Prisoner in Time (Time travel)
Page 26
“How far south does this ridgeline go?” Geoff cut in, worry now spreading across his face
“I hear it’s ten… maybe fifteen miles long and ends at a city called Rome, but there is a gap about two miles down the line a piece. Them Yanks could try to cross it if they was brave enough, which they ain’t. Our scouts think the pass is too narrow and too dangerous to send a brigade of men over the top, so we all ain’t too concerned. If we all make a good showin’ here, we won’t have to worry about it neither, cuz them cowards will just turn tail and run.”
Geoff looked over to David. Both read the same expression on each other’s faces: disbelief.
“Sarge, don’t you think they might give it a try? With all due respect, I don’t think they’re as cowardly as you might suggest,” David asked.
“Agreed. I’ve seen some of them Yanks do some things,” he responded, widening his eyes for effect. “But they just ain’t as tough and brave as us Rebs. When they whoop us, it’s only cuz they have a mess of troops that outnumber us all. But when we all number the same size, them blue scum don’t stand a chance.”
“Are we both the same size for this battle?” Geoff asked.
“Unfortunately, no. Our scouts think they might have a force half again as big as us,” he responded in disappointed tone.
“Hmm, so they could conceivably out-shoot us here today, just due to their sheer size,” David responded.
“They could if we all was out in the open, but we ain’t. We all are tucked up against this here long cliff and we all are elevated and shootin’ down on them blue dogs. We all have the advantage of natural protection where they all don’t. As long as we all don’t do something stupid, it’ll be like trying to pull a badger from his burrow.”
“You’re right, unless of course, they all do something smart,” David countered.
“Damn Yankees, ain’t got the brains of a chicken. I ain’t worried just yet,” he replied confidently.
Suddenly, the roar of a cannon sounded out across the field. Then another…
“Take cover!” Sgt. Cooper shouted loudly down the line.
Instantly, shells exploded several yards to their front, the shrapnel ricocheting off rocks and embedding in trees around them.
“Prepare to fire!” Sgt. Cooper commanded.
As more shells thundered in, the long line of men readied themselves for battle.
-----*-----*-----*-----
On the northern end of the field, Union Gen. Tecumseh Sherman ordered his men to advance in a full frontal assault. Watching through his field glasses, he observed their movements with intensity.
“Col. Abrams, double-time march across the field. Hold your fire until you’re within range,” he commanded.
“Yes Sir,” Col. Abrams shouted back.
As Gen. Sherman sat on his horse and watched within the protection of the tree line, Col. Abrams shouted commands for his men to march across the field. Instantly the long column advanced forward.
Gen. Sherman brought his binoculars to his eyes and stared out at the enemy. Scanning from east to west, he searched for weakness in the distant skirmish line.
“Blast!” he growled under his breath. “Tighter than a sheep’s ass,” he said out loud.
“Sir?” Lt. Jefferson asked.
“The rebel line is tight… no weakness as far as I can tell,” he shot back.
“Yes Sir,” Lt. Jefferson answered.
“No matter… Once Gen. Powel’s men out flank them through the woods, we’ll cut them to pieces in a crossfire.”
“Gen. Johnston’s wily. What if he anticipates our flanking maneuver?” the young lieutenant asked.
“Plan B,” Gen. Sherman smiled.
“What’s plan B, Sir,” the lieutenant asked again.
“If our eastern flanking maneuver fails, I’m hoping to try a western flanking maneuver. Right now, I’m waiting word from our scouts on the west side of Rocky Face Ridge. If they can find a gap through that range, I’ll send Gen. McPherson down that western valley. Once he crosses over and heads back north, we’ll have Johnston’s men dead in our sights and it’ll all be over. With our forces on all sides, he won’t have a choice but to surrender.”
The lieutenant nodded approvingly, then turned his attention to the Union line. Near the base of the cliff, at a slightly elevated position, he saw a puff of smoke. A second later, he heard the report from the enemy rifle.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Moments before…
“Ok boys, here they all come. Prepare to fire on my says so,” Sgt. Cooper shouted down the line. “Don’t fire till y’all hear my command.”
He turned to Geoff and David and said, “Ok boys, y’all and the rest of the sharp shooters can fire when them blue dogs is in range. Shoot fast and steady.”
“Yes Sir, sergeant,” David said, never taking his eyes off the approaching Union line.
Placing his hand on David’s shoulder, he added, “I’m countin’ on you Warner. Load as fast as you done did at Dalton.” Focusing on Geoff, he continued, “Robbins, you’re the damnedest shooter I ever saw. Get them blue bellies.”
“Yes Sir,” both men responded in unison.
Geoff sighted his weapon. He observed the winds blowing easterly across the grasses out in front of him. He then estimated the distance to the Union soldiers. Looking down the barrel through his sights, he raised the bead of the sight above and to the left of his target. He took a large breath and exhaled out his nervous tension. Once more, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled. At the bottom of his breath, he squeezed the trigger.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Union Pvt. Robert Tucker ran at a fast pace, shoulder to shoulder with his comrades. Holding his rifle pointed forward, his right hand rubbed the trigger guard as he scanned the skirmish line for a target. He looked toward the base of the high cliff. On an elevated cluster of boulders, he watched a man shouting orders to his men. With fierce determination, he zeroed in on his target.
“I got that officer just below the cliff,” he shouted to the men beside him.
“I saw him first,” came a voice to his right.
“He ain’t an officer. That’s a sergeant,” another voice shouted out.
“Whatever he is, he makes a fine target standing proud like that,” Pvt. Tucker retorted raising his rifle.
“He’s too far away. Don’t waste your shot,” the voice to his right challenged.
“Two bits says I get ‘im on the run,” Pvt. Tucker responded, picking up the challenge.
“You ain’t got two bits, Tucker,” another voice joked.
Pvt. Tucker raised his rifle to the ready while he jogged. As the rifle bounced on and off his target, he concentrated harder. Looking down his sights, he noticed a puff of smoke to the right of his target.
Suddenly, he felt his chest erupt as a bullet tore through his uniform and smashed through tissue and bone. He saw blood spurt into the air in front of him. Simultaneously, a thunderous pain numbed his senses. As the blackness of faint closed off his vision, he dropped to his knees. Falling forward, his last conscious thought centered on his loving wife and children. One second later, Pvt. Robert Tucker lay dead.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Geoff quickly dropped his rifle and picked up another. Like before, he exhaled, aimed quickly and fired. Out in the distance, more Union men lay dead.
David reloaded as fast as he was able. With powder, wadding, ball and caps lined up in piles in front of him, he ran through his routine. Every fifteen seconds, three rifles lay ready for action.
Off to their right, Sgt. Cooper watched proudly as the pair produced more than twice as many shots fired as the other sharp shooters. Out in the distance, he marveled at the teen’s accuracy.
“He ain’t missed one yet, boys,” he shouted to the rest of the sharp shooters, hoping to inspire them to greater accuracy.
Moments later, now within range, the whole of the Union line, stopped and open fired. Instantly, dozen
s of Rebel soldiers lay dead all along the quarter-mile skirmish line.
“Fire!” Sgt. Cooper commanded. “Shoot them blue bellies.”
Hundreds of rifles roared to life. As their report was heard further up the line, other sergeants sounded their orders to fire as well. In seconds, dozens of Union men lay dead or dying.
Reloading on the run, the Union men fired at will. As they shot volley after volley of lead at the enemy, Rebel soldiers returned in kind. Cries of pain pierced the air and distracted those unharmed from their duty.
Fired upon with elevated force, the Union line broke rank and retreated. Falling back to natural protection and out of range of the enemy, they regrouped and charged once more.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Through the eastern forest, far from the Confederate’s right flank, Union Gen. Powell pushed his brigade of soldiers south. Moving through the dense foliage, they leaped over logs and forged their way through the heavy underbrush. Suddenly, Gen. Powell heard the first rifle shot. He craned his head and listened intently. As more shots sounded, panic swept him.
“My God Major, we’ve been traveling over two hours through these woods and we still haven’t come abreast of the enemy’s position. They’re still ahead of us,” Gen. Powel pointed through the woods, off to his right.
“Yes Sir General. I fear we won’t make our position in time,” Maj. Canton responded with apprehension.
“The hell we won’t. Order double-time, Now!” he shot back.
As the order to speed up spread through the brigade of men, they crashed through the woods with reckless abandon.
Several hundred yards ahead, Confederate scout Cpl. Jarod Weiss listened to the sounds of rifle fire as the battle raged to west. He hiked to the top of a small bluff and scanned the forest with his monocular, searching for signs of the enemy. From the heavy roar of gunfire, he missed the tell-tale sounds of the approaching army. Moving his scan from his right back to his left, he finally saw them: Union soldiers… less than a hundred yards away. Before he could react, he was spotted. Rifles echoed through the forest, as the Union troops tried to stop him.
With bullets embedding in trees all around him, he quickly spun on his heel and headed for his horse. In hot pursuit were the forward soldiers of Gen. Powell’s brigade. Running swiftly, Cpl. Weiss dodged low level branches. Panic swept him as he heard the sound of whistling bullets pass by his ears. As he reached his horse, he ripped the reins from the tree branch and leaped up onto its back. With a quick kick of his feet, he drove his boots into the horse’s side. Instantly, the two sped off. Galloping away, he felt a tremendous pain in his back and he lost all the air in his lungs. Gasping for breath, he slumped forward in his saddle. Losing strength and barely able to hang on, he grasped the saddle horn in one hand and the reins in another. As his vision blurred, he shook his head and righted it momentarily. Riding through the woods, his horse instinctively followed a worn path with little input from him. Looking over his shoulder, he realized the enemy was out of sight. As he cleared the tree line, he headed for command to sound the alarm.
Back inside the dense forest, Gen. Powell shouted orders to his men.
“Cease fire!”
As the order found its way to the front of his brigade, he shouted orders to recall the men.
“Well, that ends our mission. We’re useless now,” Gen. Powel said aloud in frustration.
“We won’t try to out flank them, Sir?” Maj. Canton asked.
“No. The scout got away. They’ll know we’re coming now. They’ll cut us to ribbons even before we see them,” he explained
“Yes Sir,” Maj. Canton concurred.
“Sound the alarm. Send a courier to Gen. Sherman. Inform him of our misfortune,” Gen. Powel ordered.
“Yes Sir, right away Sir,” he responded.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Gen. Sherman continued his stare through his field glasses. As he watched the second advance begin to fail, apprehension filled his thoughts. Instantly, he began to think of alternate plans of attack. Pulling out a crude map of the region, he unfolded it and laid it over the top of his horse’s head. Running his finger over the ridgeline, he closed his eyes and tried to envision the difficulties of other routes. Suddenly, he heard the sound of fast approaching hooves. Turning, he saw a scout riding quickly toward him.
“Not a moment too soon,” he said under his breath.
“General Sherman, I’ve found a breach in the ridgeline,” Union scout Alfred Lovell shouted excitedly.
“Thank God!” he shouted loudly in relief. “Where?”
The scout hauled back on the reins, expertly bringing his horse to stop next to the generals’. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a folded map. Quickly, he spread it out and pointed to the location.
“Right here,” he said, circling the spot with his finger. “About a mile down the ridgeline from here. You can almost see the location from where we’re standing.”
General Sherman scanned the long ridge with his field glasses and smiled.
“Yes, I think I see it. Good work, Lovell. Tell me more.”
“It’s very narrow at the top, almost impassable, but it’s not impossible. It’s treacherous: one slip and you’d lose that man. Once you’re over the top though, it widens out and becomes more manageable.”
“Hmm, sounds like a bottleneck at the most critical point. If Johnston knows about this, he would most certainly prepare an ambush for us up there.”
“Yes Sir, agreed,” Lovell replied. Pointing back at the map, he continued. “I also discovered a large pass, about eight miles south of here. It’s large enough to march a small unit through without concession.”
Looking at his own map, Gen. Sherman responded, “Looks like it exits out into Resaca.”
“Yes Sir. I’ve scouted the area and found no sign of enemy activity. It appears they either don’t know about it or they’ve discounted its importance due to its remote location.”
Gen. Sherman thought about the information. Rubbing his scruffy beard, he nodded his head approvingly.
“Good work, Lovell,” he said. Looking out at the troubled battle lines, he added, “Once Gen. Powel outflanks Johnston, I’m reasonably confident we’ll emerge victorious, but just the same, it’s reassuring we have alternatives.”
“Yes Sir,” Lovell responded, now folding his map.
Gen. Sherman ended their discussion with a sharp nod, then turned his attention back to the battle. Raising his binoculars, he scanned the Rebels’ flank.
“Where is he?” he groaned under his breath.
Looking toward Lt. Jefferson, he said, “Any sign of them yet?”
“No Sir, nothing yet. It does seem strange,” he responded.
Gen. Sherman shot him an uneasy glance, then returned to his binoculars. As the Rebel line unleashed another round of punishing firepower, frustration and worry swept his body.
“DAMMIT! Our line is retreating again,” he shouted in dismay.
Off in the distance, riding from behind, he heard another rider swiftly approaching. Turning to his left, he recognized one of Gen. Powell’s couriers headed his way.
“Uh oh, this can’t be good,” he said, under his breath.
“Gen. Sherman, Sir. Cpl. Penshier reporting for Gen. Powell,” the courier shouted as he neared. “The Rebs were waiting for us, Sir. Gen. Powel has abandoned his charge.”
“Blast!” Gen. Sherman cried out in anger. “I should’ve guessed that damn Johnston would be ready for us.” Turning to Lt. Jefferson, he commanded, “Sound the retreat… and get me Gen. McPherson!”
-----*-----*-----*-----
As a veil of lead hurled past them, David and Geoff continued to fire down at the enemy. Hiding behind large boulders, they heard the frightening impact of bullets as they ricocheted off the rocky faces around them. Loud and repetitive, the terrifying sound never let them forget they were in mortal danger.
Nervous sweat dripped from Geoff’s face and on
to his shaking hands, making his job more difficult. He wiped his palms on his pants, grabbed the next rifle in line and prepared to fire. With a fast count of “one-two-three”, he raised the rifle over the top of the boulder and fired. Instantly, he ducked back down for cover. Again, he grabbed another rifle and repeated the routine.