The Mountain

by David L. Golemon

  As John Henry walked the perimeter of camp he glanced at the spot that had been reserved for the burial of the dead. Almost half the men he had started with on the Ararat mission had been killed. Now he was down to fifty-five men, and this time the Confederate prisoners were the most abundant and the strongest. The marines had lost a lot of men in and around the Ark when McDonald had blown it. He saw the makeshift crosses the men had made from the scrap railroad ties. That task had been their first priority even ahead of securing their proof of the Ark’s existence.

  In many ways he knew he had failed these men because he had not taken this mission as seriously as he should have from the outset. He had even tricked himself into thinking that he could do this mission for the sake of his friend, the president, but knew all along that it was a fool’s errand. Now he was facing his image in the mirror every morning and knew that his disbelief had cost the lives of all of these men.

  Gray Dog had received word that John Henry wanted him to sneak back into the eastern camp as soon as he was able to traverse the four miles safely in between the Turkish patrols, but as yet he had not shown up. John Henry believed that the news of Dugan’s death might have affected the Comanche far more than the boy was willing to let on. As much as they had fought and argued over the years, Gray Dog had learned most everything from the gruff sergeant major. Thomas looked for his adopted son every evening and night, but he never came.

  “John Henry, Chief Petty Officer Pettit is ready.”

  Thomas turned from the sight of the makeshift graveyard and faced Jessy. He nodded and then followed him back to camp.

  “Gray Dog is probably absorbing what he’s heard. I know I still am, and I was here to witness the events,” Taylor said as they walked through the thickening snow. He saw that John Henry wasn’t going to respond.

  “As far as sending a navy CPO with half of your command in the opposite direction, may I say that cutting your force while the Turks are still out there is cutting it quite close?”

  “Jessy, you’ve been fighting battles for almost four years and have never once outnumbered your enemy. Don’t tell me now that after all of this leisure time you’re growing overly cautious?”

  “Back then all I had to fear was getting shot in the gut by one of you Yankees. Now if we fail we get … hell, I don’t even know what the Turks do to their captured enemies, especially those who come bearing false gifts.”

  “They chop their heads off with a rather ugly sword, I would imagine.”

  Jessy looked at John Henry and knew he wasn’t joking.

  “You know, you can fudge the truth once in a while.”

  Captain Jackson approached them as they walked past the posted pickets. John Henry saw the two long lines of newly rebuilt wagons. One line of twenty-three would head south toward the Mediterranean, the other to the north. Thomas saw the last of the crates being sealed and placed onto the last wagon going with the chief petty officer and his men.

  “They’re ready, Colonel,” Jackson said as he exchanged looks with Taylor, who lightly shook his head in the negative.

  “Very good,” John Henry said as he walked to the head of the first wagon string. The wagons themselves were something to behold. The carpenters and riggers had done a nice job increasing the size of the wagon beds for the extra weight, and reinforcing the many wheels for support of the giant load. He approached the man standing by his leading wagon of twenty-three. The short, stocky CPO saluted Thomas. His men were mostly the remnants of the mess crew and several of the wounded who had healed enough to take part in the plan.

  Instead of returning the navy man’s salute, John Henry just removed his thick glove and held out his hand. The chief looked startled but then lowered his hand and then he too removed his glove and shook the colonel’s hand. When done Thomas reached into his coat and brought out another sealed envelope.

  “Your orders for the navy, countersigned by Captain Jackson. Let’s just hope there’s a ship there to meet you when you arrive. This was thought up months ago, but with a different cargo in mind. We hoped to be taking men out of that port in an emergency, and not … not…” John Henry waved at the twenty-three wagons under the chief’s command. “This.”

  The older chief laughed. “We’ll get her through, sir, don’t you worry. Let’s just hope you don’t get food poisoning with me taking all the mess cooks with me.”

  “We don’t have enough food left to worry about that, Chief. Good luck and Godspeed.”

  This time the salute was returned by Thomas and Jessy, and then Jackson escorted the chief to his wagon and spoke softly to him. Then the two men shook hands and then the chief mounted his wagon with its enormous load.

  The heavily loaded wagons started moving and John Henry silently watched them leave. He turned and then saw the eighteen wagons that would depart the base of the mountain with him.

  “And just how do you think old Abe is going to react when we show up with only part of the Ark cut into pieces? Not only that, we have all disobeyed orders and instead of bringing back the provenance we were ordered to get, we end up bringing back twenty percent of the damn ship.”

  John Henry placed a hand on the first wagon going north. He patted it and then turned and faced Taylor.

  “Years they’ll have.”

  “I never understand what your mind is thinking, haven’t since the Point, haven’t since our days in Texas.”

  Jackson walked up at that moment. He too wanted to hear this; they had all been so busy the past two weeks that no one had even bothered to ask outside of Claire, and she wasn’t speaking. She had seemed satisfied with Thomas’s answer. Now they would see if they agreed.

  “Gentlemen.” He turned and looked at the forlorn graveyard a quarter mile away. “I’m doing it for those boys”—he gestured at the men sitting around the campfires they were allowed to have since they had plenty of wood—“and those boys. They deserve the recognition for what it is they have done. Blue or gray, these boys did what was expected and I’m not going to allow these European bastards to deny them that right.”

  “We’re going to fight?” Jessy asked as his opinion and hopes rose.

  “About damned time,” said the prim and proper Jackson.

  “Let’s just say the Turks will have some decision-making to do and a short time to do it in.”

  “May we be let in on this?” the navy captain asked.

  “Well, let me say this, Captain Jackson,” John Henry said and smiled. “There has been a theory advanced at West Point, and I believe Annapolis if I’m not mistaken, that just about made every man in the classroom laugh hysterically.”

  “Oh, God, not the shock factor?” Jessy said with slumping shoulders.

  “Exactly.”

  “I guess I missed that class,” Jackson said.

  “It was good in theory, when men’s lives aren’t at stake, but those are real crazy-ass Turkish cavalrymen out there, and they gained their experience in the Crimean War. Does that give you pause?” Taylor argued.

  “I’m banking on that very Turkish fearlessness. I am also banking on the fact that this regiment has not been reinforced by Constantinople either.”

  “You think this is a play between their foreign office and the French, possibly even the British?” Jackson added.

  “Yes. What the sultan doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “Behind Constantinople’s back, you mean?” Taylor said as he just caught on.

  “That’s an awful big gamble, Colonel,” Jackson offered.

  “Or bluff,” Taylor added, again trying to sway John Henry from what he was planning to do.

  “Who says it’s either?” He walked away toward camp and the men he wanted to be around tonight. Before he got too far distant he stopped and turned. “Please send a message to Lieutenant Parnell and his command, operations against any opposing force will commence at approximately noon tomorrow. Tell him to watch and wait for the signal.” He slowly walked away and joined several Confederate
s by a fire where a harmonica was softly playing.

  “Has he always been this way?” Jackson asked as he watched John Henry sit and accept the offered whiskey from one of the men. He drank deeply and then passed the bottle over to three marines who had come over to join them. The Confederate soldiers made room for the Yankees. Soon John Henry started telling the Rebel soldiers a story and they seemed to be paying close attention. “And what’s he doing now?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a man say good-bye before?”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “Now, as far as your first question, Mr. Jackson, if things had gone somewhat differently at the outset of the war, you’re looking at the officer that would more than likely be the commanding general of the entire Union army. Even General Lee knew that.” He faced Jackson. “The man is just that brilliant. So for now I’ll bite my tongue and find out tomorrow what fantastic death he has arranged for us.” He smiled at the shocked face of the naval captain. “It should be eventful at the very least.”

  Taylor with one last wink at Captain Jackson moved off to join John Henry.

  Jackson was left standing where the torches and lamps still illuminated the spot where the giant Ark had come to rest.

  The gouged and scarred earth of the snowfield where the ancient vessel had come to rest was empty—the Ark was gone.

  * * *

  John Henry was of the old school in regard to command. He needed to know his men, and with no army personnel and just navy, marines, and soldiers of the Confederate army in his charge, he was lost as far as their abilities were concerned. He knew on the Plain of Ararat Lieutenant Parnell, a young, brash, and very excitable officer, was in command of one hundred and seventeen band members and a scattering of marines to fill out their ranks. The plan had been laid and their return to American shores fully depended on the young officer to do what was expected of him and his truncated command tomorrow.

  As he made his way through camp he looked up and saw, or was it that he noticed for the first time in weeks, the stars. They were brilliant in the night sky and seemed to add warmth to the otherwise cold evening.

  The mood in camp on this last night was reserved to say the least. But one thing John Henry took note of was the fact the men were mixed among their campfires. Some marines and sailors sat with Rebel soldiers and they all seemed to have the same stories of home and family, the only difference being that some families were north and some south of the Mason-Dixon Line. There was laughter, but again it was subdued as one man would joke about another’s sister or vice-versa. Harmonica and a soft slide of bow against fiddle strings told of home and loved ones and the music seemed to pull a caul over the men as they waited for the day to dawn that would either see them home, or see their deaths in a place none of them had ever heard of before—the Plain of Ararat.

  Thomas noticed Jessy was speaking with Captain Jackson, who seemed to be nervously wading in among the men of his naval command. Jackson had not taken kindly to the repeated reminder that he would be the first marine to lead a United States Cavalry charge. The rumor had spread that the straitlaced officer had been ill for quite some time after he was informed. John Henry could see that Jessy was going over some of the fine points of cavalry showmanship. He had a sword in hand and was in the process of twirling it well over his head. As he watched, Thomas saw a pained expression on Jackson’s face and then he trotted off to the outskirts of camp where he became ill once more. Taylor happened to glance his way and even from that distance Thomas could see the Rebel’s wry wink. Jessy spun the sword again, sheathed it, and tossed it to one of his men as he moved to join John Henry.

  “How’s the head?”

  Thomas looked sideways at Taylor. “You hoping for some late effects that would render me unsuitable for command?”

  “Something like that. I do have both of our navy corpsmen available to testify to that very fact, Colonel Thomas.”

  “So, now I know how you became Jeb Stuart’s right-hand boy.” Thomas lowered his hood and smiled at Jessy.

  “I rose in rank despite old Jeb. I swear, that man never met a newspaper headline he didn’t like.”

  “Yes, we have a few of those also. More than our share, come to think of it.”

  They walked in silence for a while, only stopping from fire to fire to warm their hands and say something to the solemn men.

  “Listen, about Mary. I want you to know—”

  “No more, John Henry,” Jessy said as they moved away from the fires and the hushed sounds of songs of home. “I have seen how you are with that Indian boy. I know this may have nothing to do about nothin’, but when you sent him off I saw in your eyes what it must have been like for you to leave Mary at that ranch. And I see how deeply you care. I know it was her death that drove you mad and made you act against that fool McClellan. The sergeant major told me two weeks ago when you were still unconscious that you had a suicidal streak in you when the war started. That you didn’t really care if the general had you shot or not after you called him out for cowardice. I know why now. So no more about Mary.” Jessy stopped walking and faced John Henry. He smiled. “Besides, we may get our chance to see her again tomorrow with this cockamamie scheme you’ve thought up.”

  Thomas nodded his head in thanks for the thought of Mary. “And that scheme you seem to hate so much was actually advanced by Napoleon. You should know that from the advanced tactics course at the Point. After all, Bobby Lee’s been using the same theories for the past four years.”

  “Maneuver and deception are a general’s best aids.”

  “You do remember. So that high-class education did pay off.” He smiled again at his old friend. “Somewhat.”

  “Well,” Jessy turned and started to walk away throwing his hood over his head. “At least when we do go out, we go out with a flourish. But this is going to be something that will never be taught at the academy alongside the Stand of the Three Hundred at Thermopylae.”

  “Why not?” John Henry called after him. “They died for a cause.”

  Taylor stopped walking and didn’t turn, but just pointed to the wagons lined up for departure the next morning.

  “This, John Henry Thomas, is no cause for which to send men to die.”

  As he left, Claire passed him with a pot of coffee and three cups. She saw Taylor and was confused when he pointed at her and then faced a distant Thomas who was watching.

  “This, Colonel, sir,” Jessy said, still indicating Claire, “is a cause, not that.” His gloved finger moved from Claire to the wagons.

  Thomas watched as Jessy shook his head and then slowly walked back into the soft glow of the camp.

  “What was that about?” Claire asked as she stepped up to the colonel holding a cup.

  “Nothing, just philosophical differences.”

  “I can imagine for you two that could be a rather wide gap.”

  John Henry took the offered cup and she poured him coffee. He gratefully sipped it and then nodded his thanks.

  “John Henry, why are you doing this? I mean, we could have left here with nothing and the Turks would have allowed us to leave, but here you are doing the exact opposite of what your orders demand. Why?”

  “You’re the intelligence expert; you tell me.” He sipped the coffee and then turned and strolled away. She picked up her step over the rocky terrain and caught up to his long-legged stride.

  “I have been trying to figure you out since we met in Washington, and I still haven’t a clue as to who in the hell you are.”

  “Look. See that spot over there?” He nodded toward the crooked crosses marking the men who had died at the hands of McDonald.

  Claire looked and saw the soft outline of the markers in the soft moonlight.

  “That’s why I’m doing this. It’s for them. Ollafson, Dugan, Grandee, all of them.”

  “It’s not that you think you are the only man capable of pulling this off, an act of arrogance?”

  “Absolutely,” he said with a l
arge grin.

  Claire shook her head and followed John Henry until he came to a fire with only a boy from the south sitting near it. The boy was deep in thought and then he noticed the colonel and Claire and suddenly stood and froze at attention.

  “Sit back down, trooper.” Thomas watched as he did and he followed suit. He gestured for Claire to sit on an old biscuit box.

  Thomas saw the boy pick something up—the Stars and Bars battle flag of the Confederate Army. John Henry sipped his coffee as Claire poured herself some. Next to the young Rebel private was his gray tunic. He knew the men had kept their old uniforms and had actually repaired them the best way they could.

  “You carried that old flag all the way here from prison?” Thomas asked as he handed over his hot cup of coffee to the boy, who placed a needle in the flag and then accepted the cup.

  “Thank you, Colonel, sir,” he said as he gratefully drank the hot liquid. “Uh, yes, sir, I saved it from the fire pit at the camp. I took a few licks on the backside for that, but it was worth it. As I see it, too many boys have died for it to see it go up in flames.”

  John Henry exchanged a sad look with Claire. The private laid his coffee cup down and then picked up the battered Stars and Bars and then his repaired tunic of gray cloth.

  “I’ll be a’thankin’ the colonel for the coffee.” He dipped his head at Claire. “Ma’am,” he said and then he slowly walked away.

  Claire let her coffee cup slip to the ground as she buried her face in her hands and shook her head vigorously, fighting back the rise of tears.

  John Henry watched a moment and then turned his face away.

  Finally Claire looked up and swiped angrily at her eyes.

  “Apologies, Colonel. I just pictured that boy out there tomorrow.”

  John Henry remained silent.

  “Maybe the Turks will allow us to just leave?” she asked hopefully.