The rider came closer. His brown locks flowed as the wind whipped them about. His fine gray officer’s jacket was unbuttoned to reveal his blood-red shirt underneath, a signature of his elite company. His sleeves were cuffed in yellow, and a scrolled yellow braid traveled to his elbow, designating him as an officer.
The braid followed a French design. It was thinner than those officers holding higher rank and thicker than those officers holding lower rank. When he drew even closer, Wolf could see the three yellow bars on his collar designating him as a captain. A maroon sash was wrapped around his waist.
Every inch of him oozed aristocratic confidence. He smiled under a finely groomed goatee when he stopped his horse. “My lady,” Payne said, with charm thick enough to suffocate a man. When he addressed Wolf, his voice turned mocking. “Lieutenant Wolf.”
“I’ve brought her as arranged. She will be escorted to safety after our personal affair is decided.”
“No, no, Wolf. Our affair is not personal, it’s only business.”
“What was your business, Captain?” Flora asked, her voice filled with conviction.
Payne grinned at her, avoiding her question. “My business here today is to escort you back to your husband. After I slay this woefully lacking criminal.”
She pressed him further. “Are you not responsible for greater crimes?
Payne’s eyes flashed and only cruelty remained. “Our little pup has been telling tales. I assure you that was interrogation. We needed answers so we expedited the process.”
“I’ve seen his back, Captain. Is that your handiwork?”
“My lady, you’ve seen his naked flesh? I know your husband has many admirers, but who would have thought his wife would be one in kind with Jezebel?”
Flora’s cheeks reddened like she’d been outside too long in winter. “Nothing indecent happened.”
“I’m sure the papers will take your side of the story.”
“Jeb will believe me.”
Payne cocked his head a bit to the side. “If only you believed him.”
“Do not speak to me of my husband. I will be telling him of your actions here.”
“It would be a shame if you were hurt during this duel,” Payne said, smiling at her.
Her eyes went wide. “How dare you! You…you are no savior, but a monster in fine clothes.”
“I am but a tool for the Southern Cause.” He gave a slight bow. “But if harm befouls you, it is this renegade’s transgressions that have caused it through no fault of my own. Alas, it is the truth.”
“Enough, Payne. Do not threaten her in my presence. Her safety has been assured.”
Turning his way, Payne squinted. “Has it?”
“It was agreed on that you get Flora and I get my duel.”
“So eager for the next world, Lieutenant? Usually men cling to their pitiful existence a bit longer, breathing the fresh country air. Heart beating. Blood pumping.”
“You must promise her safety if I fall.”
“I can make no promises.”
Wolf studied this treacherous man. He was as charming as he was depraved. He peeked at Flora from the corner of his eyes. She had paled with the talk of her potential harm from the man who’d come to rescue her.
She settled her hands on the pommel of her saddle. “Lieutenant, I wish you luck against this man.”
“You have my thanks. No harm will befall you while I still stand.”
“And yet you will fall, Wolf. I have been trained in the art of saber fighting since I was old enough to hold a sword. Some may call me a champion of sorts,” Payne said. With a quick hand, he drew his barely curved cavalry sword from its sheath; it screamed as it was released from its prison.
It was a custom blade much finer than the Union cavalry standard M1860 sabers. It shone despite the clouds overhead, its metal slightly oiled and both edges sharp. “My father had this made for me in Spain. I believe the town is known as Toledo.” He held the sword outward, marveling in its beauty. “As light as it is beautiful. Been blooded plenty of times too.” He shouldered the weapon with a smile. “Whenever you are ready, Mr. Wolf.”
Wolf’s heart picked up a beat in his chest. It was always like this before any kind of fight. There was anger there too. It burned in him like Payne searing his flesh, bubbling around the edges and eating his insides until it would burst from him hot, bright, and violent.
It was a pain that needed to be unleashed upon someone, and this man, no, this animal in man’s flesh, deserved all of Wolf’s rage.
Wolf tore his saber from its sheath. The sword sang its song with a loud shashing. He rotated it in a circle back and forth to warm up his wrist and shoulder.
“On foot is customary,” Payne said, gesturing wide with his saber. He tilted his head, glancing at Wolf’s leg. “Hmm. But doesn’t look like you could perform on foot. No matter, horseback will do.”
Wolf ignored the man’s insults. “Flora. When the duel starts, ride away from here and don’t look back.”
She nodded her head brusquely.
He gripped his saber’s hilt. The leather was smooth yet worn beneath the skin of his palm; the weight of the sword was both balanced and light. It would be his tool for dispatching this vile man. He pointed the sword at his enemy. “Payne, it’s time.”
He didn’t wait for a response but kicked his mount’s flanks. “Ja!” Wolf called. He absorbed the horse’s sudden change in stride. Payne’s eyes alighted in a fierce delight as he spurred his mount.
The distance between the two men was short, and it was only a moment before their swords met with a clang. The blades crashed into one another like a blacksmith’s hammer pounding an anvil. The men shifted and when their blades met again, it sent shivers through Wolf’s wrist.
Payne steered his mount past Wolf, and Wolf rolled his wrist in reverse as he passed. He was not above stabbing this man in the back, and his lunge missed. The blade swooshed through the air with no jacket or flesh meeting its edge.
Wolf tugged Sarah’s reins to face his opponent, and as Payne was already there, the luxurious blade darted across his body. The bastard is already here, his mind barely managed to eke out, before he had to dodge another attack.
Ducking low near Sarah’s mane, Wolf felt Payne’s sword twisting back over his head, swiping dangerously down at an angle. The air from the blade’s razor edge cooled over Wolf’s head and neck. He raised his sword again only to defend himself. Now only capable of bitter defense, he desperately deflected another series of attacks.
Every attack was precise. Spurring Sarah, he rode away for a moment. He’s excellent. He needed to catch his breath and settle his mind. Only luck was keeping him here on the battlefield.
Payne turned his horse gracefully and grinned at Wolf. Taking a deep breath, Wolf shouted, “Get out of here, Flora!”
She urged her horse toward the farm, and he didn’t bother to watch her. He held his sword over his mount’s head and kicked her hard.
“I’ll grab her when we’re done here,” Payne called.
Muscles rippled in the horses’ flesh as both riders picked up speed. Payne skillfully pointed his saber at Wolf. It was the best way to pierce an opponent while keeping the sword pointed in a direction to avoid ones’ comrades while charging the enemy.
In a rank-and-file cavalry charge, there was no space for wielding the sword about safely. At least in the initial charge after you struck home with the enemy, swinging was unavoidable. But while riding at full gallop, it was the easiest way to break an enemy. It required no timing. Only pointing. A skilled rider could slash or crush a man’s skull as he rode by, but it was more of a guessing game, and he had to ensure he didn’t strike his mount by mistake.
He stayed hunched over his horse, Payne matching him stride for stride. When the men neared one another, Payne turned his sword outward, shifting himself in his saddle. Wolf went painfully past, his point reaching nothing but air. He slowed Sarah down and circled his horse back around.
>
A wetness ran along his side down and into his pants. At first, he thought it must be sweat. Then the pain started to ebb with the flow. It wasn’t bad; his blood boiled too hot for pain, but it burned all around the same area. He felt his ribs through his jacket.
His fingers explored a slice in his coat, through his shirt, and found the long and thin split skin that lay underneath. His own blood was warm on his fingertips like a half-eaten bowl of soup. Nothing could be done now. Only win this fight.
“My sword calls for more of your blood, Lieutenant!” Payne smirked, inspecting his blade.
Rage filled Wolf’s eyes. “Ja!” They quickly turned into a gallop. Wolf’s blade aimed for the center of his chest. Payne’s eyes were wide as they met. He was sure to land a blow this time. Payne steered his horse and ducked, and Wolf’s saber went over his shoulder. In a fraction of a second, Payne flicked his wrist to the rear, slicing at Wolf’s leg. The sword clanged back at Payne.
Saved by the brace. Who would have thought that damn thing that’s hindered my existence for years save me? I must change the game, or I will lose. Wolf yanked his reins closing on Payne before he had a chance to settle for another charge. Wolf slowed, and both the men jabbed and sliced at one another. Wolf hammered a blow upon Payne’s saber, sending the rear of his saber back into his nose.
Payne spun his horse away. Shaking his head in a daze, he screamed, “You will pay!” The two men met again. This time Payne struck quicker and with more anger. His blade slipped and slid off Wolf’s like a serpent’s tongue. It took every ounce of Wolf’s being to keep the man’s sword from biting his flesh. But the more they battled, the more tired each man grew.
“I grow tired of this contest,” Payne said. He hacked his sword near Wolf’s head with enough force to cleave it in two. It caught the side of Wolf’s wide-brimmed hat, deflecting the blow.
The two men were so intent on destroying each other they didn’t notice more men galloping their way.
“I command you to stop!” shouted the lead rider. He had a thick bushy brown beard on his cheeks and an ostrich plume in his slouch hat. His sash was buff colored, and he wore three stars surrounded by a wreath on his collar. The center star was larger than the other two. A Confederate major general. Wolf blinked, and Payne’s swipe caught the bottom of his ear, sending his lobe flying through the air.
The general drew his saber, deflecting the men apart. Wolf and Payne circled their horses.
“Stuart. Do not interfere! This is my duel!” Payne shouted.
“Where is she?” Stuart yelled at Payne.
“She is safe,” Wolf shouted. He touched the bottom of his missing earlobe. “Goddamn,” he said to himself.
Stuart’s face twisted in anger, pointing with his saber. “Are you the bandit responsible for this? Captain, stay your blade. He’s mine.”
Wolf tried to catch his breath. A fresh man to fight, the Knight of the Golden Spurs at that. His time here was numbered, but he could become a legend if he somehow survived.
Payne shook his head. “Do me this honor. This scum will die here today.”
Wolf stood no chance against two of the finest horsemen in the war. But he steeled himself while the other two men argued over who would have the honor of killing him.
“You will step aside, Captain. He has done me grave injustice and shall pay,” Stuart said, pointing his blade in Payne’s direction. “That is an order.”
“I will not. We have history, General, and he must die at my hand.”
“You will step aside, Captain Payne.”
“You dare disobey your general?” shouted an aide.
“The general has no right to be here. This is my kill.”
A gunshot rang out from the woods behind Wolf. The men turned their horses in surprise, looking for the culprit.
Payne’s eyes raged. “Treachery!”
Wolf lifted his saber in the air, holding his reins high for Payne to see. Sarah danced beneath him. Foam lined her mouth, and she let out an irritated neigh. He didn’t care what the man thought, but if this turned into a gun battle, things looked even worse. Four guns to one.
Stuart placed a hand on his abdomen. He grimaced as he held his hand in front of his face. Crimson saturated his white gloves. He let out a low groan as he slipped from his saddle. The ground broke his fall with a damp thud. His aides holstered their pistols and rushed to assist him.
Wolf turned. Faint horsemen emerged from the forest, pistols drawn.
“Hurry! Get him on his horse!” shouted a bookish aide.
Payne charged Wolf but reined his steed into the air as Wilhelm and the rest of Wolf’s unit came into view.
“You deceiver! You brought your men. Coward!” Payne shouted.
“Forward, platoon!” Wilhelm shouted. Wolf’s unit charged from the wood line into the field. Pistols blazed in their hands as Stuart and his aides hastily galloped away trailed by Payne.
Wilhelm wheeled the unit back toward Wolf. The men congregated around him with smiles. They were all there. All his men. Even the ones he was tepid about: Adams, Nelson, and young Hale.
“I thought I gave you an order, Sergeant,” Wolf said, watching the backs of the fleeing rebels, including the man he still must kill.
“An order you knew I wouldn’t follow,” Wilhelm said.
Wolf stifled a short laugh. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He turned, eyeing the men around him. “Which one of you made that shot?”
A slight man with a mischievous grin raised his hand. “I did,” Roberts said.
“Do you know the man who you just shot?”
Roberts shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. Saw some fancy lad sitting there with an ostrich feather on his cap. Thought maybe I’d thieve it from him after the battle was over.”
“That was Jeb Stuart.”
The men shared a brief glance with one another. Wilhelm squinted at the riders. “We should go get him. His capture could change the war.”
“No, he should see his wife.”
“Wait, Wolfie,” Adams said, eyeing the fleeing rebels. “You mean the Jeb “the Beau Sabreur” Stuart?”
“None other. Him and Payne were arguing over which one was going to kill me.”
“I’d like to take a swing at him,” Nelson grunted. “Been too long since I slew a man worth a damn.”
“There’s more,” George said, pointing. Every man’s eyes saw them. Riders drew up into formation near the farmhouse. Not a large force but clearly larger than them. Gray coats and red shirts labeled them as the enemy.
“You’re not going to have to wait long.”
“Maybe one of these baby men will give me a chance.”
Wilhelm shook his head. “Roberts shot the best cavalryman that there ever was.” He glanced at Wolf. “Did you see the other general?”
Wolf knew the man he spoke of. The brute Wade Hampton. As a subordinate of Stuart, he may be close. “No, just his aides.”
“And now Payne’s entire command.”
Wolf lifted his chin. “We are not finished.”
“Didn’t look like you were doing too well,” Wilhelm said.
“I was surviving.”
“Barely.”
Hogan pushed his horse near Wolf. “You’re sure that was Stuart?”
“There was no doubt.”
Hogan squeezed his arm. “Do you know what we’ve done? His death means supremacy for our mounted forces.”
“Does it? He was but one man. Surely there are other capable men.”
“The blow to morale will be insurmountable. I must tell Sheridan immediately.”
Wolf gave a slight nod, but he was distracted by the force of men straightening their line ahead of him, preparing to run them off the field. “I believe we have more pressing events on hand.”
The Red Shirts formed a tight-knit line in the field across from them. Disciplined and confident veteran horsemen. Payne rode in front of his men directing them into position.
“Form
up!” Wolf shouted. His men maneuvered their animals into a long single line. He had enough men to give them a fight. He hadn’t asked them here, but he wasn’t leaving without Payne’s head on the tip of his sword either.
“Uh, Lieutenant. I don’t mind ridin’ and all, but I’m a better shooter from the stationary position than from atop a horse,” Skinner said.
Wolf regarded him. “You may take a dismounted position.”
George joined Skinner, both kneeling in the trees. They sighted through their scopes and twisted their eye pieces to adjust for the estimated range where the two forces would meet in their deadly contest.
“James?” George called to his friend.
James lifted his chin at his enemy across the way. “I ride with these men.”
“You are a sharpshooter not a horseman,” George said, his face twisted in consternation.
“I am a warrior. It matters not.” He pulled a pistol and a long knife from his belt.
Wolf steered his mount in front of his men. He pointed at Wilhelm with his saber.
“Unfurl our colors, Sergeant.”
A broad grin spread across Wilhelm’s face, and he reached into a bag hanging off his saddle, removing the wolf-head guidon. It had a dark red upper half like each stripe on the American flag, and the jet-black bottom was emblazoned with the golden wolf head in the center.
“Sergeant,” Skinner called out. He tossed him a long straight branch.
Wilhelm fastened the guidon to the pole. Raindrops began to fall from the sky in a tired drizzle. Then he raised it into the air. The wind whipped at it, making it snap in its freedom.
Wolf growled with a glance at the darkening sky. “Let ‘em know who we are.”
Chapter Thirty-One
May 11, 1864
Near Yellow Tavern, Virginia
Wolf walked his horse in front of his men. Sarah’s hooves dug into the soil with each step. The rain pattered them gently. Fate had given him another stab at Payne that made him feel relaxed about what was to come. If he wasn’t meant to kill this man, then why present him so soon after their previous engagement?
“I needn’t tell you why we fight. Each man has his own reasons. Uncle Shugart fought so other men could be free. Some fight because their family fights.” He nodded at Wilhelm. His sergeant’s face hardened into a vengeful glower. “Other men fight just to fight; it’s in their blood. There’s no harm in that. A nation needs fighters.” He turned his horse back down the line. “Some fight for a better life. Some fight to go home. But I’ll tell you why I fight.”
Northern Blood Page 27
