TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book 12

by P McAuley, Robert

  Dave saw a puddle from a recent shower and after scooping up the soft mud at its bottom, smeared it all over his face and hands. Next he cut down some low small tree branches and stuck them down the front and rear of his pants, to cover his upper body.

  Using all the skills he learned from his re-enacting friends, he covered ground silently and quickly. In two hours he found himself within throwing distance of the hill that the general would use as a spotter’s post. His camouflage proved to be worth the itchy leaves that Dave used as he blended in well when a sudden noise from his right proved to be six troopers dressed in rebel gray uniforms stepped out of the same tree line he was in. He watched as four horsemen trotted out from behind the two story wood-framed home and hilltop plantation that belonged to Augustus Hurt. If I remember correctly, he thought as he watched the small force disappear behind the house, this is the present-day site of the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library. He backed away slowly and after one mile broke into a trot until he got to his horse. Now I have to generate a map and warn the general, he thought as he kept the horse at a trot.

  It was still light enough to wave to the sentry as he approached. “Vigilance,” he called out and the bored trooper waved him through. He turned his horse in and went to his tent, washed up and drew the map of the hill that the general would want to command from. Finished he walked to Bill’s tent and rapped on the wooden post.

  “Enter!”

  Dave entered and Bill smiled widely, “Dave! Good to see you again. Did you get it out of your system?”

  The time traveler nodded and sat opposite him. “I forgot what it was like to be out in the field and avoiding the enemy was a scary addition.”

  “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Yes. I found the perfect hill for the general to observe Atlanta from.” He passed Bill the map. “The enemy is there, but as long as the general has his troops sweep the entire area, this is the spot for him.”

  Bill looked at the map. “You’re right. This hill seems to be perfect. I’ll bring it to him and then we’ll join the others for some roasted chicken.”

  The dinner was great and Dave felt that it was a celebration dinner for him as his mission was now complete. I’ll have to come up with a way to slip out and go back to the club, he thought as he sipped hot coffee. Once again they were in their bunks by 8:30.

  The next morning Dave and Bill had breakfast then Dave went back to his tent and added his information to the maps drawn by the other mapmakers the day before.

  Noon found him alone by a brook. He was wrestling with the reason that he would give to Bill to allow him to go back to the 1800 Club. He knew that after Atlanta was taken, Bill and his group of mapmakers will use his technique to enhance their maps and he can be spared.

  The time traveler went to his tent to communicate with Bill Scott and let him know that the mission was complete. He was about to open his grip when Captain Merrill entered with two troopers. All three had drawn pistols.

  “Wha-What’s the problem, Bill?” the time traveler asked as he stared at the three gun barrels aimed at him.

  Bill took Dave’s pistol and said. “I’ll ask the questions: who are you?”

  “Me? I’m-I’m Captain Dave McKinnon.”

  Bill’s jaw was tense as he said, “I mean your real name. It so happens that I have a close friend in Secretary Stanton’s office and I sent a fast dispatch up to him. Usually it would be weeks before an answer came back but because of the gravity of it, he answered as soon as he could. Anything that the secretary has to sign must go past his desk and he keeps a copy of all of the secretary’s correspondence and your name is not on that list. Just to be sure he asked the man himself if he knew of you through another channel and the answer was negative. It all adds up: the maps you had were drawn by the Confederacy who really knew the area and in order to gain my confidence you fed me some real information. What was next? Plant a map of an area for the general to set up his headquarters only to have him captured or shot?”

  “Bill, I know this looks bad but please believe me . . . “

  ”Take him away.”

  The two troopers took him to the camp’s stockade.

  Oh my God! What am I going to do? What would Bill from the club do? He shook his head, How can I fix this? I don’t even have my communicator to alert the club. He sat on the wooden bed. What is more important? He wondered as he wrestled with his thoughts. What are the rules when all is about to fall apart? Am I to be sacrificed even though the general will surely be captured? He stood and kicked a stool as he thought; These questions should have been addressed before taking this mission.

  He tried to sleep but the wooden cot was hard and there was an unusual amount of movement in the camp. Horses, wagons and men on the march kept him awake all night.

  The bugler sounded reveille and it made Bill decide that he must save the general no matter what the price. He called the guard and asked, “I’d like to make a confession. Can I see Captain Merrill?”

  It was still dark when he heard voices from the jailer’s office followed by footsteps and finally a trooper who opened the cell door with a pistol in one hand and a lit oil lamp in the other. Captain Bill Merrill stepped from behind him and entered the cell.

  Dave sat quietly.

  Bill stood just out of Dave’s reach and said, “I’ll come to the point immediately. Your real name makes no difference. What we need to know is: are there any more of you in this camp?”

  Bill answered with a shake of his head.

  “Not talking? Well know this: you swing at sunrise tomorrow morning.”

  Dave sat back and sighed. “If I am to die, will you grant me one request?”

  “It depends. You used me and the general is not happy at what he called my ‘lack of security’. And he is right! All I saw was the outstanding maps that you brought to us. I never really challenged you or your story . . . I should have kept you in quarantine until I heard back from my friend in Washington before allowing you access to my group. What did you do yesterday? Go and warn those troops that are defending Atlanta that we are set to attack using your maps?”

  Dave shook his head, no and said, “I promise to tell you everything you wish to know when you return with my grip.”

  “Just bring back your grip? You do know that I’ll search it first and make sure that there are no weapons in it.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll wait here.”

  Twenty minutes later Bill returned to Dave’s cell carrying his grip. After the guard went through it Bill plopped it on the cell’s floor. “There it is. Now what?”

  Dave tilted his head towards the guard and Bill turned and asked, “Corporal would you leave us alone for a bit?” He left reluctantly.

  “Now, tell me all.”

  “Bill, I am a phony. I’m not who I pretend to be.”

  “This we know. Tell me, are there others like you in camp?”

  With a shake of his head Dave went on. “What I’m about to tell you will be extremely hard for you to believe, but I can prove it. Bill, my real name is Dave McKinnon and I come from the future, 2015 to be exact.”

  Bill turned and was about to call the guard when Dave said, “Here is my proof,” as he took out the communicator.”

  “A hairbrush?” said Bill shaking his head.

  “Watch,” quipped Dave as he pressed down and twisted the handle to reveal the screen and keyboard.

  Bill looked in awe at the sleek communicator. Although the morning sun was starting to rise the red blinking LED seemed to fill the room.

  “What is that?” he asked almost reverently.

  “Like I said, I come from the future and this device allows me to stay in contact with them. Watch as I typ . . . ah, write something.” He typed his password: SAMSON and the screen came to life with the white letters on the black background of the screen. A shocked Bill stepped back a few feet. Next Dave typed, BILL SCOTT, WE HAVE A PROBLEM AND THE SOLUTION IS THAT YOU ANSWER THE NEXT QUESTION. He loo
ked at the captain and asked, “Ask me something about yourself that I don’t know.”

  “Ahh, well what’s my home town and when was I born.” He watched as Dave typed the question in and pressed the send button. Less than five minutes later the screen read: William Emery Merrill, born October 11, 1837 Fort Howard, Wisconsin to Captain Moses Merrill who was killed in the Battle of Molino del Rey. He graduated first in his class at West Point in 1859. He will go on to write ‘Iron Truss Bridges for Railroads’ and ‘Improvements of Non-Tidal Rivers’.

  Captain Merrill suddenly sat on the wooden bed and said slowly as he looked at Dave as one would look at an alien. “What you just showed me is impossible. I mean you could have had my information ready in advance in case you got caught, as you did. However, the two books that your machine named are still in my head! I have never even put them to paper in any way, shape or form nor told anyone about them.” He rubbed his temples and went on, “Although this is impossible one must accept what you say as this information can only be available in my future.” He picked up the communicator and said, “If what you say is true, you must know the outcome of the war. Who wins?”

  A very relieved Bill sat back next to him. “Believe me, although the Union prevails, no one wins in a war.”

  “Can you tell me again what year you are from and are there more of you here?”

  “The year 2015 and no, I’m alone and everything I did was for one purpose only: to prevent General Sherman from using a certain hill fifteen miles from here. Because the hill offers the very best view in order to bring fire on the enemy, the general will surely use it for that purpose. However, enemy troops still occupy it. They are well hidden and must be flushed out before it’s safe for the general.”

  “Well,” Bill said, “we have a problem. The general has moved the attack date up and as we speak he is setting up his command post in an area less than one mile from the hill you speak of.”

  “You must send a message to him. Tell him to stay away from that hill until it has been secured.”

  “Dave, even if I send a messenger, do we count on him getting through and delivering it in time and what if the general dismisses him? No, I believe that it’s better if we both go. Two captains have a better chance of getting through to the general then a corporal messenger.” He called the guard who promptly returned and unlocked the door. “I’m taking Captain McKinnon up to Chattanooga to the Provost Marshal.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the trooper allowed them to leave the stockade and within fifteen minutes both captains were riding hard to the south.

  As the Union Army was on the move there were lines of men, wagons and all sorts of material all advancing in the same direction making it impossible to go fast.

  “Bill,” called out Dave above the din of a moving army, “Follow me. I believe there is a small path that heads south.” Both riders went off the main road and after a few minutes found the little used path that allowed them to travel fast. Finally they entered the Union front lines. Confederate cannon shells were bursting all about and Dave was shocked to find himself so calm. Maybe my re-enacting is paying off, he thought as they made their way around the traffic.

  Finally at the headquarters tent they dismounted and went to the trooper standing guard. “Trooper,” Bill said, “Captains Merrill and McKinnon here to see the general.”

  “Sir, he just left with a couple of officers.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  The trooper pointed at the house on the hill and said, “He saw that hill up there and got excited and rounded up some of the men and rode off towards it.”

  Dave said with a moan, “That’s Augustus Hurt’s house. The enemy is in the trees to the right and behind the house on the left.”

  Bill shook his head, “We’ll never get there in time.” He looked at Dave and asked, “Listen, if you are from the future isn’t there some kind of gadget that you have to warn him?”

  Looking around Dave spotted a light cannon being pulled by a team of horses. A trooper rode on one of the two horses as a lieutenant led the way followed by four artillerymen on horseback. Dave knew from his re-enactments that a Horse artillery team was known for quickly setting up their gun, even under enemy fire and firing it rapidly before quickly remounting and going to another location.

  A gadget from the future, Dave thought as he said to Bill, “Yes! Stop that team! And have them set up right here!”

  Bill jumped in front of the approaching team and waved them to a halt. The lieutenant rode over and said, “Captain, we are on our way to the Colonel for a fire mission.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility for this, Lieutenant. But for now quickly set up and aim your cannon at that house and I pray that you don’t fire short as General Sherman himself is heading towards it.”

  The young officer called out, “Team, unlimber the gun and swing her to towards our target, that house.” As if to show off his well-oiled team, he added, “Hit that target with three rounds and hold for the next target.” Both Dave and Bill were impressed as the team quickly unlimbered the gun, turned and aimed at the house and fired three ear-splitting rounds. They all watched as the house erupted in red and black explosions followed by a roaring fire and secondary explosions. Three figures could be seen stumbling out from the rear of the house and heading down the hill.

  “Captain,” said the obviously proud lieutenant, “is that what you wanted?”

  “Lord, lieutenant, that was magnificent!”

  Dave squinted through the gun smoke at the hill and asked, “Bill, can we get another three rounds on the tree line to the right of the house?”

  Before Bill could ask, the lieutenant called out, “Team, swing right and pepper the tree line to the right of the first target with another three rounds.”

  Another three rapid shots fired and all exploded on the tree line. This time a group of enemy cavalry appeared from the destroyed trees and retreated down the hill in the direction of Atlanta. The area was now secure.

  “Will that be all, captain?”

  “Yes, and thank you for your professionalism, lieutenant.” The team was once again hooked up to the horses and they took off in a cloud of dust. Both Dave and Bill mounted up and trotted after the general.

  They found him sitting on the hill less than ninety feet from the burning house. He was scanning the city of Atlanta with his telescope and giving orders to runners who delivered his fire orders to the artillery units. Seeing Bill the general grinned and said, “Good day, Captain Merrill. This hill is a made-to-order spotting position as it provides me with the high ground with which to direct our artillery.” He stopped and looked down at the Union lines and went on, “Those fine fellows in the artillery must have spotted some enemy activity up here for they fired up the area that I was heading towards making me and my officers take cover during their bombardment. It was after they stopped firing that we spotted a group of enemy infantry and cavalry retreating towards Atlanta. If not for them I might have been a reluctant lunch guest of the Confederacy.” He swung his telescope back to the city as another runner approached for his orders.

  As they rode back to the main line Bill said, “Best that we don’t tell the general about us being the reason the artillery found the enemy force that would have captured him.”

  “I agree.”

  “So,” asked Bill as he turned slightly in his saddle to face Dave, “What do you do now? Go back to 2020 or something?”

  “Actually it’s 2015 and yes, I can go back now but maybe I’ll stick around for a bit. But before I do, I need to communicate with the people who sent me here. I need to get my grip from the supply wagon that carried all of our topography equipment with us.”

  “The group’s supply wagon is one mile back with the other wagons. Would it be all right if I go back with you? I’d love to see you work that machine again.”

  “Of course. Shall we go back now?”

  The two officers rode back and Dave went through his
grip. They entered the tree line and when they were out of sight, Dave opened the communicator. He typed in his password: SAMSON and after a moment the screen blinked once and he wrote HELLO BILL, FROM JUST NORTH OF ATLANTA. THE GENERAL IS SAFE AND THE HISTORY BOOKS ARE ONCE AGAIN ON TRACK. I HOPE IT’S O.K. TO HANG OUT A BIT AND WITNESS SOME OF THE HISTORY THAT WE ONLY SEE IN BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOS, MANY OF WHICH ARE POSED. DAVE.

  He pressed the send button and a green light blinked twice confirming that the message was sent.

  Five minutes later there was a low beep and he knew a message was coming in. HELLO DAVE. GREAT WORK! SURE YOU CAN STAY A BIT JUST KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN, AS THEY DO NOT USE BLANKS. STAY IN TOUCH AND I AWAIT YOUR ARRIVAL, BILL.

  He closed the hairbrush/communicator and put it back in his grip. “Now,” he said as they mounted up again, “I get to see history as it is made. Someday I wish to write a book on the War Between the States and this is the best source of information a person can get.”

  Bill asked, “I imagine that you know when the city of Atlanta falls, right?”

  Dave shrugged and answered, “Yes. And as there’s no sense in trying to hide anything from you, I’ll tell you all I know. The city falls on September 2nd. There’s no way we can speed it up or slow it down as it’s in our history books. And I really had to wrestle with ‘should I tell you that I came from the future’ but if I didn’t the general would be captured and then the history books change.”

  “How so?” asked Bill.

  “Without General Sherman at the helm the army would go back to its old self and stop living off the land and try to reestablish its supply lines. Meaning that it no longer would be a fast moving army but a standard army with a supply line that stretched back for miles making it vulnerable. The enemy would see this and attack them as the Union forces sought to hunker down and wait for the supply line to be reestablished. After a short time they would seek to tighten up their lines and put off the ‘March to the Sea’. Soon after, the northern population will become tired and want out of the war and push for a settlement. If the settlement happens the United States would be split leaving other world powers to exploit them.”