Gone for Soldiers

by Jeff Shaara

  He pushed the horse up the wide road, was moving north himself behind the hard advance of Twiggs’s troops. He stopped, the staff gathering close behind him, following his gaze out across the confusion of the vast hillside, scattered signs of the fight, the debris of a panicked retreat, swarming with men in blue. From the long ravine above Padierna the wave of men was slowly pulling together, their momentum and the orders pushing them all in one direction, focusing on the enemy they were pursuing.

  The troops began to move toward the road, officers guiding them into position, units organizing again, and they could see him now, no mistaking the sight, the huge man in the grand old uniform perched high on the big horse. Even the officers were gathering, leading the cheers, the pace of the fight slowing again, the distraction coming from the glorious sight of their commander staking his claim to the field of battle.

  He always absorbed the sounds of the men, bathed himself in their loyalty and the demonstration of their affection. But the moment was passing quickly, and he began to feel impatient, frustrated. He looked back to the staff, shouted, “Do we know where Twiggs is?”

  Expressionless faces stared at him. He scanned across the field again, over the heads of the mass of men who were still moving into ragged lines, and he said aloud, “Where the hell are my generals?”

  There was a sound behind him, and he turned to see an aide pointing up ahead, the man saying something Scott could not hear. He turned back as an officer moved toward him, pushing past the flow of troops. He smiled when he recognized the weary stagger of Captain Lee.

  “Well, now, here’s a friendly face. Tell me, Mr. Lee, does anyone know what the hell is going on up there?”

  Lee was breathing heavily, and Scott sat back in the saddle, thought, Give him a moment.

  “Take your time, Captain.”

  Lee fought for air, took one long breath, looked up at Scott, said, “Yes, sir. Colonel Riley’s brigade is close to the retreat of the enemy. There has been some resistance near the main intersection, but the enemy is moving north, toward the Churubusco River. It is believed that the retreat has been complete, sir. I heard that Santa Anna himself was observed making his way toward the city.”

  Scott looked to the north, the troops around him now filing past with some sign of order. He climbed down from the horse, said to his aide, “The map … bring me the damned map.”

  Lee moved with him, pulled his own map out of his coat, began to unroll it, and Scott looked at the crumpled paper, the scribbles of pencil, turned to his son-in-law, said, “Never mind.”

  Lee spread the map on the ground, and Scott bent over, said, “I assume this is a damned sight more up-to-date than what we have. Tell me a story, Captain.”

  Lee ran his finger along the road beside them, pointed now to the intersection above the town of San Ángel. “We have the option of going north, sir, which will lead straight to the city, or we can move east, and push through the village of Churubusco. There is a bridge … here, that crosses the river.”

  Scott straightened, groaned, put his hands behind him, massaged the stiffness in his back.

  “Next time, Captain, bring a table. So, we can cross the river, push that much closer to the city, just like that. I doubt it. There was too much of an army up there for them to just have … vanished. Santa Anna is still in command. The question is, where is he in command? If we move on the north road, we could extend ourselves, divide the army, and that will leave General Worth too isolated. He will be the first to scream like hell about that, whether his troops are close to the enemy or not. With our limited strength, it’s best we link up with him, move north together. I will have his people advance up the St. Agustín road and link up just below Churubusco … here. We will move against that bridge together.”

  Lee was still looking at the map. “Sir, excuse me, but this road north … if it’s open, we could move past Churubusco without being bottled up at that bridge. We should scout that ground.”

  There were horses moving back through the tide of troops, and Scott said, “Hold on a moment, Captain.” He stepped up on the road, saw Twiggs now, the old man covered in gray dust, riding tall in the saddle. Twiggs stopped the horse, looked at Scott, paused dramatically then slowly lifted his hand in salute. Scott watched the spectacle, thought, All right, you gray-haired peacock, strut a bit. You earned it.

  The moment quickly passed, and Scott said, “We’re having a good day, General. What’s going on up there?”

  “Sir, General Pillow and I have conferred at the intersection up ahead. We are of the opinion that at the speed we are advancing, we can storm the gates of the city before dark. I speak for General Pillow when I recommend the troops be ordered to continue their pursuit.”

  There were cheers now, men moving past Twiggs, reacting to his words, but he stared hard at Scott, refusing to acknowledge the salutes, would not let on that there was anything of a performance to his words.

  Scott glanced at the passing troops, thought, Enough of this.

  “General, walk with me. I would prefer this discussion be private. Captain Lee has a map.”

  Twiggs climbed down from the horse, and Scott waited for him, watched as his expression changed, the smugness of a man feeling his popularity now slipping away, replaced by a sullen frown. Scott thought, Don’t take it so hard, General. You’ll have your share of glory after all. But for now it’s good to remember who is in command.

  Twiggs was beside him, and they moved out into the grass. Scott stopped, stared out across the open ground, could still see small groups of men in blue flowing toward him, the last of the disorganized units finally coming together. “Where is Santa Anna, General?”

  Twiggs was silent for a moment, and Scott turned to him, saying, “It’s a good question, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know for sure, sir. The Mexican retreat was a mass of confusion. You couldn’t tell troops from civilians.”

  “Been meaning to ask you about that, General. I heard reports that there were as many as twelve thousand Mexican troops up on this hill in front of us. I know what happened to the people who were with Valencia. That’s what’s making that big damned cloud of dust up there. But where did the rest of them go?”

  Twiggs rubbed his chin, said, “Best we could tell, when Valencia’s defense collapsed, the rest of the Mexican troops withdrew. Valencia’s retreat probably panicked them too. From what we could see, they were hell-bent on getting across the Churubusco River. We saw some of that. It was a mob … didn’t look like much of an army at all. Can’t say how much farther they’ve run by now.”

  Scott was feeling a new frustration, thought, He is still the same man, I cannot escape that. He seems to forget there’s actually an enemy out there at all, like this war is all about a one-way fight, the only direction is forward. Sometimes … that is dangerous. He glanced at the map in Lee’s hand, said, “General, I hope these instructions are clear. You will move your men on the east fork of the road, hold to a position below Churubusco. General Worth will advance from his position and hook up with your right flank. Until we know what Santa Anna is up to, I want this army concentrated.”

  Twiggs seemed wounded, and Scott said, “General, for God’s sake, Mexico City isn’t going anywhere. If we don’t get inside those gates today, maybe we can do it tomorrow. I have to think of the safety of this army. I shouldn’t have to explain that. In fact, General, I have no intention of explaining it again.”

  Twiggs straightened, said, “I understand, sir. If you wish, I will convey your orders to General Pillow. He is forming the troops at the intersection. He … expects to send them northward.”

  “What he expects is to follow my instructions. You have my instructions, General?”

  Twiggs saluted, said, “Yes, sir.” He walked slowly to his horse, climbed up, said nothing. Scott watched him, thought, Good, no argument. It’s wise to let me have the last word. At least they are learning how to do that.

  Twiggs moved the horse away,
and Scott glanced at Lee, saw the map still in his hand, said, “Probably wish you hadn’t heard all that, eh, Mr. Lee? Sometimes you have to be a damned parent. You sure as hell can’t assume they will do the right thing.”

  Lee said quietly, “I assure you, sir, nothing said will be repeated.”

  “No, I’m sure of that, Mr. Lee.” He watched Twiggs moving away, cheered by his men, said, “I must admit, I’m intrigued by that open road north. Let me see the map.…”

  Lee unrolled the map again, held it out, and Scott studied the roads and Lee’s drawings. “If Twiggs’s wishful thinking is accurate, and there is no opposition, we could be in the city by tonight. Hate to let a good opportunity get away.”

  He turned, walked slowly toward the road, Lee moving behind him. I wish I knew, he thought. I wish I knew where Santa Anna went. He’s not ready to hide behind walls, not yet. He’s too strong. He had twelve thousand men right near this spot yesterday, and they simply … backed away? We swept Valencia from the field, rolled up this entire flank, and I cannot accept that a force larger than ours decided that was just fine, no problem at all. We’ll fight you again some other day. We are too close to the capital, too close to ending this. It cannot all be this easy.

  “Captain, I want some people to try that northern road. If Santa Anna is putting up any kind of defense along that river, we can get up behind him. Seems to be the best strategy we have. Take two brigades, try to use fresh troops.”

  Lee moved beside him, said, “Sir? Are you ordering me to lead two brigades?”

  Scott looked at him, saw wide eyes, a fog of weariness on Lee’s face. He smiled, said, “Mr. Lee, I don’t expect you to lead the damned charge. But you’re the best guide we have. I need to know they’re heading in the right direction. You drew the map, for God’s sake.” Lee seemed stunned, and Scott said, “Problem, Captain?”

  Lee shook his head, blinked hard. “None, sir. Should I begin …?”

  “Now, Captain.”

  22. LEE

  AUGUST TWENTIETH, EARLY AFTERNOON

  THE MARCH HAD ALREADY BEGUN EAST OF THE INTERSECTION, and Lee watched as Twiggs led his troops toward the first of the Mexican defenses. Pillow had already gone, moving farther east, and word had been given to Worth to move up to connect with Pillow’s flank. The two brigades that would go with Lee were a mixed lot, the veterans under James Shields, men whom Lee had helped put into position at Cerro Gordo, and the new brigade under Franklin Pierce, part of the blessed reinforcements that had reached the army in July.

  Pierce would march first, and his men were forming quickly. Lee had not yet spoken to Shields, understood that Shields was the senior commander, and that by now Twiggs had sent him the order to follow Lee’s guidance.

  Lee rode back along the line of troops, the horse bouncing under him, the footing uncertain in the loose gravel at the edge of the road. He focused on the reins, held on tight, had not been on horseback in several days. The weariness was now blossoming into a complete fog of exhaustion, and he fought against his mind drifting away. It had been two days, and it most certainly would be one more. He held himself upright, stared ahead, his mind repeating the same words, Find General Shields.

  He saw a group of horses carrying officers, more riding up, gathering. He spurred the horse, thought, There, surely. He must be there. The horse slipped, stumbled on the edge of the road, a slope of soft dirt, and Lee slid sideways. He nearly lost his grip, pulled hard on the reins, reached out with one hand and grabbed the horse’s mane. He was back upright, looked at the faces of the men still watching him quietly, respectfully. The officers were moving toward him, and one spoke, “Captain, you look a fright.”

  He saw the face of Joe Johnston now, the man trying to smile, but Lee could see the shattering grief, Johnston’s own exhaustion showing through tired red eyes.

  Their horses moved close together, and Lee said, “Joe, you have heard. I am so very sorry.”

  Johnston nodded, said nothing, and Lee continued, “I was there. I saw him. There was nothing anyone could do.”

  Johnston looked down and said, “He was too young, too young to fight a war.” He paused for a moment. Lee tried to speak, to say something to fill the quiet, but Johnston looked at him with tear-filled eyes, said, “You couldn’t tell him that, you know. So many of them … come out of West Point thinking they’re men, mighty warriors. They have no idea what a war really is, what … death really is.” He paused again, said quietly, “He could have been my son.”

  Lee could see the struggle in Johnston’s face, grief and anger, the pure awful sadness. It is another wound, this one so much worse. He felt helpless now, tried to think of words, something to comfort. “He is with God now.”

  Johnston nodded slowly. Lee saw the tears on his face, the man’s control gone. Johnston’s shoulders shook from the short sobs. Lee put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Johnston took a deep breath, fought for control. “God has a great deal of company these days.”

  Lee still fought for words, but there was nothing he could say. He thought, This will stay with him for a long time. But it cannot affect him like this. Men will die, but we still have our duty. He started to speak, held it back. No, I cannot say that to him, not now.

  There was a rumble of thunder from the east, and all the faces turned toward it, the troops in the road coming alive, the hum of their voices growing. Lee looked past Johnston, saw the faces of the officers, mostly unfamiliar, and beyond them were more horses, moving forward. Lee saw the flag. It was Shields. Lee leaned close to Johnston, said, “We will talk later, Joe.”

  Johnston put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, said, “Thank you, Robert. I’ll be all right. It just takes time.”

  Lee moved the horse toward the gathering horsemen, and Shields saw him now, said, “Well, Captain Lee. You are our guide once more.”

  The sounds rumbled again, and Shields looked that way, said, “Worth’s division. They should be close to the bridge by now. Sounds like a few Mexicans hung around to give them a reception. All right, Captain, let’s move. For a while at least … this is your show.”

  Lee saluted. “Sir, General Pierce’s men are already in column at the intersection. Your men should stay up close. We will march north, until we are past the river. After that, we will see what opportunity presents itself.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain.”

  The sounds from the east had grown steadier, and Lee turned his horse and moved quickly alongside the troops. Up ahead he could see more flags. He slapped at the horse, said aloud, “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The troops began to cheer as he passed, a chorus of hoorahs, the voices blending together with the hard sounds of the growing fight. He focused on the horse, thought, Stay up, easy now, stay up. No time to fall. He heard his name, the officers calling out to him, and he looked for the source of the voices, saw only a blur of faces. He tried to ignore it, thought, This is not happening … it is some odd dream. He tried to sort through the sounds, focused on the growing thunder, but he saw the faces of the men again, and they were not staring out toward the east, toward the low rumble, as the troops always did. They were looking toward him. He saw a young officer holding his hat high, saluting him, a quick bow, and Lee stared through a fog of confusion, thought, No, I am not your commander.…

  He spurred the horse. The road wider now, the horse’s steps became more solid, steady. He felt the rhythm of the ride holding him in the saddle, and he looked again to the flags, saw Pierce, more officers, all watching him. There was laughter, men pointing at him, and he glanced back to the troops, the cheering now falling away.

  He moved the horse close to Pierce, who said, “They’re giving you a hero’s welcome, Captain. Must make you very proud. Some fine work, I must say.”

  Lee nodded, didn’t know what to say. Pierce looked away, then said, “All right, Captain, whenever you’re ready.”

  Pierce moved his horse slowly, waiting for Lee to move in front. The officers and
the column of troops began to march behind him. Lee felt the fog in his brain lifting, his energy returning. Out front, the skirmish line was moving ahead of the column, the men spreading out on both sides of the road. To the east the sounds were louder still, closer. He thought, It must be Twiggs, the left flank is engaged as well. The entire army is engaged. Except for … us. He pushed the horse again, moved faster, could see smoke rising to the east, the fight growing around Churubusco. Pierce was close beside him, and he thought of his words, hero’s welcome. Surely, he thought, he cannot mean … me. The troops were cheering their own, cheering the sounds of the fight. They know it will be their turn very soon.

  THEY HAD STAYED ON THE ROAD WELL BEYOND THE RIVER, THE northerly road crossing far to the west of the fighting. The bridge was small and there was no defense, and if there were Mexican troops at all close by, their focus was to the east, to the fierce fighting at Churubusco. Lee had scanned the river itself, a straight line, saw that it was hardly a river at all, more like a drainage ditch carved into soft marsh, pulling water from the low wet ground. They were close enough to see the fighting now, a mass of Mexican troops defending the main bridge. The Mexicans held a fortified position, and many of the sharp sounds of cannon were not from the American side.

  Above the river, Lee led the troops into the fields, moved through soft mud in the cornfields. It was not long before they could see another road in front of them, and Lee did not have to look at his map. It was the road that led north from the bridge at Churubusco, straight to the gates of Mexico City.

  Pierce’s troops were spread into battle lines now, and Shields was close behind. Lee still moved alongside Pierce, the horses fighting their way through the difficult ground. He focused up to the left, could see small buildings, a fence row, livestock pens.

  “General Pierce, there’s some sort of outpost or ranch. We should move to occupy those buildings. That would give us an anchor on the road. We could be in position to cut off the enemy’s retreat.”