“Sierra Three Six, we just received a spot report from Delta Two Hotel Oh Six. There’s a brigade of J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry coming down the Pedlar River. The CO expects they’ll turn our way when they reach the James. ETA about thirty mikes, over.”
Jake’s Intel was being filtered at the Dragoon Regiment’s Headquarters. As an independent task force unit, she got hers direct from the source. “Roger, Delta Oh Six. Raven’s Roost just reported a squadron of rebel cavalry on my side. ETA is about twenty mikes, break.” Jake won’t want to break cover before the rebel brigade he’s facing is in range, so we’re going to be on our own. Then she had another, even more troubling thought. “Delta Oh Six, did Raven’s Roost indicate that the brigade you’re facing sent a squadron south across the river, over?”
“Negative, Sierra Three Six,” Jake replied. “The lead element is still three klicks north of the James, over.”
Which meant that the squadron coming her way was part of the other rebel brigade. So where the fuck is the rest of that unit? “Roger, Delta Oh Six. Good luck. Sierra Three Six, out.”
Peta switched to her squad radio and briefed everyone on what was coming. She told Corporal Murray to keep a sharp eye. He should be seeing the rebels any moment. Then she got on the task force Intel net and called, “Juliet One Charlie Oh Two, this is Juliet One Sierra Three Six, over.”
“Sierra Three Six, this is Charlie Oh Two Actual. Send your traffic, over.” So the S2 himself was manning the radio. Not surprising, given the staff losses following the landslide, and she felt slightly sympathetic. In the space of twenty-four hours he had been replaced at the top of her staff enemies list by the Chief Engineer, who had been evacuated to the Republic with three broken bones in his legs. If I’d gotten to him, he’d have a boot up his ass as well.
“Charlie Oh Two, Raven’s Roost reported a Confederate cavalry squadron coming up the southern bank of the James River. Where’s the rest of that brigade, over?”
“Sierra Three Six, the main force of Hampton’s Brigade, Stuart’s Cavalry Division, is currently in Lynchburg. Martin’s Regiment of Hampton’s Brigade is moving in parallel along Trent’s Ferry Road, about three kilometers south of the James River, over.”
Peta checked the map. Trent’s Ferry Road connected with Boonsboro Road, which crossed over Fleming Mountain and dropped into Coleman Falls. “So they’re coming in behind us!” she shouted, belatedly adding “Over.”. The S2 was rising again on her list.
“Roger, Sierra Three Six. The situation is being dealt with by the Dragoons, over.”
“Roger, Charlie Oh Two. Advise any change in their direction of movement, over.”
“Wilco, Sierra Three Six. Charlie Oh Two out.”
"Well ain't that some pretty shit," said Corporal Williams from the seat to her left. She shot him a sharp look, so he added a “ma’am” but didn’t look chastened in the least.
“Six, this is Three Two. I’ve got movement, over.” Corporal Murray’s voice had an edge to it she hadn’t often heard.
“Three Two, report, over,” she replied.
“Rebel cavalry travelling west along the south bank of the river. Looks like a full squadron, ma’am.”
“Any cannon, over?”
“Negative, ma’am. Just a whole lot of men on horseback heading your way.”
“Roger, Three Two. Hold your fire until we engage. And watch your back. The rest of the regiment is a few klicks to your south.”
“Wilco. Three Two out.” Murray broke the connection.
Peta ordered her three Little Birds into the air. Each now sported two M240 machine guns, and she sent them off to do as much damage to the advancing cavalry squadron as they could.
Streaking down the river just above the water, the three aircraft conducted strafing runs along the road. On full auto, the guns only had a minute’s worth of ammo so the engagement was short, but the M240’s inflicted some significant damage on the cavalry column. It slowed them down and broke their formation up, but didn’t stop them. She called in a fire mission to her supporting mortar platoon, and soon 120mm rounds were dropping in the Confederates’ midst. Still they continued their charge.
“Six, this is Five, I’ve got movement four hundred meters east of my position, over.” Peta confirmed Keefe’s report on her own display, and acknowledged it. She ordered the two northernmost Geckos, commanded by Keefe and Corporal Murdoch, to engage when the leading edge had advanced one hundred meters past the turn in the road. A minute later, two M47 automatic grenade launchers pumped 40mm programmable high explosive grenades into the approaching rebels.
Soon thereafter, as more rebel cavalry came around the bend, Peta ordered the remaining Geckos, as well as the gunners on the nearby boats, to open fire.
J.E.B. Stuart didn’t suffer fools, and the rebel cavalry squadron commander was no fool. He ordered a hasty retreat back around the bend. Peta watched via a Skyblade drone as he dispatched three couriers back downriver.
She ordered Murray take them out if he could. Trees along the river’s edge made it a tough shot. He managed to get one before they were out of range.
The remaining two riders approached the Pedlar-James river junction just as the lead elements of another rebel cavalry unit emerged on the northern bank. One of the two riders stopped, dismounted, and began picking his way across the rocks that broke up the river to form the rapids. The other one continued downstream. Great, now they’ll report where we are, and Jake won’t be able to take them by surprise.
She turned to Williams. “Launch another Skyblade and have it follow that other rider.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Williams reached behind him and took hold of the heavy canvas bag containing the Skyblade, then dragged it out of the Gecko. She radioed Jake and gave him a heads-up on the meeting that had just occurred downstream.
Williams needed less than five minutes to assemble and power-up the drone. When it was ready, he loaded it into its slingshot launcher and it zoomed into the sky. After ten minutes of searching, they finally spotted the courier on a road Peta hadn’t known existed. It climbed the eastern slopes of Fleming Mountain and would likely link up with Boonsboro Road, where the courier would find his regiment and report. Which meant the regimental commander would soon be sending couriers of his own to the rebel brigade commander in Lynchburg. She got on the task force command net and reported this unhappy news to Mack O’Malley.
Throughout the rest of the night Peta and the other Task Force Javelin commanders watched as the enemy moved into position. To her immediate front, the rebel cavalry squadron was reinforced with another squadron from Martin’s regiment. Martin’s other two squadrons continued west until running into Bravo company two klicks south of Coleman Falls. Martin fell back to the summit of Fleming Mountain, and the other two regiments of Hampton’s brigade joined them early the following morning.
Across the river, Jake now faced another brigade of Stuart’s cavalry. To the west, Raven’s Roost reported that three brigades of rebel cavalry, led by J.E.B. Stuart himself, were moving south along the Maury River towards Glasgow. Two regiments of infantry from A.P. Hill’s Division were following behind, dragging two batteries of artillery along with them. Task Force Javelin would be outnumbered about thirty to one if the enemy could coordinate their attacks. Normally, Peta would take those odds, but the unit was critically short on ammunition, and the weather up north was hampering their resupply efforts.
“Guess this is how Davy Crockett felt at the Alamo,” Williams said. Peta had no response.
49 - ANNA
Castle Thunder, Richmond, Virginia, CSA, 0330 hours, Sunday, April 19, 1863
Anna hung by her wrists from the ceiling of a windowless cell, wearing only her chemise, feet barely touching the floor. An oil lamp burned on a desk a few feet in front of her. She had the overwhelming sense that she was underground. A rat scurried along the floor at the base of one wall.
“Where am I?” she asked. They were the first words she’d spoken
since awaking after her capture.
“You’re in the last place you’ll ever be if you don’t start answering my quest-,” Worthington slapped at his leg, breaking off the threat. “God dammed fleas,” he swore.
“I’ve been interrogated by people much better at it than you,” she said. They were alone in the cell. Earlier, Worthington had been accompanied by a Confederate General named Jordan, but that man had left hours ago, taking her pistol with him. The laser designator, the radio, and most importantly, her portal generator, sat on the desk in front of Worthington, along with the few personal items she’d left behind in her room at the boarding house.
Worthington picked up the laser designator and walked over to where she hung in her chains. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “The intelligencer following you saw you point it at the Capitol just before it exploded.” She remained silent, but now that he was close she noticed the changes in him. No beard stubble, and a definite swelling of the chest. “What is it?” he yelled, then punched her hard in the stomach. Anna lost her footing and swung about before getting her bare feet back on the stone floor.
“Your nob fall off yet?” she asked, and smiled at him despite the pain. Worthington looked puzzled, then his face turned purple.
“Bitch!” he yelled. “You did this to me.” And he hit her in the face, twice. She passed out.
***
Anna regained consciousness sometime later, after she was doused with cold water. She opened her eyes to see a rebel soldier standing in front of her holding an empty bucket. She was naked now, her chemise a bloody mess in the corner. Either Worthington or the soldier had used it to stop the bleeding from her broken nose. Worthington was seated behind the desk, coughing into a dirty pocket square. She could see the soldier had an erection, and her Stasi anti-interrogation training kicked in. “Where am I?” she asked.
“Castle Thunder prison camp,” the soldier replied.
“Shut up you moron,” Worthington said. “Never give a prisoner information without getting something in exchange. Get out of here.”
“Sorry, sir,” the soldier said, and left the cell without looking back.
“If you think anyone is coming to your rescue, you’re mistaken,” Worthington said.
“Jake will get me out of here,” she said.
“Your son, Jake. Not very likely. We’ve got the ISRM regiment all bottled up in the James River Gap. Or I should say, what’s left of them, after a landslide killed half the Streamer interlopers. You folks have no business in this war.”
Jake! Gott gebe, dass alles gut ausgeht, she silently prayed. Please God, may everything turn out all right.
The loathsome man took a sip from a brown bottle on the desk then walked over to her. “There now, I’ve given you something, you give me something.” Anna recognized the smell of sassafras and nutmeg on his breath in an instant. Laudanum! Her aching body yearned for it. He held the portal generator up in front of her face. “What does this-.” He broke off and coughed several times. It was a deep, wracking cough. “What does this do?” he demanded when the fit had passed.
Anna was puzzled. Why is Worthington taking Laudanum for a cough? I injected him with nanites, which should have rendered him immune to 19th Century diseases. And suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Every disease but one. Worthington is Patient Zero!
“A sip of the Laudanum, and I’ll tell you,” she said.
“Ah, I forgot. We had reports you used to partake quite a bit.” Worthington took the bottle from the desk and held it to her lips. She took a very small sip. Just enough to dull the pain a bit.
“It’s a communication device,” she said. It wasn’t a complete lie. The device did communicate with the time machine up in the 22nd Century. “Once you activate it, you’ll learn the most closely guarded secret in the Republic.”
“Explain.”
“You’ve heard of the Fallon Party?” she asked. Worthington nodded. “Well this is the device they use to communicate across vast distances. You should be able to listen to them discuss their war plans.”
“Show me.”
“Do you see the silver button on the top?” she asked. “Pull on it, and it’ll extend out of the device.” Worthington did as instructed. “All right, there’s a small black button on the front of the device. Hold it down for two seconds.” The display came to life, bright in the gloomy room.
Worthington appeared fascinated. “Amazing. Now what?” Anna gauged the distance between the desk and herself.
“Tap your finger in the top rectangle and a bunch of numbers should appear. Then tap the two, the period, and the zero.”
“It says two meters diameter,” Worthington said.
“That’s right,” Anna said. “That’s the wavelength of the signal. Now tap your finger in the second box, and a list should appear, horizontal and vertical. Tap horizontal.”
“It says horizontal orientation.”
“Good, now tap the third box, and the numbers should appear again. Tap nine, then another list should come up that gives you a choice of seconds, minutes, or hours. Tap seconds. That’s the frequency. Now the last box. Instead of tapping, hold your finger on it, and two choices should appear, voice activated and manual. Choose voice activated. Okay give it a moment and a red circle should appear with the word ready in it.”
When Worthington nodded, she said, “Place the device on the floor.” The end of the aerial came to just above her knees. Anna pulled her knees up as fast as she could.
Worthington looked up at the movement, began to pull away. Anna yelled, “Activate.” The portal opened, the back side facing her. Worthington screamed and grabbed at her. He locked his arms around her waist, but she was naked and wet, so he slid inexorably down. Anna mentally counted the seconds as he struggled. At six seconds he disappeared into the portal, but maintained a grip on her ankles, dragging them into the portal. She lost all feeling below mid-thigh. At the count of eight, he lost his grip and she clenched her abdominal muscles, bringing her knees up to her chest.
The portal snapped shut. Below her, two legs, cut off at the knees, lay on the floor next to the generator. The rest of Harold Worthington the Fourth lay somewhere in the void between universes.
His dying screams hadn’t brought any guards to investigate. I guess screaming from the interrogation cell is common enough not to warrant a response. In any case, no one appeared at the door.
With no feeling in her lower legs, Anna had a difficult time snaring the generator’s lanyard, but eventually she caught it with her right foot. She raised her right leg as far as she could, then managed to entwine two toes on her left foot around base of the aerial. She raised her left leg, and was able to catch the end of the aerial in her teeth. She brought her toes back down to the floor, but felt nothing.
With the aerial clenched firmly in her teeth, Anna pulled on the chains, raising herself up as high as she could, and started swinging the generator back and forth by the aerial, the lanyard tracing a wide arc through the air. Each swing brought it closer to her right hand, and just as her strength was about to give out, she caught it.
Slowly and carefully Anna worked the lanyard between her fingers until she finally got her hand on the generator itself. Ten seconds later, she opened a portal a few inches below the ceiling, cutting the chains. Anna crumpled to the floor next to Worthington’s severed legs.
There were voices in the corridor outside her cell. She had to act quickly. A long time ago, Mike had told her that what she was about to do was a war crime, punishable by death. She didn’t care. Anna dragged herself to the desk and pulled the radio and the bottle of laudanum down to the floor, took a large gulp of the opioid, then lay flat and tapped instructions into the portal generator. The aerial extended no more than an inch above her body. Eyes closed, she pressed the activate icon.
50 - CORCORAN
Fort Evergreen, Republic of Indian Stream, 0400 hours, Sunday, April 19, 1863
Corcoran entered the drone
operations center, known as Raven’s Roost, in a bad mood. Next to nothing had gone right in the last thirty-six hours. Task Force Javelin was badly wounded, surrounded by Confederates, and low on ammo. To make matters worse, the rainstorm that had earlier sent a hillside cascading into the James River, arrived in the Great White North, in the form of a late-season blizzard, grounding all aircraft.
Brian O’Rourke, the Director of the Operations, ISRM Intelligence Branch, greeted Corcoran, and guided him to a seat at the front of the room. A large display screen showed a thermal image of Richmond from about five thousand feet above the Earth. “I thought all the Reapers were grounded,” Corcoran said. “Is this live?”
“Yes sir,” Brian replied. “Rather than bring the Reapers we had on station back here with the weather closing in, the controllers sent them to Happy Valley Ranch for flight maintenance. They just arrived back on station. Unarmed, unfortunately. We didn’t have any Hellfire missiles or Paveway bombs at Happy Valley. Short-sighted on our part.”
“There’s been too much of that going around,” Corcoran growled. “What did you bring me down here for?”
“Sorry to drag you out of bed at this hour-.”
“I wasn’t in bed. I was working with Barbara and Fiona on a solution to the tritium problem,” he said. The W82 warheads on the Davy Crockett rockets were no longer viable, due to the radioactive decay of the tritium in the nuclear cores. It was a problem they should have anticipated the moment the portal generators stopped working. He’d ripped Elaine Keefe a new one over that, but knew his anger was directed at himself as much as anyone else. “Since I’m here, what have you got?”
“We have a lead on Anna Carlton nee Roberts. General Jordan, my Confederate counterpart, sent a telegram a few hours ago from an office on Tobacco Row in Richmond. The telegraph office is across the road from the Castle Thunder prison camp.” He pointed out the camp on the display with a laser pointer. “One of our men along the line made a copy and got it to Ye Olde Needle as soon as he could. They sent a scan of it to us.” Brian handed a sheet of paper to Corcoran.
The Legend of Indian Stream Page 28