Gone for Soldiers

by Jeff Shaara

  Beauregard disappeared into the darkness, and Lee felt the silence. When he turned his attention back to the meeting, Scott was staring at him. He felt a sudden knot in his throat. Scott said, “Well, Captain?”

  Lee thought, What did I miss? The faces were watching him now, even Twiggs, and Lee said, “It was a thorough report, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, Captain. But we need someone with a bit more experience. There is too much at stake. If the lieutenant’s plan is sound, then I would prefer you to verify that. It is up to you to find the route.”

  Lee felt a cold lump growing in his chest. “Me, sir?”

  Scott leaned toward him, and Lee saw the sharp glare in his eyes, the general’s impatience rising. “Captain, we are faced with a considerable force of the enemy. As our most experienced engineer, we should be able to rely on you to read the ground, and find a way to move our people into the enemy’s rear. Is this not why you’re here, Captain?”

  Lee felt the cold spreading, saw only the face, the eyes boring hard into him. “Certainly, sir. I will begin immediately, sir.”

  Scott’s face seemed to calm, his eyes softer now. He sat back in his chair, nodded toward Lee. “This is an opportunity, Mr. Lee. A chance for the engineers to prove their value. Show some of these, um, veterans what West Point training can bring to this war.”

  Lee thought he saw a flicker of a smile. He glanced at the others, their faces still focused on him. Lee felt more relaxed now, thought, An opportunity, yes. And a challenge. “Thank you, sir. I will do my best.”

  “Tomorrow morning, Captain. We’re counting on you.”

  LEE FOUND A SMALL TABLE OF HIS OWN, PROBABLY BORROWED from a local farmer, but no one had protested, and now he needed the space to work.

  He spread out the paper, adjusted the lantern, could see the pencil lines Beauregard had made, the rough sketch of the terrain. He moved his finger along one line, running out to the right of the main road, the line curving around the shape of a long ravine and then suddenly ending. That’s as far as he went, he thought. That’s where I have to begin. He scanned the sketch of the two hills, focused on the smaller one, thought, If it’s not too steep, we can move cannon there, drag them up by hand if we have to. It could be a very important position, a spot from which we can shell the enemy from behind. Lieutenant Beauregard said there were troops up there. I must find out how many.

  He thought of the enemy, the Mexican troops dug in hard to the rough high ground in front of Scott’s army. Out away from the camp, you could see their fires, small flecks of light that spread up and out, the main road snaking away, disappearing right into those hills. And General Twiggs would have sent his troops straight ahead.

  There was a sound behind him, boots on dry grass, and Lee heard a low voice. “Captain, you mind a bit of company?”

  Lee turned, saw Joe Johnston move into the light, stop, hesitant. Lee pointed to a small chair, said, “Not at all, Joe. Sit. Please. Just going over the map. For tomorrow.”

  Johnston sat down, leaned forward, looked over the map, said, “You taking any troops with you?”

  Lee shook his head. “No. Can’t, too obvious. We need to stay out of sight. I’ll take that young man, Fitzwalter. He was out there with Lieutenant Beauregard, knows how far they got, where they stopped.”

  Johnston nodded, still studied the map. “You know, Robert, you’ll be pretty close to those Mexicans out there. Won’t be easy for us to come get you. You could be captured.”

  Lee nodded, smiled. “Well, yes, Joe, I had thought of that.”

  Johnston leaned back. “Oh, no, Robert, I didn’t mean to throw any bad—”

  “It’s all right, Joe. It takes some getting used to, certainly. Engineers don’t usually have much business up close to the enemy. Even Vera Cruz, the shelling. The enemy was still out there somewhere, behind a wall. Never thought of them as soldiers. Tomorrow, I have to get somewhat … closer.”

  The two men fell silent, seemed to both be enjoying the faint sound of a harmonica, muffled sounds of men moving about, fragments of conversation, all the sounds of an army at rest. Johnston gazed out over the camp, small fires reflecting in his eyes. Lee followed his stare, saw small circles of men, could hear the murmurs of their conversation, an occasional comment from a card game. Some men sat alone, staring across the open ground as he was. The sudden, nervous whinny of a horse drifted over from out near the makeshift corral. Shadows were moving, a shout broke the calm. Johnston said, “Rattlesnake, probably. The horses don’t care for them any more than we do. Smart horses.”

  Lee stared toward the corral, the horses quiet now, said, “Never dreamed of such a place, so different. It’s as though God gave this land … anger. I’ve seen bugs, snakes before. But not like this. You don’t dare walk barefoot, don’t dare take a quick swim in a water hole.”

  Johnston laughed, said, “Wolves. Heard talk of wolves. Expected to hear them by now. That howl. Nothing like it, makes your hair stand on end. It’s like they’re calling for you.” Johnston seemed to shiver, said, “And, if that’s not enough, we have an enemy out there on high ground with a whole lot more muskets than we have.”

  Lee looked again at the map, at Beauregard’s pencil lines, said, “This is the real thing, Joe. All the training, all those years we spent laying brick and slapping mortar, working on the rivers. I thought that would never change, we’d grow old doing the same job. Now we’re out here in some place God may not want us to be. It’s hard to believe He is happy watching us fight a war.”

  Johnston leaned forward, pulled the thick wool of the coat tighter on his small frame, shook his head. “Maybe. But we’re going to fight it anyway. And General Scott expects us to win. That means we have to go all the way to Mexico City. We’ll be in for some serious action. I never thought …” He stopped, looked at Lee, pointed toward the wide field of small fires.

  “Look out there, all over the camp. Even the card playing is quiet. This is no party. They’re preparing for it, every man looking deep inside himself, asking the same questions, making his own peace.” Johnston took his hat off, held it in his hands, stared at it. “No one plans this, Robert. No one says, ‘I’m going to join the army so I can fight a war.’ You and I have been doing this for what? Eighteen years? After a while you never expect to see something like this. Some of these boys are straight out of the Point, the class of 1846, they’re going straight from the classroom to combat. What will that do to them? They’ll see the army very differently than you or I do, Robert. War might even become … normal to them. You and I, we have lives to go home to, families. This war will end, and we will go back to doing what we always did before. But those boys, their lives will never be the same. All they’ll know about life is fighting a war. Peacetime could be very dull.”

  Lee looked at Johnston, the small man outlined in the firelight. He felt a light breeze, pulled his own coat tight, said, “I rather like … dull. Can’t imagine I’ll ever miss this, miss the kind of duty I have to do tomorrow.”

  Johnston said, “I can’t agree with you, Robert. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I plan to request a new assignment.”

  Lee was surprised, sat back, tried to see Johnston’s face hidden by the darkness. “You want to leave the Engineers? Why? To do what?”

  “It’s been eighteen years, Robert. Eighteen years of drawing maps and measuring riverbeds.” Johnston stood now, turned toward the fires, stood quietly for a moment, then said, “This may be the only chance I ever have to be a part of something like this. This is combat. I’m afraid, if I don’t do this now, I may never get another chance.”

  Johnston turned toward him, and Lee saw his face in the lamplight, saw a flash of something in his eyes, thought, He’s … serious. Johnston said, “Robert, I’m putting in for transfer to the infantry. I’ve heard some of the senior commanders talk about the young officers. There is a concern about their inexperience, their youth. They need people who have some seasoning.” He laughed and shook his h
ead. “I’m forty years old, Robert. That’s enough seasoning for me. I’m not ready to grow old drawing maps.”

  “But, Joe … infantry? You want to lead men into fire?”

  “Sure. What could be more interesting than that?”

  Lee shook his head. “I never thought about it like that. I spent my whole career trying to become as efficient as I could be at what I do. I never thought one day I might just stop, go do something else.” He looked down at the map again. “It’s enough of a challenge to understand what General Scott expects me to do. His understanding of what an engineer does is not what I had expected. He assumes I know how to be a scout.”

  “You afraid?”

  Lee shook his head, looked at Johnston again. “It’s just a bit riskier than anything I’ve done before. I have to focus on the task at hand. I would hope that would keep the fear away. Focus on the job. Would you be afraid? No, I don’t suppose you would. You want to charge off into combat.”

  Johnston laughed, and Lee smiled, said, “I thought I was beginning to understand General Scott. He just expects people to do their job, to carry out his orders. He has high standards.”

  “Word is …” Johnston paused, chose his words carefully. “The word is, General Scott has adopted you, has taken a special interest. What you did at Vera Cruz caught his eye.”

  Lee shook his head. “No, I haven’t done anything conspicuous.” He felt his stomach turn, the evening meal reminding him suddenly he was not in Virginia. He put a hand on his stomach, flexed, prodded, said, “Is there—resentment? I haven’t tried to put myself in a favorable position.”

  Johnston laughed again, shook his head, said, “Don’t worry about it, Captain. We all have our duty. You just seem to take to yours with a bit more … efficiency. Perhaps you need more time like this, right now. Sit out alone in the quiet and let all that energy go for a while. It’s nice to see you relaxed a bit. There’s plenty of time later for efficiency. Can’t say I envy you, that close under the eye of Old Fuss and Feathers. The junior officers are pretty happy to let you have that kind of attention.”

  Lee felt his stomach calm, rubbed his hands together. An image of the hard face of General Twiggs rose in his imagination. “Happy to hear that. May not be the case with some of the … senior officers.”

  Johnston stretched his arms high, yawned. “Just do your duty, Captain Lee. Maybe some day you’ll be a senior officer. That’s why they’re jealous, you know.”

  Lee began to feel dread, had not seen things the way Johnston did, thought, Jealousy has no place here. The army is no place for politicking. We all have our duty, the focus should be there. He thought of General Pillow now, the posturing, said, “I suppose … I am naive.”

  Johnston put a hand on his shoulder, stepped past him. “Perhaps you are, Robert. That may change tomorrow. Good night, Captain.”

  “Good night, Joe.”

  Johnston tapped Lee’s arm and strode away.

  Lee looked at the map again, the lines now a blur, the weariness complete. Lee felt a yawn rolling up inside him, couldn’t hold it down, stretched out his arms, the yawn pouring out. He rolled up the map, thought, Tomorrow … just do the job. This is, after all, what all the years, what all the training and preparation, was for, and all the duties in so many places. It’s all that General Scott expects. But, yes, this is the real thing.

  APRIL FIFTEENTH

  The two men slipped through high brush, between thick willows, clusters of scrub oaks, moved down into a deep gorge. Fitzwalter led the way, stopped, glanced back toward Lee, waited as Lee moved deliberately, quietly, stepping carefully past smaller brush, deep green and brown, vines and clusters of thorns covered with small white flowers. Lee looked at the younger man, saw that his face was a dark red crust of sunburn. Fitzwalter was breathing heavily, and Lee thought, He’s nervous. So am I. He nodded silently, pointed, Go on.

  They climbed out of the gorge, hands briefly holding on to loose rocks, small cascades of dirt behind them, moved then into a narrow field of rocks. Lee stopped again, looked up to the left. El Telégrafo was nearly five hundred feet high, and for the first time Lee studied more than jagged rocks. He could see color, flags, small flashes of motion. It was Santa Anna’s army. He felt the ice in his chest, moved quickly, ducked behind a tall thorny bush, peered around the edge, thought, Surely they will see us. He waited, watched for a long moment, no commotion, no one seeming to notice this small intrusion on their flank. He saw Fitzwalter standing out in the open, gazing in all directions, felt a sudden anger.

  “Take cover!” he whispered harshly, and pointed angrily toward the big hill, thought, Doesn’t he see them?

  Fitzwalter looked at him, smiled, moved up close to Lee, said quietly, “Captain, we best keep moving. We got a long way to go yet.”

  Lee took a deep breath, felt a little foolish, thought, Keep moving, Captain. They’re still a long way away.

  The rock field was long and narrow, a dry creek bed that lay between rolling mounds of grassy dirt. The rocks were small and round, moving underfoot, and they walked with care. Lee thought, No twisted ankle, not here. That could make for a very uncomfortable day. Fitzwalter reached the end of the rocks first, moved into the brush, stopped, waited for Lee. Lee looked up, his foot kicked a small rock and he stumbled, the rock rattling noisily. He steadied himself, felt his stomach knot up. Noise, Captain. We can do without noise. He moved closer to Fitzwalter, who whispered, “This is it, Captain. As far as Lieutenant Beauregard got. You’re in the lead now, sir.”

  Lee looked again at the mountain to the left, stood on his toes, tried to look ahead, out over the brush in front of them. The ground fell away, a small depression, more grass and dirt. Beyond, the ground rose again, seemed to dip and roll in all directions, small deep cuts, shallow ravines. He made a quick appraisal, thought, Yes, this is an excellent place to hide troops.

  He could see the small hill now, Atalaya, and he raised his field glasses, saw something square and dark on the peak, thought, Not guns. It’s a tower. He lowered the glasses, said in a low voice, “A signal tower. They’re using the smaller hill as a lookout. That would mean … only a few troops.” He pulled a paper from his pocket, a small pencil, began to make a sketch, thought, We have to get closer, move between the two hills. When the main road runs out behind the big hill, we have to know where.

  He folded the paper and tucked it away, nodded to Fitzwalter, moved into the brush. There was no trail, and he thought of the sappers, the men who worked with the axes and machetes. Yes, they can cut through this, open it up. They moved down into a small ravine, dirt walls rising on both sides, and he glanced again toward the big hill, could not see it now, thought, Yes, very good. He reached out to one side, grabbed a rough limb of a willow, broke it, let it hang, marking the trail. Now the brush cleared away again, more rocks, and Lee stopped, felt his chest tighten, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He stared straight ahead into a tall wall of rock. Fitzwalter, beside him now, said, “Not this way, Captain.”

  Lee did not respond, looked to the right toward a low place in the rocks, moved that way. He tried to see what lay beyond and began to climb slowly. The rocks were large, as big as a man, and he climbed with both hands, stopped, looked out to the side, saw another old creek bed. He lowered himself down, pointed that way, and began to move into more brush.

  He felt the sweat now, the sun moving overhead, and stopped, wiped his face with a handkerchief. Fitzwalter moved up beside him again, said, “Water, sir?”

  Lee saw the canteen in the young man’s hand. He shook his head and pointed toward the front. “Just a short way. Let’s find the creek bed again.”

  Fitzwalter put the canteen away. He would not drink alone. Lee smiled and thought, That’s all right, young man. You have nothing to prove to me. He reached up, parted a cluster of brittle thorns, and heard Fitzwalter’s sudden yelp.

  When Lee turned around, he saw the young man pulling a long thorn from his gloved hand. He looked at
Lee and whispered, “Sorry sir, this is some rough stuff.”

  Lee closed his eyes for a moment, felt the sting of the sweat again, nodded, said, “Use care, Mr. Fitzwalter. This is not the time to be careless. We are surely very close to the enemy.”

  Lee turned, moved through the brush, felt the thorns stabbing his side, scraping his coat. He pushed forward, leaned hard against a mass of thick branches, took one step forward, and suddenly the ground fell sharply away. Lee slid down a rocky bank, dug his heels in, but the ground was hard and still he slid down, until finally his feet stopped him at the bottom. He felt himself breathing again, a shower of dirt and rocks sliding down around him. He waited for the sounds to stop, looked up behind him, saw Fitzwalter standing above him, looking out ahead self-consciously, observing something other than his captain’s clumsiness. Lee stood, brushed at his clothes, wiped at the thick cake of dust glued to the sweat on his face.

  Yes, young man, the point is well taken. We will both be careful.

  Fitzwalter eased himself down toward Lee, and Lee pulled out the glasses again, could see Atalaya much closer now, one flag extending from a small wooden structure. He turned, glassed up at the larger hill, saw cannon, the movement of gun crews. He could see the guns pointed away, out to the left, toward the Americans’ camp. He lowered the glasses, felt the excitement return, thought, We’re behind the guns. We are beyond their flank. He pulled out the paper again, noted the trail he had pushed through, sketched the battery on the big hill. They expect us to come straight at them. General Twiggs would have done exactly what Santa Anna wanted him to do. Of course, that’s the way wars are fought. He continued to sketch on the paper, thought, Santa Anna was probably educated by the Spanish, the old European methods. It’s the same way wars have been fought for centuries. You stand up straight and look your enemy in the eye, and the stronger man wins.