GLORY II Chapter 24

Chapter 24

  "They've got the bulge on us Bedford," Monday remarked, as the tall lanky general rode past where he was squatting.  The heat and humidity had already climbed to stifling proportions and most of the men had shucked their jackets, some even their shirts.  "Hylan's boys are purty tuckered.  Them blue bellies put up a pretty stiff fight.  Must be them repeatin' rifles they got."

  "That Union brigade over to the left is fresh," Forrest remarked.  "If I was Grierson I'd put a hurt on that flank and try to roll us up.  He's gotta know by now we don't have much of a force over there to reckon with."

  "Old Ben Grierson ain't much of a fighter," Monday replied.  "He's a raider, never stood his ground against infantry for long.  He's got guts but he's kinda short on tactics."

  "I agree Monday, but he's also got Winslow and Waring commanding his brigades, both good men, both good commanders.  We fought George Waring down at Okolona.  Remember that brilliant and glorious cavalry charge he made?  It's still the greatest cavalry charge I've ever seen.  And Ed Winslow is no slacker neither.  Billy Sherman considers him a fine officer and hard fighter.  No, I gotta keep them guessing until Buford and Bell get here and Morton can bring his guns to bear.  Since Hylan's boys are tuckered out, I'll send Rucker in with his men to keep them off balance and wondering."

  "Mind If I join in the fun?" Monday asked, aware that Forrest did not like his staff interfering with the commanders under him, but also aware that some of the Mississippi units under Colonel Rucker were a little green and liable to need someone with a steady head to bolster them up.  "Chalmers’ boys might need a hand."

  "You always wind up where you're needed the most Monday," Forrest smiled.  "Keep a close eye on Chalmer's left flank companies.  Those officers in Company E and F are pretty green at that."

  As Forrest rode off, Will rode up and dismounted near Monday.  He had finished placing the units into position on the left flank and returned seeking new orders.  "What's up, Sergeant Major?" he asked, watching as Monday inspected the two navy colts he wore on his pistol belt.  The two pistols and another brace of pistols he carried in his boots were all that Monday usually carried into battle, except for a very large and very sharp bowie knife he wore in a scabbard tied down low on his right thigh.

  "Bedford's sending in Rucker's brigade to keep the Yankees guessing," Monday replied.  "Wanna join the ruckus?"

  Will thought that the grisly Sergeant Major was teasing him.  He had been ordered by General Forrest himself to keep clear from interfering with any of the commanders.  "The General might not like that Monday."

  "Just stick close to me boy," Monday replied with a wink.  "We'll traipse along with the Mississippi boys just to keep an eye on the action.  Don't gotta fight lessen some Yank gets too carried away."  He turned and headed toward the thickets to their left front.  Will followed, pulling a navy colt from his own holster to check the rounds as he stumbled through the high grass and briars.

  Private John Hubbard, Company E, 7th Tennessee cavalry, watched as Sergeant Major Stiehl and Will approached the fence behind which he was hiding.  He'd met the Lieutenant back in Baldwyn and knew he was on the General's staff, but, everyone knew the legendary Sergeant Major.  Faster than a rattlesnake it was said, and twice as deadly.  Meaner than any red savage alive and raised up on bear meat and panther piss.

  "One man I wouldn't want mad at me," he muttered to a friend, Private Pipken, sitting on the ground next to him.  Pipken looked up and saw the Sergeant Major and replied with a positive grunt.  They noticed the Sergeant Major and Lieutenant had stopped down the line at E Company of the 18th Mississippi and were gesturing towards the Union positions on the other side of the narrow, but long cornfield.

  "Dang!" Hubbard barked, still eyeballing the Sergeant Major.  "We're gonna hit the Yanks."

  Just as he finished, he heard Lieutenant Witherspoon from L Company tell his men to get ready to charge across the field.  His own lieutenant gave the same command a few moments later.

  Suddenly, hundreds of men were over the fence and running through the open cornfield. The Yankee cavalry, posted in a dense wood and behind a heavy fence, poured a galling fire into their ranks, it looked like death to go to the fence, but the determined Confederates pressed on.

  Hubbard was running with all his might.  He had fired his rifle once, but never stopped to load again.  He was covered with mud from the hundreds of rounds hitting the ground around him and spattering the mud in his mouth and eyes.  Even the young corn stalks were being cut by the heavy volume of fire.

  Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Private Pipkin take a round in the center of the chest and fall with a gurgling cry.  To his front, Sergeant Hardy's head blew open, the explosion spraying blood and brain matter into Hubbard's face.  Hardy's body fell in his path and Hubbard stumbled over it and fell heavily into a mud puddle not yet dried by the blazing sun, trying in vain to rub the mud and sticky gore from his eyes.

  As soon as he could focus again, he saw men down all around him.  Many were wounded and withdrawing to safety back in the thickets, but there were a lot of bodies lying on the muddy field, too.  Just to his left he watched as another friend was cut down in a withering gale of fire from the stubborn Yankee lines.  Private Boucher went down like a sack of flour; puffs of dust and blood blossoming on his dirty home spun shirt as the .58 caliber rounds tore him to pieces.  He really liked Tom Boucher; they'd played a lot of cards together and raided a few bars a time or two.

  To his left, he could see the men of the 7th Tennessee slowly pushing towards the fence where the Yankees were putting up a desperate resistance.  To his right front, Sergeant Major Stiehl was screaming at the Mississippi boys on Colonel Chalmer's left flank to pull back.  They had gone too far into the thickets and opened up a deadly gap between themselves and the 7th Tennessee troopers.

  Hubbard watched as several companies of the Union regiment broke ranks and started pouring enfilading fire into the flank of the Mississippi boys.  The Mississippi troopers were being chopped to pieces.  A moment later, several more Union companies refused their line and began to pour flanking fire into the exposed flank of the 7th Tennessee.  Hubbard suddenly realized that if it wasn't for Sergeant Hardy's body tripping him up, he'd be among those being slaughtered by the furious Yankee onslaught.

  Back to his right, Sergeant Major Stiehl had finally rallied the Mississippi boys and started withdrawing them back towards the thick woods.  Stunned by the unexpected slaughter on their right flank, the 7th Tennessee also started withdrawing back across the cornfield.

  Aware that most of the attention was to his left, Hubbard turned and headed back towards the other side of the muddy field and safety.  Halfway across the field he halted to help a friend from Company G who had been shot.  Throwing the man over his shoulder, Hubbard made a staggering dash for the ragged fence.  Just before he made it to the fence line, the man died and his sphincter muscles let loose.  A shower of warm urine and stinking feces flooded down Hubbard's back.

  As soon as he reached the safety of the rail fence and laid the body down, he noticed that the Lieutenant and Sergeant Major were spreading the stragglers out in case the Yankees decided to make a counter attack. He knew a good commander would take quick advantage of their disorganized withdrawal, but it looked as if the Yankees were holding to their positions.  Hubbard looked around and noticed that a good number of his messmates were missing, either killed or wounded.

  Monday noticed that the officers of the 18th Mississippi now had their units under control and signaled for Will to follow him back through the heavy thickets towards the headquarters area.

  "Nearly got yourself kilt boy," he said, giving Will a disapproving stare then spitting a stream of tobacco juice at a grasshopper sitting on a broad leaf.  Will understood what Monday was referring to.  When the left flank company of the 18th Mississippi had pushed too far to the right and opened the gap between them and the 7th Tennessee, Will had cursed at the young lieutenant in command and boldly pushed his company back to its intended course.  Problem was, the other units didn't follow suite and the lone company was almost chopped to pieces.  It was a miracle that any one of them had survived the blistering Union fire.

  But, taking pity on his young charge, Monday relented.  "You did the right thing son, but that Yankee officer commanding the Missouri flank must have been a veteran.  He didn't hesitate one second to take advantage of the gap that opened up."

  "I emptied my pistol early on," Will replied.  "Didn't have time to even reload.  I remember pointing my empty pistol at several Yanks and pretending to fire.  The odd thing was, they ducked for cover and forgot to shoot back.  One man with nerves of steel or a veteran sergeant, and I probably wouldn't be alive now."

  Monday nodded his head remembering the dozens of similar incidents he'd been caught in.  He should have been killed ten times over, but fate, or perhaps fortune had stepped in and saved him.

  As they neared the clearing where Monday had built his small fire to make coffee, they spotted General Forrest talking with another officer.  He was a very handsome young Colonel whom Monday had learned to trust and respect.

  "If I didn't know better I'd say I smell an Alabamy pole cat," Monday stated, sauntering up to look the newcomer in the eyes.

  "My!  Look what the hounds drug into camp," the young Colonel replied, coming to attention and presenting a mock salute.  "I didn't know you recruited worn out old men for your outfit Bedford," he chided.  "Surely the Confederacy is scraping the bottom of the barrel?"

  "Colonel Bill Johnson," Monday said to Will, introducing the dapper new arrival.  "Old Bill here and I skinned a few Yanks together a while back.  Watch out for him, he's a romantic to the hilt and missed his calling in life.  He oughta been an actor."

  Will saluted the Colonel and muttered a simple, "My pleasure, Sir."

  "Chalmers might near got his butt in a meat grinder," General Forrest cut in, pointing back towards the Union lines.  "I'm sending William here over to Hylan's right flank to test George Waring's line.  Perhaps old George will get a skeer on and thin those ranks in front of us.  I want you to go in and give 'em a good feel William, then pull back and protect Lyon's right flank."

  "As you command, Sir," Colonel Johnson replied with a salute.

  As Johnson left, General Forrest turned to Monday and Will, his face tired and drawn.  "After William finishes his little demonstration I propose to attack all along the line.  I've managed to hold Ben Grierson in place and keep him guessing about what he's facing.  He's too cautious a commander to take a risk, but Waring and Winslow might get to him yet.  This will be no demonstration.  We will hit him hard with everything we have available.  I've got to whip Grierson before the Union infantry can come up."

  "Old Ed Rucker got stung a little while ago," Monday stated.  "Now he's fightin' mad.  Saw him git down from his horse, pick up a blasted rock, and throw it at the Yankee lines."

  Forrest nodded and smiled.  "I'll have Gaius sound the bugle.  I expect every single man to hit the Federals."

  "Reckon I'll hang with Ed Rucker if you don't mind Bedford," Monday replied.  "Figure he's mad enough to tangle with a barrel of wild cats ‘bout now, could be some interesting fightin’."  He walked over to his horse and pulled out three navy colts, checking each to insure they were fully loaded, and then handed them to Will.  "One pistol ain't enough son, three or four oughta be ‘bout right."

  Will turned red, silently praying that the famous Bedford Forrest hadn't witnessed his earlier foray with Colonel Chalmer's battalion.

  "I don't have time to go way over to Captain Tyler's position," Forrest remarked, talking to Will.  "I want you to ride over and advise Captain Tyler of my plans.  Tell him not to engage too heavy but to maintain contact with the Federal's right flank.  As soon as Colonel Bell shows up, I intend to deploy his brigade over there."

  "Yes, Sir," Will replied.  "Am I to report back to you after that, Sir?"

  "No son, stay with Captain Tyler for a spell.  If I need you I'll send a runner."

  "Mounted men make good targets," Monday cut in.  "That Yank infantry will be here soon, keep a low profile, Lieutenant."  He winked at Will then spat another stream of tobacco juice into the dead fire.  Will quickly found Squirrel and rushed off to deliver his message.

  "Good man," Forrest grunted.  "He'll make a good company commander someday."

  Monday did not immediately reply, but watched as Will rode out of sight into the thick blackjack.  He'd seen far too many young officers and men lost in this endless war.  Good men who would have made a mark on history, except for a piece of uncaring and often unaimed lead. But, such was the awful price of war.  War meant fighting and fighting meant killing as Bedford was want to say.  "Reckon I best go see Ed," he finally replied, turning without saluting and heading for the battle line.

  General Forrest muttered and headed for Colonel Lyon's position.  Private Jacob Gaius, his bugler, and Captain Johnson, commanding his security detachment, trailed along behind him.  As he neared Colonel Lyon's lines, a private who had been relieving his bladder quickly buttoned his pants and came to attention, a small wet spot spreading in his crotch.  "Private Hord, 3rd Kentucky, Sir," he blurted, fumbling with his rifle.  "Henry Hord, Sir."

  "Relax, Henry," General Forrest said, returning the private's nervous salute.  "In about fifteen minutes old Gaius will blow his bugle, Henry.  I want you to tell your friends that will be the signal for every man to attack.  This time it won't be a simple demonstration, Henry, this time we're gonna hit the Federals real hard.  We're gonna get right up in their faces and spit.  Can you tell 'em that, Henry?"

  "Sir, yes. Yes sir!" Private Hord blurted.  There were already several dozen men standing around gawking at the general.

  "Pass the word," Forrest yelled.  "This time we meet them face to face."  He then rode along the entire line encouraging the men and repeating the same message he had given to Private Hord.