Jeff was sent word; he was wanted pronto in the general’s tent. “Yes, sir, you sent for me?”
“I did. Who are you and where did you come from?”
“I’m Sergeant Jeff Nelson, sir. My twenty men and I are what’s left of C Troop, sir.”
“Did you give orders to engage a superior rebel force this morning, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“That’s what my forward scouts observed. They say your men were something to behold, Sergeant. I’m promoting you, Sergeant. You’re now Lieutenant Nelson. Inform your corporal that he’s now a sergeant serving under me, as of before time began. You’ll receive your day’s orders at morning’s officer’s call. You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
“Me, now a sergeant? Me? A serg—I mean, a lieutenant. Are you sure? Me?”
“Yes, Sergeant Smith, you! And you may address me simply as sir. Now, go inform the men, we are under Gen’ral B. J. Travis’s command, as of before time began. And we’ll be engaging some enemy foot troops early tomorrow. We will receive our orders in the morning. Now, you and your men better go to your bunks. You’re gonna need yer rest tomorrow, I suspect. No need to post sentries, Corporal, let the Gen’ral’s command post ’em. Tell our men to get some sleep.”
At 5:00 a.m., they had officer’s call, it was a muffled sound. A bugle? Apparently the general didn’t want the sound to travel too far. Didn’t matter to Jeff though; he’d been awake since 4:00 a.m., waiting for it. He’d been awakened from a dream. He and his dad were plowing their cotton field, and Mama called them to dinner. Mama had fried a chicken and made biscuits. And she was brewing coffee for ’em. That was what awoke Jeff, the smell of coffee brewing. The cooks were already busy frying bacon and making stacks of flapjacks.
Jeff crawled out of his blanket, went down to the cook’s fire, and got himself a big tin cup of hot black coffee, walked back and joined the officer’s group who were now in a bunch and waiting for “Hiz Majesty” to give them their marching orders. Jeff was enjoying his hot coffee. Evidently, General Travis believed marching his soldiers into battle on a full stomach was good for their moral. Personally, Jeff believed fighting on an empty stomach in battle was the wiser way for the trooper—just in case he caught a bullet in his belly.
Everyone received their marching orders. Jeff’s orders were to join the company’s cavalry troop and follow their Major’s orders. He could do that, no problem. He called Sergeant Smith. “Form our men. We’re to ride with the company’s cavalry boys. Be sure each of our men still have three pistols. If any man don’t have at least three, tell him to get ’em, even if he has to steal one. You and our men will follow behind me.”
“Sergeant, you instruct our troopers, when we go into battle, they are to do like you do! You got it? Regardless whatever else the other cavalry boys does, when we’re told to charge, our troopers are to follow your lead and you are to follow mine. Understand? I want our men to stay alive. We fight like we were trained to fight. We stay alive first. We stay alive to kill the enemy second. Dead men can no longer fight back. Go instruct our men, Sergeant Smith. Now!”
“Company, fall in, Order…march!” General Travis’s infantry moved out onto the wide hard packed Virginia dirt road, marching eight men abreast. Union cavalry, two men abreast, rode on each side of the soldiers. Union scouts had informed the general that the rebel army was deployed about a half mile away, across and on both sides of the road. They were dug in and waiting for the Union Army to come within musket range. Jeff and Sergeant Smith rode abreast, and their twenty troopers rode behind them. Jeff had made sure they were placed together. Jeff meant to stay alive and to see that his men did also.
“You nervous, Sergeant Smith?”
“Nah, Loo-tenant,” replied his sergeant. “I ain’t nervous, sir. I’m skeered plumb shitless.”
“So am I, Sergeant, but don’t let our men know it, and don’t let it show to nobody else!”
“I won’t, sir. I’m a good poker playing bluffer.”
Twenty minutes later, the Yankees were in enemy sniper’s musket range. Shots were fired; four of their Union soldiers fell. The Union infantry kept marching. Rebel fire sounded again. Three more Union soldiers fell. Jeff’s eyes quickly darted to their infantry leader. The major was riding abreast of his troops on a prancing white horse. The man was a fool. He raised the quirt in his left hand “Company!…Fix bayonets!” Then he yelled, “Company! Charge!” The Union soldiers all began screaming at once as they broke into a run. Gunfire commenced on both sides.
Jeff and his twenty cavalrymen broke into their zigzagging, galloping maneuvers; they were bent low over their saddles, firing their pistols like they were trained, just like the day before, snap-aiming at their enemy, firing, seldom missing their targets. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw the Union infantry officer summersault backward from his prancing white horse. Jeff’s men were firing two pistols, killing their enemy with every shot. Jeff saw one of his trooper’s slump in his saddle. The trooper held on to his reins. Jeff saw the man who’d shot him, and Jeff shot the man in his chest and sent him reeling backward. Jeff saw his trooper recover and stay on his horse. “Good man.” One Colt became empty. Jeff jammed it in his waistband, drew another, and fired it, shooting a man between his eyes.
He was in among the swarming enemy now, firing both his pistols. Jeff brained one rebel with the barrel of his six-gun and heard the man’s skull crack. He fired at another at close range, shooting him in his right eye. Brains and blood flew all over Jeff’s hands as he fired both Colts at man after man in their heads, eyes, and screaming mouths, until he rode out of the screaming, bloody melee. He spat out his reins and turned his gelding with his knees, and taking a deep breath, Jeff plunged back into the swarming mass of humanity who were fighting for their very souls. His men were still among the rebels, still zigzagging. Back and forth they rode, guiding their horses with their knees, shooting, yelling, bent low over their mounts, killing their enemies, right and left.
Lord-a-mighty, Jeff loved his twenty troopers.
Chapter Nine
At last their bloody battle was over. What few rebels who were left standing had dropped their weapons and had thrown up their hands. General Travis’s Union forces had carried the day. While the enemy soldiers were being grouped for processing, officer’s call was resounded. Jeff left an exhilarant Sergeant Smith in charge who was now praising his twenty battle weary warriors.
“Gentlemen, accept my congratulations,” expressed an excited General Travis. “You should be proud of yourselves. This battle was a decisive victory for us. General Grant will hear of your valor today, I promise you. The enemy here has been soundly defeated. Well done! Well done! Now see to your men and don’t forget to express my humble thank you to our troops for a job well done.” The general was indeed exuberant and flowery with his speech, Jeff noticed.
As Jeff turned to leave, he was told to stay; the general wanted to talk to him.
“Yes, sir, Gen’ral?”
“Lieutenant, I watched you and your troopers from the hill this morning. Where did you and your men get your training?”
“We trained ourselves, Gen’ral.”
“Wha…I can’t believe it! How did you go about your training? I mean what motivates you to fight in such an unorthodox way?”
“We fight to stay alive, Gen’ral, and to confuse our enemy while we’re killing ’em. A moving target, especially on horseback, is harder to hit than one that’s stationery, so we elect to always keep moving, never stopping till the fighting’s over. We trained our horses to obey us by using our knees, Gen’ral, just like the Indians do. We all carry three to four pistols each, sir, and we’re firing two pistols at the same time.