“Yes Sir,” he responded, rushing to the private to carry out his order.
Continuing down the line, Gen. Schofield caught sight of David shouting to his men. He watched momentarily in amazement as David stepped down off his horse, grabbed and ax and began to turn up the ground at the bottom of the shallow trench. He smiled approvingly, then rode with purpose toward him.
“A fine example of an officer,” he said to the other men riding with him. “Good work, General Warner.”
David put down his ax and smiled. “Thanks General, as you said before… borrowed time. Every hand counts at this point.”
“If I could manage the time, I’d climb down there with you,” he responded in grim tone.
“How are the bridges coming along?” David inquired.
The general pursed his lips, then replied, “Slow… very slow. I just inspected them and they’re still hours away from being passable. With eight hundred wagons that need to cross and still no sight of the pontoon bridges Gen. Thomas promised me, our situation is desperate.”
David nodded in understanding. Glancing over to the general’s staff, they too carried the look of worry on their faces.
“These boys are going to have to fight hard… harder than they’ve ever fought before.” Realizing his defeatist tone, he quickly added, “But like any cornered animal, I’m confident our boys will pull us out of this scrape.”
“Yes Sir,” David responded simply.
Gen. Schofield looked over David’s skirmish line. Seeing the depth of the trenches below the top of the log wall, he nodded approvingly.
“I believe your line is looking formidable general. Your men will be well protected. Good work. Might I suggest adding another layer of logs along the top? The extra height will make it that much more difficult for the enemy to penetrate our lines.”
David looked up the line and reexamined his trenches. Realizing they were adequately deep enough, he agreed with the general’s logic and responded simply, “I’ll get right on it.”
“Well, I’m off,” the general said with a tip of his hat. “Stay sharp. If you see any signs of Hood’s army, be sure to holler out.”
“Will do, General,” David replied.
As Gen. Schofield trotted off, David turned to a nearby sergeant and said, “You heard the man… more logs.”
For the next two hours, the back breaking work of cutting trees, removing limbs and positioning the bare logs on top of the wall, took precedence of all other tasks. Already exhausted, they pushed themselves to the limits of their endurance. With the last log in place, David rode up his section of the skirmish line and ordered his men to prepare for battle. Within minutes, more than two hundred rifles were loaded and pointed across the wall. As the men took a much needed break, their weary eyes searched the wooded field in front of them.
1pm…
Geoff knelt at the edge of the logs and looked over the wooded field. His Henry rifle pointed out across the wall and his finger lay against the trigger guard, ready for the inevitable call to action. As he scanned the distant trees from left to right, he raised his hand to his mouth and yawned. After nearly an hour, the repetition of the exercise began to take its toll. Slowly, his eyelids began to shut. With a quick jerk, his head fell forward, nearly striking the rifle in front of him. In reflex, he snapped his head back and forced his eyes open.
“The waiting is the hard part Geoffrey,” Doc said, kneeling beside him.
Geoff turned and saw the bearded old man smiling back at him.
“Maybe they’re not coming. Maybe they were ordered to go somewhere else?” Geoff said.
“Not likely Lad. Gen. Hood has been chasing Gen. Schofield now for over a month and I’m certain his scouts have reported we’re cornered here against the river. It’s just a matter of time before he shows,” Doc responded.
“Swell,” Geoff said with heavy sarcasm.
“I must say, I am rather puzzled by his late appearance. I can’t imagine what could possibly be slowing his advance.”
“Maybe he overslept,” Geoff joked.
“I don’t know about that,” Doc replied, missing the humor, “but the later he is, the more time Gen. Schofield will have to repair the bridges and get the supplies across.”
“And the later he is, the shorter the battle will be,’ Geoff responded with hope.
“Why is that?” Doc asked, now puzzled.
“It gets dark around five o’clock. If he shows up now, he’ll only have a couple of hours to fight after he positions himself.”
“Geoffrey, approaching darkness is no guarantee of a shortened fight. Many a battle has been fought late into the evening,” Doc rebutted.
“Fighting in darkness? How the heck do you do that?”
“With enthusiasm Geoffrey,” Doc responded cryptically. “There are times when men are highly energized and their momentum carries them well beyond the point of logic. They simply ignore what they can ot see and continue their fight.”
“That’s crazy man. You could end up shooting your own guys,” Geoff said in disbelief.
“Often they do before they realize their actions. After that, they lay down their arms and the fighting then turns vicious.”
“Vicious? How?”
“Hand to hand, Geoffrey,” Doc responded grimly.
Suddenly, off to their right, faint shouts were relayed from man to man as the frantic message was passed down the line.
“PREPARE TO FIRE!”
Riding fast, David hurried from the edge of the river, past his men and up the line toward the shouting men. With his eyes on the distant horizon, he watched for signs of movement through the trees. Three hundred yards from his men and nearing the Lewisburg Pike, he hauled back on his reins as he crossed to the top of the wide flat road. Col. Stiles sat poised in his saddle, staring out across the open field through his field glasses. Hearing David’s approach, he turned.
“He’s here,” he said dryly.
Handing David the binoculars, he pointed his gloved hand toward the far tree line nearly a quarter mile away. David snatched the glasses from the Colonel and stared through them, his mind momentarily refusing to register what his eyes were seeing.
“Dammit! I’d hoped he wasn’t going to show today,” he said, handing back the binoculars.
“He’s late to the field, Sir,” Col. Stiles replied. “By the time he positions himself, it’ll be nearly dark. We may not see any action today because of it. I’m certain Hood and his generals are in conference over this point as we speak.”
“Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a large tank division right about now.”
“Tank? You can’t mean a water tank, can you? I don’t see the correlation between water and battle,” Col. Stiles responded, now confused by the modern term.
David realized his mistake.
“Sorry, it’s an unfamiliar term in these parts,” he shot back quickly. “I’m just saying I wish we had more firepower to intimidate Hood… make him think twice about attacking.”
“Hood doesn’t intimidate easily. He has bigger balls than brains… pardon my candor,” the Colonel responded.
David gave the colonel a surprised stare, taken momentarily aback by his crude statement.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Col. Styles added.
David grinned and nodded.
As the soldiers to their front checked their weapons and prepared themselves for battle, the two officers realized the time was quickly escaping.
“Better get back and prepare the men,” Col. Stiles said simply.
David nodded once more, as the two kicked their heels and sped off.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Confederate Headquarters…
Gen. Hood stowed his field glasses and dismounted his horse. Gathering his generals, he discussed his plans for attack.
“Gentlemen, we have them now. With the bridges out, there’ll be no escaping this time,” he said, his voice sounding energized.
Generals
Steward, Cheatham and Forrest stood to his front and frowned disapprovingly. As the three searched each other’s eyes for solidarity, Gen. Hood scowled in frustration.
“What is this? I see unrest on your faces,” he spat.
“Sir, the hours are dwindling. Surely you can’t be considering an attack with so little light left to the day,” Gen. Cheatham challenged.
“Am I surrounded by cowards?” Gen. Hood shouted angrily. “This is an outrage. Thanks to my aggressive nature, I was able to assemble you men here in short order, even AFTER you three allowed that snake Schofield to slip on past us without as much as a single shot fired… and NOW, before our hour of victory, you again suggest we just let our prey slip from our grasp.”
“Sir, I must protest,” Gen. Stewart retorted. “There was a moment when we might have been able to cut off Schofield’s escape route, but you insisted his traverse through Spring Hill in the late evening, was merely a reconnaissance patrol. You specifically instructed us to hold our positions.”
“Hogwash General!” he rebutted angrily. “You did not announce your concerns strenuously enough. Had you done so then as you’re doing now, I might have understood the gravity of Schofield’s movements and acted more decisively.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I fail to see how this is our fault. We informed you that Schofield was on the move. You practically ignored our pleas to engage, merely sending a small detail to harass them as they passed by. Short of acting with insubordination, I believe we did all we could under the circumstances.”
“Enough of these illogical rationalizations!” Gen. Hood roared angrily. “I believe that you three have acted in error and I will not debate this further. Is that clear?”
“Yes Sir,” the three answered obediently.
Pointing to the enemy, Gen. Hood continued, “Gen. Schofield has built his defenses around the town. I’ve decided to attack him on the southern front in three stages, starting from west to east toward the river.” Pointing to Gen. Cheatham, he said, “You’ll be sending your men in first, between Carter’s Creek and Columbia Pike. Next, will be Gen. Stewart’s men, fighting between Columbia Pike and Harpeth River and lastly, Forrest will cross the river and try to outflank Schofield’s left.”
As Gen. Hood continued to discuss his plans for engagement, the three subordinate generals listened intently to their instructions, all the while taking note of the time. By three o’clock, the four men had concluded their meeting and rushed to position their men for battle.
4pm…
Gen. Hood sat on his horse and viewed his army through his field glasses. He smiled confidently to himself as he envisioned a victory that had eluded him for weeks. Stowing his glasses, he drew his sword and raised it above his head triumphantly. In one swift movement, he dropped his hand and shouted out his command:
“Commence firing!”
As canister fire roared over their heads, three divisions of Gen. Cheatham’s men advanced north along the Columbia Pike. Within minutes, they were in range and prepared to unleash their first volley. Two hundred yards away, Union Gen. George Wagner watched in fear as the wave of men charged his forward position.
“Here they come boys. Ready at the trigger,” he shouted.
A feeling of impending doom swept his body as the rebel force stopped momentarily and lifted their rifles to fire. Staring out at the impending volley, he glanced at his men, realizing many were about to die.
The roar of rifle fire echoed across the field. In an instant, loud cries of pain sounded out from behind the Union breastworks as dozens of unlucky soldiers received the first volley of incoming fire.
“FIRE!” Gen. Wagner shouted loudly.
Instantly, the Union line open fired on the advancing Confederates. Within seconds, dozens fell face down in the high grasses, dead or mortally wounded.
Rage welled inside the advancing Rebel soldiers at the sight of their fallen comrades. They fired another volley and charged with heightened furor toward the Union line. Dozens more Union men fell as their comrades reloaded.
Staring down their barrels at the wave of charging men, fear and desperation raced through the minds of the Union soldiers. As more men fell, several broke rank and retreated. Seeing their comrades flee to the safety of the extended line of breastworks behind them, others turned and followed.
“Stand your ground boys,” Gen. Wagner shouted above the roar of rifle fire. “Reload and fire!” he commanded.
Fifty feet away, the Confederate wave stumbled momentarily and continued on through the Union soldier’s next volley. Determined and unrelenting, they charged at greater speed.
Gen. Wagner stood stunned by the Rebel’s advance. Suddenly, a private fell dead at his feet, shocking him back to reality.
“RETREAT!” he shouted frantically. “Retreat!”
Instantly, Gen. Wagner’s line turned and ran. Like a predator hunting its prey, the Confederate horde leaped over the now abandoned breastworks and pursued the fleeing Union line. Electrified by the promise of victory, they chased the men even as they neared the main skirmish line. With mere feet separating the Confederates from the Union men, those waiting behind the breastworks held their fire for fear of wounding their own approaching comrades.
Gen. Wagner rushed to a break in the wall of logs as he led his men toward safety. As his men hurried through it, so too did the Confederate line. Instantly, the fighting turned savage as the two adversaries engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Knives, bayonets, rifle butts and fists became the weapons of choice as the melee raged.
“We have ‘em now!” Gen. Hood shouted excitedly as he watched the action through his binoculars. He turned to a lieutenant waiting nearby and shouted, “Signal Gen. Stewart to advance.”
“Yes Sir,” the lieutenant shouted back.
Returning to his field glasses, Gen. Hood watched one man signal another half a mile away. In seconds, artillery from Gen. Stewart’s forces echoed across the field, as his soldiers began their advance.
“Take cover!” Union Col. Stiles shouted loudly to his men as he rode down the line.
Seconds later, canister artillery roared over the Union soldier’s heads as they crouched behind the breastworks and exploded in the ground far behind them.
“Prepare to fire,” Col Stiles shouted once more, then added, “Fire on my command.”
Seeing the exploding shells landing behind the skirmish line, David immediately sprang into action. Riding his horse up the line, he repeated the same orders other commanders were delivering to their men.
“Prepare to fire!” he shouted.
His men stared with intensity down their barrels and watched the distant Rebel force approach. With nervous anticipation, they rested their fingers near their triggers as they waited on their next command.
With shells landing before and beyond the skirmish line, David ducked in reflex as they exploded. He righted himself in the saddle and continued to charge up the line. Nearing the end of those in his command, he spotted Doc and Geoff kneeling against the wall of logs. For a moment, he felt saddened he couldn’t be with them. Quickly, he trotted over to their location.
“How’re you guys doing?” he said in a tone loud enough for the two to hear.
Doc turned and forced a smile.
“I’m watching the lad, David. Don’t worry about us. We’ll be ok. Just take care of yourself,” he shouted as another shell exploded far out in front of them.
“Dude, what the heck are you doing up there, man?” Geoff shouted to David as he ducked momentarily behind the wall. “Don’t be a hero. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Not much choice Geoff. It’s the only way to effectively lead a group of men this large,” David shot back. “Believe me. I’m not doing this to earn a medal.”
“Well, be careful just the same Lad, “Doc responded, glancing nervously back at the enemy.
David watched Doc’s white beard whip in the cold November’s wind. As the old man shivered slightly, David s
uddenly sensed a frailty about him, like the vulnerability of an unprotected child. Instantly, he called over to the teen.
“Geoff, can you come here for a moment,” David asked.
Without a word of question, Geoff instantly jumped to his feet and hurried to David’s side.
“What is it? You need my help with something,” he asked.
David leaned over quickly and spoke. “Doc’s tough but he hasn’t been in battle for years. Keep an eye on the old guy, huh?”
Geoff smiled coyly and said, “I’m all over it man. If they so much as fart on him, it’ll be the last thing they do.”
Prisoner in Time (Time travel) Page 41