Stuart strode up the walkway, stopping in front of her. He stood there silently, then placed a large but gentle hand on her head, tilting her face upwards. By now she was too tired to flinch. She just stared back at him with deadened eyes.
“Welcome back, Miss Anderson,” he said very quietly, his expression revealing nothing. “You’ve been sorely missed. Shall I inform the surgeons of your return?”
She was caught off guard. No mention of her bruises, or her sudden arrival. Just the offering of her old position—a place of relative safety, a place where work could keep her heart sufficiently numb. What would I do in Boston anyway? she asked herself. “I’d like that very much, sir.”
12. All Roads Lead To Home
June 9 - July 2, 1863
Brandy Station, VA; Maryland; Gettysburg, PA
Travis sat hunched over in the saddle as General Gregg’s men wound their way back across the Rappahannock. Logan splashed up beside him, his rangy paint mud flecked and soaking wet.
“Why so glum, lieutenant? We put up a damn good fight. Almost had that hill, and Buford certainly gave Stuart a thrashing. About time we showed those damned Rebs we can beat them, and on land of their own choosing, too.”
“They knew we were coming, sir,” Travis answered, his voice so low Logan had to lean forward to hear him.
“What makes you say that?”
“That rider today. It was Starla Anderson. She went to warn them. And I didn’t stop her.” It would have been so easy to haul her out of that saddle, tie her up with Air if necessary, and yet he’d never once considered using his Talent against her. So it is partially my fault that we did not carry the day, he thought darkly.
“How did it happen?”
He gave a quick explanation, avoiding the personal parts, with Captain Logan tugging on his moustache.
“Hmmm. Well, Black, you may be right. They were forewarned, if only by a few minutes. It may or may not have made much of a difference. Happens sometimes. Remember the cigars at Antietam? No, you weren’t there, were you. But, I really don’t see what you could’ve done differently. What’s done is done, and fretting about it won’t change a thing. So don’t.” He turned and gave Travis a knowing look. “And I wouldn’t be too harsh on the girl, either. You can’t blame her, no more than I could have blamed Will Lewis for doing the same thing. Sometimes duty does that to friends. And you’ve just got to shrug it off. ‘A plague on both your houses,’ or something like that.”
Yes, but you didn’t let Major Lewis rip your heart out! Sure, and maybe it wasn’t my fault that Stuart was forewarned, but I shouldn’t have trusted her so completely. I should have known better. I did know better. Yet I still let my emotions get the better of me. Again.
June consisted of one long march after another, an endless trickle of men and horses up the winding roads of Virginia and Maryland, punctuated by skirmishes with the enemy. For Travis it meant day after day out as a scout, alone with his critical thoughts. So now I have failed as a soldier too. You’d think after twenty two years I would have learned some self control. Obviously not. Then, bitterly, I bet Rob has never let his feelings interfere with what needs to be done.
The month ended as it had begun, hot and dusty. The temperatures and humidity soared, and with them, tempers. Travis’ temper reached the breaking point in Maryland, at the end of a punishing all night chase after General Stuart’s marauding cavalry.
As always, the thought of Stuart brought the usual question: was she with him again?
Stop it, he raged at himself. She’s gone. And the sooner you get that through your bloody thick skull, the better.
Another shadow joined Ginny’s on the dusty road.
Oh no. Go away, sir. Please? Just leave me alone.
“Now is the summer of your discontent?” Logan asked, not looking at him. “You know, they say men of few words are the best men, but this is getting ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve heard you speak more than twice today, and your mood’s been as black as your name for weeks now.”
Travis didn’t answer, hoping the captain would get the hint and go away.
“Are you still eating yourself up over what happened at Brandy Station? ‘What’s gone and what’s past help should be past grief.’” He waited for a response. There was none, so he continued. “Look, Black, either Miss Anderson is still your friend, but quite naturally feels rather more obligated to Stuart, or else she cares nothing for your friendship, in which case you’re better off finding out about it now. Either way, you are not responsible for her actions.”
He stopped abruptly, stared at the young man beside him. “You’re nursing more than wounded pride, aren’t you?”
Travis stiffened as that shot hit the mark.
Logan sighed and wiped a hand across his eyes, suddenly seeming much older, and very tired. “Damn. That’s what I was afraid of. Kid, didn’t I warn you? Friendship was harmless, but—”
Travis lashed out. “Spare me the lecture, would you? Just because you’re friends with Rob doesn’t mean you get to treat me like your little brother. I’m a big boy now—I can make my own decisions, and mistakes. How I live and how I feel are none of your damn business. Sir,” he added belatedly.
The captain sat up straighter, a hard mask dropping over his face. “If you’re a big boy then you sure as hell ought to start acting like one. And how you live and how you feel is my ‘damn business’ when it impacts adversely on the morale of this company. Which your attitude is starting to do. As for my friendship with your brother—that got you your commission in the first place, but I can take it back just as easily if that’s what you want. If not, then you had better get yourself under control, Lieutenant Black, or else get the hell out of my squadron. Is that understood?”
Travis felt every nerve in his body turn to ice. He snapped a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”
Oh to be sure, I understand you quite well, he thought at the captain’s retreating back. A harsh laugh. Ever so sorry that I’m not perfect like my brother.
It was late afternoon on July 2nd, and Travis could hear the dull roar of artillery in the distance. What in blazes is going on? That’s Gettysburg ahead. They’re fighting right in the middle of my hometown! Had Lee gotten there first? Because if he had, if there were Rebel guns up on the hills, there would be hell to pay. It’ll be Fredericksburg all over again.
He glanced over at Captain Logan, who had dismounted and was staring down the road with an unreadable expression on his weathered face. I wonder if he knows more about the situation, Travis thought. Question is, how to ask? For the past few days, his conversations with the captain had been basically limited to “Yes, sir,” “No, sir,” and “Enemy ahead, sir.”
My own fault, Travis admitted ruefully. Can’t really blame the captain for avoiding me, seeing how I bit his head off so nicely. The wonder’s more that he didn’t have my bars after all. But I’ve let it go on long enough.
“Gonna have to eat crow sooner or later,” he muttered. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
He took a deep breath and walked towards Captain Logan, but a rider slewed to a halt in front of them, horse covered with dirt and sweat.
“Orders from Colonel Gregg,” the messenger announced. “He wants two more squadrons up there on that ridge. Colonel Doster says that’s you and H. The 10th New York is up there already, but Confederate skirmishers are approaching, so the sooner you get up there, the better.”
As if to emphasize his words, the peppery sound of rifle fire began on the ridgeline. Travis squinted at it through the bright sunlight. Brinkerhoff’s Ridge. He’d taken a spill there once—ten years old, his family visiting friends, a dare from his big brother’s horse, and a failed attempt to jump a stone wall. He fingered his chin thoughtfully, where he still carried the scar of that fall.
“Lieutenant!”
He nearly jumped at Logan’s voice in his ear. “Sir?”
“Get the men ready.”
He saluted and hurried off to t
ell the rest of the company what was happening.
Ducking behind the familiar stone wall, Travis took a moment to catch his breath. Funny how exhausting just loading and firing could be. They’d been at this for a while now, and though the Rebs had come close a few times, they’d not been able to take the wall. He patted the gray stones happily before firing down the broken slope into the approaching line of gray men. The 2nd Virginia, prisoners from previous assaults had told them. The line wavered, drew back, reformed. He watched in reluctant admiration. Can’t fault their bravery, that’s for certain....
His thought trickled away as he noticed the line shifting, extending out towards his left. Glancing along the ridgeline, he located their objective: a gap in the wall where—well, there used to be a gate, anyway. Trying to flank us, are you? Nice try, but not on my watch, he said to himself, gathering up his gear and scrambling for the gap.
“Plug that hole,” he ordered, motioning for his squad to follow.
“‘Once more unto the breach,’” Logan’s voice grunted from nearby.
Travis looked over at him and grinned. “Something like that, sir,” he said, firing down into the approaching men. Remembering his earlier resolution, he went on. “Captain? It’s probably not the best of times to say so, but—”
“Not right now, kid,” Logan said, but he smiled and his tone was friendly once more.
Travis’ feeling of relief didn’t last long—he caught a glimpse of a gray coated officer on horseback, urging the men forward. The last time I had a wall like this, it was Will Lewis who came charging at me. He closed his eyes against the memory: “Tell her if she ever needs anything, I’m still her friend,” and her bruised, tear streaked face. He growled and thrust the image from his mind. I’ll get you out of my head someday, he promised. Right now I’ve got a different battle to fight.
The rippling gray line came on and on. Travis realized with dismay that, although men were falling like apples in autumn, many more were making it up the ridge.
“We’re going to have company, sir,” he announced over the din.
Sure enough, a sound began below, a high, feral cry that increased as the Confederates swept up and over the hill. Everything became a blur of hands and arms and screaming men. Travis ducked under the bayonet thrust of a stocky, butternut clothed man and came up in back of him with a pistol shot. The man dropped to the ground without a sound. Travis spared a glance towards his captain. Logan looked almost joyful, lashing out at anyone who came near with the skill of a barroom brawler. He must have run out of ammunition, for the huge Le Mat he always carried went flying through the air with an angry curse, striking a Reb square between the eyes like a tomahawk, and he drew his saber with a yell.
“‘Cry “Havoc” and let slip the dogs of war!’” he shouted, laying about with the sword.
Around him the men of Company F took heart and howled their agreement. Travis threw back his head and howled with the rest, ramming his foot into a gut with savage satisfaction. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he saw Logan go down in a pile of gray.
“Captain!” He brought his empty pistol down on the nearest head, and with the other hand sent a whiplash of Air through the crowd, knocking the wind out of most of them. Rees and Horning joined him, the latter’s towering form tossing gasping Rebs about like baggage.
Travis crouched by Logan, who was curled fetal, protecting his head. He tapped the captain on the shoulder, and had to dodge the fist that came up swinging. “Easy, sir. It’s me.”
Logan lifted his head, swearing under his breath. “Well, wasn’t that all sorts of fun. Help me,” he said, groaning and reaching up. Travis got under his arm, pulling the taller man upright. One arm hung limp and ragged, and he favored his left leg, standing almost stork like and swaying dizzily.
“Where’d those damned Rebs go? I want to return the favor,” he demanded, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
Looking around, Travis realized that the ridgeline was clear. The only gray figures nearby were on the ground, or retreating back down the hill. There was no sign of reforming this time.
“I think we won this one,” he answered, finally wiping his stinging forehead. There was blood in with the sweat. Strange. I don’t remember getting hit. “And a good thing too. Because you’re going straight to the hospital.”
Logan frowned, took a determined step forward, and almost dragged Travis down as he collapsed in pain. Luckily, Horning grabbed them both, keeping them from falling.
“Thanks, George,” Travis said.
The rest of the company had gathered around. He did a quick head count. Allanwood was missing and Kelly, Schwartz, and Bingham. Not too bad. Not too good either.
“Somebody get an ambulance over here for the captain,” he ordered. A figure at the edge of the group took off towards their lines. “Then find out who’s missing for certain.”
In the end only Kelly was actually dead. The rest were found scattered along the length of the wall, in varying states of consciousness. As no new orders had come to tell them otherwise, Company F took advantage of the lull by flopping down in the grass and waiting.
Travis sat near where Logan lay; the captain was unable to sit or stand on his own any longer, weak from pain and loss of blood. They both were quiet for some time, listening to the roar of not so distant fighting. Travis gazed off towards Cemetery Ridge, wondering how the day was going there. Then he looked over at his captain and said, “I know I’ve been an ass, sir, and I am sorry.”
Logan sighed, then groaned, wrapping his good arm about his ribs. “Damnation. Feels like I’ve been run over by a herd of buffalo. But honestly, Black, I was just trying to spare you some pain. Being a family friend and all.”
“I know that now. But it’s not like I went looking for it! When I told you she was only a friend, that was the honest truth, so far as I knew.”
“Kinda snuck up on you, did it?”
Travis thought of a hazy winter day, of a warm, laughing girl in his arms, and nodded.
Logan sounded sympathetic. “Guess I owe you an apology too, for accusing you of letting it happen. You wouldn’t be the first man ambushed like that. Sometimes I think Cupid invented guerrilla warfare, not Mars.”
The ambulance arrived and started loading the most severely wounded. Travis helped his captain onto the wagon bed. Logan scowled as his body refused to obey him, then grasped Travis’ hand and squeezed it tightly. “Thanks. Now, get yourself back to my men.”
The moans and cries of wounded men guided Travis through the deepening twilight to the hospital tents. Orders had come down at last, and he’d left the men stationed along the Baltimore Pike under Lieutenant Carlson’s dubious care before setting out to find Logan. Actually, the extremely dependable Rees was in command, but no one ever bothered to tell Carlson that.
Mo Dhia, Travis thought, struggling to keep from gagging. I’ve smelled and seen this nightmare so many times before, but it still makes me nauseous. Every time. And how am I to find the captain? He stopped a few orderlies, but got nowhere with that approach. Where’s Rob when you need him?
Passing a too tall pile of sawn off limbs, he called out into the darkness without much hope, “Captain Logan?”
“Is that you, Black?” The voice was weak and raw with pain, and practically at his feet.
“Yes, sir. Have they … have they not gotten to you yet?” he asked, squating down by the captain’s side and reaching for the uninjured hand. Logan’s palm was burning hot. Fever’s set in already. Where are those blasted surgeons?
He snagged a passing orderly. “Get a surgeon over here. This man’s an officer, and he needs attention now.”
The orderly shrugged, indifferent. “It’s been a busy day. Lots of officers here before him. He’ll just have to wait his turn.”
The orderly suddenly found himself hovering several inches off the ground, held there by cords of Air.
“His turn is now, corporal.”
Logan coughed, then laughed grimly
as the shaken orderly picked up one end of his litter. Travis took up the other. “Well, there’s a new trick. Didn’t know you could do that. Could have been useful.”
“I don’t go advertising that particular ability, sir. My nose for trouble was bad enough. Usually the Federal army doesn’t exactly appreciate skills like mine.”
They laid him on an old barn door set over two barrels. Everything was sticky with half dried blood. Even the ground beneath Travis’ boots squished ominously. A surgeon in a gore spattered apron limped up and gave Logan’s injuries a cursory examination under the bobbing lamp that hung from a tent pole.
“Miníe ball through the upper humerus. Arm’ll have to go. And the leg’s off too.”
Travis started. “What do you mean, the leg’s off? It’s just broken, that’s all. Surely it can be saved.”
The surgeon stared back at him wearily, motioning forward an equally exhausted assistant. “Look, lieutenant. That’s a compound fracture there. Maybe if I didn’t have hundreds more men, in worse condition, maybe then I could possibly save it. But I don’t have the time, and by the time I would have the time, gangrene will have set in and that’s a worse way to go. Now, are you going to help hold him down? We haven’t much ether left, and he might come out early. Otherwise, get out of my way.”
“But…!” He wanted to protest more, felt a too warm touch on his hand.
“Not worth the fight. Just let him do it.”
Travis bit down on his tongue, tasting blood. “Fine. I’ll stay.” This is wrong, he thought angrily as he braced both his hands on the captain’s shoulders, watching as the assistant held a dirty cloth to Logan’s mouth and nose. He shouldn’t lose that leg! I should know; I was in the exact same condition. Except I had someone who cared enough to— No. I will not think of her, not here, not now.
An Uncivilized Yankee Page 21