He chewed on the unlit cigar and then spat on the ground. Looking around from atop his horse, he watched as five regiments marched in column down the Culpepper Road, headed to a woods at the base of a ridge with a wheat field at its southern base.
Determination was on every face as the men passed by him, arms at right shoulder shift.
“Just point us at ‘em, sir, and they’ll be sorry!”, a middle aged man said as he passed, lifting his hat in salute.
Many of the other men chimed in with a hearty answer as well. He nodded his head in acknowledgement to the men and a chorus of cheers erupted. He smiled to himself. This rag tag bunch of men, his Seventh Reserve Brigade, had been extremely patient with him as he had settled into command. He had taken command of them straight out of the UMA and they had the scars to prove it. He knew he had made extremely fatal errors in command, many of them ending the life of a good soldier who would never sit at home with, wife, daughter, sister, or mother again.
‘You can’t dwell on that’, he thought to himself. Thinking like that was dangerous, especially during a crucial time like this. He had to focus his attention on the battle at hand. There’s a price to pay for victory and he knew his boy were ready to “step up and pay”, as his grandfather use to say. Hell, he might even have to ‘pay up’ today himself. As if in response to his thoughts, a shell exploded overhead nearby, showering him leaves and debris. He didn’t even flinch. He had to make a good show today, for his boys. They were looking to him. He was the glue that held this all together. Standing in his stirrups, he lifted his hat and yelled, “Thats it, boys! Keep moving forward! Get into those woods! The guns are right behind you!”
Glancing around, he saw a nervous looking lieutenant staring in wide eyed wonderment at the scene unfolding before him.
“Lieutenant. Lieutenant!” He had to call him twice before the boy snapped back to reality.
The lieutenant spurred his mount to come along side him.
“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir. It’s just…”, His sentence trailed off as he scanned the battle unfolding around him.
He sat, waiting for the lieutenants attention to come back to him. The lieutenant caught the silence and snapped out of his revile, as if from a dream.
“Sorry, sir.”, he said again. He nervously dropped his head.
“Its alright. Focus, son. Now, I want you to ride like the devil over to Colonel Grishim and tell him to make sure that those guns moving into the woods are far enough behind the infantry so that if they have to fall back, they have a nice home to come back to roost in.”
“Yes, sir!”, the boy said and spurred his mount and started at a full gallop to the woods west of them.
He spurred his mount and moved forward himself at a slow walk towards the patch of woods directly in front of him. Cresting the top of a ridge, he looked down at the three regiments, still deployed in battle line, waiting for the signal to begin their attack.
They were well hidden. The lack of enemy fire on their position was evidence of that.
‘This just might work.’, he thought to himself and smiled inwardly. His boys marching into the woods were going to attack the right flank and as soon as his men, hidden by the patch of woods in front of him, heard the sound of the attack, they would move out from behind the woods and start an assault on the center of line.
He had sent out a few regiments to “demonstrate” on the enemies left. They had deployed into battle line, feigned an attack, then withdrew behind the cover of a wooded hill to the southeast. All reports stated that the left appeared to be only held by some extremely well placed artillery.
‘Artillery.’, he thought to himself and spat the cigar out and reached into his coat for another one.
Glancing forward, not too far ahead, he saw the shattered remains of a Parrott rifle and a Napoleon. A few dead crew members were scattered about as well, one of them still eerily grasping his sponge staff.
He struck a lucifer on his saddle and brought the cigar to life.
He had brought his guns up too close and he knew it. The enemies artillery had knocked out three of his guns before he had given the order to limber up and pull back. It was a lesson he had learned and would take with him for the rest of his service: don’t try to cat-and-mouse with artillery thats on higher elevation than yourself.
Lifting his field glasses towards the woods, he saw the lieutenant, riding like mad, coming towards his position. The reserves were almost completely into the woods. Good. Its almost time.
A dead horse blocked his path as he rode slowly forward, causing his mount to leave the path and step into a clover field, bordered by a snake rail fence.
This would be a good place to ride it out. The sweet smell of honeysuckle caught his nose. You could just barely get a hint of it over the smell of smoke and the sweet smell of splintered wood.
Yes. He would start it from right here, right in this field.
The lieutenant rode up, breathing hard, his horse a lathe of sweat.
“Sir!”, the boy said, saluting. “Colonel Grishim says he understands your orders and while I was with him, General Meeks sent word the first wave is ready to begin the attack. I told him I would bring you the report.” He finished his sentence and stared at him, still trying to catch his breath.
“Thank you, lieutenant.”, he said, and took a long pull from the cigar.
Sure enough, off to his left, skirmish fire started erupting in the woods.
He listened to it, an occasional ‘pop’ ‘pop’...and then a massive crash of rifles all going off at the same time. Volley fire. They’re engaged.
The noise grew to a deafening roar, even at this distance. Oddly enough, over all the sounds of battle, you could still hear an occasional scream, a cry by some poor souls for their mother.
He bit down harder on the cigar. No. He would give the order himself, not send it with a courier.
He spurred his horse to a gallop and started for the men waiting behind the patch of woods for the attack. It was very open territory and they could see him coming. Men began to stand up, cheering, throwing their hats in the air. In his face they saw all they needed to know. Raw determination.
He rode right through the cheering men to a man smiling broadly, in his hand an ornate sword.
He extended his hand and the smiling man took it warmly.
“How goes it, Amos?”, he said pushing the cigar to one side of his mouth.
“It goes well, Jay. It goes well. We’re ready.”, Amos said and gave him another lopsided smile.
Turning his mount to face the men, he stood up again in his stirrups.
“Seventh Reserves...fix bayonets!”
The clink and clicking sound of 1000 bayonets locking on to rifles sounded like music to him. He looked down at his boys. No fear in any face he saw. Just a madding determination.
Standards flapped and waved in the small breeze of the hot afternoon. A junebug buzzed past his head.
He unsheathed his own sword and pointed it at the wooded ridge.
“Boys, we’re going to take that ridge! I dare anybody here to say we won’t! Let’s show the enemy that there is still fighting blood from Ohio! ‘Campbell’s Fools’….FORWARD...MARCH!”
They started out from opposite sides of the patch of woods. Every line was dressed, the men marching with excellent precision. Shells began to explode overhead as the enemy gunners desperately tried to find the range, adjusting to this surprise threat on their front. You could almost feel the panic in the air, like a gruesome humidity.
Enemy on the ridge fired a volley, dropping a good number of the front line, including the color bearer. A dark haired boy, already dripping blood from a wound in his thigh, picked up the flag and started it forward again. A second later he fell, and another one picked up the flag again. Without orders, the men had begin to trot quickly, almost a double time step. He didnt stop it or try to correct it. Just let it happen.
Suddenly his mount reared, a bleeding hole visible on its neck. He quickly swung out of the saddle to the ground, his mount slowly lying down and whinnying softly. He ran the few feet need to get ahead of the first line and then began their ever quicking trot. The man to his immediate left dropped and then the man to his right. Bullets whistled by, each one breathing a sigh as it flew by him,to land in an unfortunate body somewhere behind him.They were running by now. Looking to his left,he saw the color bearer, teeth clenched, eyes looking angrily at the wooded hill.
He might as well say it. Lifting his sword above his head and not even bothering to glance back, he screamed with everything he could muster:
“CHARGE!!!!!!!!” The war cries behind him drowned out the gunfire….
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