by Jeff Shaara
Lee, who had only been a few feet away, stepped forward. “Right here, sir.”
“Fine place you picked out here. You choose it because of the beauty or the fine accommodations?”
Lee wasn’t sure if there was humor in the question or not. “This hill is an excellent vantage point, sir. Back here, we’re safely hidden from the enemy position.”
The tent was up now, men pulling hard on ropes, the stakes hammered down into soft rock. Scott waited a moment, said nothing, then moved to the tent. “Give me a moment, Captain.”
Scott turned to the gathering staff, said, “Find some shelter if you can. We may be here awhile. Where’s the man with the lamp? Can’t see a damned thing.” There was movement around the tent, and Scott said, “A safe location, Mr. Lee? You sure about that?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a large hill … you can’t see it now, but the enemy is far—”
“Light the damned lamp. Hope you’re right, Mr. Lee. I left a warm dry office to come out here.”
Scott moved into the tent, and the tent was suddenly alive with light. Lee glanced back toward the big hill, thinking, I am … certain this is a safe location. He strained to hear, fought the sound of the rain, thought, Any sign of artillery, any sound, put out that light.
Inside the tent, Scott was struggling with a huge rubber raincoat, his son-in-law assisting. The coat came free, and Scott sat in a small chair. The general saw Lee and said, “In here, Mr. Lee.”
He moved inside, could feel the feeble warmth of the lamp, said, “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry about the rain.”
“The joy of war, Mr. Lee. You can’t plan everything. Just shows us, God is watching, giving us a challenge. I draw my inspiration by remembering I have a soft bed in a nice comfortable house not more than three miles from here.”
Lee smiled, thought, I did not expect him to be in good humor.
Scott said, “So tell me, Mr. Lee, what the hell have you gotten us into out here?”
AUGUST NINETEENTH, LATE NIGHT
He had stayed with Scott for over an hour, reviewing another map, providing another detailed report. There was no sign of Pillow or Twiggs, and the junior officers reported only what they knew, that Riley and Cadwalader were probably across the road now. Reports began to come in from Twiggs’s division, and Lee had been surprised to learn that two more brigades were moving up to the right as well, more of Twiggs’s men, under Persifor Smith and a brigade of Quitman’s volunteers, commanded now by James Shields. If they had all reached secure ground, and put themselves into position in the awful weather, by morning the enemy would have a force of four thousand men on his flank. Being inside the tent was a relief, but Lee had not stayed long enough to dry his wet socks and soaked shirt.
Scott had to know the position, had to know where the four brigades had stopped. Persifor Smith was the ranking officer of the four brigade commanders, and now Lee was moving slowly out through the lava, to the north and west, on Scott’s instructions to find Smith, to find out what the plan would be. When the blessed daylight came, there could be no mistakes.
He stayed close to the trail the troops had used, visible even in the rain, the lava dust now so thick and clotted it held the boot prints of the soldiers. Beyond the lava he slipped through short dense brush, found the ravine. Here the trail was easier. Thousands of boots had trampled the brush into a flat soft road, and the tall thickets that fed down into the ravine itself had been cut away by the men with machetes. The stream was faster now than before the rain, an angry tumble of muddy water. He stayed close to the rocks, where the mass of footprints spread out along the stream, knowing that the men would have found the easiest crossing. He moved quickly across, pulling himself carefully, supported by branches of brush, thorny vines. On the far side he climbed up the sharp muddy rise, pulled himself up to the flat ground, more flattened brush. The hardest part of the journey was past, but in front of him there was no sign yet of the men, of the four brigades, of anything at all.
HE MOVED QUICKLY TOWARD THE ROAD, HOLDING HIS HANDS UP to let the rain wash the mud away. Stopping in the middle of the road, he listened hard, tried to hear any sound through the rain’s dull roar. He stared up to the north, toward the big city, hoping to see some sign, the telltale glow of light, any light at all, but there was only thick, miserable darkness. He searched the ground beyond the road, thought, Keep moving, Captain.
The trail in the low brush was still plain, and he moved to the west, studied the dark, tried to see something of the horizon. He could finally see shapes, small buildings, huts. The ground hardened beneath him and he knew that he’d reached a small road. He felt for his pistol. He told himself to be careful, but when he glanced down at his side, he thought, Don’t count on your powder being dry.
Hearing voices in the distance engaged in conversation, Lee moved toward the sound, could see the outlines of the huts more clearly now. He heard the soft shuffling sound of movement, then saw a man suddenly step close to him. He felt a sharp stab in his stomach, heard the man say, “Easy there, amigo. No sound.”
Lee held his hands out to the side, said, “Captain Lee … of General Scott’s staff.”
More men stood around him now, and a man struck at a match, cursed under his breath, struck again, and there was a sudden burst of light in Lee’s face. He blinked, heard another man say, “Let him pass. Sorry, Captain. You’d be wanting General Smith, I suppose.”
Lee rubbed his stomach, felt the stab of the bayonet still at his coat, said, “Thank you. Yes, General Smith.”
“Right this way, Captain. I’ll take you.”
The man moved past more of the buildings, and Lee followed silently. The huts were all filled with men, some lingering outside, standing under whatever cover they could find. Behind the huts men were spread out all along a wide hill, small clusters of raincoats. Other men were grouping together, forming low flat tents, still others sitting quietly, finding no cover at all.
“Right here, Captain.”
The man had stopped, and Lee saw a larger house, heard the rain echoing off its tile roof. He moved up, felt hard stone steps, and the man behind him said, “It’s Captain Lee.”
He heard boots on the porch, detected faint movement and several dark shapes. There was a burst of light as the door opened. He saw the faces of the men beside him, their bayonets, the guards squinting in the light. He looked toward the open door, moved through, heard a sharp voice, “Close the damned door!”
Then he was inside, his eyes not yet adjusted to the light. He could see blankets hung up to cover the windows, the room filled with a black haze of cigar smoke, the smell of tobacco. There were men sitting, some standing in front of a fireplace, then the faces were familiar, some men laughing.
“You’re a sight, Captain. How about some coffee?”
Lee wiped away the water dripping into his eyes, said, “General Smith, thank you. Coffee … would be wonderful.”
He saw Cadwalader watching him, shaking his head, and Riley was laughing as he said, “Don’t imagine you ever thought being an engineer meant walking all night in the rain. Probably didn’t teach you that at West Point.”
There was more laughter, and Lee nodded, smiled, looked down at the spreading puddle at his feet. “No, sir. I rarely had to do anything like this at Fort Monroe.”
The coffee came forward, and Lee took the small earthen cup, felt the steam on his face, smelled the dark richness, the marvelous Indian coffee.
Smith said, “We got lucky, Captain. This is an old Indian village. What folks were here when we arrived took off pretty quick. Didn’t seem to care much which side we were on. The coffee is compliments of whoever our hosts are. Didn’t catch their names.”
Lee sipped the coffee, said, “Thank you, sir. General Scott sends his compliments. I am to find out your dispositions.” He glanced at the covered windows, said, “How close … are we?”
There was a small laugh, and Cadwalader said, “Right to business. Good. Short meetings.
I’d like to get at least a few minutes sleep before we resume this war. We’re about a half mile north, maybe a little northwest of the enemy’s artillery position. Close enough that we don’t want him to see anything that looks like a campfire.”
Smith said, “Captain, General Scott needs to be informed that our situation here is somewhat … precarious. We captured a few stragglers wandering up the road, a few of those boys lonely for their señoritas in the city. From what we can tell, there’s maybe five, six thousand men down there, under General Valencia. They’re situated around a big ranch called Padierna. From our position here we should have a clean shot at rolling up their flank, and possibly getting in behind them. It’s pretty rough ground, but that means there’s cover. And, according to our prisoners, it seems they have no idea how many of us there are.”
Lee was feeling the excitement again, said, “General Scott was hoping you had not been detected. If their artillery is still facing east—”
“Hold on, Captain,” Smith interrupted. “We were detected, all right. They sent a squad of cavalry to chase us off, probably figured we were some scouting party. Once they ran into a whole brigade of muskets, those fellows didn’t waste any time hightailing it back to where they came from. Just before the rain started, we scouted up to the north. The Mexicans are moving reinforcements this way. A whole lot of reinforcements.”
Smith stopped, held a handkerchief to his face, coughed roughly, then said, “Not more than a mile or so above us are maybe ten, twelve thousand troops. They didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but when they learn how strong we are, that will change. If they come marching down that road, they’ll be right in our backside. We are in a very advantageous position, for the moment. Only for the moment.”
He stopped, and Lee contemplated the report, thought, twelve thousand men … these troops could be cut off, surrounded.
Smith said, “Obviously, I need you to get word to General Scott, Captain. Tell him I intend to attack Padierna at dawn. We will keep one eye on those fellows up north, but my guess is that we can make short work of the forces below us. The Mexicans have yet to stand up to any kind of serious offensive. If we hit them hard enough, quickly enough, we could scatter Valencia’s forces all over the countryside. Probably make those fellows above us think twice.”
Lee nodded slowly, and Cadwalader said, “Captain, this plan can’t succeed if those cannon down there turn this way. We can’t respond to artillery, and they’ll bust us up good. We need some help from the lava field, a good demonstration, maybe even a full-scale assault straight at their position. General Twiggs has been itching for one, this could be his chance. All respect to General Twiggs.”
There was muted laughter, and Smith said, “We need that support, Captain. We need those fellows in the lava field to advance, put pressure on those guns, draw their fire. If we’re successful, and the enemy position breaks, General Twiggs can march right on across.”
Lee felt the water still flowing down his entire body, moved his toes in the wet boots. He glanced up, listened to the rain, the dull roar unchanged.
“I understand, sir. I will inform General Scott. He should still be at Zacatepec, in the lava field.”
Smith coughed again and nodded. “Understand, Captain, that our attack will begin at first light whether we receive support or not. We cannot just sit here and wait to be hammered from two sides. Am I clear, Captain?”
“Quite clear, sir.”
Riley leaned forward, placed hands on his knees, said, “General, he should have an escort, some guards. Too dangerous going it alone.”
Smith said, “Of course.” He turned, pointed to an aide standing behind him, and the man slipped quickly outside.
Lee took a deep breath, backed toward the door, looked at the fireplace, his body greedy for the blessed heat.
Riley stood, moved close to him, said, “Be careful, Captain.” He held out a hand, and Lee felt the firm grip.
“Thank you, sir.”
Riley backed away, and Smith added, “Good luck. God be with you, Captain. You are dismissed.”
The door was opened, and Lee stepped onto the porch, the door closing quickly behind him. The darkness was complete now and he blinked, stood perfectly still, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He felt the guards moving close to him, and a voice said, “Take a minute, Captain. Hard enough to see anything. We’ll have a few volunteers here in a moment.”
There was a laugh from a man Lee could not see, then shapes appeared on the road, and Lee tried to count, saw six men.
One man stepped up on the porch, said, “Captain Lee, is it? Good, name’s Huckabee. Corporal Reavis Huckabee. Appears I’ll be leading your escort. At least as long as we can find each other in this damned mess. This is some dangerous work, sir. I’d be mighty beholdin’ to you if we survive this mission, you might see fit to find me a promotion.”
There was laughter from the others, and Lee heard another voice, “Enough of that, Corporal.”
Another man climbed the steps and said, “Lieutenant Ames, sir. These men will accompany you as far as you require.”
Lee looked at the six faceless figures. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll get them back home safely.”
It was a small joke, but no one responded, and Lee thought, No, well, it’s not the most pleasant assignment they could find. “We should be under way. Gentlemen?”
He moved to the edge of the porch, shivered slightly and stepped down into the hard rain again. He pulled his coat around him, began to move through the small village, the silent escort falling in behind him.
He passed by more guards, heard their quiet voices, the sound of men moving out of their shelters to watch them as the odd parade moved past. There was a burst of light, a glow above him, and a second later a sharp crack of thunder, but the sound faded quickly, drowned by the relentless rain. There was a small comment behind him, something he could not hear, and Lee thought, An escort is a good idea, I suppose. But if I get lost … they will all be lost. That won’t help anyone.
The wetness was already soaking him completely, and he focused to the front, tried to see the road, moved through wet grass and short brush. Another flash of lightning came, this one longer, reflecting on the low clouds, and he could see the wide hillside for a brief second and the dark patches where the men waited. In his mind, Lee could hear their prayers and curses, the men enduring the awful minutes until the dawn would come. He did not watch the troops behind him, but he could hear their footsteps in the mud. He moved quickly across the road, tried to find the ravine. He focused on the trail, what tracks he could see, the path now a river of mud from the boots of many men. The ground fell away and he nearly tumbled over the edge of the embankment. He fought for his balance, slid down, his feet giving way in the mud. He slid on his back, rolled over once, felt the brush punching his side. Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of something sharp, the thorns cutting him, but the fall was stopped. He fought his way upright, stood on the sharp slope, flexing his fingers. He could see nothing, the rain and mud disguising the blood from the cuts on his hand. Above him, the men slid down, following him with grim silence.
Lee tried to see through the rain to the far side of the ravine, where the lava would begin. He felt a cold twist in his chest, thought, The trail, don’t lose the trail, move straight across. He stepped carefully down, still slid in the mud, but kept control, his hands feeling for the rocks. The sound of the running water was close in front of him now, and there was another sharp flash of light, enough to show him where the stream lay and beyond the dull white of the rocks. He paused, stared at black nothing, moved close to the rush of water. Turning to face the men gathered close behind him, he reached out, felt a man’s arm, the hand, held it tightly, said quietly, “Take the hand of the man beside you. One line, all together across the water. No one lets go. Understood?”
The men stepped into place, each one holding on to another. He turned, tried to see the water again, stared only at sound, took a deep brea
th and began to push across.
GUARD STATIONS HAD BEEN SPREAD ALONG THE TRAIL, AND LEE led the men toward each one carefully, calling out through the incessant thumping of the rain, surprising even the most alert guard, the men who stayed close to their muskets. From each station he was given a fresh direction, but little else. There were no fires, no coffee, so there could be no rest, no relief from the rain.
The men were slipping and stumbling behind him, and all of them had fallen more than once. He could feel the raw skin on his knee, the sharp pain scraping inside his pant leg. He had tripped over a sharp stone that he had not seen at all. Do not think on that, he thought, just … focus, move in straight lines. He passed between two large rocks, tried to see something familiar, some landmark. He fought against the frustration, the mounting anxiety. You have been here before, he thought, you are moving in the right direction. There was lightning again, a new burst of hard rain, and he stopped, leaned against a tall rock, felt himself breathing in short gasps. Easy, Captain, he thought, slow and steady. It cannot be much farther. He glanced up, the rain washing his face again. There was another flash of lightning, and he waited for the thunder’s dull rumble. The lightning came again, and now he saw something new, a wide reflection swelling up in front of him. He stepped away from the rock, waited for more lightning, thought, Please, God, one glimpse, let me see. He waited a few seconds, began to move again, and the lightning burst over him, close this time, lighting up the rocks all around. The reflection was clear now, and close. It was Zacatepec, the great fat hill.
He pointed, said, “There … this way.”
He moved quickly, stumbled again, caught himself, thought, All right, slow. It’s all right. You’re here. He moved around the base of the hill, called out, “Hello! Guards! Captain Lee here!”
There was commotion in front of him, and now on both sides men moved out of the rocks. The lightning came again, and the faces were ghostly, the muskets all pointed at him, and he said, “Captain Lee … I am Captain Robert E. Lee.…”
