Thomas looked from Claire to the wagons and the strapped-down crates upon them.
“I’m afraid I’ve seen to it that they don’t.” He stood and tossed the remains of his coffee out of his cup and then walked over and sat next to the Pinkerton woman. “Claire, you’ll just have to trust me when I say that Americans have been fighting for close to five years. Hell, we’ve been fighting for our existence since 1757, and it hasn’t let up. The Europeans don’t understand us, the way we think, and the way we act. They truly know nothing about us other than that we are crazed beyond belief. I’m banking on that very limited perception tomorrow,” he said as his hand covered hers. There wasn’t much warmth in the touch because of the gloves, but Claire covered his with her own and she squeezed.
“That’s the first time you have called me Claire without my haranguing you to do so.” She smiled up at him.
John Henry felt a fluttering in his stomach as he looked into Claire’s green eyes. He seemed to know that he could get lost inside those pools of green and so he moved his gaze to her face in general and studied her.
“I hate to break the mood here, but there’s movement down on the plain,” Jessy said as he and Captain Jackson approached.
John Henry stood after releasing Claire’s hand. The funny thing to Thomas was that he wasn’t in the least embarrassed at being caught off guard.
“What is it?” he asked.
Captain Jackson handed over his spyglass and pointed to the west. “There, just outside of the station where Parnell had been. See?”
John Henry looked through the glass but could only see tents and campfires.
“Lieutenant Parnell alerted us by signal lamp. Look just to the left of the station’s water tower; you see the empire’s flag. Now look next to it. They rode in about an hour ago from the west.”
Thomas finally saw it. He removed the glass from his eye and handed it over to Claire, who also looked down onto the Plain of Ararat. He pointed and that was when her heart froze. It was the British Union Jack flying next to the Turkish flag.
“Damn,” she hissed as she too lowered the glass.
“Three hundred cavalry. Can’t see the unit flags, so your guess is as good as mine,” Jessy said.
“With the Turkish regiment at six hundred, it seems we are now facing close to a thousand crack cavalrymen.”
Taylor smiled at John Henry.
“Now’s a fine time to start learning how to count. We’re outnumbered three to one. But then again I forget that more than half of our force can attack while playing ‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ That’s gotta count for something.”
“I must say, Colonel, your gallows humor is a little unnerving,” Jackson quipped.
“Colonel Taylor, there you go again being impressed by numbers,” Thomas said as he moved back to the fire. “I expected more from a man who prides himself on being outnumbered.”
“It’s not being outnumbered, Colonel, sir, it’s the off chance of being embarrassed that has my heart skipping beats.”
The colonel turned to Jackson. “Captain, that wooden box we carried all the way from Baltimore. I think it’s time we gave it to Colonel Taylor.”
Jackson frowned, but then moved off.
“Follow me, Colonel, I think I have something that will not allow you to be embarrassed.”
Intrigued, both Claire and Taylor followed. As they approached a lone wagon where the camp’s mess equipment had been placed for the move in the morning, Jackson reached up and placed his gloved hand on a lone crate. Several marines and Rebels gathered around.
John Henry turned to Jessy. “Now, if you fail it won’t be the Union blue you embarrass, my old friend.” He nodded at Jackson, who simply pulled the crate from the back of the wagon. The wooden box struck the rocky ground and broke open. Jessy felt his heart beat a little faster. Thomas looked around and he saw the boy he and Claire had sat with earlier. He walked over and removed the old tunic from his hands and then tossed it to Jessy. Then he reached over and took the repaired Stars and Bars from the boy, and also tossed that to the Confederate colonel, who caught it as John Henry walked over to the broken crate. He reached down and retrieved one of the items from the ground and then threw that to the wide-eyed private. The marines were shocked at what the boy was now holding.
“Compliments of President Lincoln.”
Every man saw the bright, brand-new gray tunic of the Confederate army. Then John Henry tossed the boy a new butternut cap with “CSA” emblazoned just above the black bill.
Thomas paced over to Taylor, who unfurled the large Stars and Bars battle flag. He smiled as his eyes found John Henry.
“Now,” Thomas said as he turned his head to speak to all of the gathered Rebels. “You won’t be embarrassing my uniform, but yours.”
The men cheered and even the marines and sailors joined them. They felt the pride that the new uniforms delivered to their fellows and were happy for them. Now if they died, they would die wearing their own clothing. Taylor walked up to John Henry as he started to turn away with Claire and Captain Jackson.
“You son of a bitch, you did that on purpose!”
“Maneuver and deception, Colonel, maneuver and deception. Next time instead of cheating off of someone else’s paper, actually study the course.” Thomas smiled and walked away with Jackson. Claire stayed behind.
“What’s maneuver and deception?” she asked.
Jessy smiled as he watched his friend. He started folding the flag and then placed it under his arm.
“It’s just something that I forgot about, but should have seen coming.”
“I do not understand either of you two,” she said as she started to turn away.
“Let’s just hope that after tomorrow we have plenty of time to get to know each other’s little quirks far better. And from the looks of the hand-holding earlier, I would say you may have the art of maneuver and deception down far better than I.” Jessy half-bowed. “On that note, I bid you good evening, Madame.”
Claire watched Jessy go, only just realizing what he meant by the strange comment.
“Hey,” she started to say but stopped when she realized that Taylor was right.
She was maneuvering for the heart of a man who had regained some of the passion for life that had been missing—John Henry Thomas.
28
THE PLAIN OF ARARAT, THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE
The day had dawned as bright as the young marine lieutenant could ever remember. It reminded him of a Maine morning when he was but a child. All of that seemed far distant and foreign as he looked toward the mountain, knowing that soon he would get the signal that Colonel Thomas and the Ararat team were starting their run for the Port of Trabzon, where all hoped they still had ships waiting to take them home—a far and distant hope, he feared.
As he stepped from his tent and into the unseasonably warm morning, he placed his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword and then looked up to see his command already standing to. He looked up as he made his way forward. Gunnery Sergeant Miles Kendrick, a rough and grizzled old sea dog from Massachusetts, stood at rigid attention.
“Report, Gunnery Sergeant,” Parnell said, trying not to let the fear show in his words or his hesitant actions.
“Sir, all personnel are present or accounted for.”
Parnell returned the salute of the old marine and the two of them locked eyes. The gunnery sergeant nodded that all was right and that Parnell could do the easiest thing in the world according to any top sergeant—command.
“Perhaps a word for our … our … cavalry detachment, sir?”
Parnell looked to his right at the one-hundred-and-eighteen-member Army of the Potomac band. The 317th Drum and Bugle Corps stood at rigid attention. The sun shone brightly off their brass and their swords that had been issued the night before, much to their astonishment. Most had been ill the entire night and frightened like never before after hearing what the colonel’s plan was. There was not one word of fear voiced
from the young men and not one question asked, but most felt the fear that entangled itself in their stomach and intestines. For the first time since the bloody war started, the band was now asked to put up.
“It’s hard to face men in the morning that you know may not be there in the afternoon,” Parnell told his old gunnery sergeant, who only smiled at the young officer.
“A task that’s been done since the time of Julius Caesar, sir. You and they will do fine. Just think of it as a carnival sideshow, sir. Our task is to ask the other side, what are you willing to do? We’re here to force them to ask themselves that question, and Colonel Thomas is just hoping the answer is that they won’t do anything. That’s what we are doing. Let’s just hope our young men are as convincing enough actors to pull it off.”
Parnell nodded, took a deep breath, and then stepped forward. He saw the young lieutenant in command of the 317th. He stood at rigid attention and Parnell could see that the boy’s legs shook, only slightly, but the tremor was there.
“Lieutenant, good morning to you, sir. Are you and your men ready to pull off the miracle command says you’re ready for?”
“Sir, we…” The officer lowered his eyes. “We’re scared sir.”
Parnell remained quiet as if he was hearing his own fears voiced by the soft tone of the army officer.
“I’ll let you in on something, Lieutenant. There isn’t a man who awakened within a hundred square miles this morning who wasn’t frightened. Anyone who says they’re not, stay away from him. He’s an idiot, a fool, avoid him at all costs. Our fear is what makes us perform.”
“Sir, it’s not just that we’re afraid to die. All of us have hated the ridicule of our opposites in infantry and cavalry units. We know what they say about us, that we’re shirkers, boys that were so afraid to fight they would sit out the war playing music. We hated that. What we’re afraid of is failing the colonel and the others.”
Parnell, not much older than the lieutenant, placed a gloved hand on the boy’s shoulder and then smiled and leaned in close.
“We all have something to prove here today. We all have our demons and this morning we’ll see if we can slay some of those, huh?”
“Yes, sir, we’re ready.”
“Good. Now, are you clear on the band’s placement behind the rise of the gulley?”
“Yes, sir. The drum and bugle men have been placed. The rest will be mounted and ready to move upon your command.”
Parnell patted his shoulder one last time and then looked over his command. Arrayed at attention to his front were the one hundred and eighteen members of 317th, the fifty-seven United States Marines, and twenty-six U.S. Navy sailors assigned to him. Two hundred and one men. A small unit expected to face more than nine hundred cavalry. He nodded at his men.
The sun broke free of the summit of Ararat and beat down on the frozen earth that guarded the mountain.
His men were as ready as they ever would be.
TALISE RAILWAY STATION, THE PLAIN OF ARARAT
Renaud stepped into the cold morning air and stretched his aching body. He looked over and saw that the recent additions to their force, the 25th Palace Fusiliers, a unit scraped together by Her Majesty’s government from her embassy and consulate staffs, were already fed and were going about their morning duties, while the Turks were just crawling from bed. He shook his head as he started to turn away.
Suddenly bugles sounded and men started to run. Renaud grabbed a passing Turkish soldier and tried to make himself understood.
“What is it?” he tried to ask, but the harried soldier only looked at him strangely and pulled free.
“Damn it,” the Frenchman cursed as he looked around.
“I suppose he was in a hurry to report to his unit. It seems the Americans are coming.”
Renaud turned to see a British officer. He wore a red coat trimmed in green piping and his helmet had a flourish upon the top. He was sipping a cup of hot tea and looking to the east.
“They must know they’ll never be allowed to pass. Why would they challenge a force this size?”
The British officer placed his china cup in its saucer and then looked over the French spy as if he were at a bug.
“Perhaps because they are bloody Americans who despise being told what they can and cannot do,” the man said as he smiled. “We had to adjust to that very attitude. Can you imagine the arrogance?”
Renaud thought the officer was taking this situation a bit less than seriously.
“I avoided asking this question upon your arrival last evening, sir, but just what are your orders for this engagement?”
The officer again sipped his tea and then looked to the eastern region where the Americans would come out of the morning sun on their approach, a tactic he had expected, but obviously the Turkish commander hadn’t, as he comically struggled to get out of his dressing gown and into a semblance of a uniform.
“Our orders?” He chuckled. “Our orders are to avoid engagement, sir. We’re here for show and show alone. For all we know, the Americans could be here to start a war, and at the present time it would be a war Her Majesty’s government would be ill prepared to fight.”
“You’re admitting—”
“I am admitting nothing, sir. However, I must explain”—he looked down at the small Frenchman and smirked—“there is a certain and special place we hold for all Americans. They are like a wayward son that has struck out on his own and has thus far out-achieved his overbearing parents. From a distance we howl and scream about the lack of respect they have for those nurturing parents, but deep down, they are still our relations. While there may be less love than before, the respect we have is true to the mark. We will not fire on the Americans.” He smiled and saw that the Frenchman was aghast. “Who knows, maybe you and your wayward Turkish regiment can frighten them into surrendering their plunder.” He saw the shocked look on the spy’s face, about whom he had been briefed earlier that week. “Yes, we know all about the Empire’s foreign minister and his maneuvering behind the sultan’s back.” He sipped the almost-empty tea cup and then handed it and the saucer to an aide as he placed the cavalry gauntlets on his hands. “If your mission fails here today, perhaps you’d better find another route home other than through Constantinople. From what I understand the sultan may be a bit of a clown, but understandably harsh when it comes to influencing treason.”
Renaud watched as the British officer tipped his hat and then accepted the reins of his white mount.
“Well, shall we congratulate the Americans on their archeological discovery, and then ask them ever so nicely to leave it behind for the glory of the Ottoman Empire?”
The Frenchman watched him lead his horse away to join the three hundred men of his command.
Around him, the Seventh Guards Regiment was called to colors.
The flying standards of the American line were now visible coming out of the morning sun.
* * *
The Seventh Guards Regiment formed within fifteen minutes. Men were mounted and officers present. The captain of the 25th Palace Fusiliers ordered his three hundred cavalry to the far left of the Turkish regiment. He remained with the Turkish command unit and was soon joined by the Frenchman Renaud, who looked anything but comfortable on the large mount on which the Turks had placed him.
“What a spirited mount you have there, sir. He should serve you well in the upcoming … well, whatever this is going to be,” said the captain without even the benefit of a smirk.
“I should think even these backward Americans would be hesitant to shoot a man in such a splendid uniform as yours.” The Frenchman looked toward the gathering Ottoman troops. “While they may not have the same respect for other uniforms.”
“As I may have alluded to in our earlier conversation, the Americans, my uninformed sir, respect very little of our world.”
“You sound as if you admire them,” Renaud said with a hint of concern in his voice.
“Admire? Well, maybe that’s a bit
strong. However, let us say that mutual respect is not out of the debate.”
Before the Frenchman could voice an opinion, the bugle announced officers’ call and the British captain smiled, tapped his white-gloved fingers to his helmet, and then rode off toward the Turkish cavalry. His regimental colors went with him. Renaud watched the two riders’ backs and then wondered just what the sneaky English were up to. He soon spurred his horse, almost slipped from the saddle, and then awkwardly followed.
* * *
John Henry Thomas was in the lead column of fifteen marine riders. They escorted the line of eighteen heavily laden wagons driven by the naval crews, including the cooks and the engineers. The outriders on each side of the line were twenty more marines on horseback.
Stretching out before John Henry’s eyes was the expansive Plain of Ararat. He saw the four squared positions taken up by the Turkish regiment. To the regiment’s left were the detached British light brigade. He took note of the fact that Her Majesty’s cavalry had not committed to any course of action, which told John Henry that his hunch about the legality of this confrontation was dubious at best. He hoped.
Claire watched Thomas from the seat of the front wagon. She had insisted on being able to see what their fate would be, mostly wanting to make sure a certain colonel wasn’t shot from his saddle. Claire saw John Henry raise his gloved hand and the men and wagons came to a slow stop. The wind had picked up and blew the Stars and Stripes outward, blocking her view of the approaching forces.
John Henry turned in his saddle to make sure that the wagons had stopped. Once he had Claire in sight he turned away and saw eight men riding toward his column. One rider carried the standard of the empire, a pure white flag with an elongated blue cross sectioning the banner. He noted once more that the two representatives of Great Britain carried only a regimental flag, two facing lions with crossed swords. No Union Jack, at least for the time being. The riders stopped a hundred yards to the front of the American line.
Thomas hoped his freshly pressed uniform was good enough to die in. The gold-yellow stripe that coursed down his pant legs to the top of his knee-high boots made him feel whole again, that he was once more a cavalryman. He only wished Sergeant Major Dugan was at his side. The colonel spurred his mount forward to meet the men who had come a long way to meet him.
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