! Let’s do some damage and get the devil out of here.” His voice was strong and confident.

One quick look told him his act was doing the job.

Gone was the look of panic on his men’s faces. With grim determination, they rolled onto their backs and reloaded.

“Got one!”

“We’re not licked yet!”

Robert winced as another barrage of gunfire assaulted their position. As the bullets whizzed over their heads, he could almost hear the attending song of death they carried with them.

“We’ll get them, Lieutenant!”

Fifty feet from him, Robert heard Hobbs’ triumphant yell. Having reloaded his gun, the youth raised onto one knee and took aim. With a scream of agony, Hobbs fell backward, his rifle landing yards away.

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“Hobbs!” Robert crawled toward him. He now hardly noticed the rain of bullets flying around him. Keeping his face to the ground, he crawled as fast as he could. It took only minutes to reach him.

“Keep up your fire, men! Prepare to retreat!”

Robert was relieved to see Hobbs’ chest was still moving, but there was a widening red spot on the right side of his uniform. Robert quickly ripped away his jacket. The bullet had entered his chest, just below the left breastbone.

“They got me, Lieutenant,” Hobbs gasped. His eyes glittered with fear, but he managed to force a smile through the layers of grime covering his face.

Robert squeezed his arm. “Hang in there, Hobbs. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Hobbs shook his head. “Leave me. You’ll have a better chance of getting away.” His voice trembled with the effort of speaking.

Robert didn’t even bother to reply. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a strip of cloth, and stuffed it into the hole the bullet had made. It would at least help stop the bleeding.

He looked around him. All of his men were on their backs reloading and watching him. Just then there was a brief lull in the action. Above him, he could hear a louder roar from the Confederate guns. More reinforcements must have arrived. This may be their only chance.

“Retreat!”

Robert gathered Hobbs up and tossed him over one shoulder. The boy gave a single gasp of pain and then went limp. He had passed out. It’s best, Robert thought grimly. If they didn’t make it, Hobbs wouldn’t even know.

Within a few yards, Robert was gasping for breath in the dusty heat. The long morning had already drained him, and Hobbs’ extra weight made every stride a fight.

Ducking his head, Robert ran as fast as he could.

His men ran with him, several of them carrying other wounded comrades. They were only part way up Henry Hill when the barrage began again. Once more, bullets rained around them. An answering roar from the Confederate forces added to the fracas.

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Run, Robert! Don’t look! Just run! Each step was an agony as Robert lurched up the hill, Hobbs’ head banging against his back. The man in front fell with a cry.

Summoning all his strength, Robert jumped over him and continued his wild dash. He could not help that man now.

He finally reached the crest of the hill, gasping for breath as the line behind him closed ranks once more.

“Retreat!” Colonel Evans’ voice boomed out.

Robert looked around him quickly, taking in the grim situation. Union forces were streaming in on the left, threatening to completely envelop their flank. That was bad enough. But off to the right, he could see a considerable body of troops approaching, completely enfilading their position and threatening their rear.

All around him, men began to pull back. He suppressed a groan, shifted Hobbs’ weight, and continued to move. “Let’s go! Double-quick time.” Robert knew his men were exhausted. He also knew if they quit moving, it would all be over. Gritting his teeth, he continued to press on. He would have to set the pace for them.

A quick glance to the east gave him a glimmer of hope.

He could see what appeared to be clouds of dust off toward Manassas. It could only mean more reinforcements. They just had to hang on.

Reaching the cover of the woods, Robert finally handed Hobbs over to the medics reaching out to help him. He had done all he could. The field surgeons would have to take over now. “His name is Hobbs. Take good care of him,” he said gruffly. Then he turned back to his men.

“We’re done for, Lieutenant,” one gasped. His voice echoed the looks of despair surrounding him.

“We got to get out of here while we can,” another cried.

Robert wanted to nod and agree with them.

Pickins was more vocal than the rest. “I can’t believe we made it outta that slaughter hole alive.” His eyes were burning. “I felt like I was in the very presence of death.”

He turned to Robert. “This is unfair, Lieutenant.

Somebody is to blame for getting us all killed, but who?”

His voice was as bewildered as it was angry. “I didn’t come

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out here to fight this way. I just wish the earth would crack open and let me drop in.”

Others from his regiment were nodding in assent.

Robert looked around. What was going on? Was the battle over? Were the Confederate troops really in hopeless retreat? Would they at least be able to retreat fast enough to keep the Union forces from cutting off Richmond? Where was Colonel Evans? What about General Bee? He had not seen a single officer since he and his men had escaped the thicket. What could he say to keep them going? Was there even anywhere to go? His head pounded as the questions swarmed in his mind.

“Reinforcements!”

The cry rose from the rear. Robert could have cheered when he saw Colonel Hampton and his legion of South Carolinians. Minutes later, he saw what appeared to be a full brigade—fresh and ready for the battle. General Jackson had arrived.

Robert looked around at what was left of his men. They had been through hell, but it wasn’t over yet. He had to do something to bolster their morale. “I’m proud of you, men. You fought well.”

“While our friends got slaughtered!” one cried out rebelliously.

“That’s war,” Robert shouted. “The question is: Are we going to avenge their deaths or are we going to run?” His challenge hung in the air. Robert glared around at the panicked faces staring at him. “You boys said you wanted action. You said you wanted to make a difference. Well,”

he paused dramatically, “you have your chance. What choice are you going to make?”

There was a long silence as the exhausted men exchanged glances. In the distance, Robert could see men disappearing further into the back line, ignoring the rush moving forward to take their positions. Those men had made their decision.

Pickins was the first to speak. “Where you want us to go, Lieutenant? We’re sticking with you.”

Robert heaved an inward sigh of relief and flashed them an encouraging smile. “I knew I could count on you.”

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Just then he caught sight of General Beauregard and General Johnston moving toward them. A quick glance at his watch told him it was twelve thirty. After a morning of agonizing battle, the leading Confederate generals had finally arrived. Maybe things could turn around after all.

“Where are you supposed to be, Lieutenant?”

Johnston’s voice was not unkind as his sweeping gaze took in the tattered remains of Robert’s troops.

“Wherever we can do the most good, General, sir.”

“That’s the way,” Johnston replied with a grim smile.

“Move to the left and reinforce the line where Colonel Bartow is. We have to hold that position. This day is not over yet. Victory can still be ours!” Then he turned and rode to the next scattering of men.

Robert moved his troops quickly to follow Johnston’s orders. The general’s words had breathed new life into his disheartened troops. As Robert positioned his men, the steady bombardment from the Union troops continued.

Sensing their strong advantage, they were moving forward.

“Give it to them, boys!”

With faces set in determination, his men fired off their rounds. They were back in the battle.

Reinforcements rushed into the fray all around them.

As Robert fired and rapidly reloaded, he noticed with grim satisfaction that the tide seemed to be turning. Less than an hour ago, the Confederate left was in a confused and hopelessly outnumbered retreat. Now, they were holding Henry Hill with a long line of strong troops. General Johnston had been right. They weren’t out of this yet.

“Lieutenant, look at that!”

Robert looked toward where Pickins was pointing. All he saw was the same line of powerful Union batteries that had been moved out of the woods to bombard their position earlier. The whistle of their shells had been relentless since then. He looked back at Pickins with a shrug.

“No, look at that,” he insisted, a smile appearing on his face.

Robert looked back again. He gasped at what he saw.

Colonel Cummings of the Thirty-Third Virginia was just

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leading his men from the woods, less than a hundred yards from where the battery was firing away. What was he doing?

As Robert watched, his face spread into a broad smile.

Not all the Confederate troops were dressed in gray.

Some, including Cummings’ men, were dressed in the only uniforms they could obtain at the time—blue ones.

It was obvious to Robert that the Union troops were uncertain as to the identity of the men moving toward them. He watched as one of the Federals moved to turn the guns toward Cummings’ men, only to have one of his own stop him from doing so. The confusion continued as Cummings moved closer.

“How far is that crazy man going to take them?”

Pickins asked in disbelief. He fired his rifle and, this time, didn’t turn around to reload. He did it facing the action.

Robert watched breathlessly as the drama unfolded before him. If Cummings could pull it off, it would be brilliant. If not, it would mean the certain death of all his men.

Down below, the confusion seemed to end. Robert watched, horrified, as the big guns of the battery swung to face the oncoming troops.

Just then Cummings gave the order to fire. Instantly, a deadly volley rang forth from his men’s guns. The watching Confederate troops cheered wildly as Union men fell right and left, joined by dozens of horses littering the ground. Within minutes, the triumphant company of blue-clad Confederates swarmed jubilantly as the Federal gunners fled for their lives.

Robert joined in the cheering as he realized the Union Army had just suffered a major setback. From that point forth, the battle turned in their direction.

At around four o’clock, massive reinforcements marched in from the east. General Early had arrived with

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his men. It was more than the now beleaguered Union troops could take.

“We got them, boys!” Robert yelled.

As Early’s men opened fire on what was already a retreating army, the retreat turned into a rout. Blue-clad men left their formations and began to run in panic, headed for the bridges and fords that would take them behind the lines.

Cheers erupted around him.

“Look at them run!”

“We did it!”

“They’re ours now!”

“They should have known better than to mess with us Southerners!”

Robert smiled but said nothing. Only hours earlier they had been the ones in full retreat. It was indeed a heady moment, but if reinforcements had not arrived precisely when they did, they would be the ones running for their lives.

Just then another more commanding voice rose above the cries of victory. “After them!”

Robert turned to see General Beauregard astride his horse, watching the retreating troops. Delight was stamped on his face.

“Bring back prisoners!” he cried.

Pickins was the first to surge forward. “Now it’s our turn!”

Robert moved to take the lead, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was tired, hungry and sore. The Union Army was defeated. Maybe the optimists were right. Maybe this would be the only battle of the war. Why did they need prisoners? Why not rejoice in the victory and enjoy Southern freedom? And yet, he continued to press forward. He had been given an order.

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Robert gazed around the scene before him in astonishment. By now the temperature was somewhere in the nineties. Combined with the humidity and the lingering smoke from the battle, the elements had created a hazy fog that infiltrated the woods and seeped onto the open fields. It only intensified the surreal picture before him. Abandoned rifles lay where they had been thrown or dropped. Overturned wagons were still full of ammunition. Riderless horses stood dazedly among their fallen friends. Artillery pieces waited to fall into Confederate hands. Clothes, backpacks, canteens and other equipment nearly blocked the way, they lay so thick.

But it was the bodies that turned Robert’s stomach—

that made him want to turn and run. He had lost all taste for the hunt. Men not gathered by the fleeing forces were already bloating and turning black from the intense heat.

Some lay with their eyes wide in horror, others were missing limbs that had been blown away.

Robert looked for a long moment, struggling to control the nausea. He pressed on resolutely, his men silent behind him.

In the distance, they saw a flash of movement. Robert welcomed some action to take his mind off the horror around him.

“After them, men!”

With a whoop, his men charged forward.

Robert could see the shadows of men fleeing through the woods trying to lose themselves in the cloud of smoke.

Running forward, he grabbed the reins of a sturdily built bay gelding and leapt into the saddle. Within moments, he was leading the charge into the woods.

He pulled back on the reins and brought his mount to an abrupt halt. “You there! Behind that tree. Come out!”

he shouted.

Silence met his loud command. He waved his men into position. “If you don’t come out now, I will order my men to shoot,” he commanded. He didn’t want any more death, but he wasn’t going to put his men at risk. Several of the men behind him lowered to one knee and raised their rifles to their shoulders.

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“Don’t shoot,” came a pleading voice from behind the tree. “We’re coming out.” Slowly, five men edged forward, their hands reaching for the sky. Their blue uniforms were tattered and torn. All of them were covered with filth and grime. One was clutching a bandage to his arm to control the flow of blood from an earlier wound.

“You are now prisoners of the Confederate Army,”

Robert said. “Fall in!”

Robert continued to move forward. In just minutes, they were out of the woods and once more on the road.

As they moved along, the scene in front of them began to change. Scattered among the remnants of a fleeing army were the souvenirs of a panicked Northern citizenry. Loud laughter rang from his men as they held up picnic hampers, ladies slippers and colorful parasols. Further searching revealed men’s top hats, elegant field glasses and baskets of sandwiches. There were more than a few overturned buggies.

Robert shook his head in amazement. The people of Washington, DC must have driven out to the battlefield for an afternoon of amusement, believing their troops would sorely defeat the Southern army on the other side of the river.

“If that don’t beat all,” Pickins muttered as he picked up yet another pink parasol. “Those folks must be plumb crazy.”

A sudden movement in the woods to his left caught Robert’s eye. He said nothing, just waved a few of his men in that direction. Moments later, he heard one of his men shout for him. What he saw caused him to rein his gelding in abruptly.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The elegantly dressed man before him looked a little worse for wear. His top hat was missing, and his long-tailed coat was torn in several places. His white shirt was covered with stains, he was missing one shoe, and his face was covered with smudges. Fear glazed his eyes, but he stepped forward with confidence.

“My name is Edward Mullins,” he said a bit pompously.

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“Well, Mr. Edward Mullins, what the devil are you doing here in these woods?” Robert kept his voice cutting.

The pompous look disappeared from Mullins’ face. “I came here to watch the battle. I am a banker in Washington. My horse and buggy ran off, though.” The pompousness returned. “I happen to be a very important man.”

“Good,” Robert said with a grin. “That means I will be escorting a very important prisoner back to the South.”

“Surely you don’t mean to take me as a prisoner?”

Mullins gasped. “What threat am I to you? I am not a soldier. I am a citizen of the United States.”

“Then you should have had enough sense to stay off a battlefield,” Robert retorted. “Add him to the rest of the prisoners,” he said shortly, before turning to ride away.

It was after dark when Robert arrived back at Manassas Junction with his men and the twenty prisoners they had rounded up. All of them were caked with dust and so thirsty their tongues were swollen. Many of his men rode horses they had picked up on the way.

His prisoners stumbled in exhaustion.

He had done the best he could, allowing them to stop at mud puddles and fill canteens with water to pass among themselves. It wasn’t much, but at least it was humane. He had never been in charge of prisoners before.

The appearance of Confederate campfires casting yellow light across the field cheered him somewhat. They had bypassed a mountain of food on the road as they rounded up their prisoners, but none of it had been eaten. There had been strict orders not to touch any of it in case it had been deliberately poisoned before the army had fled.

Robert was dismounting when Edward Mullins moved over to him. “See here. This really is ridiculous. I demand that you take me to your commander at once. You simply cannot hold a citizen as a prisoner of war.”

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Robert had lost all patience. He glared at the indignant man in front of him and snapped, “You people thought you could finish us off in one battle. You were wrong. We have won. You happened to be on the wrong side, and now you are our prisoner.” He smiled briefly. “Enjoy your stay in Virginia, Mr. Mullins.” Touching his hand to his head, he moved away. All he wanted was a good meal and a night’s sleep.

Sleep eluded him as he gazed up at the sky. A sudden thunderstorm had washed the caked dirt off his body and had driven the foggy smoke into the ground. A hot meal had restored some of his strength, but nothing had removed the stench and horror from his soul. He had never stared death in the face the way he had today. He had seen his father die, but he had not seen the bloated condition of a blackening body before. He had never climbed over abandoned bodies and carcasses of horses.

He had never listened to the screams of wounded and dying men.

“Carrie...” he whispered into the dark night.

Even the image of her lovely face did nothing to release the agony of his heart. Yes, they had won, but at what cost? And what cost remained to be paid?

It was going to be a long war.

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