Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

by David Healey

  "Hurry, boys, hurry!" Greer cried. He grabbed the end of a tie and single-handedly hurled it off the tracks.

  Panting from the effort, Greer took stock of the situation while he caught his breath. He still had sixteen men, all of them hungry to shoot a Rebel. For most, it was the first action they had seen.

  Greer's only regret was that the Rebels had not shot Captain Lowell. The skirmish had left the captain shaken, but he had recovered enough to help the men move the ties off the track.

  Greer ordered the bodies dragged into a row beside the stationmaster's office. They would come back later to bury them. There was no time for that now.

  How many Rebels were dead? None that he had seen. He had counted just eight raiders altogether, not including the three working to refuel the locomotive. Tough bastards, to have held off more than twice their number. Greer was determined that the Rebels wouldn't be so lucky next time.

  With the tracks cleared, the soldiers began to scramble back aboard the train. Up in the cab, Schmidt had already set the Lord Baltimore moving. Greer caught the back of the locomotive and climbed up.

  "All right, Oscar," he said. "Let's go get those Johnny Rebs."

  • • •

  4:45 p.m., near Hancock, Maryland

  Hazlett was in the boxcar at the back of the train, thinking. The skirmish with the Yankees had been a close thing. He was not so sure he and the other raiders would fare so well if it came to another fight.

  His mind made up, Hazlett stood. "It's time," he said.

  He crossed over to the president's car, followed by Captain Fletcher and John Cook.

  "What's going on?" asked Pettibone, who was standing guard with Hudson. "Your orders were to stay in that boxcar."

  "Don't go telling me about orders," Hazlett said, sneering. "We're on our way to see the colonel.”

  "All three of you ain't got to see him," Pettibone said. "You're supposed to stay here in case the Yankees show up on our tail again."

  "Corporal Pettibone, get the hell out of my way," Hazlett snarled.

  Pettibone did not move. Behind the corporal, Hudson's massive bulk stood like a wall.

  Hazlett knew better than to ask Pettibone and Hudson to join the mutiny. Both were loyal to the colonel, especially Hudson. Besides, Hazlett didn't see why a white man should have to share good money with someone like Hudson.

  But this was not the time for a fight. Hazlett knew they had to overpower Percy first. Pettibone could either join him then—or get shot. For the moment, there were other ways to get around him.

  Hazlett forced a smile and turned to Fletcher. "Captain?"

  "You heard him," Fletcher said. "We have to see the colonel."

  Pettibone might oppose a sergeant, but he could not argue with an officer, even if it was only Captain Fletcher.

  "All right, have it your way," Pettibone said, then stepped aside.

  Hazlett bumped him with his shoulder as he went past and reached for the ladder that led to the roof of the car. "Me and you can talk later, Pettibone."

  He started up the ladder. The only way to reach the rest of the train was across the top of the president's car. Hazlett climbed to the roof, clambered onto it, and started across in a wide-legged crouch to keep his balance. Wind sang in his ears and the car swayed dangerously as the train raced down the tracks. He tried not to look down.

  The roof sloped away from either side of the ridge only enough to shed rain, so the surface was relatively flat. The ground on either side was a blur and tree branches clawed at him. If he was knocked off and hit the ground at this speed, he would be a dead man. Hazlett scrambled across. Captain Fletcher and Private Cook soon followed.

  "I don't want to do that again," Cook said as he reached the safety of the ladder.

  "It wasn't so bad," Fletcher said, caught up in the excitement of what they were about to do. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so alive.

  They climbed down the other side and entered the baggage car.

  "Here it is," Hazlett said, checking on the money they would soon be taking. If the three men had any lingering doubts concerning what they were about to do, the sight of all those greenbacks put them to rest. It was more money than any of them had ever seen.

  "We're rich," Fletcher said. He sounded giddy.

  "We've got to get the money off the train first," Cook said soberly. "Then we'll be rich."

  Taking the money wasn't going to be easy. They could have thrown the money off the train and jumped after it, but no one could leap from a train moving at sixty miles per hour and expect to live. The ground would hit him like a club.

  The only other choice was to seize control of the train from Colonel Percy and force the Chesapeake to slow or stop so they could unload the money. They would need to do that before the Yankee train reappeared on the tracks behind them. Hazlett hadn't thought it through, but he knew that any good soldier sometimes had to make things up as he went along.

  "We'll take care of Flynn and the colonel, then I'll go forward and stop the train," Hazlett said. "Willie Forbes will see it our way, just as long as we promise him a bottle of whiskey. Come on."

  They went out the baggage car, crossed the open platform, and threw open the door to the passenger car.

  Percy was there. And Flynn. Johnny Benjamin lounged near the back of the car. The woman, Nellie Jones, was sponging Lieutenant Cater's face with a damp rag. Cater had come around, although his eyes were bright and feverish. His face was pale as a boiled shirt from all the blood he had lost. Hazlett stepped around Lieutenant Cater and the woman to face Percy.

  "What's going on?" Percy demanded. "The three of you should be back in the boxcar. What's wrong?"

  For a moment, Hazlett just stared at Percy. Then everything happened quickly. Hazlett suddenly had a gun in his hand. Benjamin began to draw his own gun, but Cook hit him with a fist to the jaw that knocked the boy off his feet. Cook took his gun away.

  Too startled to move, Percy and Flynn found themselves staring into the muzzles of three revolvers.

  Chapter 28

  "What the hell is going on?" Percy repeated eyes steely with anger. "Have you boys turned into Yankees on me?"

  "It ain't like that, Percy," Hazlett said, not bothering to call him "Colonel" or "sir." "We just want to be rich."

  "This is about that payroll money isn't it? Damn it all! I knew I should have thrown that money off the train when I had the chance."

  "I reckon it's a good thing for us you didn't," Hazlett said. "Besides, the boys and I know this raid will end in some hangings, and we don't want to swing. So, Percy, what you're goin' to do is order the train to stop. We're goin' to take that payroll money, and then me, Fletcher and Cook are gettin' off this wreck."

  "You'll do no such thing."

  Hazlett thumbed back the hammer on the Colt. "We ain't askin'. We're tellin'. You ain't got no choice, Percy."

  "I'm disappointed in you, Hazlett. Truly I am."

  Hazlett smirked. "I'm real sorry to hear that. Now stop the goddamn train. I ain't goin' to ask nice again."

  "Hazlett, I won't lie to you," Percy went on as if he had not heard Hazlett's demands and the sergeant was not waving a gun in his face. "I always thought you were no-account back home. You and Cook both. At first I put you in my regiment and made you a sergeant because you're married to my cousin. Thing is, you turned out to be a pretty good soldier. You're good in a fight and the men listen to you." Percy jerked his chin at Captain Fletcher. "Now Fletcher here, I can see him doing this cowardly thing—this mutiny. He's not one of us. But I can't understand why you're doing this. Don't turn yellow on me. Not after all we've been through so far. Not now."

  Hazlett snorted. "You can save your damned pretty speeches, Percy. You always did think you was better than me. Better than anyone else, to tell the truth. You ain't got all the answers. You're about to get us all killed, for one thing."

  "Well, Hazlett, at least I have not forgotten my duty." Up until that point, Pe
rcy had been speaking calmly. Now his eyes sparked with anger, and he spoke with stinging truthfulness. "You're a coward. White trash. That's all you are, and that's all you'll ever be."

  Hazlett's face twisted in rage, making it even uglier than usual. He raised the revolver until it was pointed at Percy's head. "Damn you to hell, Percy!"

  Flynn took a step toward Hazlett, but stopped when Cook leveled a revolver at him. Flynn started to say, "Now, Hazlett, maybe we can work this out about the money— "

  "Shut up, Irish," Hazlett snapped, without taking his eyes off Percy. "I want to enjoy watching the high and mighty lord of the manor get hisself shot without listening to you flap your jaw. If Irish here opens his mouth again, Cook, shoot him."

  "All right," Cook said. He looked uneasy. It was one thing to shoot a man in battle, but it was altogether different to kill him in cold blood, face to face.

  Hazlett's whole arm shook with fury. His finger began to tighten on the trigger. Percy stood calmly, waiting to take the bullet in the chest.

  Nearby, Nellie gasped. "My God, he's going to shoot him."

  On the floor at Hazlett's feet, Silas Cater lay quietly, forgotten. He raised himself on one elbow and kicked Hazlett just under the knee. It was a feeble kick, but the boot struck with enough force to knock Hazlett off balance.

  The gun fired, missing Percy's head by inches. Hazlett swore, swung the revolver down, and shot Cater in the chest. He turned the gun toward Percy as the colonel rushed him. Percy managed to catch Hazlett's wrist and slam his hand into a corner of a bench. The gun slid away under the seats. Percy was just reaching for his own revolver when Cook tackled him.

  Flynn drew the Le Mat revolver, but before he could get off a shot he had to dive for the cover offered by the benches as Fletcher snapped off two shots at him. The bullets scattered bits of horsehair stuffing from the seats.

  "Damn you, Fletcher!" Flynn shouted. In reply, another shot tore through the seats.

  "Shoot him and be done with it," Hazlett snarled at Fletcher. He was trying to help Cook wrestle Percy to the floor.

  "I can't see him!"

  "Not the Paddy, you jackass! Shoot the colonel!" Hazlett let go of Percy and stepped away.

  But Fletcher did not have a chance because Percy and Cook were still wrestling with each other, gouging and punching. He couldn’t shoot one without hitting the other.

  Hazlett swore. "Take care of him, Fletcher. I'm going to stop the train. We ain't got much time." He dashed out the doorway in the direction of the locomotive.

  Flynn popped up and fired at Captain Fletcher, but a sudden jolt of the train sent his shot wide. Before he could get off another shot, Fletcher yelped and ran out the back doorway, toward the baggage car.

  Flynn knew he had to catch Hazlett. Although Hazlett had lost his gun, he might still be able to stop the locomotive, in which case the Yankees would soon overtake them. If that happened, the raiders would all be hanged or shot.

  Flynn flung open the door and crossed the platform, rushing into the next passenger car, revolver at the ready.

  The car was empty.

  Where the hell was Hazlett? He could not have reached the locomotive that quickly. Flynn dashed to the opposite door, threw it open, and ran out. Above the roaring wind, he heard a metallic click.

  Flynn ducked.

  A searing flash came from the roof of the car and a bullet slashed past his ear, so close he could feel the heat of the lead. He twisted, fired upwards, but there was only empty sky above him.

  Hazlett was on the roof of the car. That explained how he had disappeared so quickly. He must have been carrying another pistol besides the one he had lost in the scuffle. Knowing Hazlett, it had been stuffed in his boot. He knew someone would chase him and had planned an ambush. Only the constant lurching of the train had spoiled Hazlett's aim and saved Flynn's life.

  "Bastard," Flynn growled, then started up the short ladder that led to the roof.

  Carefully, Flynn raised his head above the edge of the roof, expecting another shot at any moment. However, he could see that Hazlett was halfway down the car, moving away from him.

  "Hazlett!" he shouted, and pulled himself onto the roof.

  Hazlett turned and fired. Flynn snapped off a shot in reply, but it was nearly impossible to hit anything more than a few feet away on the swaying, wind-whipped roof. The train was moving at sixty miles per hour and wind howled in Flynn's ears. It was like being on the deck of a ship during a storm, with the motion threatening to pitch both men off at any moment.

  Flynn had to crouch to keep from toppling off. Branches from trees overhanging the tracks lashed at him, trying to sweep him off the roof. Cinders and hot ash from the Chesapeake's smokestack stung his face and eyes.

  "Sure, and you picked a fine place to make a last stand, Hazlett," he shouted over the wind.

  "Go to hell, Irish."

  "Ain't I there already? What do you call this place?"

  Hazlett fired again. The bullet sang into the mountain air.

  "Listen to me, Hazlett. You would never get far with that money. The Yankees are right behind us. Take a look."

  Hazlett glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the pursuing train had come into sight. The Yankee locomotive moved like lightning. The Chesapeake was running slower than before, although Flynn wasn't sure why. Although the enemy's train was still in the distance, Flynn could see it would gain steadily on them. It was only a matter of time before the Chesapeake was overtaken.

  "How long do you think we'll last once the Yankees catch up?" Hazlett shouted in reply. "We ain't got a goddamn prayer if that happens. They'll hang every last one of us that don't get killed in the fight."

  "You won't have to worry about it, Hazlett, you bastard. I plan to kill you first myself." Flynn raised the Le Mat, but couldn't hold his arm steady enough to get off a shot. Hazlett raised his own pistol and fired two shots. The bullets cracked past Flynn's head, sounding like the flick of a bullwhip.

  The hammer of Hazlett's gun fell on an empty chamber. He tossed the useless pistol away and rushed at Flynn with a snarl. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet. Flynn was busy shoving his revolver back in his belt, trying to get his hands free, when Hazlett butted him in the belly.

  The two men fell and rolled. Flynn feared they would go right off the edge of the roof, but he managed to spread his feet, and that braked them. Hazlett tried to bite his ear, but Flynn snapped his own head up and caught Hazlett in the nose. Blood streamed out and flecked them both.

  Hazlett hit him so hard on the chin that Flynn's vision swam black and red. He shoved, elbowed, got free of Hazlett.

  Both men got to their feet, struggling to keep their balance. Hazlett had the advantage because his back was to the wind, while Flynn faced the front of the train. The rush of air and hot bite of cinders and smoke made his eyes blur. He had to turn his head sideways just to catch a breath.

  The train rounded a bend, and the car leaned sickeningly beneath them. Hazlett's position gave him an easier time of it, and he cackled as he watched Flynn scramble to keep his feet. Hazlett's face was streaked with blood from his damaged nose, making him look like a crazed man. He launched himself at Flynn, who hit him with a perfectly timed punch that sent Hazlett reeling.

  As the train came out of the bend, Flynn spotted the tunnel ahead. Dark as midnight inside, with a keyhole of daylight just visible at the other end. On the map Flynn remembered it was marked as Indigo Tunnel. Hazlett, his back to the tunnel, didn't see it.

  "Let's make a deal, Hazlett," Flynn shouted above the wind, trying to keep Hazlett right where he was. "You and me can split the money."

  Hazlett spat away a mouthful of blood. "Not on your life, Irish. I'd as soon burn it as give half to you."

  "You need help now," Flynn said. "Fletcher and Cook don't stand a chance against Percy."

  "Percy ain't so tough," Hazlett said. "Looked like he was about beat when I left."

  The tunnel loomed closer. The Chesapeak
e sounded three short warning blasts, but Hazlett paid no attention.

  Just a few more seconds. "Think of it, Hazlett. You and me—we're the only ones who can take that money and get back home alive."

  "Go to hell, Irish!"

  "You'll beat me there, you bastard!"

  Flynn threw himself flat on the roof.

  Puzzled, Hazlett stared down at Flynn. Then he turned around.

  Too late.

  The black mouth of the tunnel was just ahead, with the stone arch four feet above the top of the train. Hazlett had just started to scream when the archway slammed into him and cut his cry short.

  Above the noise of wind and train, Flynn heard a sickening thunk. Then the train plunged into darkness.

  Flynn took a deep breath. He could see nothing but the sparks shooting from the smokestack. The smoke, trapped in the narrow confines of the tunnel, nearly choked him. He held his breath so he wouldn't suffocate. The noise was deafening and his eardrums felt ready to burst. He couldn't see the arch of the tunnel, but sensed it was just overhead, so he kept his face pressed tightly against the roof of the car.

  Just as suddenly as the train had rushed into darkness, it burst from the tunnel. Flynn shifted his weight carefully and began making his way back toward the end of the car and the ladder he would climb down to the platform. He took his time, hardly able to believe that he had been standing on the bucking rooftop just minutes ago. Tree branches swept dangerously close to the roof, trying to pluck him off. He had survived this long on top of the train. He didn't plan to be killed in the last few moments on this dangerous perch.

  Flynn worked his feet over the rooftop and onto the ladder. He managed to get a look behind the Chesapeake, and was startled to see the enemy's train shoot from the tunnel, wreathed in smoke and steam. He cursed, and then he muttered a quick Hail Mary. A prayer now and then never hurt.

  • • •

  Nellie was in the baggage car filling a sack with bundles of Yankee greenbacks when Captain Fletcher came in. There was only a dusky light in the car, but it was enough for him to spot her.