Wolf laughed, looking at Roberts for assurance he’d heard the man right. “Surely, he can do that on his own.”
“He will not. It is up to you to draw him out and distract him so I can defeat him.”
Wolf was flabbergasted. He went from rotting in a cell to going on a suicide mission. “How do you propose we do that?”
Sheridan grinned with a glance at Custer. He took the pen and stuck it back into its inkwell, pushing it away from him as if he detested the idea of writing. “They’re your men. You tell them.”
“Well, boys, how do you drive any man mad?”
“Dunno, sir,” Wolf said.
With a short cough into his hand, Custer smiled. “You’re going to kidnap his wife.”
Chapter Twelve
Dusk, May 7, 1864
Todd’s Tavern, Virginia
“You’re mad! How on earth could we kidnap her?”
“It can be done,” Sheridan said. “Boy, this is the army. We can move mountains even if it’s only pebble by pebble and takes a lifetime.”
Sheridan stood and Wolf felt taller than he had moments ago. “BMI is telling us she traveled north of Richmond with her husband but has been sent to stay behind their lines as Lee engages Grant, but not far from the front. We know the home she resides in.”
Custer took a step forward; he was almost the opposite of Sheridan. Tall, golden-haired, and athletic. “You sneak south, snatch her, and leave this note.” He handed it to Wolf. The name J.E.B. was scrawled over the envelope. “She isn’t to be harmed. After all, we aren’t monsters.”
“Stuart and Lee don’t know it yet, but this isn’t a campaign for Richmond. This is a campaign to destroy their army man by man. And in order to do that, we must force them off-balance and to fight on our terms. Toe-to-toe where our numbers can come into full effect,” Sheridan said. He dipped his chin, confident in the plan as it was explained. “I am willing to let you handpick your men, but you must take the man who knows the home.”
“Bring him in,” Sheridan called into the other room. A man stepped inside. He was tall and lithe with curly brown hair and a charming smile. “Mr. Wolf and Mr. Roberts. It’s mighty fine to see you again,” said Hogan.
BMI Agent Martin Hogan had been their guide along with a few others for Kilpatrick’s doomed raid. His presence was appreciated by the officers and men due to his knowledge of the South and his clandestine abilities.
The last time Wolf had seen him, he had been wrestling a rebel in the ambush near Garnett’s Mill. The same ambush that had resulted in Wolf’s capture and Dahlgren’s death.
Wolf couldn’t help but smile. “Hogan, you yellow-bellied son of a bitch.”
“I believe I could say the same for you.”
The men shook hands with one another. “You made it,” Wolf said in amazement and a bit of envy.
“And I am sorry to hear about your imprisonment; however, that is bloody well better than how our poor colonel ended up.”
“Some might say that.” Only Wolf and Roberts knew the true details of Dahlgren’s final moments.
“No one hates Libby more than me,” Hogan said. “So what do you say to another run down south?”
“Let me talk to my companion alone for a moment.”
Sheridan nodded. “You get one minute to make up your mind but remember the alternative.”
Wolf bent near Roberts. “What do you think?”
“I think we are going to get killed out there. Think about it, first we have to get down there. Find her. Then whisk her away. You think that the Beau Sabreur is going to sit by while we galavant through the countryside with his wife? Are you insane?”
“They’re going to either send us to prison or hang us or both. If we succeed, we’re free.”
“You can send my ass back to prison.”
“We could be free. Clean slate. We ride in, ride out. Nobody knows any different. Really easy when you think about it like a stroll in the park.”
Roberts sighed then shook his head. Understanding that there was no other way crossed his boyish features. “I ain’t going to let you get killed by your lonesome, but. . .”
“But what?”
“But how come you get the promotion and I’m still some lowly private? It’s disrespectful.”
“We’re about to change that,” Wolf said with a nod. “All right, General, we’ll do it.”
“Very well, men,” said Sheridan with a smile. “I am not issuing you any formal orders. This mission is strictly unofficial. This is a dangerous task with no room for error.”
“We have some demands,” Wolf said loudly.
“Demands? Did my assholes for ears hear that right?”
“Yes sir, your assholes for ears did.”
“You goddamn son of a bitch. Bunch of upstart bastards you are. Hurry now, what are they?”
“My comrade here wants a promotion too. What do you say, a corporal?”
Roberts leaned over and whispered. “I always thought of myself as a sergeant kind of man.”
Wolf turned toward Sheridan again. “He wants to be a sergeant.”
“Done,” Sheridan said. “Enough?”
“And I want Spencers for F Company of the 13th.”
Sheridan snorted a laugh shaking his head at Custer. “This guy’s got some brass balls coming in here and asking me to outfit his old company. You have your hands full, General.”
“Yes, I do. But I wouldn’t mind getting the 13th up to standard. They are listed as a saber regiment, but another regiment armed with Spencers couldn’t hurt,” Custer said. “The 5th and 6th Michigan have performed exceptionally well with them.”
“Why don’t we make it the entire 13th?” Wolf said with a glance at Custer.
Sheridan shook his head. “Don’t push your luck, son. I will make sure your company is outfitted, and we’ll put your regiment on order next time they are back in camp. Will that do, Lieutenant?”
Wolf nodded with a smirk. “That will do just fine.”
Sheridan quickly scribbled out the order for weapons and a commission letter and handed it over to Wolf. “Then you must depart immediately. Mr. Hogan will go with you back to the Michigan Brigade. I will see you on the other side.”
The newly promoted men saluted the generals and they saluted back.
Wolf turned toward the captain. “Your man has a knife that belongs to me.”
The captain hesitated, stiffening under the other officers’ scrutiny.
“Do you have his knife, Captain?” Custer said.
The captain raised his chin. “Lieutenant Fox does, a man under my command, sir.”
“Lieutenant Fox!” Sheridan called through the door.
The smooth-cheeked officer hurried into the room like a beckoned dog.
“Give the man his property back.”
“Property?” Fox said his voice cracking.
Sheridan could hardly stay seated. “Give this shaggy-faced man’s goddamn dagger back now.”
Fox hurried, removing the blade and sheath from his belt and handing it over. Wolf held the blade for a moment, enjoying the lethal weight of it in his hands, and then secured it on his belt.
Sheridan showed them the door. “Hurry. These armies are on a collision course again, and you don’t want to be stuck in the middle.”
“I’ll ride with these boys back to camp,” Custer said.
“Me as well,” said Hogan.
Custer and the three men left the house. Their noses were pummeled by the stench of rotting flesh outside. The general flagged down his aide who went in search of mounts.
When some were procured, they accompanied the general on horseback through the camp. They met with the division’s quartermaster where they acquired one hundred Spencer carbines for F Company. The bald man wanted nothing to do with them and their request. He even resisted the general, but when he produced Sheridan’s orders, the man begrudgingly complied with a good deal of cursing under his breath. A wagon with the weapons and
ammunition in them was transferred to the men.
They continued back to the Michigan Brigade’s bivouac. Troopers in blue sat around campfires with picketed horses nearby. Custer raised a hand as they passed, returning the friendly waves of his men.
Wolf couldn’t help but notice the predominance of red neckties that many of the men wore like their general. It seemed that his bond had only tightened with them since the ill-fated Kilpatrick-Dahlgren raid.
“I took a big risk on you two,” he said as they passed more fires and men speaking words only meant for themselves.
“Big risks for big rewards, sir,” Wolf said.
“No wiser words have been said, Lieutenant. I knew you would understand. A daring raid, a noble mission, great rewards. I wish I was riding with you, but alas, the war continues while you go south. But we will be close behind. Grant’s given the go-ahead over Meade to embark on our quest. Your raid will precipitate the campaign of over 10,000 troopers that are to deal the death blow to Stuart’s command.”
“Is that everyone?” Roberts asked.
“May as well be. The Cavalry Corps rides with Little Phil to victory!” Custer said with some vigor. He breathed in. “You smell that, boys?”
The odor in the air was a combination of horse dung, sweat, and the dead, a level of relative stink just above gagging.
The general continued, his eyes suddenly saddened. “We are close to the end. Then where will we go? Where do men like us go when the bugles cease, the flags furl, and the soldiers put away their swords?” He gestured as they walked. “There’s no glory in banking or farming. Only numbers, red and black, and crops, good or bad. No. No glory there. Our nation will have little need for men like us. We will fade with the setting sun until we are forgotten.”
“West, sir. West we will go,” Roberts chimed in.
“I suppose we will,” Custer said, regarding him. “There may be yet some glory in the West, but we must grasp all we can here and now before they are through. And they will be through. Your mission will chop an arm off Lee.” Custer threw out a hand like a knife. “Piece by piece we will hack from him until he has nothing left but the old broken horse beneath him. No cities. No plantations. No armies. Nothing.”
“Yes, sir,” the men echoed.
They rode in silence the rest of the way to the 13th Michigan campgrounds, contemplating their general’s words. They stopped at a spacious command tent with the regimental colors stuck in the ground out front.
Custer stayed atop his horse. “Colonel Moore,” he called. They waited more than their fair share of moments. “Blubbering bastard. Colonel Moore, come out here.”
The portly colonel emerged from his tent, his face red with exertion. He muttered under his breath until he saw it was the general calling his name.
He bowed his head. “General, sir. How can I help you?” His eyes crossed over, settling on Wolf and Roberts. They narrowed a bit. “Are they to be flogged? I never liked them. Terribly disobedient and horribly undisciplined wretches. I can’t be held responsible for their vagrant behavior. And who is that?” Moore said, gesturing at Hogan.
“Bureau of Military Information Agent Hogan, sir, at your service.” He removed his hat and gave the colonel a slight bow.
“What the bloody hell are you doing with these miscreants?”
Custer raised a hand, cutting off Moore and giving him an unamused grin. “This is your new Lieutenant Wolf and Sergeant Roberts. They are to be given every accommodation and pick of your men.”
“I beg your pardon, General, but under whose authority?”
“Major General Sheridan himself. Now you would do well to keep such insubordinate questions to yourself or perhaps you should be the one being flogged. I see you aren’t wearing your arms. Do you have an explanation?”
Moore’s face brightened like a ripe tomato. To be dressed down in front of two men he despised made it even worse. “We are in camp, sir. There are 100,000 men in this army.”
“We are in a running battle with a wily and smart opponent in their home territory. You would do well to not deviate from my advice of being armed at all times.”
Moore lowered his head. “Of course, sir, my apologies.”
“Where is F Company?”
But Wolf already knew. He saw their black and red guidon down the row of tents, its gold wolf head snarling in the breeze.
“General, we can take it from here.”
“Yes, you can. My orders are for you to pick your men and leave as soon as you can.” Custer raised his voice. “You are not to be interfered with.” He turned his horse and walked it away. “Good luck! We are counting on you.”
Moore’s beady eyes watched him go, making sure he was far out of earshot. His voice dripped with deadly venom. “I don’t know who you think you are. An upstart that’s for sure. Don’t count on getting any further up the military ladder. Save that for the men of good breeding. Not the dumb Dutch and immigrants.”
Not baring any teeth, Wolf smiled his way. “It’s been good seeing you, Colonel. I will report back when our mission is complete.” Wolf and his companions turned their horses away toward the company guidon.
“And what mission is that?” Moore called at them.
“None of your concern.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dusk, May 7, 1864
Near Todd’s Tavern, Virginia
Wolf and Roberts walked their horses through the unknown troopers of the 13th Michigan with Hogan trailing close behind them. Men eyed them with curiosity. There were so many fresh faces, most young and all dirty. A few they’d seen before, but no one called out, “Hail, friend!” or “Good to see you, brother!” They only watched, wondering who these haggard latecomers to the regiment were.
Wolf ignored them, making for the wolf-head guidon. Pieced together from material in his home by his sister, the wolf’s head belonged to his father. It was a larger version of the one in his pocket that came from his ancestors long ago. Like the company’s flag, it too was ripped and stained with blood: some of it theirs, some of it their enemy’s, all of it earned on the field of battle.
The man that stood closest to the standard puffed a pipe as he watched them approach. His curled mustache held strong, and bluish-gray clouds snuck from his mouth. He had a powerful frame and build, but he wasn’t heavy. Gray hair trailed his sideburns to the top of his head. His sergeant’s coat was unbuttoned, revealing a white shirt underneath. A saber and pistol rested on his hip.
Wolf stopped his horse in front of him.
A slow smile spread on Sergeant Wilhelm Berles’s lips, causing his cheeks to crease. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He shook his head in disbelief, and puffed harder on his pipe. “I was sure you were dead.”
“Came close,” Wolf said down to him. “Many times.”
Wilhelm’s smile grew. “Why don’t you come down here so I can see you?” He peered around at the other rider. “And Mr. Roberts. By God, it’s good to see you.” He nodded. “Mr. Hogan.”
“Sergeant,” Hogan replied.
They dismounted their horses, and Wilhelm embraced Wolf like a father would his son after a long journey. He squeezed him tight for a moment before releasing him. Wilhelm’s bottom lip twitched, and his eyes glazed over for a moment like they may have deceived him. It was as if he saw Franz standing there instead of Wolf. He gulped back the memory. “You look absolutely terrible.”
“We’ve been in prison.”
“Captured?”
“Seems of late everyone is looking for an excuse to lock us up.”
Wilhelm gave Roberts a quick hug and shook hands with Hogan.
“I’m afraid I must depart, but I will return soon,” Hogan said. He mounted his horse and walked from the camp.
“What happened?” Wilhelm asked watching the BMI agent depart.
“Long story, but you’re not the only one who escaped are you?” Wolf said. “I need a squad of men.”
Wilhelm looked briefly at him.
“For what purpose?”
A laugh escaped Wolf’s lips. “Well, you are looking at F Company’s newest lieutenant.”
“And sergeant,” Roberts chimed in.
Wilhelm puffed on his pipe, grinning. “Must be quite the tale.” He flipped the pipe over and tapped the end of it on the ground.
“Wolf!” came a shout. A hulking man came running across the bivouac. He hardly had time to brace himself before he was hoisted in the air by Dan Poltorak. The large Polish man was joined by his brother Bart. They hooted in their native tongue, smiles visible beneath round noses and cheeks.
“You got small,” Dan said. He wrapped a hand around Wolf’s arm and shook his flesh like it was a disappointingly thin kielbasa.
“Prison does that to a man.” His whole body moved as Bart clapped his back multiple times. They found Roberts and proceeded to lift him in the air like he was a child.
“Little man!” Dan said squeezing the air from Roberts. He set him down only to have the process repeated by Bart.
“You guys are going to crush me!” Roberts breathed.
Van Horn emerged from a tent, a fraction of a grin on his dour face. Then the old abolitionist Zachariah Shugart joined them. He grabbed Wolf’s arm and smiled. “I prayed day and night for you boys, and God has rewarded us with your safe return.” Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and he gulped. “The whole unit was devastated by what we thought was your loss. God is truly great!”
More men from F Company showed up to see their lost comrades. Hands were shaken, backs clapped, and much merriment took the men. Captain Peltier emerged from his tent. His frock coat was unbuttoned. His black beard had a few stray grays making their appearance. His English was laced with a slight French accent. “This is a great surprise. I’d had you men labeled as casualties in the regimental rosters. It’ll be a pleasure putting you back on.”
Wolf handed him the commission letter from Sheridan.
Peltier’s dark eyes read quickly then he glanced back at him. “Many surprises indeed. I welcome a new second lieutenant to the company. Our numbers have continued to dwindle. Illness and Kilpatrick’s raid have beaten us down over the winter. Glad to have you back.”
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