“I do cherish them, ma’am.” She could take his words whichever way she saw fit.
“That’s both of us. Sacrifice is necessary in these times.”
She didn’t know how true her words were to him. “Yes, it is. You’ll be back to your children tomorrow. I promise it.”
She nodded briskly. “You have my thanks for that despite this situation.”
“I must rest, ma’am. Tomorrow will be long.”
“Me as well.” She stood looking down at him for an extra moment.
He settled on his blanket keeping his back from touching it. “Goodnight, Mrs. Stuart.”
“Goodnight, Lieutenant Wolf.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Midnight, May 10, 1864
Near Yellow Tavern, Virginia
Payne’s men camped along the edge of a forested ridge. He’d thought it wise to make a new camp despite the darkness. His men didn’t complain. Settling into a new location within striking distance of the Davidson Farm gave him peace of mind. He knew full well that Wolf was a devious foe. The boy was a lying scoundrel that would find his end in a long-drawn-out scream.
Rebel cavalry had been arriving in exhausted companies and squadrons over the past hour as Payne and his men watched. The men staggering in were a haggard lot. Even their beasts lowered their heads, ready to lie down and sleep like the dead. Not a man among them looked prepared for a fight, let alone a battle.
A burly bald major with arms that looked like he could strangle a bull joined him at his fire. “How’d you boys get ahead of us? I thought we were the van?”
“We were on a reconnaissance mission for Stuart.”
The major grunted and massaged his mustache in irritation. “I thought we were running reconnaissance for Stuart.”
Irritated, Payne put on a fake smile. “You know the general always puts out all his feelers. Will he be here soon?”
“He’s a few miles back with General Lomax.”
“Excellent. I am sure he’ll want to speak with me.”
The major lifted thin eyebrows. “You got something for us?”
“Nothing that would concern you.”
“You think you’re special or something, Captain?” The major’s brow creased. “If there’s something I need to know, you better well spit it out.”
Payne sighed. “You’d best put out some pickets. There’s an army headed this way.”
The major shook his head. “Say, what outfit you from?”
“Hampton’s.”
“Figures. I oughta flog you right here and now. Unorthodox bastards.”
Payne got to his feet and a stunted smile curved on his lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
The major browsed the red-shirted men snoozing around the fire. Recognition washed over him like an ocean wave. “Wait, you’re a part of the Red Shirts?”
“The one and only. Captain Marshall Payne at your service,” he said, with a slight bow.
“I spoke too soon.” The major rubbed the top of his head in a nervous gesture for a man so powerfully built. “It’s been a long night. My boys are tired and hungry. Haven’t eaten a whole meal in a couple of days.” His hard eyes pled for forgiveness.
“You did speak too soon.”
Narrowing his eyes, the major’s cheeks reddened. He’d been slighted and tried to backtrack to save face, and his rival had basically spit on him. “You would do well to check your tone, Red Shirt or not.”
“I will do as I please.”
“This insult will not go unpunished.”
“Payne!” came a shout.
Major General Stuart, with his plumed slouch hat, followed closely by the tall Brigadier General Lomax came riding into view trailed by a host of aides and adjuncts. Stuart was off his horse in a heartbeat. “My God, it is good to see you.” He raced straight for Payne, and Payne gave him a slight bow.
Stuart’s worried eyes scanned the campsite. His voice lowered. “Do you have her?”
Payne blinked. The answer was painfully obvious, but he entertained the man all the same. “I do not.”
The major could hardly contain himself at such an opportunity to rectify Payne’s insubordination. “General, sir. He has insulted me. This captain is a disgrace to the uniform.”
Stuart raised a gloved hand into the major’s face. “If you know what is good for you, you will hold your tongue.”
“But, sir. This captain—“
Stuart spun on the major. “You, sir, will stand down now!” His eyes darted at his subordinate. “General Lomax.”
Brigadier General Lunsford Lomax was one of Fitzhugh Lee’s brigade commanders. He had beard-covered cheeks that held extra weight. His eyes were deeply set in his face over a hooked nose. His coat was unbuttoned, and his eyes flashed to quick retributive anger over his corps commander’s words.
“Major Tunstall, you will cease your disruption now!”
The major’s eyes ran from Stuart to Payne in fury then back to his commander. “Sir,” he hissed.
The man should let this go, Payne thought.
Lomax pointed out to the forest. “Major, get your men formed into pickets in those trees running north to south along Telegraph Road.”
“We are exhausted,” Tunstall retorted. His voice and confidence grew softer, each rebuke damaging both his pride and his confidence.
“We are all exhausted. Do it or risk court-martial.”
Tunstall lifted his chin and gulped. “Yes, sir.” He eyed Payne with seething anger. “Captain. We will meet again.”
“I am held in suspense while I await such a pleasure.”
Tunstall marched away under the angry eyes of the generals.
Stuart shook his head. He removed his hat and wiped an errant strand of hair from his forehead. “What news have you, Payne?”
“I have made contact with said Federal brigands.”
“You have?” Stuart’s eyes lit up again, widening with eager concern.
“I have, sir. Killed a few. They do in fact have your wife.”
“Has any harm befallen her?”
“I do not know, but I do not believe they have brought her harm.”
Stuart removed his gloves, tucking them into his belt. “Of all the times in my life I have resisted the temptations of alcohol, I would love a drink right now.”
“I can have that arranged, sir,” Payne offered. “Turner!”
His sergeant peered from the campfire.
“Bring the general a bottle.” Turner rummaged through a pack on the ground.
Lomax averted his eyes at the forwardness of Payne, and Stuart waved off the offer. “No, no. I need a clear head. It’s already so hard to focus with the thought of Flora in those heathens’ hands. Unspeakable treachery.”
“It is, sir. Most unfortunate.” It was unfortunate for her. Very fortunate for Payne. He now had the opportunity to slay that lying bastard once and for all. Wolf couldn’t have more than twenty men with him. Two were gone now. Fool. He would capture them all and cut them apart piece by piece. He may even let Stuart take a few shots at the men. It would garner good favor with the clearly distraught husband and sate his vengeful appetite.
“Well, what did they say?” Stuart asked.
“We are meeting in the morning.”
Stuart didn’t give him a chance to continue. “I will accompany you.”
Payne gave him a wary grin. “I am not sure that is wise. It could be an ambush, and we cannot let anything happen to you.”
“No, I am going,” Stuart said with a dismissive shake of his head.
Lomax used the opportunity to step in. “If you would excuse me, Jeb, we have to make a plan for tomorrow. Sheridan is coming this way.”
“Goddamn these men,” Stuart said.
“I would agree, sir. You have a war to run. Let me handle these brigands and see your lovely wife returned to you.”
Stuart sighed. “I’ve asked so much of these men over the past week. My boys are exhausted.
It took everything we had to get out in front of Sheridan and between him and Richmond.” He rubbed the side of his neck.
“Bring me a courier. We will need Richmond’s help.”
Lomax turned and waved one of Stuart’s aides forward. A fierce looking young man, both muscular and tall, approached.
“Henry, ride to Richmond and ask General Bragg for any men he can spare. I want them to ensnare the Federals in a pincer if we can. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may, go,” Stuart said, waving the man off. Then he gestured at Lomax. The general bent close to Stuart.
“Lomax, as your men arrive, I want them to defend along Telegraph Road. As Sheridan comes down Brook Turnpike, we can defend, and when Wickham arrives, we can hit his flanks or rear. He won’t expect it.” He forcefully locked eyes with Lomax to ensure he completely understood. “Pickets in the woods in front. Stretch them out as far as we can afford. We’ll give them a fight.” He made a straight line with his arm in the air. “Wickham will form at a ninety-degree angle on your right along that ridge. When Griffin’s battery gets here, he will center our position. We have to give everyone time to catch up and hopefully sneak a moment’s rest.”
The man truly was magnificent to watch. His mastery of the battlefield and positioning his men even under stress was something of legend. Payne was impressed, something he wasn’t often.
“Yes, sir,” Lomax said with a nod. “I will get my men into place as they arrive.”
“Very good.” Stuart turned back to Payne. His eyes blinked back uncertainty. “I’m coming in the morning.”
“Of course, sir, but do you think it wise?”
Stuart ground his teeth. “Where is the meeting?”
“Davidson Farm, a mile or so east of here.”
Stuart called up to the heavens, seeking an answer to his dilemma. “I am torn between my honor and my duty, life and brotherhood. It is a torturous time.”
Payne slithered forward. “Hampton lets me handle these types of irregular events. I can assure you of my success in retaining her.” The last thing Payne wanted was Stuart interfering in his duel. He would never stand for it. Stuart would as soon capture Wolf or murder him as to let Payne satisfy himself on this man. No, it would never work to have Stuart there.
“We will see how feisty those Yanks are in the morning. You will find me before you depart?”
“Of course, sir.”
Stuart put a hand over his heart. “You have my thanks. This causes me great anguish.”
“You and me both. A pleasure to serve such a noble cause.”
Stuart gave him a nod and a smile. “Captain, I will promote you when this is done. You are far too valuable to keep as a captain. Major or Colonel?”
Payne pressed a hand to his chest. “You are too kind. I would worry about my activities. I am a specialized soldier needing neither rank nor praise to satisfy my needs.”
“We may need even more men like you before this war is over. Let’s give you at least a squadron, a regiment, if we can find the men.”
Payne bowed his head. “I am humbled by your faith.”
“And I by your dedication to healing a man’s wounded heart.” Stuart slightly bowed his head and left him.
Payne walked back to his campfire, settling in. He leaned against a tree. The soft clops of horses’ hooves competed with the crackle of fire as more and more horsemen arrived.
He would feign ignorance and forget his meeting with Stuart. It was the only way to get the duel and rescue the wife. If a promotion came with his success, the victory would be that much sweeter.
The fire rippled and waved in the night, and he watched the flames glow without blinking. In the fiery depths, he witnessed a great struggle and a great victory.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Morning, May 11, 1864
Near Yellow Tavern, Virginia
“Alexander, where is Hampton’s captain?”
His aide appeared squeamish at the question. The man always had a faint look to him, but this was more than normal as if he’d eaten a rancid piece of meat and now his stomach roiled.
Alexander Boteler had always had a weak constitution and held himself more like a whipped dog than would seem soldierly, but he was one of the most intelligent men Stuart had met. He was the kind of man that needed to be kept off the frontline because his value far superseded his martial prowess despite his desire to serve.
His aide edged his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose before he spoke. “I sent Lieutenant Wendell to find him this morning, and he said they were gone.”
“They were gone?”
“Yes, sir, the Red Shirts.”
Stuart ground his teeth, flaring his nostrils. “I told the man to wait. I told him to wait. Is Henry nearby?”
“You sent him to Richmond early this morning to hurry the Home Guard troops along.”
Stuart nodded as it came back to him. His actions felt like they were on a predetermined course. He made moves and issued orders, but it was as if he weren’t actually there. Almost as if he observed everything from a detached omnipotent state.
Major General Fitzhugh Lee was saddled nearby. He was a stout man with a long pointed beard. His eyes bugged out a bit, and now they were encircled with the darkest shade of puffiness saved for an incredibly tired man, a man who’d barely slept in days.
Fitzhugh, or Fitz as the men called him, was Robert E. Lee’s nephew and through that superior distinction, he had the pedigree for military success. His command of the battlefield showed an astute mind for war, and sometimes Stuart was surprised that Marse Robert hadn’t reversed their roles. He didn’t know if it was something that Lee had seen in Stuart himself as a young man that had catapulted him into his unrivaled position or if a sequence of daring victories and excellent press coverage had propelled him forward to his position of trust.
“Jeb, the rest of my command under Wickham is coming down this road now,” Fitz Lee said.
“In a moment,” Stuart said, turning away from Fitz’s questioning stare.
“Did Payne say anything? Where?” His mind was still a tired blur, running on a horrible repeat of worry for his wife. He could hardly remember what was said despite how hard he tried.
“Something about a nearby farm. North and east of Yellow Tavern. Davidson Farm.”
“That old run-down building south of here?”
“I suppose, sir.”
“Goddamn that man.” He turned toward Fitz again. The general was clearly waiting for orders, but Stuart continued his preoccupation with Payne. “You know Hampton will be held responsible for this man’s actions. I will see to that.”
“Sir? Where should my men deploy?”
Stuart glared at him again. This extremely capable general keeps demanding my input. He should know better. But that damn Payne. “The insubordination of his actions. Damn him,” he muttered.
“Sir?” Fitz said. His bugging eyes narrowed in worry. “Sheridan is close.”
“Dammit man, don’t you see what I’m going through? My wife has been snatched by vile Yankee brigands, and that upstart Sheridan is breathing down my neck.”
Fitz averted his eyes, readjusting himself in his saddle. He moved his slouch hat beneath his other arm. A storm was coming in more ways than one. Slate-gray clouds collected overhead, and the Union soldiers were driving farther south.
“Fitz, per Stuart’s previous orders, Wickham’s boys must go on my command’s right. We have the Baltimore Light Artillery in a good position here,” said Lomax. Although born in Rhode Island, he was a descendent of one of Virginia’s founding families. He had been classmates with Fitz at the United States Military Academy at West Point, and the men worked extremely well together.
They’d beaten Sheridan to Richmond because of his leisurely pace. Stuart’s swiftness had served dual purposes though. One of which was to search for his wife, and now when he was so close, the man who knew her whereabouts had disappeared with the risin
g sun.
“We have a favorable position,” Stuart added. “But we aren’t ready to give battle yet. We must wait for Gordon’s return. Three brigades versus three divisions. Perhaps they’ll write a song about us. Will our man Sam Sweeney do it?” He scanned the men around him but didn’t see his musically talented banjo-playing orderly.
Waiting for Gordon was the only realistic way to defend. Otherwise they would have to give ground until they reached the earthen walls around Richmond or reinforcements showed.
Gordon’s men had served valiantly at the Battle for the Wilderness. The smoke-shrouded forests combined with the yellow fires and the buzz of bullets were enough to break a man even after he had drunk a gallon of water and escaped the place. It had been a burning hell.
Their movements had been frantic as they trailed Sheridan. In Stuart’s rush south, he’d left a part of his command. Gordon had done his part by severely delaying Sheridan’s thirteen-mile corps. They had faded away as quickly as they’d attacked. His men engaged and had done their part to the point of exhaustion, but he would ask more from them.
His towering aide, Henry McClellan came riding up, sitting tall upon his horse. He was a fierce young man with piercing eyes. His mount danced beneath him, its chest heaving from the ride. “Sir, I have a message from Richmond.”
“Yes?”
“General Bragg reports he has adequate men at his disposal for defense. He can send at least Hunton’s Brigade to assist, but they will take some time to arrive.”
“How long?”
“By midday.”
Stuart sighed. “Send him my thanks and hurry them along.” He tugged his beard. He was outnumbered three to one, poor odds even for his resilient men. An additional brigade would tip the odds ever so slightly back toward him if they held their position and struck hard when the time came. He may be able to significantly damage the enemy cavalry, but he couldn’t help but question if he’d made the right decision. Have I made a mistake rushing here with only a third of my men?
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