The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  “Then there’s that.” Jessy smiled for the first time in a while. “Ah, the vagaries of command, what a wonderful thing.” Taylor mounted his horse and then spurred him forward. “Come, gentlemen, let us face the great unknown!”

  Jackson shook his head but mounted his own horse and rode away. John Henry Thomas just kicked at the rapidly hardening ground and then looked up. For the briefest of moments he could swear he spied stars peeking through the dark clouds. Then his gaze went to the white phosphorescent summit of Ararat just as thunder rumbled over the mountain range.

  They would arrive at the base of God’s mountain by dawn the next morning.

  19

  DOLMABAHÇE PALACE, CONSTANTINOPLE

  The French spy Paul Renaud waited for the minister of foreign affairs to answer yes or no. The letter he had presented placed the empire on notice of a French arms embargo against the sultan if the French government’s request was not granted. The small Turk was a close relative of the sultan and owed his career to the man, but to see twenty million francs in arms just vanish from the empire’s books would be too much for even the sultan, or in the case his cousin, to endure. It was either a friendship with the backward Americans and that baboon sitting in their White House, or remain friends with a country that had bailed them out during the Crimea campaign. Renaud suspected he knew which way the minister would go. Especially when he saw the man slip the large bank folder into his top drawer. After all, another personal guarantee made up of one hundred thousand dollars in French notes had been given directly to the minister to smooth out any entanglements.

  “And we have your guarantee the sultan will not recall the support you have just agreed to?” Renaud asked while eyeing the small man with the pencil-thin moustache and dark, weasely eyes.

  “The sultan only knows what I tell him. I and a few learned men in office have his complete trust. The Seventh Guards Regiment will move out within the next three days. That should be adequate force to convince the Americans of their folly.”

  “We need the troops sooner than that.”

  “My French friend, if I recall a scattered regiment overnight, that will attract attention and surely the sultan would hear that one of his most elite cavalry regiments was currently moving on one of his own provinces. They are spread out in many regions. I will have them here in two days and on their way east in three. The Americans cannot stand up to that size of force so far away from home.”

  Renaud cursed under his breath as he turned to the naval attaché from the French embassy.

  “How soon will our warships be in place in the Black Sea?”

  “Within the next day and a half.” The navy captain pulled Renaud aside and then whispered, “Does Paris know how far this has gone? The orders thus far have been for observation of American activities only.”

  “Yes, and our naval forces will observe American naval activity in the Black Sea. Have the landing force, once they have docked, find the Americans that started from there. I will remain here and travel with the Guards regiment. We should meet up in seven days.”

  “Should I inform Paris of the change?” the captain asked hopefully.

  “No, I will take care of that.”

  The captain clicked his heels together and then left the office. Renaud approached the minister, who was locking the desk drawer with the French bribe contained inside.

  “The man commanding this American incursion in your land is very cunning. I understand that the buffoon Lincoln thinks highly of him. And I must say from personal experience that he’s not a fool.”

  The minister laughed and then stood to walk the Frenchman to the door.

  “My friend, once the Seventh Guards Regiment sweeps into a land, the people of that land cease to exist. The Americans will soon learn the profit in bearing false gifts.”

  The two men shook hands and Renaud left.

  The minister watched him go and then turned to his secretary before reentering his office.

  “Send a message to Shidehara Barracks. I want to see General Isriam as soon as possible. From this moment on, tell him his regiment is on alert for movement east.”

  An hour later messages went out across the empire, and one of the most elite regiments of cavalry in Asia Minor started to gather.

  Destination—Ararat.

  * * *

  Commodore Wesley Hildebrand read the dispatch and then handed it back to the captain of the H.M.S. Westfield.

  “Is the message from our man, Captain McDonald?” he asked the twenty-five-year veteran who had spent most of ten years in and around the Mediterranean and the Aegean.

  “No, London. It seems our intelligence boys have learned that the two American vessels, Carpenter and Argo, made it into the strait and entered the Black Sea two days ago. Now we know why the two French frigates entered the strait not long after.”

  “The two American supply ships?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, but London says the Americans have no intention of building a rail line for the sultan. It seems they have another goal in mind.”

  “Our orders?”

  “Pursue into the Black Sea and observe the movements of both American and French naval assets.”

  “Observe? Rather ambiguous, wouldn’t you say, Commodore?”

  “Quite.”

  “If the Americans are not gifting the sultan with a rail line, just what are our wayward cousins up to this far from home?”

  The commodore stepped to the railing of the newest battle cruiser in Her Majesty’s service. He pursed his lips and then looked up into her tall rigging and saw the flags. They were blowing to the north. He made his decision.

  “Prepare for sea, Captain. Get word to men ashore, especially our marines. Leave is cancelled and I want to make sail by 1600 hours.”

  “Very good. Once we enter the Black Sea I want a fifty percent alert status and I want battle stations set.”

  “You really think the Americans would dare fire upon the Royal Navy?”

  His thoughts turned to the Americans and the man who was leading this foolish quest. He wondered and hoped that the soldier had a good head on his shoulders and would realize in time that anything hidden on that mountaintop was not worth the entire world going to war.

  But then again, what cause ever was?

  TALISE STATION, THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE

  Lieutenant Parnell watched the last of the railroad ties being unloaded. For a rail line that would cover in square mileage more area than New York to Illinois, the amount of wood ties was far short of the number required. Luckily, they had no intention of building any such rail line. The few ties and steel rail they had on hand were for show only, and he had the men spread them out to look as if they had far more material than they did. He was following Colonel Thomas’s orders to the letter and hoped the army officer had a sixth sense when it came to running a bluff.

  The snow had started falling at dawn and it looked as if the bad weather was there to stay. It was starting to accumulate on the ground and on the shoulders of the fifty-seven men in his command. He opened his pocketwatch and saw that it was just past four in the afternoon, and that meant if the Black Sea section had not arrived before the sun set they would not make it to Talise before sunrise tomorrow. He closed the watch as a navy signalman walked up and saluted the marine lieutenant.

  “Pickets report that those Britishers are at it again. They circle the camp and then stop and then circle the camp again.”

  “They’re trying to get under our skin, like Stonewall Jackson did the second day at Bull Run. They want us to do something stupid.” He smiled and looked at the navy man. “But we only make the same mistakes two and three times, and not one of those boys out there is Stonewall Jackson, are they?”

  “No, sir.” The boy saluted and then went back to his duties.

  “Ensign Dwyer?”

  A naval officer turned away from the warm fire and reported to the marine.

  “Yes, sir?”

  With c
aution Parnell turned toward the smoking engine of the train, which was due to return to the coast in less than an hour.

  “Did your special ordnance team plant our surprise for the Turkish rail system?”

  “Yes, sir. I must admit that the Reb explosives man looked as if he had done this sort of work before.”

  “Yes, Colonel Taylor said that his regiment was responsible for the Rock Island and the Ohio Limited sabotage in ’61 and ’62. He said his man was the best.”

  “Well, he placed the charges right beneath the main boiler. We will have Lance Corporal Killeen in place at the halfway water stop. By the time the train makes its return trip, if it has unexpected guests onboard, he’ll blow the charges as per Colonel Thomas’s order.”

  “Very good. Let us hope that won’t be necessary. After all, that train is another escape route we may need to get the hell out of here.”

  “Damn, there they are again,” the naval officer said as his eyes went to the ridge a mile away. The four British soldiers sat atop their horses. They made no move or signal. They just watched the activity below. Suddenly the riders turned their horses and were gone as fast as they had arrived.

  “Thank God. They were beginning to make the boys a little jumpy.”

  Parnell was about to reply when he heard something in the distance. He cocked his ear to the north and decided that the sound was coming from there. Soon the naval ensign heard it also. Suddenly a cheering rose at the far northern end of the camp. Parnell smiled when he finally digested what it was they were hearing. It was loud music. A marshalling song they all knew well and it was coming through the air with power. More cheers from his small command as Parnell finally spied the cause.

  “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” blared across the Plain of Ararat as the one hundred and twenty-two member Army of the Potomac Band marched into the far end of the camp to rousing cheers. The applause soon dwindled as the full scope of what they were seeing registered in every man’s mind. Here was the band—where was the army to go with it? The cheering soon dwindled to nothing as they realized the band was the only unit arriving. Still, the boys in bright blue parade dress played with all the enthusiasm of a victory celebration.

  “Uh, sir, where are the support troops? The cavalry we were expecting from the Black Sea sector?”

  Parnell turned away from the spectacle of the precision marching band and he smiled at the young ensign.

  “You are looking at it, sir. Our salvation, our cavalry.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yes, Ensign, I believe that is an accurate description of what it is we have just stepped

  into.”

  The band members smiled after their long march from the end of the northern rail spur and then their forced night march, but were confused as the men watching them stopped cheering. Several of the gruff soldiers had their mouths ajar. Most of the young musicians believed the troops were in awe of their musical prowess.

  “Colonel Thomas, I sure hope the president’s faith in you is justified, because right now it seems you are one mad son of a bitch.”

  MOUNT ARARAT, OTTOMAN EMPIRE

  The line of one hundred and sixty-five men stretched for almost a mile up the goat trail that led from the base of Ararat. The mountain itself was unlike most large peaks of the world as it stood almost alone and not inside a typical range. The plains stopped and the mountain began; it was that simple.

  They had ridden in three miles before they had to dismount. Another full day was lost as they loaded supplies into packs and, with the fifty mules at hand, started early on the second day. All the while they were observed by the local goatherds. They had seen incursions before, but they were always led by academia and not men such as these. Although they wore civilian clothing, most looked as if they were trained in drill. John Henry had allowed Professor Ollafson to speak to a few of them to allay their fears about their presence. He explained that they were only there to map the summit. Thomas knew the locals didn’t believe Ollafson. It was as if they knew exactly why the foreigners had come to Ararat.

  Thus far the Confederate prisoners had responded well to the march up the mountain. Most had been shocked at the cold-weather gear that had been supplied them. For the most part the Rebel cavalrymen had not seen new shoes since the times before the Battle of Bull Run. The fur-lined jackets were something most southerners had never seen before, as well as the strange tinted glasses that strapped to their hoods. To John Henry it looked as though the new clothing and the issuing of arms to the men had had a most beneficial effect on the southern contingent. Even Jessy was more talkative since they started the ascent.

  John Henry dropped back from the front of the line after he made sure that Gray Dog, who was a mile or so in front of the column scouting the dangerous trail, had not reported back as of yet. They were at eleven thousand feet and wanted to see how Professor Ollafson was holding up. He was maneuvering around several snow sleds being pulled up the mountainside by the men when he spied Claire a few feet away. He smiled when he saw the thick fur-lined hood covering her features. She used a large walking stick, as did most. Her wool skirt was thick and covered heavy cotton pantaloons underneath. Her boots were also top-of-the-line trail wear. She looked as if the weather and climb had no effect on her at all.

  “It looks like you were born for the infantry, Miss Anderson.”

  “What did I say in regards to calling me Miss Anderson? For crying out loud, Colonel, we may never leave this mountain, so give yourself a new order and leave off with the formality.” She raised the thick, dark goggles and looked at John Henry. “It’s Claire.”

  “All right, Claire,” he said as he turned and started to pace her. “How is the old fella holding up?”

  Claire looked over at the colonel and his heavy winter coat and decided that he really was concerned about Ollafson and wasn’t just trying to say, “I told you so” about the professor’s ability to climb the mountain again in his old age.

  “Better, since Gray Dog returned the artifacts. But there’s something that’s affecting him. He’s been acting a little strange since we started getting close to the mountain, and that started long before the Persians attempted to steal his property. He goes out of his way to move around shadows that are cast along the trail.”

  “With the absence of the sun, it’s a wonder there are any shadows at all.”

  Claire looked at the colonel again. “That’s another thing, why are the shadows so prevalent since we started the climb? I mean, you’re correct, there shouldn’t be, but there are. Deep and dark as though the sun was directly casting them. But no sun.”

  “I hope you and I are the only ones that have noticed.”

  “Well, Gray Dog avoids the shadows for the most part also. As for the men, I think they’re just happy to be moving.”

  “That and their new clothing.”

  “Sad isn’t it?”

  “Sad?” John Henry asked as he adjusted the Henry rifle strapped to his shoulder.

  “Yes, that men can be as excited as schoolchildren over those ugly spiked boots and a new jacket. It says something about how sad this war has become.”

  John Henry looked at Claire and said nothing. He just dipped his head and then allowed her to move forward as he slowed down. The woman was far deeper of thought than he’d realized, and he knew at that very moment that this spy interested him to no end.

  As they climbed, the summit vanished behind thick, dark snow clouds and the wind picked up as if in warning they were trespassing.

  The Americans drew closer to one of the greatest mysteries in the history of the world.

  * * *

  Colonel Taylor was in the extreme front of the column. John Henry had placed him in charge of the scouts, Gray Dog among them. Neither he nor the Comanche had much to say about it. Gray Dog could not fathom the deep hatred Jessy had toward all Indians, not just the Kiowa, the tribe responsible for killing his sister. Thomas figured he was the cause of that confusion for t
he simple fact that Gray Dog saw that Mary’s actual husband had no ill will toward any Indian, while her brother could not get over the fact. Thomas knew Jessy respected the ability of the Plains Indian, he just didn’t like them.

  Taylor slowed the advance as they came to a sheer rock wall covered in winter run-off ice that never melted in the summer months at this elevation. Taylor took out his hand-drawn map that had been supplied by Professor Ollafson and examined his route. He was sure that this was the proper trail as depicted in Ollafson’s tight but fluid scrawl. He raised the large goggles and then looked about. With absolutely no sun he wasn’t even sure which way they were truly headed.

  “Colonel, the Indian,” Corporal Jenks said as he too lowered his goggles and fur-lined hood.

  Gray Dog was there. He was standing atop a rock wall and looking down upon them. He looked up into the falling snow and shook his head.

  “Dumb savage, if he climbed that it must be straight up. He knows we can’t take that route. Does he know what wet dynamite will do if impacted hard enough?” Jessy cupped his gloved hands and called up. “You have to find another way! Too steep!”

  Gray Dog tilted his head. He was dressed in a long-sleeved leather jacket with fringe and thick leather breeches. His head was still covered in the coyote-skin hat and his hair was bundled against the cold, which strangely enough did not affect the Indian much at all. Before Taylor could blink Gray Dog vanished.

  “What’s the holdup?” John Henry said as he came to the front with Claire, Ollafson, and McDonald in tow.

  “That little spider monkey needs to learn what ledges he can traverse and what ledges an army bogged down with equipment cannot.”

  “Where is he?” Thomas asked as he lowered his hood and goggles.

  “He was up there a moment ago. Probably fell off for all I know,” Jessy answered as two of the advance point men came up to report.

  “This is not the same. There must have been heavy avalanches in the recent years to block the trail like this,” Ollafson said as he braced himself against Claire and McDonald.

  “We wasted a full day!” Taylor said angrily. “We’re going to lose what little light we have soon.”