by Jeff Shaara
The voices rose around him in surprise. Their questions and the sounds of their movement flowed together, blending with the rain. He closed his eyes, thought, Thank you, God, for delivering me … thank you. He saw light now, the faint yellow of the lamp, felt a rush of shivering excitement. Behind him, Huckabee said, “Well, bless my bones, Captain. I’d a never thought … you done brung us home after all.”
Lee could not help a small laugh, said to the guards, “Would you gentlemen please see to my escorts, here. They have done exceptional work.” He turned, tried to see the faces, caught a glimpse of the corporal’s stripes.
“Corporal Huckabee, if it’s in my power, I’ll get you that promotion. Right now, I have to see General Scott. Excuse me.”
He moved toward the light, saw movement around the tent, stopped, straightened himself, stepped calmly toward the tent. Seeing an officer, he said, “Excuse me, can you tell General Scott I have returned?”
The man looked at him, an unfamiliar face, said, “I’m sorry, Captain. The general is not here.” The man pointed a dripping sleeve toward the east, toward the far side of the lava field. “General Scott has returned to his headquarters.”
AUGUST TWENTIETH, AFTER MIDNIGHT
It had been an easier walk, following the trail cut by his men. He could see their lights, a small sea of campfires, stubborn against the downpour. He moved through the last of the big rocks, out of the lava field. He still had a small escort, growing larger as he moved toward Scott’s camp, guards falling in beside him, leading him.
He did not notice the men watching him, the staff moving slowly in behind him, the guards catching glimpses of his uniform, the torn pants, the raincoat ripped down one side. He felt the rain still, his mind numb from the cold, the water that seemed to flood over him in slow waves. He stepped toward the house, heard voices beside him, but he did not understand the words, knew only that he was being asked questions. He still stared up at the lights, felt a hand under his arm, felt the hard pull, more hands, his mind pushing him through the rain, his brain saying, No, do not stop me, I’m almost there, almost … home.
“YOU ALL RIGHT, CAPTAIN?”
He could see the lights above him, felt the wetness on his back and realized he was lying down. He sat up, felt the swirling in his brain, his hands pushing against soft cloth. Then there were hands on his arms, helping him to sit. He fought to clear his mind, saw the young Scott sitting behind a desk, saw the walls of a small den, pictures in frames, dark wooden shelves. He tried to see the men holding him, felt the dizziness pull him, heard the young man say, “Dismissed. He’ll be all right now.”
There were footsteps, the men moving away, and Lee looked at the yellow light, the small flame, then saw a steaming cup, china this time, on the desk, said, “May I?”
The young Scott nodded. “It’s for you, Captain. Coffee. Help yourself. Make you feel better.”
Lee could see that he was on a small couch, his eyes focused on the fabric’s floral pattern. He stood and moved to a chair in front of the young man’s desk, where he sat down and wrapped stiff fingers slowly around the cup. He took a slow drink, his mouth and throat burning him awake. He looked around, saw more oil lamps, but the guards were gone. “How did I get … here?”
“Are you feeling better, Captain?”
Lee felt the fog in his brain clearing, the warmth returning to his hands. He looked at the coffee. “Yes … I’m all right. Tired.”
“You fainted, Captain. Outside.”
“Fainted?” Lee shook his head, the dizziness fading now, and he sat back slowly. “My apologies, Major. It has been a long night.” He felt a sudden stab of alarm. “What time … is it?”
The young man looked at a watch, said, “Nearly two o’clock.”
Lee sat straight, felt a jolt in his brain, said, “I have to see the general. It is important.”
The young man pointed to a door, said, “He’s waiting for you.”
Lee set the coffee cup down. He stood and steadied himself against the back of the chair. He looked at the young man, saw papers, the man writing something.
“Thank you, Major.”
The young man said nothing, motioned with the pen toward the door. “He’s waiting for you, Captain.”
Lee wanted to say something, but they were never familiar with one another, nothing like friendship passed between them. I don’t understand that, he thought, not really. I suppose, for whatever reason, he just … doesn’t like me.
He moved wearily toward the door, pulled it open and stepped into a sickly yellow glow. He stared up at a great dark shadow on one wall, the exaggerated image of Scott sitting at his desk.
The general looked up, said, “Yes, what—” He stopped writing and let the pen fall out of his hand. “You’re alive. And a godforsaken sight, that’s for sure.”
Lee nodded, felt a smile growing, but could not stop it. He could feel the weariness in every part of his body, the cold chill spreading across his skin. “Yes, sir.”
“Get lost, did you? Lord knows, nobody could find their way in that damned place. Don’t feel bad, Captain, there’s been a whole flock of scouts come sulking through here tonight. We sent people out all over the place, trying to find out what the hell is going on. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Lee nodded at Scott’s words, said, “Sir … um … with your permission, sir. I have a message from General Smith.…”
IT WAS AFTER THREE O’CLOCK NOW, AND LEE HAD EVENTUALLY been offered a towel, given another pair of pants, and was finally beginning to feel comfortable. Scott stood beside him, completing the map, filling in details from Lee as needed. Scott leaned back now, said, “This has been one long damned day, Mr. Lee.”
Lee nodded, felt the weariness rolling over him, and Scott said, “Coffee, where’s the damned coffee?” He shouted past the open door of the small room. “Major! You got any more of that damned coffee? There’s an engineer in here about to fall off his chair!”
Lee sat up straight, thought, No, not just on my account, and there was the sound of boots, voices, and Lee turned, saw Twiggs and Pillow limping slowly into the room, water dripping from both men. Scott asked, “Where the hell have you been?”
Twiggs looked toward the only other chair in the room, sat down heavily, and Pillow stood at loose attention, said, “Sir, we attempted to follow our commands … we attempted to maintain contact with the troops who advanced—”
Twiggs interrupted, “We got lost. Sir.”
Pillow nodded hesitantly, seemed embarrassed, and Lee stood, pointed to his chair. “General Pillow, please …”
Pillow smiled weakly. “Thank you, Captain. It has been a long day.”
Lee stood back against the far wall, felt himself sagging, tried to stand upright, and Twiggs said, “We have no idea what happened to the brigades, whether or not they made it across to the enemy’s position. This has been one big damned mess.”
“Your report is noted, General Twiggs. Please take a look at this.” Scott held his map out.
Twiggs reached over, took the paper, held it in the lamplight. His eyes grew wide, then Twiggs looked at Lee, said, “This is your work, Captain?”
Lee was too tired to feel embarrassed, nodded slowly.
Pillow slid his chair close to Twiggs, looked at the map, said, “They … all made it? They’re together? All four brigades?”
Lee said, “Yes, sir. They will be launching an assault against the Mexican position at daybreak. General Smith is in command of the situation, sir.”
Twiggs sat back, looked at Lee again. “I’ll be damned.”
Scott leaned across the desk, said, “General Twiggs, I would prefer you to return to that big hill … Zatapata …”
He looked at Lee, who said, “Zacatepec, sir.”
“Yes, that big damned hill in the lava field. General Smith has requested with some urgency that we provide him with assistance in the form of a large-scale demonstration from that position. We need the enemy’s artill
ery to stay aimed at us, and not him. If you see an opportunity to cross over to the enemy’s position, you may do so.”
Twiggs stood slowly, and Lee saw the tall man grimace, lean slightly to one side. Twiggs said, “Yes, sir. I will return there immediately.”
“Good. General Pillow, you may remain here.”
Pillow seemed to jump, startled by the general’s words. He composed himself enough to say, “Thank you, sir. Yes, thank you.”
The room fell silent. Scott looked at Twiggs’s legs and asked, “Are you fit, General?”
“I’m a bit sore, sir. That’s all. When we were turned around in the lava field, I took a couple of falls. I’ll manage.”
Scott rubbed his temples with his fingertips and leaned back. He looked at Lee. “Captain, do you understand the importance of General Twiggs’s presence on that ground out there?”
Lee felt as though Scott were talking to him from the end of a long corridor. He tried to stand straight. “Certainly, sir. Someone must be in overall command.”
Scott still looked at him, said nothing, and Lee felt the black haze in his mind begin to clear. He looked at Twiggs, who was watching him with a soft, pained look.
Lee said, “Sir, may I be allowed to escort General Twiggs to our position at Zacatepec?”
Scott stood now, said, “You should get started immediately, Captain. Time is crucial.”
Lee saluted and stepped toward the door, heard Twiggs moving unsteadily behind him. They walked out of the small house, and Lee nearly stumbled down the steps, catching himself on the railing, but his foot found the deep puddle below, his boot filling with water. He raised his foot and bent his knee, letting the water pour out of the boot. Get hold of yourself, Captain, he thought. He turned, saw Twiggs moving up beside him, still limping.
“I’m right behind you, Captain,” Twiggs said vacantly.
Lee moved away from the house, aware of a faint shadow, his shadow. He scanned the sky. The rain had stopped. The thin clouds reflected the moon’s pale white glow. He moved toward the first big rocks of the Pedregal, marking the opening to the trail. Men fell in behind him, Twiggs’s staff and more, the guards who had accompanied Lee, his personal escort. The faces were strange, new, and he thought, Of course, it’s the first time I’ve actually seen them. One man was watching him with a ragged toothy grin, and Lee noticed the stripes on his sleeve.
“Onward again, Mr. Huckabee.”
He stepped into the rocks, felt a stab of pain in his foot, his knee, still raw, rubbing against the rough wool of his pants. He ignored the irritation, stared ahead, glad that the trail lay lit by blessed moonlight. He heard Twiggs behind him, grunting in pain. Lee slowed a bit, thought, Easy, he’s an old man. He settled into a comfortable rhythm then, the march slow and steady. Twiggs fell into step, and Lee did not have to look back. He moved past the tall rocks, through the long rows of small ones, the trail, his trail, now smooth under his soggy boots. He stared ahead, looked for the big hill, knew it would be a while yet, that there would still be time to reach the troops, to allow Twiggs to organize and order the details. When the first light drifted across the lava field, the men would be ready, eager for the good fight. The words hit him like a shock—the good fight. He thought of the young man, Johnston’s nephew, the image of the horrible wound sitting hard in his mind, a fleshy stump, the bit of exposed bone as white as the moon. The man’s leg completely … gone.
He did not know where Johnston was, thought, I will have to tell you. I want you to hear it from me. He died doing his duty.
Lee shook his head, as though the motion would clear his mind. He thought of the energy of so much youth, the men who would carry the muskets, who would charge the guns. All our good work, all our pride in a duty performed, and it will still come down to that, to the good fight, the death of so many. He felt awake now, his mind alive. He thought, I do not have the luxury of rest, of sleep, not when those young men are waiting out there for the command that says, You go now, you face the guns. He glanced again at the moon, thinking of all that remained to be done. A long day indeed.
20. SANTA ANNA
AUGUST TWENTIETH, THREE A.M.
HE SAT IN THE GREAT FAT CHAIR, STARED OUT PAST THE CAMPFIRE that covered the hillside. It will be light very soon, he thought, and down there the enemy is waiting, sitting in the dark, planning their evil. But surely some among them already have the feeling, the horrible premonition, and they will not sleep, they will stare up into the black because they know I am here. They already know what will happen to them. And I want them to think about it, obsess about it, know the paralyzing fear of it. To know what a man feels when he stares at death. The fear will spread, and soon all of them will feel it, all the yanquis will know they have come here to die.
The idea gave him chills, delicious anticipation. There is no one in Mexico who can do this, he thought. The army, the peasants, they always come to me, they always seek me out in times like this.
He looked across the field, the men sleeping on the wet ground clustered around their small fires, thought, I do not understand that, why they come to me when the crisis unfolds. And there is always a crisis, a country that cannot seem to find its way. I suppose we are still a primitive people, depending on others, still looking to the old customs, the Spanish, the European ways.
He had spent the previous afternoon on the San Ángel road, riding among the troops, riding in the grand carriage as it moved slowly through the camps. He had felt in need of the cheers, the salutes from his men. At one point, deciding to exercise his leg, he climbed down from the carriage, moving among them, even spoke to the officers, surprising them all, especially his personal bodyguards. The soldiers had been kept at a distance, the bodyguards forming a barrier in case they would try to get too close. But the cheering came anyway, the hats waving, his name echoing across the field. When he climbed back into the carriage, it was with the buoyant satisfaction that this was not just an army fighting for its home, for some political cause. This was his army, and after all, they would still fight for him.
He had eaten his evening meal very late, ordered the chefs to prepare something special, a late night feast, a great roast of beef, fresh fruit soaked in a glorious liqueur. It was a unique occasion, a grand prelude to the destruction of the invaders. If his army was to be ready at the first light, there would be no sleep, and so it would be a night he wanted to remember. The feast had seemed entirely appropriate.
As the food disappeared, reports came in of the cavalry assault near San Agustín, where their General Scott had his headquarters. It had been a weak, mindless ride into the muskets of the yanquis, nothing gained. Once, the lancers used to be the elite, the most feared part of any army, the men on horses who would ride hard into the enemy, ripping the heart out of any assault. He thought of Buena Vista, that awful day months ago, the battle against that horrible sloth of a man, Zachary Taylor. He, Santa Anna, had formed the lancers himself, sent them at the enemy in a grand parade, even the horses covered in the glorious spectacle, adorned with the symbols of glorious might, the same ribbons and banners their ancestors had carried into battle for centuries. The yanquis had waited for them to march in close, and he had thought it was a fatal mistake, allowing his horsemen to begin their final charge so close. He had even led a cheer for them, his foot soldiers coming out of their cover, cheering with him, and they had all thought, Yes, even the yanquis are stunned by the sight. Now they will understand something of tradition, of history, of where we draw our strength.
He had thought that Taylor had finally grown weak, lost the necessary resolve for this criminal war, but then the yanquis began to shoot, concentrated volleys, and he stared in horror as the lancers had simply come apart, their grand assault collapsing in complete disaster. Now there is no heart in them, he thought, none of the old spirit, none of the traditions. The horses were our strength, but this war has changed that. They cannot stand up to the new cannon. And the yanquis, despite everything, shoot straight
.
It was difficult for him to walk over the slick, wet ground. He pulled himself out of the chair, stretched the soreness in his back and blinked hard to push away his exhaustion. He saw the silver goblet at one end of the table, thought, More wine, perhaps. But no, not now. If there is to be any sleep, it will come soon. He was still wearing his grand uniform, always kept it on when his men were close by, would not even allow his personal guard to see him in bedclothes. He flexed the leg, took a few steps, put his weight on the wooden leg, anticipating the jolt of pain. There was only the dull ache, and he massaged the top of the thigh, thought, If I am awake, then the army is awake. We must always be prepared, ready to make war when the opportunity strikes.
He stared out at the quiet beauty of the camp, relishing the silence, thought, At least, this late, there are no annoying visitors, no meetings, no one begging for my attention. I do not have patience for government, for dignitaries, for the weak-minded men who still believe they control this country. When they heard that the devil Scott was coming, when the yanquis approached the capital, the Congress just disappeared, showed no stomach for running a nation when there was a serious challenge at hand. Even my enemies came on their knees, begging me to save them. It has always been that way. Bureaucrats, men who know nothing of honor or combat, and certainly nothing about power. They cannot lead. There is only one power, and it does not come from pieces of paper or committees arguing endlessly.
He thought of the British and their fawning diplomats. They bring me papers and more papers, begging me to change my manner of government. He laughed again, thinking of the official, whose name he could not remember. You dared to sit in my office, a foreigner, using those words, lecturing me about my illegal dictatorship, treating me like some criminal. And then you quivered like a frightened child when I pulled my sword. I showed you where the power comes from, what your papers were worth, and you ran away like a little girl.