Will had been in the saddle so long that he needed to walk, not ride. Climbing back upon his mount felt an impossibility at the moment. Getting back to his horse, he gave the reins a gentle tug to start it forward and walked it out of camp. His mount led him more than he it as he stumbled along a worn track leading to Murfreesboro. Everywhere was evidence that an army had been in possession of the fields; trampled grassland and cast-off equipment lay everywhere.
Entering the town proper, Will stepped into the midst of activity. Officers and generals of the forces left to perform rearguard duty were still in possession of houses, and the wounded who could not be moved were lying on every flat surface available.
Will passed by a surly-looking lot of prisoners, Confederates, who sat glumly and waited their turn to be carted off. Will observed them with disgust, as all did. Men who had failed to do their duty. If he could be charged with anything himself, it might be for doing his duty overzealously. Yet here he was, about to join the procession headed to the rear in a sad state.
All he needed was some rest, he told himself. Rest because he was ill.
Wagons and wagons and wagons with “US” stenciled on their canvas were being loaded down with whatever could be transported and sent down the Murfreesboro road headed southeast to cross the river and continue on. On the outskirts of the town, he recognized several officers coming and going from a house. Will led his mount over to affix its reins to a post and then gingerly made his way to the front steps. General Wheeler’s staff were busily making preparations to vacate, and the guns of Bryant’s section of Wiggins’s artillery were in an attitude of park about the grounds, waiting for their marching orders.
Several cooks were busy boiling something disgusting-smelling in several large iron cauldrons, but even the welcome smell of coffee, drifting from somewhere else nearby, was enough to turn Will’s stomach. He climbed the house’s steps slowly, waiting for each jarring motion to bring up another command of fire and fall back before he finally stretched himself out upon the boards of the porch and prayed that he would not have to suddenly heave.
“Hunter,” came a familiar voice. It was Colonel Allen, his arm in a sling. Will had passed him by without recognizing him moments before.
“Sir,” Will started to get up.
Allen motioned for him to be still. “Can’t salute you anyway,” he said weakly.
“Of course, sir,” Will replied.
“Ill?”
“Bad pork, I suspect. Spoiled Yankee pork.”
“Major Lowery reports the regiment performed splendidly after the fight of the 31st. All commanders performed their duties well in the trying days in the enemy rear.”
Will nodded slowly, his head still pounding behind his closed eyes.
“Says you took command of your troop and brought them out of several more scraps when you might have been cut off,” Allen added.
“Sir, that we did.” Will was waiting for the inevitable word, the fulfillment of the threat to relieve him of command once and for all.
“We’ll need new captains to replace our losses.”
Will heaved a sigh and rested his head against the side of the house. They would need more than just a few. Several had been captured, several killed, several wounded and perhaps not ever to return. But why torment him with such talk?
“Several field commissions are going to be given too.”
He knew that, of course. Enlisted men and sergeants who had performed well would be offered officer commissions to reward and to fill vacancies.
“Good, sir. Several men deserve it,” Will replied listlessly. At the moment, he’d settle for just being left alone.
“I’ve approved several recommendations for promotion to captain to General Wheeler just today,” Allen said brightly.
Will was feeling sicker now. All he needed was insult added to injury with the talk of promoting someone else to his command. “Good for them, sir,” Will said. A churning in his stomach and a bitter taste welled up. He blew out a controlled breath.
Will’s eyes were closed, and he could only wonder what it was that Allen might be getting out of this further torment of Will’s already exhausted state of mind. Whatever the reason, Will just wished Allen would shut up and move on.
“You’re dense, you know that, Hunter?”
“Sir?” Will jerked his head off the wall and slowly turned to face his commander. Sick or no, he wasn’t going to be insulted, even by a superior.
“So, you do not even want to know who’s been approved?” Allen asked, trying to hide a smirk.
“No, not really,” Will said, annoyed at the continued conversation and topic.
“Well, you’re going to find out soon enough.”
“Okay, who?” Will asked, exasperated.
Colonel Allen regarded his charge with a spreading smile.
Will returned the gaze with growing concern. Despite his stomach and headache, he did care who was about to be promoted ahead of him. “Lieutenant Phelps is a capable man, he has the respect of the troop,” Will said. “He will make a good captain.”
“Get some rest, Captain Hunter,” Colonel Allen said after a pause. “We’ll be moving out once the enemy decides to advance on the town, and I’ll need my commanders at the front of their troops.”
Will nodded absently, still working over a mental list of who it was that was going to be promoted and why they were ahead of him. “Captain Hunter” would sound good one day.
Then it hit.
“Sir, did you say . . .”
Colonel Allen made a face and shook his head slowly in mock annoyance. “I need my captains to be mentally quick. You must be really sick to be this slow.”
“Yes, sir,” Will replied as the blood rushed to his cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”
Settling his head back against the hard wood wall of the house, he closed his eyes. The sourness of his gut and his swimming head did not feel quite so unbearable now.
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River of Blood (Shiloh Series Book 4) Page 45