The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  John Henry rode his horse with authority, reining in the large roan only feet from the eight men, making their mounts shy away. Thomas backed his horse away, showing the Europeans his horsemanship. Deep down, Thomas was hopeful the horse didn’t step in a groundhog burrow—so much for the dramatic entrance. He stopped the horse four feet from the men, bringing his right gauntlet to the brim of his white hat and then saluting the men before him.

  “Colonel John Henry—”

  “Thomas. Yes, we are aware of who you are, Colonel,” said the large Turkish officer in the abundantly decorated green uniform. The fez upon his head was bright red and would have caused Sergeant Major Dugan to lose all self-control if he had been there. Thomas actually smiled at the thought and the men in front of him noticed that smile. “You, sir, are to be escorted to our border, or the nearest seaport, for expulsion from the empire.”

  “A rather harsh punishment for merely being delayed in the railroad’s construction.” John Henry half-turned in his saddle and gestured at the wagons. “We now have our soil and core samples from the survey and are escorting them to the Port of Trabzon.”

  “Colonel Thomas, we are well aware of your mission’s parameters and are here to assure the sultan that no empire property leaves the country. Therefore we must confiscate your wagons.”

  “Very well, sir. I assume you can provide the written order from the sultan?” John Henry held the large Turk’s eyes. The man blinked and it was not just from the rays of the rising sun behind the American column.

  “Colonel, we are here to confiscate the cargo of those wagons. Any interference from you or your men will result in a situation that I guarantee you cannot handle.”

  “Not without a signed order. I have my duty also. You will have to physically take my cargo.” Thomas moved the large roan forward a few steps so the men before him could see his eyes and judge if he were bluffing or not.

  “Hhm, hhmm,” the prim British captain cleared his throat. “Colonel, I see your point, but I’m afraid my Turkish ally does not. I am not even sure if he knows what a bluff is, in military terms that is.”

  “And you are, sir?”

  “Who I am makes little difference at this point. Suffice it to say that Her Majesty would prefer the contents of those crates stay where it was that you found them.”

  John Henry only looked at the captain, trying to judge what his orders were. He thought the captain played his hand well in not saying anything at all.

  “Enough of this. Will you surrender your wagons, Colonel Thomas?”

  “No, sir. We worked very hard building those.”

  John Henry watched as the Englishmen slowly turned and rode back to their own unit. He also turned and rode back to his column, where a marine corporal was awaiting his orders.

  “As soon as the Turkish regiment starts its advance, do not wait on me. Fire the red signal.”

  “Yes, sir, Colonel,” the boy said and then tore off toward the rear of the column. Thomas turned to his fourteen men. “Form a skirmish line. Bring the remaining men up.”

  The fourteen marines sent their mounts in a straight line for a hundred yards in front of the wagons and then turned sharply left. The men from the wagon escort arrived and broke right. A skirmish line of thirty-four mounted United States Marines stood in between the greatest prize in the world and nine hundred men determined to stop them. The American flag was placed next to the bright red Marine Corps flag and they both marked the center of the line as John Henry took his place in front and then waited.

  He was soon joined by the lance corporal commanding his right flank.

  John Henry nodded and looked around him. His eyes momentarily went to the front wagon and the woman sitting on the bench next to her driver. He smiled when he saw the Spencer carbine in her hands.

  * * *

  As the British captain reined in his horse, he turned to the general.

  “Your plan of action, General?” he asked the puffed-out marionette attached to the main puppeteer, the empire’s foreign office.

  “I figure the straight-on approach. Should not take more than a few moments to take such a weak adversary; it’s almost unsporting.”

  The captain smirked as he turned back to the front and saw the American colonel sitting atop his horse, just waiting.

  “Yes, almost,” he said as he wondered if the Turk felt as uneasy as himself. He looked over at the heavily mustachioed general. No, he was oblivious as he proudly scanned his line of march. His men and mounts were perfectly aligned and the general pushed out his chest even farther as the initial three hundred cavalrymen inched ever closer to the Americans.

  A bright red rocket suddenly burst and spread its fiery trail across the sky to the east at the rear of the wagons.

  “Ah, a signal perhaps?” the captain said as if merely commenting on an unusual sight.

  “Does it matter, my friend? No one can stand up to my regiment on open ground. We are the greatest light cavalry in the—”

  The drums drowned out all noise from the plain. The sound of more than three hundred sets of hooves was nothing compared to the heavy beating of the bass drums as they tattooed a rhythm that was reminiscent of the long-ago Roman legions.

  The general held his right hand high in the air, bringing the forward progress of the Seventh Guards Regiment to a halt.

  “Bad idea, sir. Keep your regiment moving forward.”

  The general didn’t answer as he was looking to a far-off knoll that blocked his view of the canyons beyond. The sound of the many drums banged and echoed off the rock facade of the canyon. And still the drums seemed to increase in volume.

  “What is this?” the general asked loudly so he could be heard over the infernal beat of the drums.

  “I would say it is at least a regimental-sized band coming your way.”

  “Regimental?”

  Trumpets started sounding and the British captain looked to see several of the front-line cavalrymen had to stay their horses to keep them from bolting. The situation was loud and very frightening to anyone who had never seen a battlefield before. And still the heavy beat of the drums grew ever louder.

  “Look, sir!” an aide pointed to the first series of canyons and from the mouth of the far left came riders. Their mounts were trotting. The leading officer was wearing a nontraditional cavalry helmet; as a matter of fact, it was no helmet at all. It was a naval department two-cornered hat. The double line of cavalrymen flowed out of the canyon behind him. The American flag waved in the breeze as the large unit of blue-clad cavalrymen came on. The drum beat made the waiting Turks wary of what might come from the canyon next.

  The Turkish captain turned and watched his own men in the near distance as they in turn watched the unknown American unit come on. They were still but watchful.

  The uniforms were immaculate. They all wore brightly colored blue tunics and their brass buttons shined in the early morning sunlight. Still, the infernal drums from hell boomed on and the trumpets played as though Julius Caesar himself was leading the procession. The line of Turks started to seriously hold their frightened mounts in check.

  “Steady, men, steady!” the general shouted as he turned toward the faltering line of Ottoman troops. “It’s all for show! Steady on!”

  The British officer raised his brows at the general’s pronouncement. He turned to the lieutenant who was acting as his second-in-command.

  “If this is for show, I don’t know if I want to stay around for the curtain call.”

  The drums actually increased in volume as if whoever was striking them were attempting to smash them to oblivion. The trumpets echoed off the canyon’s walls and made them sound as if a hundred trumpeters announced the American movement.

  Finally the double column of more than a hundred and thirty-five men took up station to the far left of the American line. A lone officer sat atop a horse, placed his sword in front of his face, and then gave it a flourish in acknowledgement of Colonel John Henry Thomas,
who only nodded and smiled at the proud marine officer. Parnell had led his men out as if they had been on parade in front of the president, which most of the young band members had done.

  Suddenly the trumpets stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The drums gave one final flourish as the last line of men came to a stop, sitting straight and deadly looking to the common observer. The flag of the American nation proudly flew side by side with the flag of the United States Army and next to that the solid red flag of the Marine Corps.

  “What the bloody hell is this? Where did these soldiers come from? My intelligence reports said nothing of a cavalry unit traveling with these supposed engineers!”

  The British colonel rolled his eyes.

  “Perhaps these men are not what you believe them to be, General? Maybe you were actually sent here to face an enemy that will shoot back?”

  The general watched as the two British officers turned their horses opposite the line of Americans.

  “Where do you go, sir?” asked the Turkish officer.

  “I was ordered to observe, sir. I have done so, and now will report to my superiors what it was I observed.” The captain dug his spurs into his horse’s sides and both Englishmen sprinted toward their own men. “Good luck to you, sir!”

  “Cowards!” the general bravely said, trying to impress his subordinates with his bravado. They were not.

  “Orders, General?”

  “The order is to advance and take those wagons. Our reserve will attend to these men, who still find themselves sorely outnumbered.”

  His officers exchanged doubting looks.

  “Sir, we don’t even know what units we face,” said his second-in-command.

  The general turned on him. “It does not matter. This unit can outfight any American cavalry unit!”

  The men in the HQ command had heard the newspaper stories of the American cavalry regiments and their bravery. They had read about the glamorous charges of men like General John Buford and the young General Custer at Gettysburg, and romantic newspaper accounts of the maniacal maneuvering of the Confederates Jeb Stuart and the far more famous General Stonewall Jackson. No, they had their doubts about the ineptitude of American cavalry units according to the general’s opinion.

  “All units advance on my command! Bring up the reserve. We go in as one mighty regiment.”

  The men in his command turned and saw the three hundred British cavalrymen ride off to the west toward Constantinople. Finally the men broke and rode to their individual units.

  “Forward!” the general called out loudly.

  A bugle sounded and the Turkish advance commenced.

  * * *

  John Henry cursed as the first bluff failed to send the Turks running. He turned in his saddle and saw the sun as it crested the summit of Ararat.

  “Anytime, Jessy,” he said under his breath.

  * * *

  As the Turkish Seventh Guards Regiment advanced at a conservative pace, they received the order to take up arms. They each withdrew a shortened version of the venerable Enfield breech-loaded single-shot carbine.

  The sound of the American bugle call brought all eyes in the advance forward. They saw a lone rider sitting atop a brown horse as the animal reared up on its hind legs. The bugler called again; this time John Henry and the other Americans knew it to be the assembly call.

  Without being ordered to do so, the line of three hundred Turks stopped cold in their advance as they studied this new, unexpected move by the Americans.

  “Forward, do not stop!” the general called out angrily.

  Suddenly the ground shook as the bugle call was returned. As the frightened men watched a new column of men broke free of the canyon. They were in a ragged but swift-moving line as they broke into the open. The bugle call was frightening, but the screams and yells, yips and yahoos of these newest troops scared the Turks far more than the sound of the heavy drums had.

  “What in the name of Allah?” the general said as he saw a mixture of blue and gray uniforms with both battle flags flying as they rode forward. The Confederate Stars and Bars flashed by the mounted armies and it was a chilling sight to the Turks, and a surreal sight to the waiting Americans.

  The two lines of Rebel and marine cavalry formed up to John Henry’s right. Now the full complement of three hundred and thirty-six Americans faced a force almost two times its size. Thomas, Taylor, Parnell, and Captain Jackson, all with swords notched to their shoulders, waited in front of their men so they could play out their little theatrical number to the close of curtain.

  “Ooh,” the Turkish army seemed to exhale at once as the last rider broke from the canyon. John Henry had to shake his head at this last little bit of theater.

  Gray Dog, complete with the flowing six-foot-long headdress of his fathers and wearing nothing but a loin cloth and his chest plate of eagles’ bones and beads, held a battle lance on high as he fronted the combined commands of John Henry, Parnell, and Colonel Taylor. The white horse of the Comanche came to a skidding halt and Gray Dog brought the magnificent animal to rear up as his headdress flowed back with the wind.

  “My God, Confederates, Union cavalrymen, and savage Indians. Are we to fight all of America here today?” asked his subordinate with little or no respect lacing his words to the general.

  “Look!” said one of the men.

  The bugler started blowing the charge and John Henry’s bluff was beginning to look as if it were no bluff at all. The charge sounded and the Confederates and the marines were the first to charge with Jessy and Gray Dog leading the headlong plunge into danger. John Henry called out, “Charge!” and then his unit started forward at breakneck speed. Then it was Parnell’s turn. The 317th marching band, sounding like banshees from the gates of hell, also charged. All were waving the new swords they had been issued with the warning from Parnell not to slice each other to pieces.

  The first to move was the front line of Turkish cavalrymen. They watched wide-eyed as the savage Indian came at them, and that was all they needed to see. The lance was pumping up and down and Gray Dog was screaming at the top of his lungs. The rest of the men followed. Jessy was out front with Gray Dog waving his men forward, twirling the bright flash of his saber. For the colonel, it was old times all over again.

  That was it; the rear ranks of the Seventh stayed in place as the forward three hundred smashed into them. The entire unit was now in free flight. Even the general, with his eyes on the crazed Gray Dog, turned and spurred his mount brutally.

  “They’ll kill us all!” one of the men shouted.

  * * *

  Renaud, who had stayed as far away from the action as he could, saw the insane charge of the Americans. A charge that would never see the inside of any war college textbook, but one that would be immortalized by any solder who witnessed it that day.

  The Frenchman cursed the cowardice of the Ottoman Turks and then wheeled his horse around and clumsily made his way north. He would now have to meet up with the French squadron at Trabzon Harbor.

  The French navy would correct any embarrassment suffered that day. He would make sure the Americans never escaped the Black Sea.

  He would personally destroy the army of Ararat.

  * * *

  The men celebrated as if they were all one American unit. No war to step between them, no politics other than American bravado against European arrogance. Even the proud but frightened 317th started playing “Dixie” loud and hard as every man belted out the words to the southern classic adored by none other than Abraham Lincoln himself. The men danced and exchanged hugs and slaps on the back between army, navy, and Confederate comrades who only knew that Americans couldn’t be beat in any arena.

  John Henry was not of the same sentiment as he dismounted. He almost stumbled as his left foot freed itself from the stirrup. He laid his head against the saddle to steady the nerves that had come on after he realized the Turks had broken and run. It was nearly reminiscent of the break the Union Army made at the
first battle of Bull Run. His breath came in ragged gasps as he found breathing was hard. He was startled when a sharp slap on the back made him jump.

  “I’m afraid those boys won’t stop running until their horses give out,” Jessy said as he turned and watched the dust rise in the west as the Seventh Guards Regiment made a bid for the overland record for speed of horse. He turned back and saw John Henry was having a hard time focusing on him. “Hey, you all right, Napoleon?”

  Thomas bent over and placed his hands on his knees. His sword was still clutched in his right hand. He finally managed a deep breath and faced Jessy as Parnell, Jackson, and Gray Dog joined them. The sound of revelry was loud.

  “I had a fleeting moment there when I thought you and Gray Dog were going to actually attack.”

  Jessy laughed. “We were. The damn Turks just ran too fast. I didn’t want to run out our own mounts. We still have to get the hell out of here, you know?”

  “I think I wet myself,” Claire said as she turned Jessy around and hugged him. She then did the same to an embarrassed but happy Lieutenant Parnell and a startled Captain Jackson. “That was amazing,” she finished as she faced John Henry and suddenly didn’t know what to do. He instead hugged her just to make sure he was still feeling after the shock at what almost happened. Jessy exchanged looks with Gray Dog, Parnell, and Jackson. They all watched as they were witnessing the first emotions they had ever seen from the legendary cavalry officer. John Henry finally let go and then straightened his tunic as he sheathed his sword.

  “Gentlemen, that was played out well. You had me a little concerned at the end, but we managed to bluff our way out of this mess for the moment without starting a shooting war with the Ottoman Empire.”

  “Yes, but what a moment it was!” Parnell said loudly. “Now that’s something to tell the grandchildren about, by God!”