Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03

by Newt Gingrich; William R Forstchen

  Lucas raced down the stairs.

  He lingered a few seconds longer, again shifting his field glasses to George. He could tell his old friend was loving the moment. Mounted again, riding along the skirmish line, urging his men to get up, to press forward.

  He certainly led a charmed life. He had seen George go down, and for a second feared he was dead, but then the man had stood up, brushed himself off, remounted, and was back in the fight.

  "Your day, George," he said.

  Phil ran down the stairs and out under the awning of the depot.

  The men over at the ravine were disengaging, sliding down the slope, running to their horses, mounting up. It was going to be a tight race. As soon as his boys stopped shooting, George would press in.

  The first of them came galloping down the track, more following, troopers leading the empty mounts of the men who had been holding the depot. The telegraphy crew from Frederick were already riding for the bridge.

  Lucas brought up Phil's horse, and he climbed into the saddle. He didn't need to give any orders now, the boys knew where to go and just wanted to skedaddle before the Yankees closed in. They raced for the bridge. Fortunately, the wooden structure, wide enough for two tracks, had planking laid to either side between the crossties, otherwise they'd have had to cross dismounted, leading nervous mounts.

  His men galloped across, Phil slowing as he reached the bridge. Bullets whined about him. Yankees were up to the ravine, tumbling down its side; others were running toward the depot. He caught a glimpse of George, raised a hand in salute, and, turning, urged his mount across the bridge at a gallop.

  Was that Phil? George wondered, quickly uncasing his field glasses and focusing them on the bridge. It was hard to tell with the smoke and the mist still rising off the river.

  The way he kept his saddle, the wave—it did indeed look like his old friend.

  He edged his mount around the ravine, leaning back in his saddle as he finally went down the slope and out onto the track. His men, breathing hard, grinning, faces besmirched with powder, sweating, were down into the ravine, running toward the depot.

  Half a dozen rebs lay along the lip of the railroad cut, dead. A dozen more, wounded, were down by the track, several of his men already there helping them. "What regiment are you?" Custer asked. "Third Virginia," one of them announced, looking up at him defiantly.

  "Captain Duvall?"

  "That's our man. What of it?" the reb said. George nodded and then saluted. "My compliments, boys. You put up a good fight." So it was Phil.

  "Any trains come through here since yesterday?" "How the hell would I know. We just got here ahead of you Yankees."

  George rode up to the depot, looking around. If the rebs had moved trains up here, there would have been more men defending this place than an outpost patrol he'd been dogging since yesterday. By damn, we got here ahead of 'em.

  The depot itself was pockmarked with bullet holes. He studied the bridge that Phil had just ridden across, the far end obscured by smoke and fog. The bridge, a rough affair, looked like something military railroad crews would have thrown up after an earlier bridge was destroyed. He drew closer, and saw down in the river twisted lengths of cable, iron girders. Obviously the wreckage of what had been here, most likely before the Antietam campaign.

  Already his mind was working. Hold it or destroy it?

  His gaze swept back over the depot. Blockhouse, a turntable, the triangle of track. If the rebs get hold of this they can easily turn trains around. With a double-track system, in a matter of hours they can bring up a hundred trains or more out of Baltimore, move an entire army.

  He had no idea where Grant was at this moment. Maybe ten miles off, maybe fifty. Destroy the bridge, perhaps it will get Grant's dander up, but then again, we can replace it in a day or two. No, I came here to block the rebs from moving their pontoon bridge and by God that's what I’ll do.

  "General, sir."

  He looked over his shoulder. Lieutenant Schultz was riding up.

  "Sir, Colonel Gray's compliments. His boys are deployed, but he is shifting two companies over to the stone bridge, the one for the National Road. Says that reb skirmishers are on the other side. Colonel Mann is in place as reserves."

  George nodded, saying nothing.

  Skirmishers on the main road heading back to Baltimore. "Infantry or cavalry?" "Sir, he didn't say."

  Most likely cavalry, George thought. I've got a thousand men with me. It has to be cavalry coming up. It is surprising they're not already here.

  That decided it.

  "Lieutenant Schultz, do we have any ammunition reserves, raw powder?"

  "Sir?"

  "Just that, barrels of powder?"

  He already knew the answer, but felt he had to think out loud at this moment.

  "Sir, just what our men our carrying with us. We left the supply wagons behind."

  "Get back up to Frederick, see if any shops have blasting powder. Check the depot here as well."

  "Sir, I doubt that we'll find any. Both armies have been through here twice in the last year."

  George nodded in agreement. Four or five barrels under a main trestle would do the trick, but to find that many now might take hours.

  "We've got to destroy that bridge, Lieutenant."

  Trying to burn it might sound easy but he knew it wouldn't be. He'd have to get at least a couple of cords of kindling wood. There was enough of that in a wood rick next to the depot, but hauling it out there, placing it under a trestle, with Phil's boys popping away from the other side at less than a hundred yards would be damn difficult.

  Schultz looked over at the bridge and seemed lost in thought.

  The lieutenant suddenly grinned.

  "Sir, there are two locomotives in the depot up in Frederick, both with passenger cars and boxcars. Maybe we could use those."

  Custer grinned, too.

  "I always enjoyed the sight of a good train wreck. Get on it, Lieutenant."

  East Bank, Monocacy Creek 7:00 A.M.

  Jeb Stuart reined in, an exhausted, begrimed captain coming up to him on foot and saluting. "Capt. Phil Duvall, sir, Third Virginia." "What is going on here?" Stuart asked. "Sir, didn't you get the telegraph message we sent out an hour ago?"

  "I've been riding up here, Captain," Jeb said, exasperated. "No, I did not get the telegraph message."

  "Sir, we've been withdrawing in front of Custer's Brigade since yesterday, from Hanover down to here. We tried to hold the depot on the other side of the river, but he pushed us back about twenty minutes ago. He has at least three regiments over there."

  Jeb looked toward the bridge, the far side obscured by fog.

  "How many men over there?"

  "Like I said, sir, a brigade. I'd guess at a thousand or so." "You couldn't hold?"

  Phil pointed to the exhausted men, still mounted, who were gathered behind him.

  "Sir, we put up a fight, kept them back for a half hour or so, but if we'd stayed five minutes longer, sir," he sighed, "well, we'd either be dead or prisoners now."

  Jeb contained his exasperation. It was obvious that Du-vall's men had put up a fight: At least a quarter of them were nursing wounds, while a score of horses without riders was testimony to those left behind.

  "Where can I maneuver here?" Jeb asked.

  "Sir, down there to the south, about two hundred yards downstream you got a covered bridge, double wide. To the north about two miles or so, I'm told there's a stone bridge. I suspect there's a number of fords here as well." Stuart nodded.

  "Jenkins will be up within the half hour. Jones is right behind him. Duvall, you keep your men posted here." Phil wearily nodded and saluted. "Yes, sir."

  Stuart, realizing this man had done all that was possible, drew a deep breath then leaned over, offering his hand.

  "You did good, Captain, real good. You did all you could. Now it's our turn. Give me an hour and we'll have that bridge back!"

  CHAPTER NINE

  H
eadquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Near Greencastle, Pennsylvania

  August 25 7:10 A.M.

  “Excuse me, sir, I thought you should know. It's started."

  Grant looked up at an excited Phil Sheridan standing at the entryway of his tent.

  "Frederick?"

  "Yes, sir. It was actually a reb dispatch, sent to Baltimore, but the line was open, and it was also transmitted up the B and O telegraph line to Harpers Ferry and also to Hager-stown. We had a Union man at the station there. He just dispatched it up to us here."

  "What did it say?"

  "It was a rebel outpost reporting from Frederick. Said they were abandoning their post and would attempt to hold the railroad bridge at Monocacy. Brigade-strength Union cavalry, believed to be Custer, in pursuit."

  Grant sat back in his chair, rubbing his brow. The beginnings of a migraine were upon him, the tingling in the fingertips, a slight ringing in his ears. Why now?

  He looked down at the map spread upon his desk.

  "McPherson?"

  "This morning's report, he's into Hagerstown, head of his column about five miles beyond." "Burnside?"

  "Lagging a bit. McPherson pushed his men until midnight, Burnside had them fall out after dark. He's between here and Greencastle."

  "I'm going up."

  "Sir?"

  "You have a problem with that, Sheridan?" "Well, sir. I'm sort of a fifth wheel here. I could go forward for you."

  Grant studied him and yet again was glad of the decision to bring this man east. Sheridan wanted to go forward because he smelled a fight coming and wanted to be in the thick of it.

  "No, Phil, you stay here for now. Dispatches and such are being routed to this position. Send a message back up the line for Ord and Banks and Hunt with the artillery to pick up the pace. I'm going forward. By the end of the day I should be into Frederick. I'm taking Ely Parker and my staff with me."

  He sat back for a moment, studying the map. It was beginning to look like a meeting engagement. He had hoped to be able to secure the Catoctin Pass, perhaps even move all four of his corps down into the plains in front of Frederick, before Lee caught wind of his maneuver. If now, after the triggering of this fight by Custer, Lee came up quickly, he could block the pass and in so doing secure a defensive barrier that would allow him to maneuver as he pleased, either to retreat across the Potomac or shift the bulk of his force back on Washington. That thought was chilling, especially given the agreement he and Lincoln had arrived at only yesterday.

  Send a countermand to Lincoln, suggesting a change? It'd take at least a day for that to catch up. It would show, as well, a loss of nerve.

  No, we have to take the pass first and hold it.

  "Keep them moving, Phil, and then report to me in Frederick by the end of the day."

  Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia Baltimore, Maryland

  7:10 A.M.

  General Lee, there's action at Frederick." Walter had allowed him to sleep hours past his usual time of rising. For that Lee was grateful, having been up half the night with Longstreet and Judah Benjamin analyzing the reports that increasingly confirmed that the so-called army coming down from the north was a sham, and that Grant was pulling a wide flanking march, either to cross the Potomac into Virginia or come out of the mountains at Frederick or Point of Rocks down on the Potomac.

  Lee was already half-dressed, a servant helping him with his boots, when Taylor knocked on the door. He reached up, taking the dispatch Taylor was holding.

  He scanned the message from the outpost at Frederick and put it down on his bed.

  "Has General Stuart arrived there yet? What about the pontoon train?"

  "Sir, a report came in about four this morning that the trains carrying the pontoon bridge were sabotaged. Wheels on the cars were not greased prior to leaving the depot and several caught on fire twenty miles east of Frederick. General Stuart got off the train and went on by horseback."

  'This is disturbing," Lee said softly. "I thought we would have that position secured by now."

  "Stuart's last report, sent by telegraph from about ten miles east of Frederick, a place called New Market, said he was riding up fast, the brigades of Jenkins and Jones were moving to secure the junction and hoped to secure the railroad bridge and the National Road bridge upon his arrival. He has two brigades of cavalry, compared to Custer's one light brigade."

  "What trains are readily available down at the depot?"

  "We have a convoy of fifteen trains forming up now, sir. Scales's Division is loading up even now. General Longstreet rousted his corps out three hours ago, and they are already marching west."

  "But that will take two days for them to arrive."

  "Yes, sir. But we are forming a second convoy of twenty trains to move by midmorning with Johnson's boys loading up."

  "Good, Stonewall Division, excellent," Lee whispered.

  He stood up, leaning over the map. It was becoming clear now. Grant meant to move over the mountains into the central Maryland plains at Frederick.

  Lee smiled slightly as he contemplated that. Grant will only have one road to do his maneuver, while I'll have the railroad, the main pike of the National Road, and numerous secondary roads.

  We get into position ahead of him, it will be the classic position for destroying an opponent, with him feeding troops in piecemeal while we are already in place... if we can get there first.

  "Walter, get down to the rail yard. I want a train ready to take me up as soon as possible. Pass word to Generals Longstreet and Beauregard to keep their men moving west. The railroad will move up Hood's Corps and our artillery, then once that is done will start shuttling back to pick up the infantry."

  "Sir, I'm concerned about this sabotage problem. It stopped our pontoon trains cold this morning. A few more acts like that could paralyze our movements."

  "Tell that man Longstreet appointed..."

  "Cruickshank," Walter prompted.

  "Tell him to make sure every car, every engine, is inspected before departure. If there is a Yankee spy or agents working in that rail yard, men not in uniform, they are to be dealt with swiftly and harshly as spies and saboteurs."

  He hated to say that, it went against his nature, but at this moment half a dozen provocateurs could wreck the entire movement of his army.

  Walter saluted and left the room.

  Putting on his jacket, Lee gazed once more at the map. So it was beginning. He'd have liked to have had two or three more days to rest and refit his men, but the Lord had willed differently. So perhaps this was now the moment after all. One more swift victory, to drive Grant back, and surely Lincoln would be forced to negotiate or collapse.

  Monocacy Junction

  7:30 A.M.

  George Armstrong Custer crawled up on to the roof of the depot, standing up, using one of the two chimneys as a brace. Balanced precariously, he took out his field glasses and scanned the opposite bank.

  A column of rebel troopers were coming up along the track that clung to the side of a hill on the other side. Men were dismounting, pulling out carbines, horses then being led back. He saw guidons of at least two regiments, hard to tell which.

  He braced himself, leaning field glasses on top of the chimney. A bullet zipped by, another smacked the chimney in front of him.

  There! He caught a glimpse of him and smiled. It was Jeb, Jeb Stuart over there, plumed hat, gold braid, a group of men standing about his horse as he pointed, the men saluting and running off.

  So I've got Jeb on me. How many men? A brigade? No, not Jeb. He'd come on with everything he had, two brigades, maybe three, but it will take time for tliat column to come up the rail tract He turned to look north. He couldn't see the stone bridge of the National Road, but the morning was still, the last wisps of fog burning off the stream, and it was impossible to miss the plumes of dust to the north. More rebels coming that way?

  Infantry? No, he doubted that. They had obviously caught the rebs by surprise here. It would be
cavalry first.

  Another bullet slapped a shingle by his foot, bits of wood flying up.

  He looked back to the rail bridge. Reb skirmishers were on the other side, puffs of smoke. His study of the bridge confirmed his first impression. It was a temporary affair, made of wood that had been soaked with pitch and tar, smeared with grease and oil from passing trains. If not for the rebs on the other side, he'd have it aflame within an hour, but old Jeb, of course, made that all but impossible.

  Another puff of smoke, another bullet zipping dangerously close.

  The rebs on the far side of the bridge were hunkered down behind support beams, a few sprawled on their stomachs on the tracks, others down in brush along the stream embankment. The volume of fire was beginning to pick up as the first of their reinforcements sprinted along the track, spreading out, finding cover. For an instant he thought he could catch a glimpse of Phil, waving his arm, standing up, pointing out a position, then quickly ducking down as a volley rang out from his own side.

  He looked to his left, at the covered bridge for the toll road. On the far side reb skirmishers were already deploying. The bridge was double-wide. A column would take casualties but could indeed storm it if he didn't act quickly.

  Taking a deep breath, he slid down the roof, leapt to the awning, and ducked through a window, bullets pocking the wall around him.

  "Sir, I think that was rather bold of you," a sergeant quipped, looking up at Custer as he landed in the room, "and frankly, sir, damn stupid."

  Custer gazed at him for a second then broke into a grin.

  A bullet slammed through the room, passing clean through the plank siding and plaster interior.

  Cursing, the sergeant knelt, aimed through the window where Custer had just entered, and fired back.

  Custer looked around the room. A dead reb lay in the comer, two more of them, wounded, sitting by the body. The face of one of the rebs was a smear of blood, eyes swollen shut.

  He ran down the stairs and out behind the depot. Men of the Fifth Michigan were swarming across the spur line, dropping behind stacks of railroad ties, woodpiles, anything that could offer protection.

  Colonel Town was already waiting for him, as was Alger of the Fifth and Colonel Gray of the Sixth. He had already sent orders back to Colonel Mann to take his entire command to block the National Road bridge.