Casca 27: The Confederate

by Tony Roberts

  Case saluted and left Billy and Furlong to pass the message on to Wendell and Gatscombe upon their return before leading the rest forward. They stepped over the fallen, some of whom were groaning and looking at them with lackluster eyes. The medical staff were moving from man to man, sorting out those who could be saved from those who couldn’t. It was evident the South had lost more men, almost two to every man in blue, but the battlefield belonged to them. But no sooner had they settled down for the night when orders came to retreat back to their start point; large enemy infantry units were approaching and it seemed a fresh battle was imminent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The atmosphere in the chamber was heavy; the candles flickered as the draughts and eddies in the air caught them, and the smell of incense hung sweetly as the two men stood patiently behind the kneeling hooded man, his back bowed as he whispered just audibly in prayer.

  Finally the thin, robed man stood and turned to face them. “So,” he breathed, his voice thin and reedy, his face hidden in shadow from the cowl, “you say he has disappeared.” The voice was menacing, ominous. The two others swallowed, their hearts beating faster in fear. They hadn’t wished to bring the Elder the bad news, but someone had to, and they were the messengers sent with the news.

  “That is what we were informed, O Teacher of the Holy Word.” The title was one normally given to the Elder.

  “Failure,” the Elder said slowly, his voice the hiss of an enraged cobra. “The Brotherhood has endured failure for too long. Even today, with the modern advantages of travel and communication, the Beast still eludes the Order. And what of Brother Smith and the Swords of God?”

  “No word – Brother Mulcahy believes they are all dead.” One of the two messengers shook as he delivered the news. “He awaits further instructions.”

  “Indeed.” The Elder stood motionlessly for a while, thinking. “Brother Mulcahy will need to rebuild our American branch first. The war there draws to a close. The Beast will be long gone before our Order grows once more over there. You,” he pointed at the first messenger, “will return to him and instruct him to recruit new members throughout the United States. But you,” he turned to the other, “will serve another purpose; that is to show your colleague that failure is no longer to be tolerated.” With that he clapped his hands and dark shadows moved in from the unseen edges of the chamber, men dressed in similar attire, that of homespun brown woolen hooded robes. “Take this man to be the next crucifixion victim. He shall be the Blessed Lamb!”

  The messenger sank to his knees, unable to stand. “Oh….” he managed to say before rough hands grabbed him and pulled him off to some unknown destination. His voice could be heard, sobbing but also praising the Blessed Lamb. The first messenger stood rigid, petrified with fear. The Elder stepped up close to him. “Do you understand the penalty for failure, Brother?”

  “Y-yes, O Teacher of the Holy Word.”

  “Then rest, feed, then go with the Word of Izram to America and inform Brother Mulcahy that he is to succeed in rebuilding the Brotherhood there, and also to commence the search for the Beast. I shall alert all our agents around the world to begin searching. Sooner or later Longinus will be found, and this time we shall not fail. Or else.”

  The messenger bowed low and backed away, relieved to still possess his life.

  * * *

  A new day dawned and Case and his buddies ate a meager breakfast back at the Five Forks junction. They were disappointed at having to give up the ground won with so many lives, but Case knew it would have been suicide to remain there, totally exposed out from the defensive lines of Petersburg. Even here, they were out on a limb with orders to hold this position no matter what. But news was filtering through the ranks of a large enemy force somewhere close by, and some were even saying they had been identified as the V Corps. “Our old friends, huh?” Gatscombe said thoughtfully. “Seems they’re on our backs no matter where we go!”

  “They may say the same thing,” Case replied, cleaning the barrel of the Spencer. He’d fifteen rounds left, and then it’d be useless unless he managed to get hold of more ammunition from somewhere. “You may yet get to exchange opinions with them again.”

  The men grinned, then went back to watching the trees and undergrowth. The roads converged at a point off to their left where most of the defenders stood behind barricades and hastily erected palisades, and if the enemy came at them it would almost certainly be from along one or more of them, rather than through the trees.

  Spring was in the air and Case looked up wearily. The war had long lost its freshness and everyone was tired of the fighting. The Confederacy was on the retreat everywhere, cut into chunks that were becoming smaller, and it was only a matter of time before there was nowhere left to go. Supplies would dry up and the end wouldn’t be far off then. With greater numbers and better supply routes, Grant could afford a war of attrition. He wasn’t winning by tactical brilliance, but he was canny enough to know the strategic winning formula; keep on the pressure and the South would crack.

  The day wore on and the men pushed up more cut down tree branches, forming a barrier across the approaches to the road. They had to rest frequently as their strength now wasn’t sufficient to keep working continuously. Food was scarce and the men’s uniforms hung off thinner and thinner frames. Case alone amongst the men didn’t appear to be affected by the cut in rations, but they weren’t to know his body worked differently to theirs, conserving every morsel of goodness from his food. He rarely passed food now; his body demanded nearly everything.

  The afternoon grew long, and the men began to relax. Night would be coming in a couple of hours and they were looking towards evening rations. Suddenly all hell broke loose to the left. The men grabbed their guns and ran to the barricades and stared forward and down the road. It seemed that the entire wood had come alive with blue as wave upon wave of Union infantrymen swarmed forward, yelling and shooting. Even as they watched, the barricades to the left were overrun and Confederate soldiers were grabbed and surrounded. “Men, to me, to me!” Case screamed, seeing their sector would be next. In the pandemonium that reigned, cool heads were needed now. Case roared at the hesitating soldiers nearby and got them to fall back. A company of Yankees was forging its way through a tangle of brambles almost opposite and Case seized hold of Munz’s arm. “Get the men to stop those Yankees!”

  He swung around, trying to spot an officer. Confusion reigned with men running every which way and frightened yells filling the air. Yankees seemed everywhere. Captain Skivenham came running up, pistol in hand. “Where’s the General?” he demanded, his eyes wild.

  “Dunno, Captain. Suggest we get out of here. The position’s lost.”

  Skivenham’s face took on a stubborn look. “We’ve been ordered to hold this place by General Lee himself. We’ve got to try!”

  The two men turned as the platoon volleyed at the advancing Union soldiers, stopping their advance for a few moments. Case craned his neck to peer down the road. Some Confederates were running towards them, cavalry in pursuit. Others were fleeing northwards into the trees. It was a free-for-all and no senior commanding officer was present. “With all due respect Captain, we’ve got to get into the trees away from these horses!” he nodded at Sheridan’s cavalry who were riding in circles, rounding up straggling Rebels.

  “Okay, back this way,” Skivenham said, stepping backwards towards the nearest thicket to the north of the road. Case whistled shrilly, attracting Munz’s attention. Case waved urgently and Munz barked a sharp order. The platoon turned as one and came running, but one suddenly span round, clutching his face, and crashed to the ground. Blood seeped from a hideous facial wound and it was clear he was finished.

  “Who’s down?” Case shouted as he backed away.

  “Private Aspen,” Corporal Batley answered, closing in from the left. Aspen had been one of Batley’s men, from the other platoon. Aspen had obviously become mixed up with Case’s men. The entire company was now huddle
d together in the lee of the trees, a hunted, isolated unit, and Case feared the cavalry would run them down, but Sheridan’s men were occupied with rounding up North Carolinian soldiers running north.

  “Come on!” Skivenham snapped, plunging deeper into the woods, “we gotta rejoin the regiment!” He led the men into the trees just as the Federal soldiers, who’d been stopped by Munz’s volley, reached the barricades and began tearing them down, yelling in triumph.

  As hundreds of Rebels were led off into captivity, Major General Philip Sheridan rode up to the commander of the Union V Corps, Major General Gouveneur K. Warren, a thunderous expression on his face. He was angry at Warren’s delay during the afternoon and the cause, so he believed, of some of the Confederates escaping. He’d obtained from General Grant prior permission to relieve Warren if he saw fit, and now he fully intended to carry it out on the unsuspecting corps commander.

  As this drama was played out, Skivenham led the company though the gathering darkness and out of the wooded area onto a patch of clear ground. A line of retreating men in gray was passing from the right and Skivenham hailed them. One turned and visibly relaxed as he recognized their insignia. “Hurry up,” he urged, “Yankee cavalry isn’t far behind. We’re regrouping at Amelia Court House!”

  Wearily, the company tagged on behind the line of South Carolinian troops and acted as a rearguard on the march north into the dusk. A few moments later they came to a fast-running watercourse called Hatcher’s Run and crossed, splashing and stumbling, helping one another as they moved north as fast as they could. They had missed their evening rations and went hungry. Hopefully some food would be awaiting them at Amelia Court House, astride the Southside Railroad.

  As night fell in Richmond, President Jefferson Davis received a visit from a graven-faced Robert E. Lee. “Yes, Robert, what is it?”

  Lee sat down heavily in the upholstered leather armchair offered him. “Sir, I’ve bad news from the front line. It appears the enemy has broken our lines at Five Forks and now nothing can stop them taking the last railroad into Petersburg.”

  President Davis sat stock still, staring at his military leader. “And what does this mean? I fear the worst, judging by your expression, Robert.”

  “You are correct, sir. It means we can no longer hold Petersburg or Richmond. Our supply lines are cut. I have already advised the divisional commanders to prepare for a retreat. I hope that we can yet secure supplies further west and continue to resist the enemy, but I now fear the end is near.”

  There was a long silence. Finally Davis sighed, pinched his nose and looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do what you must, Robert. Try to save the Confederacy. I shall make plans to leave immediately. How soon do you envisage evacuation?”

  “Within twenty-four hours, sir. I must pull the army out now if I am to have any chance of saving it.”

  Davis stood up. “Then go with God, Robert.” He shook the white-haired man’s hand. Lee left swiftly, his heart heavy.

  Over the next few days the army slowly pulled back from both cities, burning the warehouses, destroying the bridges and allowing the Union army to occupy both. What was left of the Army of Northern Virginia now began to move west and north-west along the course of the Appomattox River, units being spread out on either side of the river. Case and his men were still to the south but heading west. They had rejoined their regiment and now hopes were pinned on getting to a supply wagon train that rumor said was somewhere up ahead. Case nudged Billy as they tramped along the road the army was moving along. “Hey you know where this road leads?”

  Billy looked up, exhaustion written across his face. He’d been very quiet of late and Case knew his mind was far from the war. “No – where?”

  “Lynchburg.”

  Billy seemed to take interest. His eyes suddenly focused on Case. “Really? You mean we’re going home?”

  Case smiled and shrugged. “Some of the guys are leaving. You noticed the numbers are less the further we go? Others say they want to join the fight in the Carolinas – the Carolinian soldiers anyway, and who can blame them? But if we carry on up this road we get to Lynchburg. It’s a supply depot and my guess is Lee is trying to get to it before the Yankees cut us off.”

  “And if the Yankees cut us off?”

  Case looked at Billy. He didn’t need to say any more. Billy nodded and put his head back down and carried on putting one foot in front of the other. Case slapped him on the back and left him dreaming of Rosie. He stood on the roadside and watched as the remainder of the regiment passed. Captain Skivenham and Lieutenant Wyatt came up to him, both looked thin and gaunt. “Well, Sergeant,” Skivenham greeted him, “how do you read the situation?”

  It wasn’t meant to be a serious question; Skivenham was merely asking him to pass the time of day. They both knew it was bad. The Union army was hot on their heels and Sheridan’s cavalry were reported to be roaming to either side. It was a race to get to Lynchburg. And the starving, stumbling men of the Army of Northern Virginia were nearly finished. “Could be better, sir,” Case admitted, looking back down the road. Clouds of sweat and other human detritus rose from the column. They were being pushed beyond their limit, he could see. “We’d better get some supplies pretty quickly or the army won’t go much further. What’s left of it,” he added.

  “Indeed,” Skivenham said absently. He was looking back towards Richmond, which, although out of sight, was marked by a smudge of black cloud on the horizon. By now the Northern army would be fighting to put the fires out and setting up an administration to run the city. The populace at least would now be fed.

  Lieutenant Wyatt looked at Case. “You, Sergeant, don’t seem to be suffering as badly as anyone else. You’re still looking healthy.”

  Case stiffened. “Meaning, sir?”

  Wyatt regarded Case coldly. Skivenham touched Wyatt’s arm. “Lieutenant, drop it. Sergeant Lonnergan has fought as hard as any of the men, and has done wonders in training them. Of all the units of the regiment, our company has stayed in one piece the best. And that’s down to this man.”

  Wyatt paused, then nodded stiffly. Clearly he thought Case was hiding food away somewhere. Wyatt moved away, leaving Skivenham and Case alone by the roadside. “Don’t mind him, Sergeant, he’s just as hungry as the rest of us.”

  Case growled at Wyatt’s back. “Where the hell does he think I’ve stored food – up my ass?” He ran his hands down his uniform. Apart from his belts, pouches for cartridges and a water canteen, there was precious little else he carried.

  Skivenham laughed briefly. “Forget it.” He looked at the Spencer. “I’ve heard about these weapons, mind if I take a close look at it?”

  Case shrugged and handed it over. Skivenham checked the mechanisms and feel of the weapon. “Very nice; no wonder our cavalry are being licked. This gives Yankee one heck of an advantage.”

  “Telling me, sir. But I’m almost out of ammunition. I’ll have to ditch it soon.”

  Skivenham looked thoughtfully at the weapon. “Would you mind if I took this now? I’ll arrange for you to have one of our Enfields.”

  Case looked at the Spencer. It’d been comfortable and good to have it, but without ammunition it was almost as good as a club. He shrugged. “Sure, Captain. Have it with pleasure.”

  Skivenham beamed. “You’re a gentleman, Sergeant, you know? My gratitude.” He went off and returned with a bayoneted rifle. “Here, something you’ll be familiar with.”

  Case took it, checked the loading ramrod, the hammer and the trigger and grunted. “Seems okay, sir. Thank you. Best get back to the men.” He loped off, wondering why Skivenham wanted the gun so badly. It was beyond his thinking so he shook his head and passed back up the line.

  Case’s new gun was put to the test a few days later when the Federals caught up with the retreating army at a place called Sayler’s Creek.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The screams of men assaulted Case’s eardrums all round him. Clouds of sweat and fl
ying mud obscured much of his immediate surroundings as Union horsemen tore through the scattering ranks of Rebels. “Get out of here!” Skivenham’s voice came through the chaos to him. Case turned full circle and saw an opening through the struggling knot of men. “Come on, Billy, Munz, let’s go!”

  Grabbing Billy’s arm, Case dragged the unresisting man with him out of the melee. Suddenly a blue-coated cavalryman bore down on him, saber raised. Case let go of Billy and swung his rifle, scything the bayonet up at the surprised Yankee. Despite wrenching the reins hard with his left hand, the horseman was too late and the blade cut across his right arm, scoring deep along the underside of the forearm and exiting at the elbow. Screaming, the cavalryman dropped his saber and galloped off.

  “Prick,” Case snarled and once more grabbed Billy. Munz was to Case’s left with Furlong, Wendell and Private Quiller. Corporal Collins came stumbling towards them, his face streaked with blood. “Where’s the rest?” Case demanded.

  Collins shook his head. “Captured! I saw Gatscombe and Passmore being taken! Corporal Batley took the other platoon off to the right. Don’t know where they are.”

  “Okay, time to get going. Come on!” Case roared and dragged the remnants of his platoon, now just six others, with him. They got about thirty yards when a pair of Federal cavalrymen peeled away from herding a group of surrendering Virginians and bore down on them. “I’m out of cartridges!” Munz shouted, eyeing the approaching duo who raised their sabers.

  Suddenly two shots rang out and one of the horsemen jerked upright, one of the bullets ripping into his throat and smashing into his brain, smearing it on the inside of his hat which flew off lazily. Captain Skivenham stood to one side, his pistol smoking, waving his free hand urgently. “Come on! I’ve no more shots!”