The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  “You bastard,” the Yankee breathed, teeth bared.

  “Shut up,” Case snapped, bending down to pull the bayonet from the dead man’s throat. “He was trying to shoot me; what did you expect me to do, blow him a kiss? What would you have done in my place? Now get into line and don’t give me any more trouble or I might get angry.” Case wiped the blade on the dead man’s uniform and stood up, looking round. It was nearly night, and the light was fading fast. “Munz, get the boys back to the other field and camp by the fence. No point in trying to find the road in the dark. We’ll move off at dawn.” He went to retrieve his ramrod from the guts of the other dead man.

  The prisoners were tied together and ordered to sit down by the fence, guarded by two men with loaded rifles. Case drew up a guard roster and took the last watch together with Furlong.

  Nothing happened that night although they heard movement from the direction of the road, not knowing who it was. Best to lie low and remain at liberty rather than run the risk of blundering into a Union patrol. At dawn they got up but as they readied themselves, Billy shouted a warning. From the north-east, parallel to but closer to them than the road, a line of blue-clad men advanced, weapons at the ready. Case peered through the bushes along the fence and counted them. “Damn! A whole platoon. We’re outnumbered three to one, and I bet they’re fully supplied.”

  “What do we do, Sarge?” Gatscombe asked nervously.

  “Get out of here. Shooting will bring any other Yankee units around here running. Let’s go!”

  “And these men?” Buckley pointed at the prisoners.

  “Tie them to the fence and leave them. They’ll slow us down. It doesn’t matter anymore about them telling their pals where we are, the whole damned Army of the Potomac will know once the firing starts. Munz, lead the way! Stay off the road but keep parallel to it!” He kept an eye on the approaching patrol, cursing his luck. It had to run out sometime, but he’d hoped it would have lasted a little longer. The only good thing was that his men were rested and would be able to make good progress. Their only chance was to use cover and slow down the enemy patrol.

  “Okay, Sarge, let’s go!” Buckley tugged at his sleeve, having tied the rope holding the prisoners securely to a fence post. The rest of the men were loping off in the distance towards a line of trees. Case nodded and followed Buckley, hoping to hell they had a big enough head start. He’d find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Colonel was called across to the line of bushes his men had reached. Something was going on; a group of them were congregating in one spot. He rode over, scowling as his horse pulled up cloying clods of mud, the recent rains having made the ground slippery and viscid.

  What he found was a bedraggled group of Union prisoners. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, staring down at the group of private soldiers.

  “Rebs, they’re only just gone. Went that-a-way,” one of the freed men pointed. “Killed our corporal last night, murdering swine!”

  “It’s war,” the Colonel remarked dryly, looking past the men towards the trees. Nothing stirred. “People die all the time.”

  “Well he seemed to enjoy it, that scar-faced sergeant.”

  “What? Who did you say?” the Colonel barked, his eyes boring into the suddenly wary man. “What sergeant? What unit?”

  “A-A scar-faced sergeant, Colonel. 1st Virginia Infantry, I think.”

  The Colonel leaned towards the man. “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “Sure, Colonel. The boys will agree with me.” He looked at the rest who all nodded.

  “Well, well,” the Colonel said aloud, looking back at the trees. “Sergeant!”

  The thick-set unimaginative subordinate stepped forward and saluted. He was ready to carry out whatever order he was given; the Brotherhood had instilled in his head the necessity of this. He wasn’t a bright man and he’d been rescued from a life of groveling destitution on the streets of Budapest twenty years ago by the sect. It was something they did as a matter of course, their ranks being made up of people from the dregs of an uncaring society, which made it all the easier to make the recruits feel a sense of belonging to something that cared for them, and it brought loyalty. The rigid indoctrination saw to the rest. “Sir!”

  “Kill these fools. Quietly.”

  The freed prisoners gaped in shock. Had they heard right? Surely this Union officer hadn’t ordered their deaths! The silent crowd of soldiers pressed in on them, blades suddenly pulled forth, shiny, straight bladed swords, ancient looking weapons, and one or two of the condemned men cried out in desperation before the blades struck, sinking into chests or across throats, and nineteen men fell to the ground in an untidy heap.

  The Colonel looked at the dead without remorse. Best nobody told of their passing and that they were looking for a particular unit and a particular sergeant. He wheeled his horse around. “Now let’s get after the Beast. Kill the rest, capture Longinus, or there’ll be hell to pay, I swear to Izram!”

  “Sir!” the men saluted, then after cleaning their swords sheathed them and strode towards the distant line of trees, guns at the ready. The hunt was on!

  Case peered back at the line of blue. Something had happened back there and it wasn’t something that made him feel good. His instinct told him trouble was coming his way; the body language and behavior of those soldiers alerted him that something wasn’t quite right. “Munz, get the boys out of here. What’s the next cover?”

  “A creek maybe five hundred yards away. Think there’s a house some distance past that.”

  “Get them to the creek, leave two men there to cover Billy and me, and find out if that house is occupied.”

  “Sure thing,” Munz nodded and waved the men to follow. Billy remained with Case, lying in the wet grass by the trunk of a beech tree and peered at the approaching men. The shallow roots of the tree dug into his chest and he fidgeted. “Why are we still here?”

  “Because Billy, you’re easily the best shot in the squad and I want you to pick off one of those advancing men as soon as they’re in range. I want to slow them down and allow Munz and the others to get as far as they can from these men. You’re the youngest and one of the fittest, even with that wound. As for me, well I’m feeling good and probably could out pace them. The others with Munz, I don’t know. Some of them aren’t in good shape.”

  Billy nodded. He loaded the Minié and squinted down the sights. The distance was five hundred yards and the Union troops were faint blue shapes, treading slowly through the field. It was a long shot but Billy had been using the rifle for two years and had gotten used to it. The horseman was further back, and Case admitted he was playing things canny. He seemed to know the trees offered a threat. “When you shoot roll back behind the tree and reload. I’ll keep an eye out to what they’re doing.”

  Billy shut one eye and concentrated on one of the figures, a man with a smart kepi, a single white strap across his chest holding a waist pack of some kind – probably a cartridge case – and what looked like a black beard.

  The sergeant of the advancing line scanned left and right and made sure the men were in step. The Colonel liked things to be symmetrical, something an ordered mind wanted. The sergeant cared little for things like that, but if that’s what he wanted, he got it. He barked a curt command to a man twenty feet off to the right to step up and swung his attention back to the front and the line of trees ahead.

  The puff of smoke from the trees and the sharp crack! of the shot registered simultaneously to him. The second man to his left staggered and sank to his knees, clutching his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers and the gun slid from his grasp to hit the earth butt-first. The man looked in surprise at the red stain spreading through his hands before pitching forward onto his face.

  “Shoot!” the sergeant screamed and dropped to one knee, staring at the spot he thought he’d seen the smoke issue from. The Colonel dismounted and took cover behind his horse, pistol in hand. He had no inten
tion of using it; it was purely a reflex action. “Sergeant! Split the men into three. The middle to continue shooting, the two others to spread wide, then move in from the flanks.”

  The sergeant nodded and waved frantically at his men to comply. The ten men left in the middle kept up a sporadic covering fire, not intending to hit anything but to keep heads down.

  “What’s happening?” Billy asked, ramming home the next ball. He lay on his back, head pressed against the tree trunk, loading almost horizontally. Case grunted and eyed the flanking movements. “Clever bastard, this one,” he answered. “Let’s go, but keep low!”

  He pushed Billy and watched as the boy scuttled off, rifle in both hands, then took one last look at the converging men and set off after him. A bullet spat past, ricocheting off a fence post, leaving an ugly splintered scar on the wood. He pounded in the wake of the boy, his feet slipping from time to time, cursing the mud. About halfway to the creek, a shout came up and he swung his head to the left. The flanking union troops had seen them and knelt to fire at them. A rattle of shots came and two bullets passed close. “Come on, Billy!” Case urged, but to his surprise saw the boy stop, kneel on one knee and aim deliberately at the distant Yankees. He fired and the enemy soldiers ducked as the shot kicked up dirt close to them. Case grabbed Billy’s lapel and tugged him to follow.

  The creek was marked by a line of bushes and shrubs, nothing very tall, but cover nonetheless, and Wendell’s voice came to them, encouraging them to hurry. A muzzle poked through a bush and, as the Union soldiers set off in pursuit, fired. The chasing men dived into the mud once more, uttering vile invectives to the shooter’s parentage.

  Case leaped the creek and landed on his feet on the other side, breathing hard. Billy gulped in air and wiped his brow. “What now?”

  “Get to the house,” Case pushed Billy off. The house lay a short distance off and he could see Private Taylor standing guard by the front where a low fenced garden stood. “Tell Munz and Buckley to sort out the best route away from here. Send someone back to report to me.” Billy nodded and trotted off, leaving Case by the creek with Wendell and Passmore. They all loaded up and waited, watching as the Union troops came up and conferred, the man leading the horse obviously the leader.

  “Just our luck,” Passmore commented. “I was hoping we’d get clean away!”

  “No point in complaining,” Case replied. “Hopefully they’ll keep their distance and allow us to get away.”

  “You think so?” Wendell’s voice sounded skeptical and he straddled the two foot wide creek to steady himself. The earth on the sides was slick. “Those shots could bring the rest of the Yankees down on our heads.”

  “Maybe,” Case said. “Maybe not. We’re off the road here and I think the main army went down the road or else they’re off to the south. Can’t hear any sound of marching, can you?”

  The two privates shook their heads. Just then the enemy soldiers began shooting and Wendell dived for cover, his hat flying. Some shots came close, shredding foliage and the three kept as close to the ground as they could. Then it stopped and Case stuck his head up. “Bet they’re outflanking us again,” he said. A scuffling noise from behind caught his attention and Furlong came skidding up to him. “Corp says there’s a dirt track leading west. He’s got the boys on it.”

  “Okay, go tell him to move fast down it and head for Williamsport. I’ll keep their attention for a little while before catching you up. Wendell, Passmore, go with him. Move!”

  The three set off and Case slid his gun forward, aiming low. The Union troops in front remained loading and firing at about three hundred yards, but he could only see about a dozen of them. That meant about another fifteen or so were elsewhere. “Okay, let the fun begin,” he muttered and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back and a shot spat out and passed in between two of the Union soldiers. They ducked.

  Case scuttled back towards the house, loading as he went, hunched over. He vaulted the low picket fence of the garden and slammed into the white washed plank front wall of the building. He peered round the corner, back from where he’d come. The creek was fifty yards away. Nothing. He looked to the right, but thick undergrowth grew there. He turned and ran to the other end of the house and peered round the corner. Five Federal troops were clambering through the bushes of the garden boundary. Case grimaced. His experience had once again gotten him away from a trap. He took a deep breath, then launched himself out and aimed at the middle one.

  The five saw him and their guns came up, even as the lone man fired. The man in the center span round, his gun flying, and fell onto his side, clutching a suddenly red-sodden shoulder. The other four shot, the garden filling with smoke. Case dived for cover, back behind the house, and splinters flew from a near hit. He rolled, got to his feet and pounded off down the dirt track that ran from the house to the west.

  The Colonel was not pleased. His men were apprehensive in advancing too quickly lest they caught a bullet. One man was dead and now another was reported as being wounded. Damn that Longinus! He ordered the house surrounded and shot to pieces. Bullets smashed into the woodwork, windows and doors. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and men assaulted both back and front doors simultaneously. Firing continued from the interior but then abated and the Colonel saw the sergeant emerge and snap to the men to spread out to scout the surrounding area.

  “Well, sergeant?”

  “Empty, sir. The Beast has fled.”

  “I see,” the Colonel bit back an angry outburst. “Well, he didn’t come through any of our lines, so there’s only one direction he could have gone.” He pointed at the track. “Send five of your fastest men down there and report back every ten minutes. The rest of us will follow.”

  Case ran, laughing. Those damned fools would spend precious time in searching the house while he used the time to get away. Hopefully this would give him enough space to shake off pursuit. If not, they should have enough time to reach Williamsport and cross the Potomac back into friendly territory. He ran on, the sun breaking through the clouds at last, shining down on him, lifting his spirits. He caught up with the others a mile further on and brought them up to date with the chase. The men grinned and moved on, eager to get to safety.

  From time to time Case kept on glancing back but could see nobody, but he had the feeling the enemy weren’t far. He urged the footsore men on and the distance to the river shrank. Eventually they approached the town, skirting the Hagerstown Road, but the sound of firing from ahead slowed them. They crept forward, approaching a small rise with a low line of scrub scattered along the crest, and looked down on a sight they hoped they’d never see.

  Williamsport lay ahead, a collection of grey and brown stone buildings by the river and wooden houses further out. Encamped within the perimeter was Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, but surrounding them and blocking the way in were the Federal troops of the Army of the Potomac.

  Case’s little band was cut off from safety.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nine men against an army. Or so it seemed to Case as he studied the lines of the Federal army surrounding Williamsport. There was no way they could get through the packed lines without being seen, and even if they could, the outnumbered Army of Northern Virginia was bottled up with a raging river behind them and no bridge standing.

  “Hey Sarge,” Taylor came running up breathlessly, his face strained, “those guys who’ve been following us are about ten minutes away.”

  Case growled in frustration. They were trapped in between two groups of enemy soldiers. He had to make a quick decision. “Right. Munz, Buckley, get the boys out of here. Move northwest. There don’t seem to be any Yankees there. Move!”

  The men grumbled but got up and slouched off. Case checked to see nothing had been dropped, then followed, gun ready. They moved down a lightly wooded gully and through a clump of bushes. The enemy lines could be seen to the left but the Union soldiers were looking the other way. They believed every Rebel was trapped in fro
nt of them and nobody thought to look for a small band of soldiers cut off from the rest. Wendell was the best scout amongst them and he went on ahead, followed by Buckley, Furlong, Passmore, Billy, Munz, Taylor, Gatscombe and finally Case. The dull cloudy conditions helped in concealing them, for their gray garb blended in well with the surrounding undergrowth. A few minutes later the area they’d vacated became host to blue-clad soldiers, wary, watchful. Silent. They halted, spying the lines of the Union army up ahead, and looked round. After a moment the Colonel rode up, his eyes watchful under the cover of his black wide-brimmed hat.

  “Well?” he demanded of the leading man in his unit.

  “Sir. They’ve changed direction, either north or south. We didn’t see them and they can’t have gone ahead. Look.”

  “I have eyes,” the Colonel remarked dryly. “So. Left or right.” He looked in both directions and saw nothing but foliage waving gently in the wind. Perhaps if they had been still he might have seen the slight movement far off to his right but he missed it. He did see movement but it was from ahead, as a guard detail of pickets, alerted by his unit’s presence, came to investigate. They were led by a young lieutenant.

  The Colonel made a quick signal for his men to spread out and keep a watch. He remained on horseback, flanked by the sergeant and three other men. The guard lieutenant and his men approached and the young officer saluted. “Good afternoon, Colonel. Can I help you?”

  The Colonel saluted briefly. “Lieutenant. My men and I are on a search for Rebel stragglers. You haven’t seen any, I take it?”

  “No sir.” The young man looked at the Colonel and the other men with him in surprise. “Begging your pardon, sir, but what unit are you with?”

  The Colonel leaned forward conspiratorially and beckoned the lieutenant closer. “We’re a special provost squad sent to capture a particularly dangerous band of Confederates who tried to capture General Meade. The General himself ordered me to chase them down and bring them in; they may possess the names of Southern spies here in the North.”