Andrea grinned as Daniel looked back and winked.
She turned her back to them and put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming with joy. Sleep? She was ready to shout from the mountaintops! She looked up at the spectacular night sky and watched a million stars seem to wink along with her joy.
Chapter 16
We know not of the future and cannot plan for it much.
– Union General Joshua Chamberlain
It seemed Andrea had no sooner laid her head down before Boonie was shaking her awake. She stared drowsily at the rose-colored sky that revealed a new day had already begun.
“You gonna sleep all day, boy?”
Andrea groaned. “Darn it, Boonie, I ain’t slept but a few hours in the last week.”
“Tell yer problems to Colonel Jordan. He wants to see you.”
Andrea closed her eyes and tried to remember what she may have done to aggravate J.J. Unable to think of anything, she sat up. “What for?”
“Dunno and didn’t ask. I’m a soldier, not yer mother.”
Andrea stood and dusted off her pants as her groggy mind began to clear. Maybe J.J. had something new to tell her about Richmond.
Or maybe he had changed his mind.
She was suddenly wide awake and began walking toward the house.
“See ya later,” Boonie yelled after her.
Andrea waved her hand at him, but didn’t look back. The only way to find out what J.J. wanted was to go ask him. But if he’d decided she wasn’t going to Richmond, he was going to have a fight on his hands.
* * *
“Sinclair.” J.J. frowned when he saw her, and nodded toward another man standing in the room. “This is Captain Warren. He’s here under orders to request you for special service detail.”
Andrea glanced at the man with a look of confusion on her face.
“I was just explaining to the Colonel,” the captain said, “that General Whittington has learned you are in camp and proposes to borrow you for a special service detail.”
J.J. studied Andrea’s reaction and saw definite signs of hope and excitement shining in her eyes.
“And I have told him I cannot allow it,” he said, taking a step forward. “You are too valuable here.”
When Andrea looked at him with evident surprise at his response, he took satisfaction in the fact that he had avoided lighting her volatile temper. Had he just said “no,” he would have had a fight on his hands.
J.J. knew if given the opportunity, Andrea would seize it, and he would never be able to rein her in. There would always be another assignment, each more dangerous than the last. Her spreading reputation was making it harder for him to keep an eye on her, and was one of the reasons he’d relented to the Richmond arrangement.
“General Whittington is asking a favor, not giving an order,” the captain said to Andrea. “But he did say he wants you.”
“I’m sorry, but Sinclair is not available.” J.J. sat down at a table and began writing a dispatch, making it appear time was of the essence. “I have a dispatch that needs to go forthwith to Centreville.”
The captain nodded, apparently accepting that any further attempts would be futile without a direct order, and turned to leave. “As you wish, sir.”
Andrea flopped down on J.J.’s cot as soon as the man had exited. “What do you suppose that was all about?”
J.J. did not bother to answer other than with a grunt. If she hadn’t figured it out, he wasn’t going to explain it to her.
“I think I’m getting old.” Andrea put her hand on her head and stretched out her legs as if the entire incident was already forgotten. “Everything hurts.”
J.J. stopped writing and looked up. “Does that mean you’re ready to stop this foolish game?”
Andrea sat straight up. “No.”
“I thought not.” J.J. tried to appear calm as he put the finishing touches on the communication. “I need you to take a dispatch to General Lawson in Centreville. Report directly back to me with his response.”
Andrea stood and grabbed for the dispatch, but he held onto it.
“After you deliver the message, head back through Hopewell Gap. I’ll be in the vicinity of Monroe’s Mill. Do you understand?”
Andrea nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s dangerous out there, Andrea. This area is not all behind our lines.”
Andrea gazed at him as if he had told her nothing more significant than that it might rain, then stood and saluted him. “Yes, sir!”
J.J. frowned at her theatrics. “Come here. Give me a hug. How’s the ankle?”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Andrea said. “And don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
J.J. sighed loudly at her futile attempt to hide her limp and the offhand way she spoke. She made the pledge to use caution with little reflection, and knowing Andrea, she would violate it with as little hesitation.
“I’ll see you at Monroe’s Mill.” He followed her outside and watched her saddle and mount. “Remember—”
“I’ve got it, Colonel.” Andrea sounded more than a little exasperated as she hauled on the reins to keep Justus under control. “Centreville and then to Hopewell Gap.”
J.J. shook his head as she rode away, feeling guilty he had to lie. He knew what the general wanted her for, and he knew he would not be at Hopewell Gap when she returned. No one would be. His regiment was heading down to Thoroughfare Gap—so was the general, and so were a lot of rebels.
All he wanted to do was keep her as far away from that dangerous part of the country as he could.
Away from the enemy. And away from Captain Hunter who had been reported patrolling in the area.
Chapter 17
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
– Goethe
They moved through the darkness without making a sound. So stealthy were their movements and so ominous their silent shadows, Hunter knew a legion of specters rising from their graves could not look more menacing. Even the horses appeared of another world tonight, seeming to float upon the swirling mist among trees that stood like sentinels guarding a numinous world.
Dressed inconspicuously and mounted on his favorite steed, Hunter rode in front of his band, seeking some game to flush. His men, as was their habit, were hungry for battle. And as their leader, he felt it his manifest duty to feed them.
Halting the group about fifty feet from a country farmhouse, Hunter listened to the strains of music coming from within while silently studying the scene. Four horses stood tied out front, and it took only a glance to identify them as the mounts of Union officers.
Riding forward with one other man, Hunter dismounted and banged on the door with the butt of his revolver. When a young lady answered, he positioned himself in the shadows so she could not identify the color of his uniform.
“Pardon the interruption, miss,” he said in a smooth, low voice, tipping his hat courteously, but keeping his head bent low. “Any officers in the house are requested back at camp immediately.”
Within a heartbeat of his last word, four men dressed in immaculate Federal uniforms pushed their way past the lady. “What did you say? Is something wrong?”
By this time, Hunter had pressed his back against the wall, out of sight of the four standing in the doorway. Their focus was therefore intent on his lieutenant, Carter, who leaned nonchalantly against the porch post with a well-chewed cigar hanging from his mouth.
“Who sent you?” One of the officers stepped through the door and the others followed close at his heels. “What is the meaning of this? Is there trouble?”
When they were all on the porch, Carter nodded his head toward the doorway. “Ask him.”
Hunter moved from the shadows behind them into the light of the doorway, blocking any retreat back into the house. “Indeed, there is trouble. Do you know of Hunter?”
“Yes,” one proclaimed. “Have we caught the infernal plundering pirate?”
“No,” Hunter replied, a satirical smi
le spreading across his lips, “but he has caught you.”
He raised his gun to eye level and cocked it to reinforce his statement. The four men stood dumbstruck before raising their hands in surrender.
“You cannot be Hunter,” one of the men finally spoke. “We heard he was in our front, being pursued by our advance guard.”
“I believe that was this morning.” Hunter spoke while calmly relieving the man of his gun and saber. “While the hounds were sleeping—or socializing—the fox was on the move.”
“This is outrageous,” another shouted. “Why if I had known I would have—”
Hunter did not give him the opportunity to finish. “Yes, I have discovered the world is full of Yanks with mighty hindsight.”
“But this is an insult,” he roared. “You rebels do not fight fair!”
Carter cocked his gun and put it to the man’s head. “If I were in your boots, I’d be more humiliated than insulted.” He snarled the words with the cigar still clenched firmly between his teeth.
Hunter ignored the conversation, intent instead in pulling documents from one of the officer’s pockets. “How far to your camp?” He did not bother to raise his eyes from the communication he held.
No one answered until Carter’s gun flashed up again.
“’Bout two miles outside Chantilly, there’s a schoolhouse.” The man’s voice was solemn and low.
“How many?” When he heard no answer, Hunter raised his eyes momentarily from the dispatch and studied each man before lowering them again.
“I’ll wager we outnumber you. You don’t stand a chance.” The officer speaking squinted into the darkness, trying to count the shadows that remained concealed in the cloak of night.
“You may indeed outnumber us,” Hunter said in a low, distinct voice, “but I do not intend to give your men time to count noses in the dark.” He gave the officer a cold smile as he glanced again at the letter he held: “Our picket post was attacked by Hunter’s men this morning. The confounded raiders appeared out of nowhere and disappeared in the same direction.”
Hunter stuffed the dispatch into his coat, and spoke into the darkness. “Anyone need to make any trades?” Four or five of his men bounded up to the porch and promptly swapped boots, hats, and even coats with the officers, while others grabbed saddles, bridles, and horses.
“I hope you are proud of this thievery,” one of the Federal officers said.
Hunter leaned against the porch post watching the procedure. “It’s called trading,” he said in a voice full of indifference.
“Trading?” the man bellowed, looking down at the tattered boots that sat beside his bare feet. “What are we trading?”
“In your case,” Hunter said, staring at the pompous Federal colonel, “your boots for your life.”
Turning away from the prisoners, Hunter yelled into the yard. “Max and Larson, escort these gentlemen to Richmond, please.” Then he tipped his hat respectfully toward the prisoners, mounted his horse, and melted into the darkness with the remaining dauntless souls of his command.
Twenty-two men, along with their horses, disappeared without a sound on the dust-covered road as if they had never been there at all.
Chapter 18
Men, do as I say and I will always lead you to victory.
– Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest
Hunter and his men moved forward with some caution, yet they were unaware of any imminent danger. Hunter knew from captured dispatches that some outposts had been alerted of his presence, but he planned to accomplish his objective and be gone before they had time to organize any major assault. In the meantime, he would not pass by any opportunity favorable for harassing and distressing the enemy.
“Might be getting a bit dangerous to git all the way over to Gainesville,” Carter said.
“We can’t turn back now,” Hunter said forcefully. “Not with those horses waiting for us.”
Hunter relied on the Yankees to supply his men with quality horseflesh, and with good reason. Each man needed at least two mounts, and most had three due to the lively chases that often commenced on their excursions. No effort was deemed too large where the collection and welfare of horses was concerned, the animals being deemed as indispensable to the Command, if not more so, as the soldiers themselves. Hunter would not hesitate to let his men go without rations if necessary. In fact, he often said they fought better on empty stomachs. But the horses were fed and rested at any cost and at any sacrifice.
Anyway, it had been days since his men had smelled gunpowder and he knew they were impatient for a fight—especially one that could yield as many as a hundred Yankee horses.
The report of a gun suddenly startled the midnight air, causing Hunter’s vanguard to hurtle forward to probe the enemy’s numbers. It was a duty they instinctively performed with no order needing to be given. A casual observer might wonder at the act, but in Hunter’s command, ‘probing the enemy’s numbers’ meant riding forward and shooting at the enemy while counting the number of guns firing back.
For a few long minutes the four soldiers kept the enemy busy, advancing then retreating to stall them, knowing the real battle would not begin until Hunter came up and started the show.
“What is going on up there?” Hunter asked when one of the riders came galloping back with his assessment of the situation.
“Looks like we’re outgunned, out-manned and out-numbered, Cap’n,” he said, breathing heavily. “Appears to be an entire regiment of cavalry.”
“Is that so?” Hunter did not bother to suppress a smile. “Then it appears this is our lucky night. Now we shall see who are the brave.”
“What’s your plan, sir?” Carter leaned forward as if trying to read Hunter’s mind, and then gave him a piece of his own. “It might be wise to yield to numerical superiority. Horses or no, it would be suicide to force our way through, especially when the cover of darkness would so easily conceal our escape.”
Hunter was quiet for a moment as he tried to bring Dixie under control. The horse always seemed to catch the inspiration of her master and enjoy the excitement of a fight as much as he. Turning her around in a full circle, he then raised his hand for the men to listen, as if in that short time he had fully discussed the matter in his own mind and settled upon a satisfactory strategy.
“My plan is to teach the Yanks a lesson in loyalty they will never forget.”
He paused and swept his eyes across the men who were with him. These were some of his most unflinching veterans. They had been in tight spots before, and knew how to react accordingly. Numerous close calls and hair breadth escapes had hardened them and prepared them for every turn of fortune they might encounter.
“If each man here fights like ten,” Hunter said, “I am confident our odds will be almost even. Are you with me, men?” He did not wait for an answer before issuing the necessary orders as calmly as if discussing the weather, and then offered one last piece of advice.
“Men, they do not know how many we are.” He kept his voice low but distinct. “Make them think we are many.”
Despite not knowing what lay before them, Hunter’s men followed him through the darkness. In a maneuver that was certainly more bold than wise, they rushed toward the sound of gunfire, a small band of men making enough noise for a hundred.
But it did not take long for Hunter to discover that what lay before him was more than a regiment of cavalry. Expecting Stuart and fearing Hunter, the Federal outposts had been strengthened to prepare for the worst. Hunter faced a unit of cavalry positioned only as bait. An additional regiment of infantry sat waiting to ambush them from the secure walls of an old warehouse not a hundred rods distant.
But as fate would have it, the Yankees opened fire at a point when only the sound of the fearsome rebel yell was in range, providing Hunter with ample warning of the danger.
Seeing the unevenness of the numbers and the unfairness in their positions, Hunter found a way to extricate his men from their perilo
us situation. With characteristic courage and coolness, he yelled four words in a loud, booming voice. “Bring up the artillery!”
Yankees poured out of the building like so many ants spilling from an agitated anthill, while the Heavens above seemed to simultaneously heed Hunter’s call. At that very moment, the brewing storm hit like a hurricane, shaking the ground with claps of thunder and lashing the sky with brilliant bursts of lightning.
It appeared to the Yankees—and the story would long be told—that the very heavens were in league with Hunter, because the artillery hurled from the sky that night was evidence to them of yet another weapon in the Confederate wizard’s arsenal.
* * *
After riding a short distance, Hunter’s men took refuge from the storm in a thicket of cedar. Lieutenant Carter watched Hunter pace sullenly, and knew instinctively that they were not done yet. With one plan thwarted, Hunter would feel obligated to try another. And indeed, it wasn’t long until Hunter ordered Carter to take charge of the group and meet up with a Confederate unit already in place at Thoroughfare Gap.
“Keep an eye out, Carter,” Hunter said before he galloped away to destinations unknown. “I can feel it in my bones. There’s a battle near and soon.”
Carter put his head down against the wind-driven rain and reflected on his commander’s grit and determination. Had he met Hunter anywhere but on the battlefield, he would have thought him a gentleman of quality and breeding. The captain had a noble air about him, a manner and tone that instantly riveted attention. Whether giving orders on the field of battle or merely conversing with his men, there was something about him that was commanding, a quality that instantly riveted attention.
Yet in battle Hunter had no equal. The admiration he inspired in his comrades and the fear he aroused in his foes caused him to be adored or despised in legendary proportions. The gallant Hunter or the devil Hunter— daring deity or defiant demon—it was all a matter of geography. But in Virginia, where he was considered the epitome of Southern honor and chivalry, it was just plain “Hunter,” a name itself equated to divine royalty.
Duty Bound (Shades of Gray Civil War Serial Trilogy Book 1) Page 8
