Wolf looked over his shoulder. “Not sure everyone feels that way. The colonel.”
“I understand,” Peltier said, nodding slightly. “I will do my best to run interference with him, but he is our commanding officer. We follow his orders.”
“I’m afraid we won’t be here long.”
“I see this letter says to give you handpicked men and for you to depart immediately.”
“Yes, sir. We must make haste.”
“I can’t say I like losing ten of my men on the eve of an engagement, but General Sheridan commands the Corps.”
“Maybe I can sweeten the deal.”
Peltier’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “How so?”
“You see that wagon right there?” Wolf pointed over at a mule driven cart.
“I do.”
“I got two crates of Spencer carbines and enough ammunition to last for a campaign on it.”
Peltier cocked his head. “No?”
“Yes, Captain. Go take a look.”
The captain walked to the wagon, a cluster of the men following him. He tugged a crate off the back. “Get me a bar.” A trooper brought him a metal bar to pry it open. The wood snapped under his hand, and he threw the lid to the side. A smile settled on his lips. He dug his hands into the crate and removed a Spencer carbine, holding it in the air for all to see like he’d discovered a golden nugget.
“Now look at what we have here boys!”
Cheers went up from the men as Peltier started to hand them out. The weapons were pristine and clean, the wood finish smooth, and the barrel oiled with a slight sheen. “Now we have the upper hand.”
Troopers raced to form a line to receive their new guns. Excitement and joy shone on their faces. For so long they’d been treated like a second-class company by Colonel Moore. He’d shoved all the men he didn’t want together and then given them second-class weapons despite their sacrifice and heroics on the battlefield.
“So you made it out, Wolfie?” came a voice from behind.
Wolf turned to face a shorter man with a dark complexion. His black hair was ruffled, his looks handsome, and his eyes flinty like charred wood. His uniform jacket had tears around the edges. A short smile stuck on his lips.
“Adams.”
The man eyed him for a moment. “You return and you bring us gifts? Now this is an interesting surprise.” He stopped. “And a promotion? An officer at that.” Envy flashed in his eyes. It had been rumored that Private Adams had once been Lieutenant Adams of the 1st Michigan before the burning of Elmira, New York, in which numerous people were injured and slain in the altercation gone wrong. Since they were veteran troopers, the War Department had turned a blind eye in order to usher them back into the fight just when the Union was having a reenlistment crisis due to enlistment terms ending at the same time.
The worst of the bunch had been split up and distributed among the other Michigan regiments to mitigate any revivals of the debauchery. The two men that had ended up in Wolf’s unit were cutthroats and brigands who didn’t bat an eye at putting someone down in any situation.
“It was earned with blood.”
“Some men I guess are just suited for it.”
“Where’s Nelson?”
Adams flashed another smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “He’s around. Won’t be too happy to see you above ground and kicking.”
“Feeling’s mutual, but I’m taking you men into my unit.”
Adams snorted a laugh. “What? Why?”
Wolf stepped closer and the other man lifted his chin. “‘Cause I need you. I need your expertise.”
“Expertise? That’s what we’re calling it? Men that do what you need them to do. Men that don’t flinch at getting their hands dirty.”
“Call it what you want, but you’re coming with me. No troubles.”
“Never from me. I am a good little soldier I am.”
“We’ll see.”
The cutthroat shrugged his shoulders. “Grandpa Berles and Old Man Shugart won’t like it, but it beats riding around here. You won’t get no trouble from me. Nelson?” He shrugged his shoulders again. “I can’t be held responsible for what he does.”
“Good. We meet in an hour.”
“Off to get me a new rifle. You’re too kind, Wolfie. Must be my birthday,” Adams said, sauntering his way into line.
Is bringing these men a mistake? No, he needed men who walked hand in hand with survival. He needed men who could carve their way out and not blink. He needed them, but could he control them?
Chapter Fourteen
Dusk, May 7, 1864
Near Todd’s Tavern, Virginia
Wolf’s ten men stood before him in a line. Each man held his new Spencer carbine as if he were afraid someone would steal it from him. Even though the days were growing longer in preparation for summer, they were losing light in the afternoon sky.
Captain Peltier accompanied him as they inspected the men for the mission. Anything easily distinguishable as Federal had been done away with. Wilhelm still had his kepi and coat, but the other men looked civilian enough. Black, brown, tan, and gray jackets, sack, and frock coats. Top hats, pork pie hats, broad slouch hats adorned their heads.
Wolf had elected to wear a slouch hat. Black and wide-brimmed, the same as Custer wore. His jacket was short and black to make it easier to draw his pistol. If the coat was too long, it would need to be unbuttoned or risk riding up on the horseman, restricting his movement.
His men appeared uncomfortable and too militant to pass as true civilians. It may do from far away, but close-up, they looked rough.
Wilhelm anchored one end of the line with his chest puffed out and his back straighter than a bayonet. Next to him Van Horn wore a beehive style hat, making him look even more like a farmer. He was a bit taller than Wilhelm and looked like a rain cloud followed him everywhere. The happiest part about him was the way he held his new firearm.
Next to him were the two Polish brothers, broad and thick like a pair of oxen. On their other side was Private Jacob Hale, a new recruit from Kalamazoo, with reddish hair and a pointy nose along with Private Gregory Pratt, who had black curly hair and a hooked nose. Both were young and lacked experience, which made Wolf hesitate to bring them on.
“You’re sure, sir, that Hale and Pratt can handle it? We’ll be going hard and fast.”
“I think they will. They are eager and good horsemen. They will not lag.”
“Hey there, laddies,” Hogan said as he trotted up atop a bay-colored mare. He had three other men with him. Two wore blue coats covered in dirt and had reddish-hued skin and pitch-black hair. Beaded bandolier bags hung around their chests. The last rider, apparently having been lifted straight from the frontier, had a long beard and a dark buckskin jacket.
“Can’t leave without us,” Hogan said.
“We never would have entertained such a thought.”
Hogan grinned. “I was able to secure a few additional recruits I thought may help our mission.” Each man carried long rifles in their hands. “K Company, 1st Michigan Sharpshooters.”
The three men nodded toward Wolf, and Hogan pointed in turn at each one.
“This is George Greensky,” Hogan said, gesturing to the taller of the two. “And James Ashka—” The Irishman scratched behind his ear words trailing away.
James finished his own name. “Ashkanak.”
Hogan sat straight and gave Wolf a wink. “They’re Indians.”
“I can see this. Welcome to the platoon, gentleman. I am Lieutenant Wolf.” This brought a smile to the three men’s faces.
“Why are they smiling?” Wolf asked Hogan.
“I don’t know.”
George grinned. “We have a good friend, Payson, who is known as Wolf.”
James leaned closer. “You don’t look like him.”
“Suppose not,” Wolf said and they all laughed.
Wolf had no problem with adding these men from the northern Michigan tribes to his command. Most of
the men in his unit had found their way there from being an outcast in one way or another. Men that had chips on their shoulders and something to prove. He’d started that way. Now he had to prove himself or risk finding himself back in a cell. That wasn’t an option for him, so it was win or die.
“Step in line with the others.” The two native sharpshooters walked their horses over to the other men.
“And this backwoods specimen is Irwin Skinner. One of the only white men allowed in K Company,” Hogan said with a flourish of his hand.
The frontiersman pressed a wad of tobacco into the corner of his mouth. “Pleasure to meetcha. Half-injun, I am. My ma was Odawa, my pa a bear.” He let out a sharp laugh. “Nah, he was some kind of English.” He leaned closer. “You need something taken down from far away I’m your man. I prefer to work alone, but those two be good men. Quiet. And quiet’s good for our kind of work. Not as good a shot as me, but better than everyone else. Been huntin’ our whole lives.” He spit a black glob on the ground. “Marching with the army got me itching to get out into the woods again.”
“Good to have you.”
Skinner nodded and walked his horse back to the row of troopers.
“Let me assure you, Wolf. There ain’t too many men with a better shot than any of those three on either side of this war,” Hogan said. “And the government wouldn’t let them fight until recently. Sitting on a gold mine, they were.”
Wolf sucked in air through his nose. These were his men. Their lives depended on the decisions he made. And his mission was to march around behind enemy lines and survive long enough to kidnap their enemy commander’s wife. Damn. This will be a waste of men if we don’t succeed.
“Captain. This is them.”
Peltier saluted the men, and they all returned it. “We will see you when this is done.” He snapped his hand down. “Wolf, I hate to see these men go, but you have done us a great service with the new carbines. You have my thanks. I want you to take the company guidon.”
Wolf shook his head. “I can’t. The company must keep it.”
Peltier shook his head in disagreement. “I will not hear it. We will get a regulation flag for the rest of the campaign. You must fly this one. You are a part of the company.”
“But the men surely will be disappointed to not carry their standard.”
“They will,” Peltier smirked, “but will take solace in their new guns.”
“Sergeant Berles, will you carry the guidon?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” He marched to the flagpole and lifted it from the ground, carrying it over to the men.
A grin formed on Roberts’s face and he gave a fierce shout. “We are Wolf’s platoon!”
“Wolf’s platoon!”
“Wolf’s platoon!”
The only man not chanting was Nelson, a fire burning in his eyes.
***
The mounted men walked their horses out of camp. To the untrained eye they were a squad getting ready to go on patrol. In an active campaign area, they were one of many.
The main army hoped to beat Lee to Spotsylvania, but Wolf somehow thought they wouldn’t. Nobody ever really got the jump on Old Marse Robert. Not in his experience anyway.
The armies were on a collision course in the same area Wolf had robbed the old woman of her husband’s pocket watch a few months before. Soldiers would clamber through their small town again, taking refuge in their houses and plundering their food stores. It would be a wonder if there was a scrap of food left in the entire region with Grant’s 100,000-man army.
But Wolf’s men were ahead of the main army, most of which was still north in the wilderness. Hogan guided them in a different direction, away from the battling cavalries. They swept directly to the east from Todd’s Tavern and away from both Grant’s army and Lee’s as they leapfrogged south in an attempt to outmaneuver one another.
They traveled down an unnamed road.
Wolf led the unit from the front with Hogan by his side. “You know where this leads?” In the dark, it was possible to be traveling in the opposite direction of the way they needed to be going. It stuck out in his mind like a thorn because it had happened on Kilpatrick’s raid. The combination of unfamiliar terrain with the night was always a test for the men.
Hogan grinned, bobbing his head. “I know where this doesn’t lead. Spotsylvania. We have to get around the rebel cavalry. ‘Cause I tell you one thing: we aren’t going through them, and we’ll never make fast enough time if we try to navigate the forests around them. We have to go around. Lucky for us, we are fifteen men and they number in the thousands. That and they are getting ready to bed down after a long day of fighting,” the Irishman gave him a wink, “and we are relatively well-fed and rested. At least me and my mates are. You?”
“Been a prisoner twice now in the past few weeks. Let’s just say I’ve been fed better.”
“Captured twice. Not many men can tell that tale.”
“No, they can’t.” And it won’t happen again. “Where is she? We go around the rebels, but to where?”
“Where’s the Beau’s belle?” Hogan said with an almost singsong voice.
“Stuart keeps her far from the battlefront but within a day’s ride for comfort. Our boy is a lover.”
“And a fighter.”
“Very true. But he is a lady’s man. And the women of the South love him dearly, especially his wife. She’s staying with some family near Beaver Dam Station. A Colonel Edmund Fontaine and family. A second cousin of Flora.”
“How do you know that?”
Hogan swayed with his horse as they walked. “Not all Southerners are friends of the South. Let’s just say some people can see the writing on the wall.”
“The Fontaines are spies?”
Hogan neither confirmed nor denied the information. “Flag, sir?”
Wolf peered back at Wilhelm and the guidon carried in one of his hands. “Sergeant, furl the colors. And while we’re at it, let’s strap those sabers to your saddles. Try and look the part.”
With a quick nod, Wilhelm dismantled the pole and removed the guidon from it, shoving it in a bag on his saddle. Wolf hated to see it go, but he understood they were venturing far from Union lines in an active war zone. Secrecy was going to be paramount. The rest of the men went about strapping their sabers to their saddles so they looked less like a cavalry patrol or at least a Federal one. They tucked the sabers and sheaths under their left legs, running the straps through rings on their saddles.
“Like this,” Roberts said to Pratt. “You have to angle it right, or it’ll rub. By the knee.”
Roberts was embracing his new role as sergeant nicely, showing the younger members of his understrength platoon the tricks of the business.
“Putting away the flag already, Wolf?” came a voice from the line of horsemen.
Wolf slowed his horse, letting it fall back through the few ranks. He recognized the voice. It was strong and deep like a rocky well. “I trust not having the guidon flown is not a problem for you, Private Nelson?”
The mountain of a soldier didn’t bother to acknowledge him while he spoke. “I don’t prefer riding under any flag. Just like Dahlgren.”
“You do thrive without company or army.”
“I thrive everywhere and anywhere as long as there’s a fight.”
“That’s why I selected you to come with me. I need men that can fight.”
“I remember a scared little boy.” His voice rose higher pitched. “I can’t shoot a man in the back, boohoo.”
“I’m not that man anymore.”
“Still a boy?”
Wolf turned to stare at the big trooper. His beard was thick and his shoulders broad. His hands were ham hocks, but they were scarred ones. “You remember this, Nelson. I ain’t getting captured. I ain’t going back to prison.”
“Boy’s gotta death wish. Well, let me send you along then. We got unfinished business.”
“Try it and I’ll kill you.”
“You ain’t
the first man to say that.”
“But I’ll be the last if you push me. I picked you for this mission because we need men willing to get their hands dirty. I know you and Adams have that in you.”
Nelson grinned like a bear before a stream filled with salmon. “We do.”
“You ain’t off your leash, but your leash got longer.” Wolf let his words sink in. “You and me ain’t the same, but we want the same thing.”
“What’s that?” Nelson said, his grin spreading to his hairy cheeks.
“We want the army, and we want freedom to do as we please.”
Nelson chewed his words in silence before he spoke. “Maybe I’ll hold off killing you for a while longer.” He turned to Adams. “You hear that? Wolf here is going to make us indispensable to Uncle Sam.”
“I heard him. All that talk about not being the same, Wolfie. I told you all along we are just alike. Even more now than ever.”
Wolf didn’t bite on the man’s remarks. They had made their break.
He tread the narrow path of a soldier. It was a gray path where any wrong step could turn into a quicksand of savagery and despair. He’d been close to sinking into those depths, but had come back into the fold.
The line between them had been drawn, and he would keep it that way. A line that Wilhelm had taught them despite their resistance. No women and no children. And now they marched to kidnap a woman. Her well-being would be his responsibility and he would protect her from harm until his last breath. But her husband would fall for that was the way of war.
Chapter Fifteen
Early Morning, May 8, 1864
Near Todd’s Tavern, Virginia
In the darkness, Hogan brought his horse to a halt. Wolf held a fist and his men followed suit. They were wise enough to keep their mouths shut. Only the creak of a saddle was heard and the occasional stomp of an impatient hoof. Hogan gently urged his mount forward further into the recesses of night, until he became only a gray shadow ahead.
Wolf found his hand falling back on the handle of his pistol. The darkness kindled that spark of caution in a man. Being the victim of an ambush brought it out even more because what could be in store for them was seared into his brain. The spark of caution turned into a flame of permanent wariness because bullets and death hid in the dark. The only comfort was knowing you had a chance if you were quick on the draw. Being surrounded by some mean soldiers didn’t hurt either.
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