The Confederate Read online

  Case had rejoined the unit when the army had passed through Richmond, and he’d briefly informed them of Liz’s death but not how she had died. Billy had been the most upset and wanted to know where she was buried. Case had told her he’d had her buried in Hollywood Cemetery on the western edge of the city. Apart from that Case refused to talk about what had happened and the others in the platoon avoided the subject, sad for him but unable to break through the solemn shell the sergeant had built up since returning.

  Case marched, his head down, his thoughts deep and dark. The war was almost a secondary thing to him now. Somewhere in Virginia Liz’s killers remained at large, and they still had Ann. That Ann was somehow mixed up with the Brotherhood was clear, but would she take part in the death of her own sister? Case thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip; he knew to his bitter cost how the Brotherhood could twist and corrupt people to their own advantage. It wouldn’t have been the first time a woman had been changed from loving him to joining their perverted sect.

  He looked up and watched as the platoon joked amongst themselves. The mood was high, the expectations great. Lee had passed word they were going to take the war into enemy territory and cause as much havoc there as possible. Case felt nothing of the happiness the others showed. He had been drained; and only anger and hatred remained. He’d felt similarly many times before and it would burn out eventually, but while it remained he would be pitiless in battle.

  Old man Siddeley had been helpful in getting Liz buried and putting up Case at his place. The house had been rented from his brother and it would now be occupied by others. Case wanted nothing more to do with the house. Memories of Liz would haunt him. He took all that was his, and that was precious little. No news had come of where Ann and the Brotherhood men had gone but Case had asked Siddeley to keep asking. He’d visited Michael in hospital and the former soldier was pleased to see him, and dismayed at the news about Liz. Case told him some of the story and White vowed to do what he could to track down the fugitives; he had a score to settle too. He was well on the way to recovery and would be up and moving in a week or so.

  The column halted and the men threw themselves down gratefully on either side of the dirt road. Some leaned against the fencing that marked the road boundary. Officers wandered along the middle of the road, checking on the state of the soldiers or giving orders to the sergeants. Case sat against a fence post and took a pull from his canteen. The water was tepid but refreshing. His mouth had been dry. He wiped his brow and checked the platoon. Eighteen others remained, other than himself, and it was almost down to squad size.

  They had been on the Suffolk campaign, besieging the Yankee units there when news came of the major engagement at Chancellorsville, almost in the same place as Fredericksburg. Again Lee had won a victory, but the cost had been heavy. Stonewall Jackson had been amongst the fallen. The 1st Virginia had marched away from Suffolk not long after to rejoin the main army without taking the town. There had been a sense of loss even though they had won again against the Northern army, and Lee had decided to take the war into enemy territory, partly to raise morale, and partly, Case suspected, to force the North into terms favorable to the South. All the platoon had suffered had been two minor wounds at Suffolk and a load of mud.

  Now they were heading north. Case heaved himself up and wandered past the men, looking for signs of injury or neglect. They all seemed okay, remarkably as most of their uniforms had disintegrated and they were wearing what they could get their hands on, but their weaponry looked fine. Most of them had Springfield .58 caliber muskets, and the remainder were English Enfield .577s. A couple of men were brewing up what passed for coffee, a bitter substitute called chicory, and the smell caused Case to wrinkle his nose. “Want some, Sarge?” one of the brewers, a man called Isaac Gatscombe, called out.

  “No thanks, Gatscombe, I’ll take my chances with what I have,” and he patted his canteen. The soldier grinned and turned to his buddies, resuming whatever conversation they had been having. Case checked with the corporals that all was fine before making his way back to Billy, Joe, James and Randolph. The four were sharing out what had become known as ‘Johnny Cakes’, flat pieces of cornmeal common to the Confederate army. “Hey, Sarge, want some?” Llewellyn thrust a piece at Case.

  “Thanks,” Case took it and began chewing slowly. It tasted like wood. “How long you had this one, Llewellyn?”

  “A week or two Sarge. Made it back at Fredericksburg.”

  “God it’s foul.” Case ate it, nevertheless. Hunger was a constant companion to them all, and nobody could afford to be fussy. At least it was summer now and fruit was available to be picked from the hedgerows and fields. And the fact they were heading north meant more would be found; the south had been badly affected by the constant warfare that raged across it. Living off the land was something Case was familiar with; when part of Napoleon’s army that was what they did as a matter of course. Lazare Carnot, the French revolutionary ‘Organizer of War’, sent just men and guns to the front and the army had to live off the land or starve. It hardly endeared them to the populace, but when a national government was fighting for its existence it cared little for that. Power through the barrel of the gun, Case mused. He liked the sound of that; it was something maybe someone might use one day.

  Billy looked up as Case passed him. “Hey, Sarge.” Case stopped and looked at Billy. He was growing up. Now seventeen, hardened, like all of them, to the fighting and conditions of the time. His voice was deeper and stronger, and his skin no longer the smooth flawless picture it had been. Dogs of battle, they had the scars and wounds of warriors.

  “What’s on your mind, Billy?”

  “You think Mom is okay? I mean, you’ve not said much about Aunty Liz since you came back…..” he tailed off and looked down. Case’s snappy reticence on the subject was well known. Case sighed and leaned on a green rain-beaten post and gazed across the rolling scenery of the northern Shenandoah.

  “Billy, I really don’t know what your Mom’s gotten mixed up in. She’s really sore at me for letting you join up and since then’s been acting really odd. I do know she was involved in the kidnapping of your Aunty Liz but I don’t think she was connected with her death. That’s down to that man we saw getting away at the farm. He’s got more hired muscle to help him and it’s these people I think who did it.” He skirted around the edge of the subject. No point in filling Billy with things he couldn’t do anything about. “And those people have vanished. I couldn’t find them in Richmond.” He pushed himself from the post and looked back south towards the Confederate capital. It was far too distant to be visible, but his eyes weren’t seeing the scenery; he could only see the cold, starved face of an innocent woman who had died because she had loved him.

  And he had loved her. And for that certain people would die.

  * * *

  Some distance off to the west, over the Blue Ridge Mountains, a group of men stood in a small clearing in a wooded valley that ran south-west to north-east. All wore the blue of the Union army, and all were looking south west, waiting. Along the valley floor wound a small brook, gently chuckling away, providing a much needed source of drinking water for the men’s horses. Butterflies and insects hovered and flitted from flower to flower and many became food for the birds that winged in and out of the trees, ignoring the twenty men that stood or leaned against them.

  A pair of men, dressed in non-military clothing, trudged along the valley floor heading for the soldiers. Both men would have been recognized by Case; one was Smith, the man with a mole on his chin. The other was the broken-nosed associate who had trashed White’s workshop. They high-stepped through the longer grasses and clumps of flowers that grew in profusion here. The war hadn’t touched this part of western Virginia and the Union was in firm control of this area.

  “Colonel,” one of the men on guard, his carbine pointing forward, alerted the rest to the imminent arrival of the duo. Instantly the rest snapped into alertness. The Colonel, th
e same man who’d been present at Sharpsburg-Antietam, pushed a cigar to extinction against a tree and strode forward, straightening his uniform automatically. He spied the approaching two men and motioned the guards to fan out and keep a watch. He waited for the arrival of the two men and gave a signal completely unlike any salute in any army; it was a rough sign of the cross over the heart made very rapidly.

  Smith repeated this and stood ten feet from the Colonel. The broken-nosed man stood slightly to Smith’s rear and to one side. His eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the positions of the guards and the three men behind the Colonel, all in junior ranking officer uniforms. “Brother Smith,” the Colonel said heavily by way of greeting, “things have not gone well, have they?”

  “They have not, brother,” Smith conceded. “But the incompetence of the Union army hasn’t helped.”

  “I’m not concerned about that,” the Colonel waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Things will change. The Confederacy will be defeated; it is only a matter of time. I’m more concerned with your failure in Richmond.”

  “I’ve informed you, brother, that the Beast and his associates made a concerted effort to find us and we had to take – appropriate – action.” Smith sweated. It was warm but he was also nervous. One word from this man would be enough to end his life right here and now. “Even so, we had to move away from the city to avoid detection. The Beast’s woman had to die.”

  “So I understand. What of the other one? Why are you keeping her alive? To gratify your desires, perhaps?” The Colonel’s voice became silky with menace.

  Smith stiffened in outrage. “That is not true, brother! She is a bargaining tool. If I think she has outlived her usefulness then she will also perish. She detests the Beast and believes that he is a demon; such is her confused state of mind. She lives in terror of him and will readily do anything to help defeat him. But I also believe she is looked upon fondly by the Beast.”

  The Colonel looked dubiously at Smith, then at his associate. “It is best she remains alive – for now. Do you need more men to help you? I can give you ten men right now to assist you.”

  Smith looked relieved. Manpower would be helpful. “What are your orders?”

  “Wait for further orders. Once the Confederacy is defeated we will find and locate Longinus. The Beast is certain to try to escape in the confusion of defeat and we must ensure he falls into our hands. It is unfortunate you allowed the wrong woman to die. However, as you say, the other one is useful. I may need her to write to her son, who I understand is serving with the Beast, is this not right?” Smith nodded, and the Colonel grunted. “So, she could write to him saying she is in safe company. Her son could come to her at an address of our choosing.”

  Smith looked unsure. “This will mean we will be hunted. I would like to hold the advantage.”

  “Then take ten of my men. I have more than enough here. We are to soon move north. I sense another battle is in the offing. If we defeat the Rebels, perhaps this time we can catch the Beast. It would be useful to plant an agent amongst his unit, but I fear it is too late for that. In the meantime I shall make efforts to catch the Beast myself. If this fails we shall resort to snaring Longinus using the woman you have.”

  Smith eyed the men lining up to come with him back to Confederate-held land. “These men will be conspicuous.”

  The Colonel surveyed them for a moment, then snapped out an order. The ten discarded their kepis, jackets and Northern army insignia. Most wore bracers and white cotton shirts. Their trousers were still obviously pale blue Union army issue, as were their guns. “They will pick up appropriate clothing on your way back. Are there any dwellings?”

  “A couple of farmsteads a few miles back.”

  “Then take what you need. Leave no survivors.” The Colonel passed a thick wad of banknotes to Smith. “For your use. Ensure these men are well fed and supplied. They are my men, not yours. They have their orders to kill you if you do not obey my express commands, remember that. Obey the word of Izram, Brother Smith.”

  “I always do, brother.” Smith eyed the men who now took up positions to either side of him and Broken-Nose. He felt intimidated, which was probably what was intended.

  “Remember, return to your new hiding place as soon as you can and pass word by courier to me when you reach it. The eyes of the Brotherhood are upon you. Do not disappoint us.” The Colonel once more made the curious sign over his heart and wheeled away, snapping his fingers for his horse to be brought to him. Smith pocketed the money and turned to go, the others with him following, carbines ready. They looked fanatical and intent on carrying out their orders. Smith wondered if they were really here to help him or to make sure he followed the Colonel’s orders. Maybe both. He pondered on the next moves, knowing he would have to return to the city and entice the Beast to him. Whatever he did, it would end in bloodshed – but whose?

  * * *

  The invading Southern army crossed into Maryland over the Potomac at Williamsport and pushed on, along the Cumberland Valley, the men’s spirits rising higher as they passed Hagerstown where they had reached the previous year and marched on into Pennsylvania.

  The men talked about their destination, wondering where they were headed. Nobody knew, but Washington was bandied about as was Harrisburg. Case didn’t think Washington was likely, given the strength of the opposition around there. Harrisburg would seem a better target, Case reasoned, but wondered where exactly they were heading for and what exactly they were marching north for. “It’s all very well marching into the Yankee’s territory,” he said to Munz as they walked along the dusty roads, “but unless Lee has a plan there’s little point. The whole army is scattered over Pennsylvania!”

  Munz nodded. “And where the heck’s the Yankee army?”

  That was the worrying thing; nobody knew. The Confederates’ equipment was becoming shabbier and more worn, and shoes were almost as rare as hen’s teeth. The number of barefoot soldiers was increasing. Then someone passed the word down the column that a whole warehouse of shoes was waiting to be taken at a place called Gettysburg, and soon enough word came that that was where they were heading. And so, word came, were the Yankees.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  They were lined up, so Llewellyn remarked, like toy soldiers on parade. The sun hammered down on the waiting, sweating men, standing uneasily in their regiments looking up towards the distant ridge where the Union forces waited for them. Cannon stood amongst the troops up there and everyone knew that unless those guns were silenced, the coming attack would be made into a storm of shot.

  Case didn’t like what he saw. The distance was something like a mile, passing a few farms, a road and then up the slope to the ridge by the cemetery. For two days the Rebel army had tried to drive the stubborn Northerners back, but under their new commander General George Meade, appointed only a few days ago, they refused to budge. Lee’s attacks had been repulsed everywhere. Except here. And now it was the turn of the brigade under Pickett.

  They had arrived, like most of the units, late to battle. It had already gone on for a day by the time their long weary march had ended. Gettysburg itself, a small town, had been captured and the defending forces thrown out, but a series of ridges and wooded slopes had blocked any further success. Case wiped his neck, wet with perspiration, and made a short inspection of his rag-tag assortment of men. Munz stood there stolidly, chewing on a stalk of grass. Next to him Siddeley leaned on his musket and eyed the waiting enemy. “Plenty of them to kill, Sarge,” he commented. Case stopped and looked at the short, stocky man. His eyes showed he, too, knew what was waiting for them.

  “Aye, that there is,” Case agreed, “and fifteen thousand of us lined up just for the Yankee guns to play with.” He cursed the decision to advance on the ridge. It was clear the invasion had been stopped, so why waste men in a futile attack against a prepared defense? Lee had done the same outside Richmond a year back. All it had achieved were more for the grim reaper. Three divisions wer
e massed for the attack, with Pickett’s six thousand in the vanguard, and leading them were Kemper’s brigade.

  And that included the 1st Virginia.

  For two days the Confederates had tried to break Meade’s army. First, they had pushed the Union troops out of Gettysburg, killing General Reynolds in the fighting, and the Northern troops had withdrawn south and south east of the town. The Rebel divisions had been under Ambrose Hill and Richard Ewell. After heavy losses, they had cleared the town but this had forced Meade’s troops to a defensive position running along ridges, hills and woods. It was obvious it would be a tough nut to crack and the second day had seen futile attacks against two hills, Big Round Top and Little Round Top which had ended in failure.

  So now, on the third day, Lee was to try one last attack, in the center of the Union line, using three divisions. Case and his men were facing due east, the sun now passing overhead and beginning to fall on their necks. Randolph Furlong gazed impassively at the ridge in the distance and wiped his glasses. Billy nervously fidgeted with his rifle and looked at Case, trying to gain courage from the thickset, scarred sergeant who had been an ever-present reassurance to him throughout the war.

  The men began to sit or lie down, hot and bothered in the sun, and everyone waited for the order to come. “What are they waiting for?” Billy queried.

  “Dunno, kid,” Llewellyn replied, looking around, squinting as the sun got in his eyes.

  Just then the cannons behind them opened up, roaring in unison, and the men jumped. “God!” Siddeley exclaimed, “that nearly made me wet myself!” The others laughed. Case watched as the Confederate shot flew over the valley to fall amongst the Union lines, but the impacts seemed to be falling beyond the infantry. The Union artillery now replied and their shells and shot came screaming down on the waiting men, causing Case to yell to the others to all lie flat. He’d experienced this before, and memories of the pounding he and his comrades had endured at Waterloo came to him once more. The two sides exchanged shots and the noise and smoke grew in intensity. Case made sure Billy was keeping his head down and scuttled off to make sure the others were all taking what cover they could. He bumped into Captain Skivenham, gritting his teeth and keeping a hand crammed on top of his hat. “Some barrage, Captain!” Case yelled above the roar of guns.