Killer's Breed (Edge series Book 4)

by George G. Gilman

  But as the rebels retreated from the plateau the officers commanding the Union batteries were too hasty in ordering the gunners to follow. The cannon and mortars were hauled down the hill too far in advance of the supporting infantry. The error was realized and the forward movement was halted, the guns set up to lay a barrage into the retreating Confederates while the Union foot soldiers had time to join the battle.

  Hedges crested the hill and looked down the tree-covered incline just as the guns ceased their firing. Coming up the hill, wheeling from the left in a read formation, were several hundred blue-coated figures and 120 from where Hedges stood he could hear the artillery men yelling at the foot soldiers to clear the line of fire.

  "Clear the way there!" a man shouted from behind Hedges and he jumped aside as a supply wagon rolled forward.

  At the same moment rifles crackled and the men at the top of the hill looked down in amazement as those coming up the hill increased the pace and began to fire.

  "They're goddamn rebs," Forrest screamed in anger. "They look like us, but they're rebs."

  As the blue-coated Confederates closed on the first line of artillery, dropping the gunners with a murderous hail of bullets, the counter-attack began in earnest, with many hundreds of enemy soldiers breaking from cover and streaming up the hill.

  "Retreat!" an officer shouted and several buglers blared the command.

  The gunners were already turning to flee in the face of the savage counter-attack and they communicated their panic to the men on the hilltop. The rout was on, but Hedges wanted none of it and neither did Forrest and his henchmen. They lumbered along behind the captain as he headed for the supply wagon which had been abandoned by its terrified driver.

  Hedges leapt up on to the seat and Forrest thudded into a position beside him. The others scrambled over the tailgate as Hedges whipped the four horse team into a gallop down the hill, through the scattering of fleeing gunners. The wagon careened into the trees, low branches ripping through its canvas top, and then skidded into a sliding, rocking turn as Hedges hauled on the reins, halting it close to the rearmost field gun.

  "Get that aboard!" Hedges ordered as he jumped down and stood behind a tree, peering through the undergrowth for a view of the rebel advance. "Tie it down and load as many shells as you can."

  "You're getting to like this killing business, uh?" Forrest said with a grin as he led the men to the gun and they started to haul it towards the wagon.

  Hedges shot at a rebel sergeant and saw the man's high crowned hat scale off his head. A second bullet struck high in the chest and the man fell. "I don't like losing," he muttered and snatched a glance over his shoulder to see the gun being manhandled up into the rear of the wagon.

  He returned to his self-appointed task of supplying covering fire as Seward clambered aboard the wagon and started to toss out cases of ammunition while Scott and Douglas took care of the artillery shells. Forrest and Bell moved across to Hedges and began to loose off rifle fire as more rebels came within range.

  "Ready, Captain!" Douglas yelled and the three men backed towards the wagon, firing as they went.

  "Get it tied down!" Hedges shouted as he blazed away in a final burst to empty the Spencer and then leapt up on to the wagon seat, and whipped the team into movement.

  The wagon came around in a tight turn and started up the hill under a barrage of small arms fire. Forrest and Bell stood their ground for as long as their ammunition lasted and then pivoted and ran after the wagon, to be hauled over the tailgate by the giggling Seward and grim-faced Douglas. Scott was lashing the wheels of the field gun to side struts on the wagon.

  "Hey!" Forrest yelled in excitement as he slapped his hand on the barrel of the piece. "We got a bigger gun than the rebs now."

  "Don't talk about it!" Hedges shouted above the racket of the rifle fire and whine of flying bullets. "Use it."

  "Boom!" Seward said with the delight of a child as he watched Douglas feed in a shell.

  Cuuuruunch… The sound was deafening and the recoil of the gun rocked the wagon. Smoke belched from the wide muzzle, hot and evil smelling. The Union men peered through it and saw bodies and dismembered limbs sailing across blackened ground.

  "That broke 'em up!" Forrest yelled, just as the wagon jolted over the crest of the hill and the pursuers were lost to sight.

  From his vantage point Hedges had an uninterrupted view of the river and the thousands of men, streaming across it in full, disorganized retreat. They were on foot and on horseback and many clung to the sides of trundling wagons. Their shouts and screams were answered by rifle fire and the boom of heavy artillery as the jubilant Confederates gave chase. Men fell individually and in groups as bullets and shells found random targets.

  A small unit of cavalrymen crested the hill behind the wagon and the mounted gun spoke again. Six horses and their riders went down, mingling their blood in the rich Virginia earth.

  "I want to join the artillery!" Seward shrieked as the survivors from the cavalry unit veered away.

  "How about the navy?" Hedges asked him as he whipped the horses at full gallop into the Bull Run, trusting to luck that he had picked a shallow place.

  "I can't swim," Scott screamed as spray from the flailing hooves of the team showered over the wagon. He didn't have to. The wagon sank to the level of its floor, but the horses, driven by the bite of the whip and their own fear of the gun exploding behind them, used every ounce of their considerable collective power to drag their burden against the pull of the water and burst into a full gallop as it came clear. There were no longer any pursuers hard on the heels of the escaping wagon, but Forrest continued to supervise the loading and firing of the field gun and with each report and recoil the horses were terrified into greater speed.

  "Jesus, will you look at those stupid bastards!" Hedges shouted at the top of his voice as he struggled to change the course of the team's flight, angling towards the road that led northwards all the way to Washington.

  Forrest poked his head through the front of the wagon, ripping aside the remnants of canvas which had survived the race through the trees. The grin which reflected his enjoyment of his period as an artillery man was suddenly wiped from his features by an expression of incredulous shock.

  "They're having a goddamn picnic," he yelled. The cruel-faced man was not coining a metaphor. The road to Washington was actually lined with hundreds of civilians in all manner of conveyances who were eating dainty sandwiches and drinking coffee from delicate china as they viewed the battle. Excited by newspaper accounts of the opening stages of the Civil War, many of Washington's citizenry had decided they wished to see what all the fuss was about. The warm weather and prospects of some fighting only about twenty miles south of the capital had provided an excellent opportunity to accomplish this. So carriages, wagons and buggies had been hurriedly laden with hampers and a civilian convoy had been hot on the heels of the military on the route south. As the battle commenced the civilians had spread themselves on the road and in the fields east of the Bull Run and delighted in the sights and sounds of war. Then, when the first signs of a rout appeared, it took these spectators longer than was safe to decide it was time to leave.

  "They're waving at us like we was in a parade or something," the still incredulous Forrest exclaimed. "Run the lunkheads down."

  The panicked horses of the wagon team smashed through between two buggies and skidded on to the road, swaying dangerously and cannoning off the stationery vehicles of the shocked civilians. Back down the road other army wagons and hundreds of infantrymen and cavalry troopers spilled on to the road.

  "They're coming. They're coming. The rebs are coming."

  "They're raping and killing."

  "Mommy, I wanna go home."

  "McDowell's dead."

  "McDowell says head for the Potomac."

  "Let's get out of here." An infantryman tripped over his own musket and sent a ballshot into the laughing face of a year-old baby.

  An el
derly man fell beneath the wheels of a rumbling wagon, crushing his skull.

  Two soldiers gun-whipped a man and his wife and stole their buggy.

  Carriages smashed into wagons and axles snapped.

  A rumor spread that a crack Confederate cavalry unit was speeding in for the kill and a thousand soldiers dropped their weapons and scrambled through the snarl of tangled traffic and terrified civilians.

  Hedges drove the wagon over a small bridge as a stray rebel shell arced in through the cooling evening air and overturned another wagon immediately behind, blocking the road.

  A hundred pairs of trembling hands tore at the wreckage to clear a way through.

  "Captain," Douglas called as he peered back through the gathering dusk, his vision further impaired by the billowing dust from the spinning wheels of the speeding wagon.

  "You want something" Hal?" Forrest answered.

  "They ain't following us. Rebs are staying where they are."

  Hedges stopped whipping the horses and hauled on the reins as Forrest clamped on the wheel brakes.

  "You sure?" Hedges asked as the wagon slewed to a halt and he peered back down the road to see for himself.

  "Yeah, they ain't even shooting no more," Seward confirmed, his voice dejected. "I thought we was winning, and now we lost."

  Hedges spat and clucked the team forward into an easy walk. "You ought to be dead, but you're alive," he said softly.

  "Right!" Seward exclaimed after a moment for thought. "Hell, you're right Captain. We're all alive, ain't we? It sure is a great war."

  Hedges recalled the men pitching forward out of his gun-sight, spilling blood; the face of the Confederate officer he had blinded; the light-headed enthusiasm of the charge towards the enemy line at the Storie Bridge. His face was suddenly carved into a humorless grin that narrowed the blue eyes to slits of ice cold blue and curled back his thin lips to reveal teeth that looked as dangerous as those of an enraged animal.

  "It's got its moments," he agreed.

  Forrest saw the expression and heard the tone. He recognized both and slapped Hedges hard on the back "Hey, Captain, you're one of us now."

  Hedges fastened him with a hard stare and shook his head as he felt another facet of his new character hammered into place. "You aren't even in the same league," he hissed.

  *****

  THE sheriff was not a big man and his courage could also be measured on a scale that took no account of the more than average. His appointment was a relatively new one and he had no personal recollections of the Hedges family and the killings out on the farm. But he knew where to find the right poster among the file of wanted notices and it was with some trepidation that he unfurled it for Grace Hope to see.

  This was a quiet town, unused to major trouble in recent times, which had been a prime reason for him accepting the appointment as peace officer. He did not, therefore, relish the prospect of going after a double killer whom legend had built up into a vicious animal.

  "That's him!" Grace exclaimed as Sheriff Layton unfurled the poster across the desk top to reveal the image of a younger, healthier Josiah C. Hedges than the living one at present wracked by fever at the farm.

  Layton was a man in middle years with a long face that lengthened even more as the girl made the identification.

  "You're sure, Grace?" Billy West asked. He was the same age as Grace, as handsome as she was pretty. He put a hand on her waist and leaned close to her over the desk, experiencing a stirring from her nearness.

  "Yes, Billy. That's the man at the farm." She straightened and pulled away from his embrace, ashamed because she had compared him unfavorably with Hedges.

  Leyton sighed and folded up the poster, small enough to fit into his shirt pocket. "Better round up a posse," he told his deputy. "He's sick, but he's an animal. Sick animals can be the most vicious kind."

  Billy nodded and smiled at Grace. "Don't worry," he said with great self-assurance, hoping to impart confidence to the girl. "We'll take care of him."

  She forced a small smile to her lips, knowing it did not reach her eyes. "I know you will, Billy."

  "Get moving," Layton said as he fished a key from a drawer of the desk and rose towards the rifle rack. "If Hedges wakes up he might not take too kindly to the Hopes moving in on his land."

  Grace drew in her breath and put a delicate hand to her mouth. She had not previously considered that the man may have come back to claim his own land. She was suddenly stricken by a fearful anxiety for her mother's safety and she followed Billy out of the office and climbed hurriedly into the buggy.

  Her departure spurred on Billy West to greater speed as he rounded up as many men as he could find to help bring in a murderer."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "How'd you find me in a country this big?" Hedges asked as the girl stepped out from the lobby of the hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, looking precisely as he had been visualizing her each time he read the short and now much tattered note she had written.

  Jeannie Fisher's green eyes laughed and her soft lips came wide so that her teeth flashed in the sparse street lighting. "I knew the army had withdrawn to somewhere near Washington," she answered. "I just asked every officer I saw if they knew of a Lieutenant Hedges until I found one that did … or rather, Captain Hedges."

  She was wearing a bright green dress to match her eyes, with a modest neckline but fitted snug enough to the waist to emphasize her body before it flared wide to the ankles. Hedges drank in the sight of her, as if he thought she was a mere mirage which, would vanish from his sight at any moment. They were in the center of the sidewalk and the crowd had to divide to go around them.

  "I think we're causing an obstruction," she said and laughed again as she reached out and laid a hand gently on his arm.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. "Sorry. I find it so hard to believe my luck."

  They began to stroll with the crowd, she retaining her gentle hold on him.

  "We came to Washington to get jobs," Jeannie explained. "My sister and I. Something to help in the war effort!" Again the laugh. "Our neighbors back in Parkersburg think it’s scandalous of us."

  Hedges experienced an unreasoning stab of disappointment. When her message had reached him out at the camp, inviting him to visit her at the hotel, he had been certain she had come to the city especially to see him.

  "I think it's fine," he told her.

  They strolled in silence for a few moments. He couldn't think of anything to say—only to do. He struggled to erase from his mind the memory of her naked body in the alley back at her home town, which kept becoming confused with a mental picture of his men expending their lust on the blind girl. The mere contact of Jeannie's fingers on his arm seemed to generate a fire of want throughout his whole body.

  "Has it been bad?" she asked softly.

  He looked at her and saw she was concerned. "The war? I didn't really think about it sensibly before I joined the army. If I had, I could never have imagined it would be like it is."

  "You're different from Parkersburg," she said.

  He looked at her quizzically.

  "Older," she amplified. "It's only been a few weeks, yet you aren't young anymore."

  He nodded sadly. "I know what you mean. I don't feel young anymore."

  "And you haven't smiled since I came out of the hotel." Her voice took on a mocking tone. "Aren't you pleased to see me, Captain?"

  He looked down into her upturned face and tried to smile his pleasure at what he saw. But from the flicker of nervousness that crossed her features he knew that he was showing his killer's grin. He cleared his throat noisily. "Is it all right for a working girl to go into a saloon?" he asked, "I hear Washington's got some real plush places."

  The tinkling laughter rippled from her full lips again. "A working girl can do almost anything she likes," Jeannie answered. "As long as it’s legal."

  Hedges gave her a sidelong glance, suspecting, but not certain, that he had read a hidden meaning in her word
s. Then they turned on to Fourteenth Street and he escorted her into an elegantly appointed barroom with red velvet-covered seating, crystal chandeliers and tasteful oil paintings hung on the paneled walls. He had never been in a place like this before and it was obvious that the girl was also somewhat awed by the surroundings. But an obsequious waiter led them to a booth at the rear of the long room and took their order for a beer and a sarsaparilla.

  In the shadows of the booth Hedges felt more at ease with the girl, but it was again she who had to lead the conversation.

  "Will you be in Washington long, Captain?"

  "Depends on General McClellan, Miss Fisher," he answered. "He's been appointed by Mister Lincoln to raise a new national army. Soon as it's ready I reckon we'll be on the move 'again."

  "Not as fast as you came here, I'll be bound." The low-voiced comment came from the next booth, drawled in an accent of the Deep South. The waiter brought the drinks, accepted payment with a flourish and retired.

  "I haven't congratulated you on your promotion," Jeannie said quickly, almost breathlessly, as she peered through the dim light into the hard lines of Hedges' face.

  "Obliged," he said softly. "In the Union army you get promoted according to how fast you can run—away from the battle."

  The voice was still pitched in a low key, but the laughter it produced from a woman was shrill.

  "Ignore it," Jeannie pleaded, reaching out a hand to clasp Hedges' wrist.

  "Sorry," he muttered and jerked free. He slid along the seat, came to his feet and turned to peer into the next booth. The woman gasped and drew in her breath sharply, emphasizing the swells of her powdered breasts as they threatened to burst clear of her low-cut dress. The middle-aged man sitting opposite her across the table top looked slightly drunk, but still able to take care of himself. He was broad across the shoulders and had the chest of a strutter. A necktie was held against the slope of his chest by a diamond studded pin.

  "You a reb?" Hedges asked as the man grinned up at him arrogantly.