You're in Command Now, Mr Fog
Page 19
“You’re bluffing,” Grimsby sniffed.
“Am I?” challenged Hondo, having kept the rim beyond the Yankees covertly under observation. “Take a look behind you and see how much of a bluff it is.”
Turning, Grimsby stared at the high ground about three quarters of a mile from his regiments positions A startled exclamation burst from his lips at what met his gaze. Lined on the rim were a number of Confederate cavalrymen. In their centre sat an officer, with what looked like a plume of some kind fixed to the turned-up left side of his Jeff Davis hat’s brim. Such of the enlisted men who wore that kind of head-gear sported similar decorations. They were, Grimsby knew, the mark of members of Gaylord’s Dare-Devils.
“Good going, Billy Jack!” Dusty breathed. “You’ll be disappointed, everything going so right.”
In accordance with his youthful commanding officer’s instructions, Billy Jack had made the crossing and succeeded in remaining undetected by the enemy. After faking the plumes on the hats—with Sandy McGraw wearing Red’s tunic and hat, having removed the ruined badge, to pose as an officer—the men of Company ‘C’ had moved to a position from which they could watch what happened at the bridge. Waiting until the parlay was under way, the sergeant had brought them into view.
Seeing the Yankee major staring his way, Sandy took off and waved his hat as if signaling to the Arkansas Rifles.
Then he turned and gave an order which sent Vern Hassle galloping away to the east as if going to report to the main body of the reinforcements.
“Like I said, major,” Hondo drawled, with the complacent air of a man who was holding all the winning cards. “It’s no bluff.”
“Maybe it’s not,” answered Grimsby, trying to sound unimpressed. “But it could be.”
“Calling it will cost you every man you’ve got,” Hondo warned. “Those who aren’t killed will be taken prisoner. Even if you’d prepared defenses, we’d crush you in the end—And the end would come a whole heap too soon for you to carry out your original mission.”
Watching Grimsby, Dusty could tell that he was affected by Hondo’s words and the apparent evidence of how close Gaylord’s Dare-Devils were to his regiment. The major’s eyes strayed to the dead and wounded on the bridge. Then he looked across the river at the hamlet. From there, he watched the last of the Texas Light Cavalry’s supporting Companies as they disappeared into the woodlands. They would come over and join with the new arrivals.
“I’ll go and see what Colonel Middleton has to say,” Grimsby promised. “You’ll have your answer in five minutes, Major Fog.”
“What do you reckon, boy?” Hondo inquired, as Grimsby marched stiff-backed in the direction from which he had come.
“He’s convinced,” Dusty guessed. “Question being whether he can convince his colonel. I reckon Middleton’ll see reason. There’s no sign of them holding Red prisoner, though.”
“He’d not likely be out in the open if they were,” Hondo pointed out. “We’ll ask Major Grimsby about him.”
The five minutes dragged by slowly, with Union soldiers carrying off the wounded and glowering at the two Texans. However, the truce was respected and nothing untoward happened. At last Major Grimsby returned and, although he was trying to hide his feelings, Dusty felt sure that the answer he brought was in the affirmative.
“Colonel Middleton accepts your term’s, Major Fog,” Grimsby said quietly. “If you gentlemen will accompany me, we’ll arrange the details.”
Throwing another worried glance downstream, Dusty stiffened. A grin of pure delight and relief came to his face as he watched a horse bearing two riders appear from the trees. In front, guiding the animal, was a Texas Light Cavalry enlisted man. Behind him, without hat, tunic, socks, boots and weapons, sat Red Blaze.
The sight was all that Dusty needed to make his pleasure complete.
Chapter Seventeen
The crossing of the Ouachita River had been accomplished successfully by the Army of Arkansas and North Texas. Having preserved the bridge for their use, they had destroyed it as soon as their rear guard was safely on the southern bank.
On his arrival, General Jackson Banes Hardin had confirmed the terms accepted by Colonel Middleton. Not only had the remnants of the defending force been allowed unrestricted passage, Ole Devil had provided them with medical aid, facilities to bury their dead and transport to carry off the wounded.
Having dealt with that problem and the business of crossing the river, Ole Devil had organized his defenses. There would be no further retreat, he had warned his tired but determined men.
Not until the next morning did Ole Devil receive reports from Colonel Barnett and Hondo Fog. Having done so, the tall, lean, hawk-faced general sent for Colonel Blaze and, after a discussion with the commanding officer of the Texas Light Cavalry, passed the word for Dusty Fog to report to him.
By the time the small Texan had arrived, his father had gone to carry out other duties. So Dusty found himself confronted by two of his uncles and Colonel Barnett. They were eying him with blank, hard expressions.
“Lieutenant Fog, reporting as ordered, sir,” Dusty said, halting and delivering a smart salute to the general.
“Let me compliment you on your handling of the Lancers, Mr. Fog,” Ole Devil replied, cold black eyes raking the young blond from head to foot. “But I hear that you disregarded Captain von Hertz’s instructions on how this should be done. He had intended that you should use a caracole.”
“Yes, sir,” Dusty admitted.
“You knew that?” Colonel Blaze inquired.
“I did, sir,” Dusty agreed.
“But you didn’t do a caracole?” Blaze went on.
“No, sir. I didn’t think that it would serve our needs.”
“Do you consider yourself a better judge of a tactical situation than Captain von Hertz?” Blaze demanded.
“No, sir,” Dusty replied. “Probably the captain would have seen that, under the circumstances, a caracole wouldn’t work. But he was killed before he could change his mind.”
“A caracole is sound tactics for men with firearms opposed by Lancers,” Ole Devil remarked, still studying Dusty with what might have been criticism. “Why not this time?”
“The Lancers were in three ranks, sir,” Dusty explained. “While we would have shot up the rear one, the other two wouldn’t have been affected. They’d’ve been free to keep going at the battery.”
“So they would,” Ole Devil conceded and the colonels’ faces broke into smiles which matched his own. “You’ve done very well, Dustine.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dusty answered quietly, but could not conceal his pleasure at the praise.
“Company ‘C’ needs a new commanding officer,” Blaze put in, looking at the general. “I’d like to promote Mr. Fog to captain and give it to him.”
“I agree,” Ole Devil drawled.
“There is one point, general,” Barnett put in. “While I accept that M—Captain Fog has carried himself in an exemplary manner throughout the affair, I feel we can’t overlook the fact that he disobeyed his superior’s orders. With the best of intentions, I’ll admit, but to ignore it could establish a dangerous precedent.”
“That’s true enough, Colonel Barnett,” Ole Devil conceded and the frosty expression returned to his face—yet with a twinkle in his eyes. “You can’t be let get away with it, young man. So I think that I know a suitable punishment. You’ll need a new second-in-command.”
“Yes, sir,” Dusty said, wondering what was coming next.
“Colonel Blaze is promoting Mr. Blaze to first lieutenant,” the general continued. “And he’ll be confirming your appointment of Billy Jack to sergeant major. That, gentlemen, I feel is punishment enough.”
The smiles were back on the older men’s faces, matching that creasing the small Texan’s features. Dusty wondered what Red and Billy Jack would make of their promotion.
“All right,” Colonel Blaze ordered. “Go and take over your Company. You’re in c
ommand now, Captain Fog.”
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i The officially recommended number of guns in a battery was six, but that figure could rarely be made available in the Confederate States’ Army.
ii Fly-slicers: derogatory name for cavalrymen.
iii How effective a caracole could be is described in Sidewinder.
iv Beef-head: derogatory name for a Texan.
v Colt 1860 Army revolvers intended for sale to the military had eight inch barrels.
vi Peckerwood: derogatory name for a Confederate supporter.
vii Goober-grabber: derogatory name for a native of Arkansas.
viii Softshell: derogatory name for a liberal-intellectual.
ix The British Army engaged in anti-Mau-Mau terrorist patrols in the Kenya forests also took advantage of this fact.
x A full description of the hooley-ann throw is given in Trail Boss.
xi This was the major cause of the War Between the States, although the anti-slavery issue was much enlarged upon and exploited in the North to give the white, working class population—who would have been unlikely to understand the implications of the Secessionist issue—an acceptable reason—that they would be helping to set free the poor, ill-used, down-trodden slaves—for enlisting and fighting against their countrymen.
xii The story is that, in the course of an argument with an Irishman, an Italian immigrant stated that he was one hundred per cent American. Not to be outdone, the Irishman replied that he was a one hundred and ten per cent American.
xiii A description of how a friction primer works is given in The Hooded Riders.
xiv “Fixed” round: one with the cartridge bag attached to the shot.
xv Puddle-splasher: derogatory name for an infantryman.
xvi “Calf-rope”: cowhands’ expression for admitting surrender.
xvii This is proven in the “A Convention Of War” episode of: Under The Stars and Bars.
xviii Nemenuh: “The People”, the Comanches’ name for their nation.
xix How this happened is told in The Rio Hondo War.