Gone for Soldiers

by Jeff Shaara

  Beauregard looked past Lee, saw the big sergeant, smiled, waved, and Calhoun nodded slightly, did not smile. Beauregard said quietly, “Yes, of course, Captain. Quite right. That’s old Calhoun out there. You know him? Believe he’s one of your people, a Virginian. Good man. Pity any Mexicans we run into.”

  Lee glanced at the sergeant, saw Calhoun moving away, and Lee said, “Please, Lieutenant, we need not run into any Mexicans out here. If we are to accomplish something today, it will be to provide a route for the troops that could greatly disadvantage the enemy. The fewer enemy we run into, the better. Let’s move.”

  Lee stepped down between two sharply pointed rocks that rose nearly chest high, and Beauregard moved close behind him. He could hear the soldiers moving in front, heard the muffled sound of a man falling, one low voice, cursing, followed by a quiet hiss from Calhoun. This may not be so simple, he thought, and recalled Worth’s word, impassable. We’ll see about that. But it is difficult.

  He reached out, gripped a jagged edge of gray rock, pushed himself up to a small ledge, and then his hand gave way, the rock crumbling into small pieces. His hand scraped painfully across the ragged surface, and he pulled his arm close, flexed his fingers, thought, You too, Captain. Carefully. He looked at the broken stone, picked up the smaller crumbled rock, examined it closely with the eye of the engineer. He squeezed, and the rock was crushed easily to a thick powder. He grabbed another rock, heard Beauregard behind him, and Beauregard said, “Soft. Never seen anything like it. It’s nothing but ash and lava. Amazing.”

  Lee nodded, let the powder slip away from his hand, said, “Let’s spread out. We should find out if it’s all like … like this.”

  Beauregard moved away, climbed up a small ledge. He looked back at Lee and smiled. “No place to build a fort. This stuff wouldn’t support anything.”

  Lee watched him drop down out of sight, and thought of the forts, his tours of duty along the Atlantic coast. The biggest problem was always the foundation, finding something firm enough so the fort didn’t simply sink into the water. He climbed up, slid his leg over the next rock, saw Calhoun waiting for him.

  Calhoun seemed impatient, said quietly, “We’ll lead the way, Captain. You stay behind us. I want to know where you are all the time. You want me to change direction, you just point.”

  Lee nodded, stopped himself from saying “Yes, sir,” smiled now, thought, All right, we’re clear on one thing. I may be the engineer, but he’s in command.

  Calhoun turned away, motioned silently to his men to advance, and Lee moved up quickly behind him.

  The rocks were smaller, scattered in a thick uneven carpet, and Lee thought, It’s like someone just tossed them out here, all shapes, every direction. Some of the rocks seemed to shine in the direct sunlight, the glare blinding, while others were a darker dull gray. He could step over most of them now, most no larger than cannon balls, while out to the side there was a thick ridge of taller rocks, as large as a man, some with sharp peaks, others rounded, weathered, or eroded by time.

  Lee studied the ground, pointed to a gap in the larger rocks, a space wide enough for a man to walk, and Calhoun led him that way. He could feel the rocks crumbling under his boots, thought, The lieutenant’s right. Too soft to build anything out of this material. He stopped again and saw Calhoun motion with his hand, and Lee saw it as well, a smooth trail through the smaller rocks. He moved forward, studied the ground, saw no footprints, no tracks. Someone has done this, he thought, Indians perhaps, maybe even the Aztecs, someone had a reason to make this trail. He looked ahead, saw the trail leading into a gap between more of the larger rocks, said to Calhoun, “We’ll follow this. As long as it leads west, it could make our job much simpler.”

  Calhoun moved again, waved his men forward, and Lee followed. The trail wound past the larger rocks, straightened out into a wide flat plain of more widely scattered stones. He bent down, picked up a rock the size of his hand, one of thousands around him, thought, How long has it been? Centuries, longer? This was all just, what? Blown here? Spewed out from an ancient volcano long dead? Or, no, maybe it will happen again. The local farmers seem to believe it could.

  He saw Calhoun waiting for him. He tried to locate the trail again, the small rocks closer together at that point, blending into a ragged sharp plain. Calhoun pointed ahead, and Lee saw beyond, another space between larger rocks. He followed again, saw another segment of the trail, the soft rocks cleared aside again, placed along the trail in a low row. He felt excited, seeing a long stretch of mostly clear, flat ground. The trail led straight across, disappearing again into larger rocks. He stopped. He could not help a smile, thought of Worth’s word, impassable. No, not quite.

  He thought of the locals, the men Worth had brought into the camp, the hostile interrogations they endured. The Mexicans would say nothing about soldiers, remained silent about Santa Anna’s whereabouts, and Worth had grown angrier, threatened them with harsher measures. Lee was uncomfortable with Worth’s methods, the bullying of civilians. In the end even Worth had to admit that forcing the simple farmers to cooperate with the yanquis might give them more incentive to serve as Santa Anna’s eyes.

  Lee had been relieved to see the captives finally released, had seen the faces of people who had no part in this war, no concept of its dangers. But he had learned one thing, something the farmers talked about with no hesitation. The lava field, this strange place, had a name, and though some of the locals called it the Pedregal, there were others who spoke of this great field of lava as though some awful misfortune would come to anyone who dared to cross it. To them, it was the home of the Devil.

  But someone had cut this trail, he thought, some brave soul who must have defied the legends, probably a long time ago, someone who found a way past superstition and fear. He was probably guided by the sun, probably moved slowly, one rock at a time, through this frightening place. Someone who, for whatever reason, needed to find a way through this place. Whoever you were … God bless you. Now, with the pickax and a little muscle, we can widen your trail, cut through the narrow gorges, fill the holes so that even the wagons can cross. Now, we can build a road.

  THEY HAD MOVED FOR NEARLY FOUR HOURS, AND LEE HAD PUT away the compass, followed the sun, shrouded in orange haze, settling closer to the tops of the great mountains to the west. The escort was still close in front, and he could see the soldiers bobbing up and down, men climbing up and then disappearing into the small cuts and crevasses between the larger rocks. Deep into the lava, the trail had mostly faded away, and the soldiers knew to study the ground, search for any sign of human labor. They had found small traces, even some mule tracks, but what remained of the straight path west was now twisted and wound in all directions.

  He pulled himself onto a wide flat stone and gazed through his field glasses in a wide circle. It was even hotter now, the lava around him reflecting the heat in a shimmer of silver. The dust clung to the sweat on his hands, and he had smeared the lenses of the field glasses. He wiped the dark glass with his sleeve. The sweat was soaking him, and his uniform was coated with the lava dust as well. He had blinked away the rough dust all day, but as he wiped with his handkerchief, he realized his face had been a mask of gray.

  The rocks were spread again in an uneven carpet, more uniform in size, smaller, easier to step over, flat hard ground between them, but all of it the same dreary gray. He looked for some landmark, anything that stood out, something to help guide the troops. If we cannot use the old trail, he thought, we must find something else. But there are no trees, no brush, nothing at all. There’s not even color, no brown, no green. If we are to be guided by anything, it will have to be a trail of our own making.

  In front of him the soldiers had grown used to the conditions, seemed more adept at moving around the larger rocks. The men were still quiet, still laboring under the angry glare of Calhoun. A Virginian, Lee thought. He felt a comfort in that. We’re a long way from home. A bit of familiarity is a good thing. I should
ask him about his home, probably in the mountains. He doesn’t look like an easterner. Lee could see the big man look back, waiting for him again, and Lee stepped quickly forward, felt like a child being scolded by a stern parent. Perhaps we can talk … later.

  The flat gentle plain had ended, replaced by larger rocks, their jagged points stabbing out in all directions. Some of the rocks were taller than the troops who moved between them. He dropped into a small cut between two of the larger rocks, his boots kicking up a cloud of thick dust as he landed. Momentarily drained, he blew out a sharp breath before quickly climbing a small rise from where he could see through a small opening to where the ground flattened out again, another small section of the narrow trail. He moved toward it, feeling even more of the effects of the labor, his legs stiffening, the sweat tormenting his eyes, his soaked uniform clinging to him, weighing him down. He thought, It’s time to take a break. He walked along flat ground and through another gap, caught glimpses of blue, the soldiers marching on. Quickening his step, he thought, Catch up to Calhoun, tell him to halt for a moment. Suddenly the rock beside him splattered, small pieces spraying in his face. A shout came from in front, and he could hear more sounds now, above it all Calhoun’s voice, shouting, “Down!”

  Lee blinked hard, shook his head, brushed at the powder on his face. He heard more sounds, the crack of muskets, the slap of the lead ball on the rocks. A shot was fired from close by, a response from one of his men, and he heard Calhoun yell something profane, then another command, “No firing!”

  Lee raised his head slowly above the edge of the rock, saw Beauregard tumbling toward him, his face wild with excitement. Beauregard saw him, slid along the edge of the rocks and moved close.

  “Mexicans, sir! We’ve run into the Mexicans!”

  Lee saw that the young man’s hat was missing and a trickle of blood wandered like a thin stream across his scalp. Lee said, “Are you all right, Lieutenant? Are you wounded?”

  Beauregard saw Lee’s look, felt his head, saw the blood on his fingers, said, “Oh, God. Uh, no sir. I slipped down a ways back. Uh … where’s my hat?”

  Lee watched him for a moment, thought, Easy, young man. We’ll get through this. Beauregard pulled out a handkerchief, wiped at the blood and looked at Lee sheepishly. Lee turned away, thought, Don’t embarrass him. We have bigger problems.

  More shots rang out, but the sounds were distant, and Lee looked again over the tops of the rocks, saw Calhoun moving back toward him.

  Calhoun said, “Just a few. They weren’t looking for a fight. They hightailed it back the way they came.” He looked at Beauregard. “Nothing to be afraid of, sirs. Probably just some scouts, more surprised than we were.”

  Lee looked past Calhoun, up and over the rocks. “Scouts from where, Sergeant? Scouting for whom?”

  Lee moved higher up on the rocks, found a flat ledge and stared out to the west. The sun was settling behind the mountains, and Lee looked again through the field glasses. The ground was darkened by shadows, the reflections dimming. He could see a round hill, a fat bulge in the lava bed. A vantage point, he thought. We must reach that hill. Surely, we will be able to see the far side.

  He scanned the hill, thought, They could be waiting for us there, watching us, an ambush. But there was no motion, no color, nothing to interrupt the dead gray of the rocks. Perhaps Mr. Calhoun is correct, he thought. They believe we’re no threat, nothing to be concerned about, just a scouting party as well. Thank God.

  He saw something moving above the hill, watched the arcing flight of the big black birds, drifting slowly up and over the hill, then moving out of sight. He thought of Calhoun’s description, scouts. Perhaps not, perhaps they were something else … a skirmish line. If those men are out here in these rocks, they probably didn’t come far. That means … we’re close … and there’s a way out the other side. I have to see. I have to climb that hill.

  He looked back into the silent stare, the expressionless face of the big man. “Let’s get moving, Sergeant. I believe we’re near the end.”

  THE BIG HILL WAS JUST INSIDE THE WESTERN BOUNDARY OF THE lava field, and there was no one waiting for the slow advance of the Americans. He had climbed up, moving carefully over the ragged ground, could see out now to the west, the ground beyond bathed in the last golden light of the setting sun. Beauregard was beside him, while Calhoun stood quietly to one side, still scouting the rocks below for any sign of movement. Lee scanned with the glasses, could hear Beauregard breathing heavily.

  Beauregard said, “The rocks look smaller … and there’s a wide ravine.”

  Lee nodded, said, “It will be a difficult crossing, but we still have the advantage. They’re still not expecting us to be here.”

  Beauregard scanned out beyond the rocks. “Don’t know about that, sir. They’re expecting somebody. Those buildings … a village or something, I can see artillery.”

  Lee looked to where Beauregard was pointing, saw a road running beyond the edge of the ravine that ended the Pedregal. To one side there were several small buildings, a few larger ones, and spread in front, a row of mounds in the earth, dotted with the black muzzles of cannon.

  Lee felt a stab of excitement. “Now we know where the scouts came from. But the important thing, Lieutenant, is not the enemy. It is the road. That road runs north. Surely it will take us toward the western gates of the city.”

  Beauregard looked at him. “How do you know that? Is there a map? I was not aware we had the details.”

  Lee smiled while still scanning through the glasses. “All the roads here eventually reach the same place. They all go to Mexico City. This is certainly another spoke in the wheel. Can you count the guns? I see fifteen, perhaps a few more. Below, down there, that low hill, appears to be a camp, probably where their troops are positioned. It’s a formidable obstacle but not an impossible one. If we can move the enemy out of there, this road could be a serious advantage.”

  Beauregard sniffed, said nothing, and Lee thought, He doesn’t see it. The guns are all facing this way. Whoever is in command there has been told to keep an eye out for us, but he isn’t prepared for a major assault. Whatever troops he has are concentrated in one place. They don’t really believe we will move this way in force. And if we come at all, he expects us to come straight at him.

  He glanced at the rocks to the north, the lava spreading far out to the right of the big hill. This is all good cover, natural cover.

  “Lieutenant, that ravine will be a difficult crossing in the face of those guns. The enemy is aware of that. He’s probably counting on it. I will report to General Scott that it might be in our interests to convince the enemy we intend to do exactly as they want. We should make a demonstration here, while a strong force moves out above us, crosses farther up the road. If the demonstration is successful, those guns will stay where they are.”

  Beauregard scanned out again, said, “We don’t know how many troops are there, what kind of strength.”

  “We will when the fight begins. With enough of a surprise, it may not matter.” He glanced back, saw Calhoun watching him with a puzzled look.

  In a moment, Calhoun nodded, smiled for the first time, said quietly, “Very good, sir. Very good.”

  Lee looked away, embarrassed, still felt like a child under the gaze of this gruff soldier. No, there is nothing to be praised for, he thought. It should be plain to anyone. The lieutenant will see it. He just doesn’t have the experience yet. He stared back down the hill, could see the soldiers, some perched up on the side of the hill, peering up and over the rocks, some just sitting, holding canteens, nursing sore feet. Calhoun looked at Beauregard now without expression, and Lee saw the young lieutenant still glassing the enemy. He felt a stab of impatience. All right, tell me something I do not know. He thought of Scott’s instructions, how the commander used the same words, tell me something I do not know. He shook his head. No Captain, focus on your own job. Do not judge this young man. It has been a long day, and we still have a lo
ng walk back.

  He looked out toward the enemy, thought, Now we must give General Scott what he requested. What he does not yet know is that there is a way through this Pedregal. It is not impassable after all.

  He looked out toward the last faint glow of the sun, the great mountains now deep in violet shadows. He glanced up, saw the first stars, took a long breath, said to Calhoun, “I believe we’re through here for today, Sergeant. Best head back.”

  Calhoun nodded silently, began to climb down through the rocks. Quickly, his men moved into line, waiting for Lee’s command. Lee looked east into the darkness, ran his hand across his pocket, feeling for his compass. He looked at Beauregard. The young man was already staring at a compass of his own. Lee moved down, picked his way carefully to the base of the hill, saw the troops watching him, some faces looking nervously up to a dark sky. He said to Calhoun, “Let’s move out, Sergeant.”

  Calhoun glanced out toward the darkness in the east, looked at the compass in Beauregard’s hand. He smiled again, a broad toothy grin, said to Lee, “After you, sir.”

  18. LEE

  AUGUST SEVENTEENTH

  NEARLY ALL THE ENGINEERS WERE PRESENT, AND MOST OF THE scouts, and the reports from the junior officers had all been made. Lee had listened with curiosity, thought it unusual that the meeting would be so large, making sensitive information available to so many ears. But as the reports were read and the maps laid out, he began to feel the importance, the necessity, of so much input. The position of the army and of the enemy had to be clear. There was no longer the threat of some surprise assault, and the ghosts that had plagued Worth were replaced by an enemy that was now very real, and very much in control of their own ground.