Mexico to Sumter

by Bob Mayer

  Rumble nodded. “One Sunday Agrippa and I snuck down to the old dock to do some fishing. It was so damn hot, we thought a dip in the river would cool us off. I jumped off the dock first. Not ten feet from the shore. And the current took me. Agrippa didn’t hesitate, he dove right in and got me to shore. In return for saving my life, I committed a crime. A most grievous crime as it turned out.”

  Rumble stopped and stood at the edge of the garden, on the very edge of the cliff over the Hudson River. The water from the small fountain ran by his right foot and tumbled down the rocks.

  “I taught Agrippa to read. And by doing that, I killed him.”

  Ben opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it, waiting for the story to make its natural course much like the fountain water went to the river.

  “It’s a crime to teach a slave to read,” Rumble said. “I knew it. But Agrippa, his mind . . .” Rumble searched for the words. “He wanted more. He wanted to know of the world beyond the fields even if he was bound to them by chains. The world he knew he would never get to see. So I taught him to read and gave him books and he traveled in his mind. But it was something he read that killed him.

  “We always suspected that John Dyer and his son, St. George, were stealing from the fields. It was tacitly accepted by my father. At least that’s the best I could figure, although later events proved there was much more to that than we could have ever imagined.”

  Rumble rushed on, the dam breached, the reservoir of darkness behind it having to be emptied. “Agrippa read an invoice on one of the wagons they loaded and shipped across the Mississippi. He read how much was being taken, and who the buyer was. Except he was caught reading. St. George shot him and tossed him in the river when they came back across from Vidalia. His body was taken by the Mississippi.”

  “How do you know this?” Ben asked.

  “I was told what happened by another slave who was on the boat.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the sheriff?”

  Rumble shook his head. “The law? It’s within an overseer’s province to kill a slave as long as the owner allows. They’re property. And my father allowed the Dyers anything they needed to run the plantation. I’d broken the law.”

  Ben got up and went over to stand beside his father. The Hudson was dotted with sails and a steamship was chugging steadily up river.

  “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ben hesitated, then asked. “And the ring?”

  “Enough of the past for today,” Rumble said.

  “No,” Ben said. “The way the Corps treated me. How you got me dismissed. And yes, father, I know it was you. Why did they treat me that way? What secret are you hiding from me? Who is Elijah Cord? Why do I have his ring?”

  “Enough questioning!” Rumble shouted. “I’m your father. Your mother didn’t want you to enter the Academy. She made me swear to that as she was dying. They were her last words. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Why did she make you swear that?” Ben asked.

  Rumble turned and placed his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “War is horrible. It uses lives up like they matter nothing. Your mother was smarter than all of us. She didn’t want your life wasted like that.”

  Ben stared into his father’s eyes for many seconds, then nodded. “I’ll believe you about that, father. I’ll take your word for it. There’s much I don’t understand, but perhaps time will give me that knowledge.”

  Rumble turned away from his son and looked out over the Hudson.

  Ben sighed. “Grandmother wrote me. She says your brother took a commission with the Confederates.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s your stand, father?”

  Rumble turned in surprise. “You have to ask? I wear the blue. I swore an oath to the Federal government. I won’t break my oath.”

  Ben shook his head. “That’s not what I ask, father. For now, everyone speaks of loyalty to state or country. But few raise the deeper question this war begs to answer. Where do you stand on slavery? For when the Union wins, that institution will not stand.”

  “They’ve taught you well in Maine.” He gestured up toward the Plain. “Most of the cadets here think only of the combat, of the Confederacy and the Union. They don’t understand the currents underneath. Like the Mississippi, this war hides much right now, and many will be caught unawares.”

  “You haven’t answered, father.”

  Rumble gave a wry smile. “You have your mother’s persistence. Of course, I’m against slavery. And that’s why I will be in this fight.”

  18 June 1861

  Springfield, MO

  21st Illinois Regiment

  The undersigned, having been duly appointed Colonel of the 7th Congressional District Regt of Illinois Volunteers by order of Govr. Richard Yates, hereby assumes command.

  In accepting this command, your Commander will require the cooperation of all the commissioned and non-commissioned Officers in instructing the command, and in maintaining discipline, and hopes to receive also the hearty support of every enlisted man.

  Colonel Ulysses S. Grant, Commanding 21st Illinois

  12 July 1861

  Quincy, MO

  21st Illinois Regiment

  The Colonel commanding this Regiment deems it his duty at this period in the march to return his thanks to the Officers and Men composing the command on their general Obedience and Military discipline. Having for a period of years been accustomed to strict military duties and discipline he deems it not inappropriate at this time to make a most favorable comparison of this command with that of veteran troops in point of Soldierly bearing, general good order, and cheerful execution of commands.

  Colonel Ulysses S. Grant, Commanding 21st Illinois

  Book III of Duty, Honor, Country, follows Cord and Rumble and the rest into the Civil War and ends on the climactic first night of the Battle of Shiloh, when Grant’s forces, apparently defeated reeled on the verge of destruction; with Grant contemplating retreat across the Tennessee River, it’s up to Cord & Rumble to change his mind and save the Union.

  Book I in the Presidential Series

  THE JEFFERSON ALLEGIANCE

  Chapter One

  The Present

  Gentle swells of snow-covered ground were graced by thousands of sprouts of stone that would never grow, arranged in perfect lines, as if the dead were frozen on parade. It was a formation at parade rest. Forever. The man standing at attention was a comrade in arms, vaguely sensing his life to be a mere formality before he too joined his silent brethren. Although he couldn’t quite grasp the birth and depth of that feeling and raged like the warrior he was against the hand he’d been dealt, some of the cards still face-down. The white covering made Arlington National Cemetery look peaceful, a blanket covering the violence that had brought most of the bodies here over the years.

  Colonel Paul Ducharme was uncomfortable in his Class-A uniform. A black raincoat covered the brass and accouterments, which adorned his dress jacket, and a green beret covered most of his regulation, short, thick white hair. He was one of those men who ironically lost none of their hair to age, but, alas, kept none of its color. He absently touched the twisted flesh high on his cheek, just below his right eye, not aware of the gesture. His hand slid higher, pushing back the beret and rubbing the scars that crisscrossed his skull. Finally, realizing what he was doing, he shoved the beret back in place and moved forward. Always mission first.

  His spit-shined jump-boots crunched on the light snow and frozen grass underneath as he marched forward. It was after official closing time, but Ducharme had entered through Fort Myer, parking in a small, deserted field adjacent to the cemetery. His old friend, Sergeant Major Kincannon, had given him access. Kincannon was somewhere out in the night, shadowing, a dark presence full of laughter and potential, and inevitably, violence.

  Ducharme checked his guide map to pinpoint his location in the 624 acres of cemetery. He considered the place full of historic i
rony, given that it had originally been the estate of Mary Anna Custis, a descendant of Martha Washington. Custis married US Army officer Robert E. Lee, West Point graduate—the only cadet who ever graduated the Military Academy without a single demerit, a fact so odd that Ducharme, another link in the Long Grey Line, could never forget, nor could any scion of the Long Gray Line. Through the marriage she passed the estate—and her slaves—to Lee.

  Their old mansion, the Custer-Lee House, now called the Arlington House to be politically correct, dominated the grounds, looking straight down Lincoln Drive toward the Lincoln Memorial across the Potomac. Thus, General Lee’s former house now looked toward the statue of the leader of the country he’d rebelled against. And come so close to defeating. If only Lee had not ordered that last charge at Gettysburg on the 3rd of July 1863. Ducharme’s studies of that great battle had whispered to him that Lee only ordered Pickett’s Charge because he too had had trouble thinking clearly, sick from dysentery and exhaustion after years of battle. When the body failed, the mind could produce tragic results. Whether his studies were right or wrong were shrouded in the fog of history and would never be answered. As many never were.

  Ducharme looked to his left and studied the mansion on top of the hill, which reminded him once more of General… Ducharme frowned and forced himself to keep from looking at the map for the name. In his mind appeared a picture of an old man with a large white beard, dressed in a grey uniform, sitting on top of a white horse. General Lee.

  Good, thought Ducharme. His therapist would have been proud. But there was no statue of Lee at West Point, their mutual alma mater, even though Lee had done the most with the least in combat against the greatest odds of any Academy graduate. Such was the cost of loyalty to state and betrayal to country and institution.

  West Point did not tolerate betrayal.

  Just as randomly, yet also connected, that name triggered, unbidden, Plebe Poop—relatively useless information he’d been forced to memorize his first year at West Point: There were sixty important battles in the Civil War. In fifty-five of them, West Point graduates commanded on both sides; in the remaining five, a graduate commanded one of the opposing sides.

  Probably why the war lasted so damn long.

  Bob is also well-know for his crackling, realistic military science fiction. He is the master at blending facts with fiction to the point where readers don’t know what is real and what isn’t.

  Prologue

  The chamber contained enough energy to destroy the planet five times over. More than two kilometers in diameter, one kilometer from floor to ceiling, and three times that depth under the planet's surface, it echoed with the crackle of directed power beams, all focused on a black sphere dancing in the center, just above the metal floor. The sphere was fifty meters in diameter and did not appear to be made of any solid substance, but rather contracted and expanded in a rhythmic pattern.

  Halfway up the far wall, a half-kilometer from the sphere, a recessed window slid open, revealing a control room lined with consoles. Three figures dressed in long black flowing robes stood. Wires flowed from the back of the hoods to the glowing screen in front of them on which the thoughts each wished to express were displayed in a manner all could understand. "It is time for run four-five," the figure on the left communicated.

  "Proceed," the one in the center ordered.

  The power beams shifted across the color spectrum as the levels were increased. The sphere slowly began to change its own shade, the pitch-black gradually changing to gray then fading away until an image appeared, incongruous among the technology and power of the cave: an aircraft hangar, the edges abruptly cut off where they met the edge of the power of the sphere. Inside the hangar, an old man in a military style uniform waited patiently.

  "What is the location?" The figure in the center asked.

  "Coordinates two-three-five-eight dash four-eight-three-four. A town called Leesburg, in the state of Virginia, in the country called United States."

  "Local date, time group?"

  "Nineteen ninety-one. The twenty-second day of the sixth month. Two forty-seven local time."

  "Continue tracking."

  A military truck suddenly appeared in the sphere, bumper first, the entire vehicle filling out as it entered the power frame. A man jumped off the truck, wearing unmarked black fatigues and carrying a weapon. He greeted the general with a handshake. "It's good to be back, sir."

  The general slapped him on the shoulder. "Good to have you back, Captain Hawkins. I've got the transcript of your in-flight debriefing and the President is very satisfied with the results of your mission."

  The man nodded wearily and watched as his three men threw their rucksacks onto the floor of the hangar and secured their weapons with the unit armorer. "I'd like to give the men some time off, sir."

  The general nodded. "Take a week and then give me a call. I'll put Richman's team on standby alert."

  "Thanks, sir."

  "Damn good job, man." With a slap on the back the general was gone, walking out of the range the sphere could see. The captain gave his men the good news and the figures dispersed one by one until only he was left standing there. He finally moved out himself, heading toward the hangar door that glimmered in the light of the sphere.

  For more information about Bob Mayer and his latest releases sign up for his newsletter at: http://bobmayer.org

  More Books by Bob Mayer

  THE CELLAR SERIES

  Bodyguard of lies

  Praise for Bodyguard of Lies: “Thelma and Louise go clandestine.” Kirkus Reviews

  “Heart-racing non-stop action that is difficult to put down.” Mystery News

  Lost Girls

  Praise for Lost Girls: “ . . .delivers top-notch action and adventure, creating a full cast of lethal operatives armed with all the latest weaponry. Excellent writing and well-drawn, appealing characters help make this another taut, crackling read.” Publishers Weekly

  THE SHADOW WARRIOR SERIES

  The Gate

  “A pulsing technothriller. A nailbiter in the best tradition of adventure fiction.” Publishers Weekly.

  The Line

  “Mayer has crafted a military thriller in the tradition of John Grisham’s The Firm.” Kirkus

  Omega Missile

  “Rogue politicians, a maniac scientist and the doomsday weapon—The Omega Missile comes screaming down on target. A great action reader!” Stephen Coonts.

  Omega Sanction

  “A very good novel. This is one book you can trust.

  Behind the Lines.”

  Section Eight

  THE GREEN BERET SERIES

  An 8 book series featuring Dave Rile and Horace Chase

  Eyes of the Hammer

  “Exciting and authentic. Author Mayer, a Green Beret himself, gave me a vivid look at the world of the Army’s Special Forces as they battle America’s most deadly enemy. His portrayal of Green Beret operations and techniques takes you deep into the covert world of Special Operations as a you follow an A-Team into combat. Don’t miss this one.”

  WEB Griffin

  Dragon Sim-13

  “Incredibly believable and absolutely riveting. Quite possibly the best book every written about the Green Berets. Bob Mayer tells Green Beret stories like Joseph Wambaugh tells cop stories!

  Macon News-Record”

  Synbat

  “Mayer keeps story and characters firmly under control. The venal motives of the scientists and military bureaucracy are tellingly contrasted with the idealism of the soldiers. A treat for military fiction readers.” Publishers Weekly

  Cut Out

  “A masterpiece of technology and suspense.” Library Journal

  Eternity Base

  “Sinewy writing enhances this already potent action fix. An adrenaline cocktail from start to finish.” Kirkus Reviews

  Z: The Final Countdown

  Mayer has written a very good novel and has established himself as one of today’s better m
ilitary technothriller writers. A background in Special Operations gives him credibility and understanding from having been there and done that.”

  Airpower Journal

  Chasing the Ghost

  “Fascinating, imaginative and nerve-wracking.” Kirkus Reviews

  Chasing the Lost

  Simply irresistible.” Booklist

  THE ATLANTIS SERIES

  A 6 book Science Fiction Series

  Atlantis

  Atlantis Bermuda Triangle

  Atlantis Devil’s Sea

  Atlantis Gate

  Assault on Atlantis

  Battle for Atlantis

  “Spell-binding! Will keep you on the edge of your seat. Call it techno-thriller, call it science fiction, call it just terrific story-telling.” Terry Brooks, #1 NY Times Bestselling author of the Shannara series and Star Wars Phantom Menace

  THE AREA 51 SERIES

  A 9 book Science Fiction Series

  Area 51

  Area 51: The Reply

  Area 51: The Mission

  Area 51: The Sphinx

  Area 51: The Grail

  Area 51: Excalibur

  Area 51: The Truth

  Area 51: Nosferatu

  Area 51: Legend