Box Set - The Time Magnet Series

by Russell Moran

  “Then we immediately steam for the wormhole. One way or the other, we’re going home.”

  Chapter 87

  On August 3, at 0900, Petty Officer Donizzio guided the California’s motor launch up to one of the few remaining docks in Richmond. The destruction along the waterfront was on grim display. Both he and Marine Corporal Falanga were in their dress uniforms. As the boat touched the dock, Donizzio leaned over to Falanga and whispered, “Isn’t this the town that we blew the shit out of a few days ago?” Falanga nodded. “I hope you have plenty of ammunition,” said Donizzio.

  Ashley, Father Rick, and Jack got into the waiting carriage. In two minutes they were in front of the Executive Office Building. All three of them noticed that repair crews were replacing windows all along the front of the building.

  They were escorted into a large entrance hallway. Jefferson Davis’ office was on the third floor. They trudged slowly up the stairs, trying to keep perspiration to a minimum in the sweltering building.

  An aide opened the door and the three walked in. President Jefferson Davis, Navy Secretary Stephen Mallory, and General Robert E. Lee sat on one side of a long table. The three men stood when the delegation entered. None of the men offered their hands. None of them knew what to do in the presence of a woman in a captain’s uniform, especially a colored woman. Ashley was pleased with the chilly reception.

  She seethed with anger, not the kind of anger that makes you punch holes in a wall or kick things over, just a low burn feeling of being pissed off. She was glad that she felt this way. It focuses one’s attention and avoids distractions. It’s the kind of anger that propels you to get a job done and to send a message. She realized what made her angry. These people are bullies, she thought.

  “My name is Ashley Patterson and I’m the Commanding Officer of the USS California.” And if you have a problem with that, eat shit. Stop, calm down, make nice.

  “You’re not the first delegation from your ship to visit us,” said Jefferson Davis coldly.

  “I assume you are referring to Commander Phillip Bradley, sir,” said Ashley. Davis nodded. “Simply stated, the man was a traitor. He betrayed us, he betrayed you. I understand that you put him before a firing squad. I thank you for saving us ammunition.”

  Ashley then recounted the events of April 10, now almost four months ago. She talked about the Daylight Event and their discovery that they had travelled through a time portal, and came from the year 2013 to 1861 in an instant. Whether you assholes believe it or not. Stop, stop, don’t blow it. She talked about the photos of Charleston in the twenty-first-century and the view they saw when the SEALs went ashore.

  She then asked Jack Thurber to speak about his studies of time travel. Jack concluded his talk, saying, “So, the scientific possibility of time travel has always existed. We just experienced it in reality.”

  Ashley continued. “Because we come from the future, as strange as that may sound, we have a unique perspective on history. We know what happened, or to be more accurate, what will happen. I personally witnessed the bombardment of Fort Sumter, and consulted my time piece when the first shot was fired. It was exactly the time that the history books said it would be. We also knew what would happen at Bull Run, or Manassas if you will. For the first time a Gray Ship, my ship, intervened in history. The books told us that the South would have a resounding victory. Instead, the California turned it into a Confederate defeat. Then, as you know, we attacked General Lee’s Army and destroyed his artillery, and finally we blew up the Richmond Armory.”

  Davis pounded his desk and yelled, “And you have the gall to stand before us after unleashing such violence a mere matter of days ago.”

  Ashley stood, put her hands on the table, and locked Davis in a full Ashley Patterson Eye Job. Jack thought she was going to punch him.

  “We are at war, unless you haven’t noticed,” Ashley said in a loud voice. “Did you not expect your enemy to fire on you?” And then an amazing thing happened. Robert E. Lee, old Marble Man himself, laughed.

  “With all due respect, Mr. President,” said Lee, “I believe the captain has a point. When I have superior firepower, I do not hesitate to use it against the enemy.”

  Davis said nothing, just frowned, realizing that he had made an ass of himself.

  Ashley then introduced Father Rick to go through a history lesson of the Civil War.

  “Commander Richard Sampson is an Episcopal priest, our ship’s Chaplain,” Ashley said. Both Davis and Lee were Episcopalians, and Lee was a devout worshipper. This, both Ashley and Father Rick had agreed, was another reason that he should be on this delegation.

  “Father Sampson is also an expert on history, specifically the history of the Civil War,” said Ashley.

  Father Rick then gave a rundown of what the history books said. But unlike the history lesson he had given the Union high command, this lesson had to include the revised Battle of Bull Run and the attack on Lee’s Army, both events that would likely change history. As Ashley had insisted, the chaplain would leave it to her to discuss guerrilla war.

  “Gentlemen,” Ashley said, “the only enthusiasm I personally felt for this horrible conflict, is that I had the chance to avoid the tragedy that Father Rick just told you about. Over 620,000 lives would be lost. My perspective is from the future. My perspective is that I fought my fellow countrymen – you. And it sickens me to kill my fellow Americans. But I fought you to bring this nightmare to a swift conclusion.

  “But that has now all changed, has it not?” Jefferson Davis asked.

  “To answer your question, Mr. President,” said Ashley, “yes, it has changed. The question for you to consider is whether the change is for the good. We’ve read the newspaper reports about the ‘reorganization’ of the Armies of the Confederacy into small cavalry battalions. It is your obvious intention to wage a guerrilla war.”

  “Our history books about the Civil War, gentlemen," Ashley continued, "have one theme that runs through them. The theme is bravery and honor, on both sides. The South eventually loses the war, according to these books, but the sons of Dixie can hold their heads up high.”

  “Guerrilla war,” Ashley continued, “a war without end, but most important of all, a war without honor. The Confederacy is about to disband its armies and send the men into the hills to fight. You, gentlemen, have access to the history of guerrilla wars, and that history is sickening. The South is about to take its courageous armies, armies like the Army of Northern Virginia,” she nodded toward Lee, “and turn them into bands of roving brigands. In the time I come from we would call them thugs, gangs, criminals.”

  “Diplomacy,” Ashley continued, “gets thrown out the window, because the opposing government has to negotiate with countless bands of warlords, like the Shoguns of feudal Japan. The greater good is determined locally, by the warlord in charge of his fiefdom. It will begin as a story about these cavalry battalions protecting the people from the evil Yankees. Soon, and you know this as I speak, the people will begin to wonder who will protect them from the local warlords. Of course, there will be a central government, the Confederate States of America, but that government will soon find itself trying to exercise some semblance of discipline over the bands of criminals in the hills.”

  Ashley sensed that she was making an impression. She appealed to their honor, something these men cherish. She chose not to touch on the issue of slavery, because that was not her mission today. She noticed that Lee, especially, looked uncomfortable.

  “Gentlemen, I do not stand here with any mission from my government,” said Ashley. “I’m a naval officer, not a diplomat. I did not seek permission to speak to you, nor was any granted. I have nothing to offer, nothing to negotiate. I stand here to appeal to your love of your people and your sacred duty to them. I, like General Lee, am a professional military person. I believe in honor, but not honor just for myself. I believe in honor for my fellow citizens, and I think that you do too.”

  “Gentlemen, I appeal
to your sacred honor,” Ashley continued. “I don’t just appeal to your personal honor but to the honor of the South, to the honor of your ancestors and loved ones. End this war. Negotiate a peace. The alternative is to turn the South into small bands of roaming criminals. It’s in your hands.”

  She couldn’t believe it. Were those tears streaming down Robert E. Lee’s cheeks?

  “How can we contact you?” asked Davis.

  My God, Ashley thought. He wants to contact me.

  “Through the Navy Department in Washington, sir,” Ashley said.

  Davis then said, “Please give me until tomorrow morning, Captain. Kindly send your boat to the dock. I shall have a communication for you that I request you personally deliver to President Lincoln.”

  “I shall indeed, sir.”

  The meeting was over.

  Chapter 88

  On the morning of August 4, 1861, Petty Officer Donizzio piloted the motor launch up the James River to Richmond, still flying the white flag. A Confederate soldier stood on the dock waiting for him, holding two envelopes.

  “Nice boat, Yankee,” said the soldier, smiling.

  “If this war ends soon, maybe I can take you out fishing,” said Donizzio.

  “I’d like that, I really would,” said the soldier as he handed the two envelopes to Donizzio.

  ***

  Ashley called Secretary Wells on the radio to request a meeting with Lincoln. He called her back a half hour later, saying that a meeting had been scheduled for 9 a.m. the next morning. She had some thinking to do, fast thinking. Lincoln would be more than curious to know how she came into possession of a letter from Jefferson Davis. Maybe she should just tell the truth, Ashley thought. She had two fellow naval officers as witnesses who could swear that she divulged no secrets and offered nothing. She didn’t know what the envelope contained, but thought that it may offer a glimmer of hope.

  At 0845 on August 5, Ashley’s carriage pulled up to the White House. Ashley was alone, except for Corporal Arnold Nesbitt, her aide. She wondered if this would be the last time she visited the White House of Abraham Lincoln. Nesbitt opened her carriage door and extended his arm to assist Ashley. This time she didn’t trip.

  Lincoln sat in his office along with Gideon Wells. He got up and strode across the floor to welcome Ashley, succumbing to the strange twenty-first-century custom of shaking a woman’s hand. Wells followed and shook Ashley’s hand with both of his. My nineteenth-century friends, Ashley thought.

  Lincoln sat down at his desk, Ashley and Wells seated before him.

  “You executed our plans for the Blockade and the Battle of Bull Run perfectly, Captain,” said Lincoln. “Your attack on Lee’s Army and the Richmond Armory were brilliant. You and the crew of the California have given us a stunning success. But, as we have all learned in the last few days, it has also given us a terrible setback. Instead of the expected Confederate surrender, we now look at years of a damnable guerrilla war. May I have your thoughts, Madam Captain.”

  Ashley figured now was the time to explain her unauthorized diplomatic efforts.

  “Mr. President, I too was shocked at the Southern announcement of ‘reorganization.’ I felt like I’d been hit by one of my own Tomahawk missiles. I realized that I had to take some action, any action, to try to correct a grave historical mistake.” She took a deep breath. “Although it was not authorized, I met with Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee.”

  Lincoln and Wells glanced at each other. Yes, thought Lincoln, this was a serious violation of government protocol. Diplomatic contacts are authorized only by senior command. But, Lincoln recalled, he had actually considered appointing Ashley Deputy Secretary of State. So, although her meeting with the Confederate President may have been unauthorized, he was sure that Ashley conducted herself with competence.

  “Captain,” said Lincoln, “yes, it was unauthorized, but we can discuss that later. Please tell us about the meeting.”

  “Mr. President, I, along with my fellow officers Commander Sampson and Lieutenant Thurber, tried to convince Davis and Lee of the disgraceful and dishonorable future that would unfold if they left the future of the South in the hands of marauding bands of guerrilla fighters. Whether our meeting had a positive impact, I don’t know, but I believe I may have the answer here.” She reached into her pocket and took out the letter from Jefferson Davis to Lincoln.

  “Jefferson Davis had this letter delivered to me yesterday morning, the day after our meeting. As you can see, sir, it is addressed to you.” She handed Lincoln the letter.

  Lincoln walked over to the window. Before he began to read the letter, he looked out over the White House lawn. A weather front was moving in from the Southeast, and he heard the distant rumble of thunder. It sounds like cannon fire, he thought.

  Wells suggested to Ashley that they get some fresh coffee. Ashley got the point. Wells wanted to give Lincoln the privacy of reading the letter by himself. Wells and Ashley mumbled small talk by the coffee service while Lincoln read. When Lincoln asked them to take their seats, they returned to his desk.

  Lincoln looked at them and smiled. He covered his face with his hands and then removed them, still smiling.

  “I shall read the words of President Davis.”

  My Dear President Lincoln:

  The calamitous events of the past several months have caused me a surfeit of anguish for the suffering inflicted on both sides of our conflict. We have recently detained three officers of your naval forces, and discussed with them matters of recent import. Although they held no diplomatic pouch, they comported themselves ably and well. One of them, especially, with admirable eloquence, prevailed upon us to dwell on our recent announcement to reorganize our armed forces. The words of that officer weighed upon us. After the meeting we released the three without harm.”

  Lincoln looked at Ashley, and they both smiled. Jefferson Davis was covering her ass.

  Lincoln continued reading.

  “Sir, as President of the Confederate States of America, I wish to present for your consideration the following steps that may lead toward peace:

  There shall be no arrests of any Confederate citizens for treason.

  The soldiers of the Confederacy shall be allowed to keep their weapons.

  The United States Government shall render financial assistance to the states of what shall formerly have been the Confederate States of America.

  Slavery shall be abolished in all of the Confederate States of America.

  Lincoln looked at Ashley after this last point. Ashley lost it with dignity. She didn’t break down and sob, or jump up and fist pump. She just closed her eyes and let her tears wash down her face onto her uniform.

  Lincoln continued to read Davis’ letter:

  The United States Government shall make interest-free loans, for a period of time to be determined, to enable farmers and plantation owners to make a transition to employment based enterprises.

  I shall welcome the opportunity to discuss these matters personally.

  I am, very respectfully, Jefferson Davis

  Ashley, concluding that composure was overrated, broke down and sobbed. Gideon Wells, his great white beard looking like a slushy ski slope, also wept. Lincoln joined in, although with a handkerchief over his face.

  “It’s over,” Ashley choked, “it’s over.”

  Lincoln knew, of course, that it wasn’t over. Feathers would need to be smoothed, factions to be satisfied, appointments to be bargained for, and deals to be cut, both North and South. There would be fiery oratory, calls for recriminations, and demands for arrests. But all that is the stuff of politics, something Lincoln knew he could handle. He would have his work cut out for him, and so would Jefferson Davis. But the alternative is young men in blue and gray uniforms slaughtering each other for years.

  “With malice toward none, with charity for all...”

  Those words just popped into Lincoln’s head. He’d have to work them into a speech some day, he thought.


  Chapter 89

  Friends never say farewell. They say, see you later, until next time, catch you around the campus. They say, ciao, aloha, later babe, fuggeddaboutit, don’t be such a stranger, don’t forget to write, or let’s do lunch. They don’t say farewell. It’s too final. It’s too painful.

  But sometimes it’s time to say farewell.

  Abraham Lincoln and his entire cabinet stood on the dock to see Ashley off. Both Lincoln and Wells decided to try something from Ashley’s time. They both hugged this amazing Captain from the twenty-first century. Lincoln held it together. Wells cried, as did Ashley.

  Petty Officer Donizzio had grown accustomed to his role as boat captain for the famous and powerful. As he assisted Captain Patterson aboard, he switched on the boat’s powerful Bose stereo system.

  “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” sounded off both banks of the river as the launch motored down the Potomac.

  Chapter 90

  Ashley radioed ahead to speak to Father Rick. As prearranged, she gave him a simple message.

  “It’s a go, Father.”

  The boatswain’s pipe screeched throughout the ship, followed by the boatswain’s mate of the watch saying, “Attention all hands, attention all hands. Attention to Chaplain Richard Sampson.”

  Father Rick leaned into the microphone and said, “I have just spoken to Captain Patterson who is on her way to the ship. My friends, we’re going home.”

  The launch was about two miles from the California. Ashley and Donizzio would later swear that they could hear the cheering from the ship. Donizzio looked at the Captain and shrugged his shoulders. “That means we’re going home, Mike,” Ashley said. “We’re going home.”

  ***

  “California, arriving.”

  For those who still had a voice after Father Rick’s announcement, they let out a cheering scream that could probably be heard at the White House. Executive Officer Ivan Campbell grabbed the microphone and led the crew in a few stanzas of “For she’s a jolly good fellow.”