Gone for Soldiers

by Jeff Shaara

  He felt something on his right leg, his eyes suddenly wide, his mind snapping into focus, a sudden burst of clarity. He tried to lift his head, to see, raw instinct, his face bumping the log. He lay flat again, helpless, felt the movement, the small pressure, delicate, deliberate steps across his knee, then up, closer to where his hand gripped the pistol. Now it was gone, and he felt his breathing again, his heart beating, thought of the dreaminess, the images, thought, A strange land with an amazing selection of creatures. Another reminder. Do not sleep.

  He tried to see out to the right again, but the stiffness held him tight. His arm was still warm, the blue wool soaked through with sweat. There was still sun, and he thought, How long? Three, four hours? There can’t be that much daylight left. He thought of Scott now, the old man’s angry eyes. Will he worry? He’s an old soldier, and he understands the cost of war. Maybe I’m part of that cost. He thought of his father again, his similarities to Scott. It had never occurred to him, and he thought, Both of them warriors and neither of them politicians. Strange, I feel like I know General Scott better than I knew my own father. General Scott doesn’t understand the rules, who you can offend and who you can’t. So he ends up offending everyone. At least out here he outranks all his political enemies, all the other generals with their own ambitions. He remembered Scott reading him the order now, Polk’s vague instructions, command without interference. So, Washington has given him all the responsibility, and the war is his to win. And his strategy is correct. I know that, I have seen it, seen how it can be done. And I’m stuck under a log.

  He was suddenly aware of a difference, something unusual. He forced his head slowly to the side, looked under the log, to the spring. The boots were still there, the voices still low and calm, but now the light was fading. It was getting dark.

  He stared at the boots, spoke to them in his mind, Go on! Get back to your camps! One man moved away now, a louder voice, adios, a laugh, the sound of rocks colliding. The light was fading quickly, and he saw motion, more boots, moving away. He heard the voices moving now as well, one man yawning, stretching, then the sound of rocks again. He strained to hear, the voices now nearly gone, and then he could hear nothing at all. He waited, stared out toward the spring, could feel the air, cooler still. He closed his eyes, endured the piece of debris in his eye, the annoying intruder, thought, Push it all away, clear everything, every sound. You must be certain.

  It was another ten minutes, maybe more, and he turned his head, stared up again at the darkness of the log. He moved his right arm now, slid his hand along the hard dirt, his shoulder loosening, giving way to the motion. He pressed his hand down, tried to lift himself, tried to slide his back across the wet dirt. He tried to turn his head to the right, worked the stiffness out of his neck. He could see out beyond the log, pulled again with his right hand, slid farther out in the open. He raised the hand now, brought it to his face, blinked as his finger found the eye, rubbing, hard rough probing. He blinked hard, the debris now replaced by the intrusion of dust and grime from his finger. The spring, he thought, the water. God help me.

  He tried to move his right leg, realized now both legs were completely numb. He pulled himself clear of the log, his legs dead weight, saw movement, under the log, and now a large hairy spider moved into the open, stopped, and Lee stared at it through watery eyes, thought, Yes, sorry old fellow. No doubt I was the intruder. He slid his legs farther out, rolled to the side, unclenched his left hand, slowly, painfully, moved his arm down his leg, began to massage it. The feeling crept into his legs, the slow spread of the tingling, the awful prick of a thousand needles. He rubbed harder, worked the stiffness out of his hand, tried to lift his head, and suddenly his hat fell off, rolled on its brim down the short hill. He felt a laugh trembling inside him, but he knew he could not make a sound. He looked down at the hat, thought, Well, thank you for doing that now. He was completely clear of the log, looked back underneath, saw the stain of wetness, saw now the small pebble that had been under his back, a tiny cone of rock. He leaned over, picked it up, slipped it into his pocket, thought, I will remember you. He tried to stand, leaned against the log, slowly pulled himself up, and now there was a sound, behind him, from down the hill. He reached for the pistol, felt the ice in his chest, saw motion, the brush moving, then a figure, a man. It was Fitzwalter.

  The young man moved quickly up the rise, and Lee saw the smile, a toothy grin, and Fitzwalter whispered, “Quite a day, eh, sir? Thought they’d never leave.”

  Lee tried to speak, fought through the dryness in his mouth. “Where did you go?” The words tore at his throat.

  “Right down there, sir. Just in those bushes there. I could see ’em just fine. Could see you too, sir. If they’d a found you, I was ready.” He tapped the pistol in his belt. “We’d have made some noise, that’s for sure.”

  Lee nodded, could see the young man’s excitement, thought, Yes, remember this day. You will never have another one like it.

  “Uh, sir, I reckon the Mexicans won’t mind if we have a taste before we leave?”

  Lee looked at the spring, nodded, said, “Quickly. We have a long walk.”

  Fitzwalter climbed up on the log, swung a leg over, landed with a thump on the other side. The noise startled Lee, and he looked up the trail, thought, Easy, we still may not be alone. Fitzwalter moved to the spring, bent down, took a long drink. Lee looked down into the water, pressed his hands on top of the log, thought, Swing your leg over … well, no, not just now. He tried walking, moved stiffly down to the end of the log, saw a great dark hole, the log hollow. He eased around, moved up closer to the spring. Fitzwalter backed away now, his face soaking wet, still smiling broadly.

  Lee looked down into the spring, the water reflecting the last daylight like a fountain of diamonds. He knelt in the boot tracks of the Mexican soldiers, reached into the water, felt the cold shock in his hands, brought them up to his face, opened his mouth, then again, wiped at the crust of dirt. Not today, he thought. It was not my time. Thank you.

  He stared at the water again, leaned down closer, now drank, paused, caught his breath, then drank again. He felt the dryness wash away, smiled, stared at the water. He thought of a swimming hole, some wonderful place very long ago, then plunged his face into the icy coolness with a child’s pure joy.

  THE FIRES WERE LOW, MOST OF THE STAFF HAD SETTLED INTO their tents. Lee moved quietly, the stiffness in his legs complete, the weariness pressing down on his shoulders. He heard Fitzwalter moving close behind him, thought, Young legs. He’d have made it back an hour faster.

  There were still a few men near the fires, and they began to move toward him, recognition, small greetings, and now hands came out, enthusiastic relief, the men gathering around the dusty engineer. Lee said nothing, could hear the curiosity, felt grateful for the concern, saw Joe Johnston now, and Johnston said, “Welcome home, Captain. Long day?”

  Lee smiled, nodded, said, “Long day.”

  The men around him gave way, and Lee focused on the larger tent, began to move that way, Fitzwalter still behind him. He saw the young Scott emerging from the tent, drawn by the commotion, and the young man seemed surprised to see him, said, “Captain, you survived. The general was concerned.”

  Lee saluted. “Thank you, Major. Captain Lee reporting. May I see the commanding general?”

  The young Scott studied Lee’s face now, a look of concern, leaned closer to Lee, said, “You all right, Captain?”

  “Could use something to eat, actually.” Lee felt a dryness in his throat, thought, The canteen, looked behind him, saw Fitzwalter looking around, eyeing the staff. Fitzwalter suddenly threw up a salute, stood frozen, wide-eyed, and Lee saw now the tall grim man moving around a low fire. It was Twiggs.

  The old man ignored Fitzwalter, looked at Lee, said, “You find that road, Captain?”

  Lee felt suddenly sick inside, the weariness magnified by the glare from Twiggs.

  “Sir, we discovered that we can move between the tw
o hills. Atalaya is occupied only by a signal detachment.”

  Twiggs grunted, and now Lee felt a large heavy hand on his shoulder, heard the voice of Scott. “General Twiggs, shall we take this conference inside? The night has ears.”

  The two commanders moved into the tent, and Lee started to follow, then stopped, glanced back at Fitzwalter. He saw the canteen, thought, I suppose it will have to wait. Fitzwalter would not follow now, could not be a part of the high level meeting. Lee saw his face, the disappointment, thought, Be patient, young man. You’ll have your chance. He looked at the young Scott, said, “Major, can you secure some rations for Mr. Fitzwalter?”

  The young Scott moved quickly, said, “Certainly. This way …”

  Lee held up his hand, and Fitzwalter waited, and Lee said, “Mr. Fitzwalter, this was a fine day’s work. You should get some rest. I suspect that tomorrow we’ll have a job to do cutting through that brush.”

  The young man nodded, stood straight now, snapped a salute toward Lee. “Sir. Good night, sir.”

  Lee returned the salute, then moved into the tent. Scott was sitting behind the table, and Twiggs sat as well. Lee saw there were no more chairs. Scott reached for the lamp, turned up the light, the yellow glow now surrounding Lee. He suddenly felt unsteady, the light and the shadows swirling together, and he blinked hard, reached for the table, leaned heavily, holding himself up. Scott leaned forward, said, “You eaten anything, Captain?”

  Lee straightened, slid his hands off the table, said, “No, sir. I was hoping … there would be something here. I know it’s late.”

  Twiggs said, “You find the road?”

  Twiggs had not changed his expression, and Scott said, “We will hear the captain’s report in a moment, General.”

  Lee felt the twist in his gut again, thought, The road. If that was the mission then this was not a good day after all. Scott looked at Lee again, said, “Difficult day, Captain?”

  Lee thought of Johnston’s question, thought, I must look awful. “Yes, sir. Somewhat difficult, sir. We had to make some effort to avoid capture. But we located a good route between the hills. The smaller hill, Atalaya, is lightly defended.”

  He stopped, pulled the map from his pocket, unfolded it, laid it on the table. Scott leaned forward, slid the map slightly toward the light, studying Lee’s drawings. Twiggs sat back, did not look at the map, and Lee glanced at him, felt his patience slipping away, thought, This is important. At least look at it, try to understand. Twiggs looked up at him now, and Lee felt himself flinch, instinctive, thought, No, let it go. It’s only the fatigue. This is General Scott’s concern, not yours.

  Scott said, “Good, very good. Captain, tomorrow have your men begin work early, clear the trail. As soon as it is suitable for artillery, notify me. This time, take some muskets, a good escort. The Mexicans will certainly detect something, might try to interfere.”

  Twiggs said, “They won’t believe it. Won’t pay any attention. They expect the fight to be right in front of them.”

  Scott leaned back, said, “That’s the idea, General. As long as they stay up on those hills, the surprise will be ours. I have ordered General Worth to march his men from Vera Cruz. We need the strength, need those men here more than we need anyone on the coast. We’ll discuss the plan of attack when he arrives. Good night, General.”

  Twiggs knew the signal, stood, nodded to Scott, passed behind Lee, said nothing, moved out of the tent. Lee glanced at the chair, and Scott pointed, nodded, said, “Have a seat, Captain. So my engineer got a little close to the enemy? Quite a feeling, eh? Well, tell me about it. I want to hear a good story.”

  6. LEE

  APRIL EIGHTEENTH, DAWN

  THE WORK WAS COMPLETE. THEY’D CLEARED A CRUDE ROADWAY that could even support the movement of the field cannon. The plan of attack was plain now to all the commanders. Twiggs would lead the hard thrust around the Mexican flank, following the trail Lee had discovered. Behind Twiggs, Worth would move in support. Directly in front of the Mexican position, Patterson’s volunteers would demonstrate, all noise and bluster, men lined up in battle formation with all the show of some grand parade. The show was for Santa Anna, to convince him the attack was indeed coming straight at him, to occupy his attention while Twiggs moved into position from behind.

  Lee had been up early, working with his sappers until dark. He had overseen every detail, every turn of the trail, and even when the work ended, the details stayed with him. He had spent a long sleepless night, staring into darkness, thinking of brush and rocks and the men with machetes. And always there was the specter of the main road, the great wide highway behind the Mexican position that led to Mexico City, the road that Lee had not found.

  Now with the dawn he had risen with the rest of the army, making ready for the day to come. He stayed close to Scott’s quarters, drank a cup of the sweet coffee that had been a gift from a local farmer, a man who did not see the Americans as invaders. Lee had not thought much about the locals, had naturally assumed they would be hostile to this violation of their territory. But the people showed the army a different face, and the gifts from the ranchers and farmers were common and much appreciated.

  I do not really understand that, he thought. They don’t seem to know much about government, or care who is in command. If they are left alone, then the outside world doesn’t seem to matter. He swirled the coffee in the cup slowly, looked into the thick blackness, thought, They have enough to be concerned with surviving. This land is not like Virginia, there is no great bounty of fertile soil. God has given these people a challenge. I don’t understand why.

  The army had passed by many of the small churches, simple buildings of stone and clay, but inside, all the grand artifacts of old Catholicism, rich stained glass, brightly colored paintings and sculptures, mostly of the Virgin Mary. The symbols of veneration for the Virgin were everywhere, some form of statue or painting adorned nearly every home, visible to anyone who passed by. He knew there had been some trouble in Vera Cruz, some of the American soldiers, volunteers mostly, taking exception to the different practices of the country’s dominant religion. Some had destroyed the statues, or simply stolen them, and even the churches themselves had suffered vandalism, the citizens sometimes abused by taunts and insults they could not understand. The outbursts of hate and intolerance were an embarrassment to the army, a challenge to Scott’s authority, and a horrifying mystery to Lee. Lee had been relieved when Scott finally responded directly, issuing the orders restricting access to the citizens. The civilians and all aspects of their culture were simply off limits. But Lee had begun to feel that even Scott could not change the ignorance that powered the intolerance of the volunteers.

  Lee finished the coffee, thought, Maybe one more cup. He stood, moved toward the mess wagon, began to feel that turn of the machine in his chest, his body fully alive, the effect of that wonderful little bean. No, he thought, that may be enough. This is much stronger coffee than what the army provides.

  It had been light for nearly an hour, and as Lee moved toward Scott’s tent through the early morning light and haze, he could see activity ahead, a lone man on a horse, finally more of the staff. It was General Twiggs. Twiggs dismounted, saw Lee, stared at him for a moment but said nothing. Lee felt the dread again, always felt the dread when Twiggs looked at him. He moved quickly now, saluted, said, “General Twiggs, good morning. A fine day for a fight.”

  Twiggs looked at him curiously, remained silent. The general turned away, and Lee thought, Why do you even attempt it? He obviously has no use for you. Probably has no use for anyone, not even General Scott.

  There was commotion in Scott’s tent, then the big man emerged in one great flow of motion. Lee stared wide-eyed, had rarely seen Scott in full dress uniform, the bright gold sash, medals polished, gold epaulets on his shoulders, all the great pomp and display of command. Scott stood for a moment, looking slowly over the camp. He seemed to be waiting for the men to notice him. Now the cheers came, slow at first
, then some of the men moved closer and more picked up the call, the sound echoing well out across the rugged ground. Scott stood motionless. Lee smiled, thought, He loves it, the affection of the men. Lee glanced at Twiggs, saw his grim impatience, and he thought, Of course, this is why he and some of the others don’t like Scott. The cheers are never for them.

  Scott held up his hand, the signal to the staff to disperse the soldiers, to get them to move back to their posts. Lee could hear the orders, officers gathering their men into formation. The sounds of the army were muted, tense, and even the foot soldiers had to know that today something would happen. They could all see the Mexican position, knew from where the cannon watched them, where the soldiers were dug in, waiting for them with bayonets.

  Leaving his staff behind, Twiggs moved toward Scott. Scott looked at Lee, said, “Captain, you feeling fit this morning?”

  “Yes, sir. Quite fit, sir.”

  “Good. General Twiggs, are your men ready to follow my engineer?”

  Twiggs nodded. “We understand the plan, sir. I have ordered two brigades to move beyond the big hill and make straight for the vicinity of the main road. One brigade will follow Captain Lee and seize the smaller hill.” Twiggs paused, looked at Lee with no expression. “We are prepared as ordered, sir. We will provide your captain with three twenty-four-pound guns from Captain Steptoe’s battery. If he can get them up that hill, he may place them as he sees fit.”

  Lee nodded, said, “Thank you, sir. They will be put to good use.”

  Ignoring Lee, Twiggs said, “General, we are ready to move out on your command.”

  Scott moved to a fat white horse, pulled himself up with a soft grunt and sat heavily. He looked out across the camp.

  “General Twiggs, take advantage of your guide. Captain Lee knows the ground. You may proceed. I will see General Patterson and make sure they put on a good show.”