Prisoner in Time (Time travel) (56 page)

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Even in the cool morning temperature, the soldiers sweated while they toiled at their work. Most removed their heavy woolen coats, yet continued to sweat through their white cotton shirts. As the men drove their axes and shovels into the solid earth, blisters formed on their hands. Ignoring their pain and the need for rest, they worked at a frantic pace in the hope that every shovelful would increase their chance of survival.

Doc swung the head of the ax, plunging the point deep into the ground. As he levered the dirt away from the ditch, he took a deep breath and exhaled. Geoff scooped up the dirt with his shovel, and watched Doc with concern.

“You ok Doc? Do you need to take a break?”

“Certainly not Geoffrey, I’m just not used to this ax handle is all. It has an unusual straightness that takes a bit of getting used to,” he explained feebly.

“Straightness… that’s a good one Doc. Haven’t heard that one before,” Geoff teased.

“Lad, most ax handles have a curvature about their grip region. This one’s almost perfectly straight. You must exert more energy to use it,” he tried to explain, unconvincingly.

“Whatev,” Geoff shot back with indifference.

“It’s an abomination in design,” Doc continued.

“Uh huh…”

“Lad, that shovel won’t operate itself. I suggest you put it to proper use,” Doc spat, mildly insulted.

Geoff grinned, then returned to his work. Doc took another long breath and glanced around to see if anyone had heard their exchange. He wiped the beads of sweat off his face with his sleeve, then looked off to his left toward the river. Two hundred yards away, he watched David on horseback riding up the line, calling out orders as he inspected his defenses. Suddenly, off to his right, he heard the sound of approaching riders.

Gen. Schofield trotted swiftly behind the long wall of logs and shallow trenches. With his reins in one hand, he pulled his pocket watch from his coat and noted the time.

“Hmm, ten-thirty,” he mumbled to himself, his mind consumed with worry.

Looking back to the wall, he noted a log hastily placed and ready to fall.

“Private, secure that log properly. A single bullet could dislodge the blasted thing,” he shouted in frustration. Turning to a nearby Sergeant, he continued, “Sergeant, watch your men carefully.”

“Yes Sir,” he responded, rushing to the private to carry out his order.

Continuing down the line, Gen. Schofield caught sight of David shouting to his men. He watched momentarily in amazement as David stepped down off his horse, grabbed and ax and began to turn up the ground at the bottom of the shallow trench. He smiled approvingly, then rode with purpose toward him.

“A fine example of an officer,” he said to the other men riding with him. “Good work, General Warner.”

David put down his ax and smiled. “Thanks General, as you said before… borrowed time. Every hand counts at this point.”

“If I could manage the time, I’d climb down there with you,” he responded in grim tone.

“How are the bridges coming along?” David inquired.

The general pursed his lips, then replied, “Slow… very slow. I just inspected them and they’re still hours away from being passable. With eight hundred wagons that need to cross and still no sight of the pontoon bridges Gen. Thomas promised me, our situation is desperate.”

David nodded in understanding. Glancing over to the general’s staff, they too carried the look of worry on their faces.

“These boys are going to have to fight hard… harder than they’ve ever fought before.” Realizing his defeatist tone, he quickly added, “But like any cornered animal, I’m confident our boys will pull us out of this scrape.”

“Yes Sir,” David responded simply.

Gen. Schofield looked over David’s skirmish line. Seeing the depth of the trenches below the top of the log wall, he nodded approvingly.

“I believe your line is looking formidable general. Your men will be well protected. Good work. Might I suggest adding another layer of logs along the top? The extra height will make it that much more difficult for the enemy to penetrate our lines.”

David looked up the line and reexamined his trenches. Realizing they were adequately deep enough, he agreed with the general’s logic and responded simply, “I’ll get right on it.”

“Well, I’m off,” the general said with a tip of his hat. “Stay sharp. If you see any signs of Hood’s army, be sure to holler out.”

“Will do, General,” David replied.

As Gen. Schofield trotted off, David turned to a nearby sergeant and said, “You heard the man… more logs.”

For the next two hours, the back breaking work of cutting trees, removing limbs and positioning the bare logs on top of the wall, took precedence of all other tasks. Already exhausted, they pushed themselves to the limits of their endurance. With the last log in place, David rode up his section of the skirmish line and ordered his men to prepare for battle. Within minutes, more than two hundred rifles were loaded and pointed across the wall. As the men took a much needed break, their weary eyes searched the wooded field in front of them.

1pm…

Geoff knelt at the edge of the logs and looked over the wooded field. His Henry rifle pointed out across the wall and his finger lay against the trigger guard, ready for the inevitable call to action. As he scanned the distant trees from left to right, he raised his hand to his mouth and yawned. After nearly an hour, the repetition of the exercise began to take its toll. Slowly, his eyelids began to shut. With a quick jerk, his head fell forward, nearly striking the rifle in front of him. In reflex, he snapped his head back and forced his eyes open.

“The waiting is the hard part Geoffrey,” Doc said, kneeling beside him.

Geoff turned and saw the bearded old man smiling back at him.

“Maybe they’re not coming. Maybe they were ordered to go somewhere else?” Geoff said.

“Not likely Lad. Gen. Hood has been chasing Gen. Schofield now for over a month and I’m certain his scouts have reported we’re cornered here against the river. It’s just a matter of time before he shows,” Doc responded.

“Swell,” Geoff said with heavy sarcasm.

“I must say, I
am
rather puzzled by his late appearance. I can’t imagine what could possibly be slowing his advance.”

“Maybe he overslept,” Geoff joked.

“I don’t know about that,” Doc replied, missing the humor, “but the later he is, the more time Gen. Schofield will have to repair the bridges and get the supplies across.”

“And the later he is, the shorter the battle will be,’ Geoff responded with hope.

“Why is that?” Doc asked, now puzzled.

“It gets dark around five o’clock. If he shows up now, he’ll only have a couple of hours to fight after he positions himself.”

“Geoffrey, approaching darkness is no guarantee of a shortened fight. Many a battle has been fought late into the evening,” Doc rebutted.

“Fighting in darkness? How the heck do you do that?”

“With enthusiasm Geoffrey,” Doc responded cryptically. “There are times when men are highly energized and their momentum carries them well beyond the point of logic. They simply ignore what they can ot see and continue their fight.”

“That’s crazy man. You could end up shooting your own guys,” Geoff said in disbelief.

“Often they do before they realize their actions. After that, they lay down their arms and the fighting then turns vicious.”

“Vicious? How?”

“Hand to hand, Geoffrey,” Doc responded grimly.

Suddenly, off to their right, faint shouts were relayed from man to man as the frantic message was passed down the line.

“PREPARE TO FIRE!”

Riding fast, David hurried from the edge of the river, past his men and up the line toward the shouting men. With his eyes on the distant horizon, he watched for signs of movement through the trees. Three hundred yards from his men and nearing the Lewisburg Pike, he hauled back on his reins as he crossed to the top of the wide flat road. Col. Stiles sat poised in his saddle, staring out across the open field through his field glasses. Hearing David’s approach, he turned.

“He’s here,” he said dryly.

Handing David the binoculars, he pointed his gloved hand toward the far tree line nearly a quarter mile away. David snatched the glasses from the Colonel and stared through them, his mind momentarily refusing to register what his eyes were seeing.

“Dammit! I’d hoped he wasn’t going to show today,” he said, handing back the binoculars.

“He’s late to the field, Sir,” Col. Stiles replied. “By the time he positions himself, it’ll be nearly dark. We may not see any action today because of it. I’m certain Hood and his generals are in conference over this point as we speak.”

“Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a large tank division right about now.”

“Tank? You can’t mean a water tank, can you? I don’t see the correlation between water and battle,” Col. Stiles responded, now confused by the modern term.

David realized his mistake.

“Sorry, it’s an unfamiliar term in these parts,” he shot back quickly. “I’m just saying I wish we had more firepower to intimidate Hood… make him think twice about attacking.”

“Hood doesn’t intimidate easily. He has bigger balls than brains… pardon my candor,” the Colonel responded.

David gave the colonel a surprised stare, taken momentarily aback by his crude statement.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Col. Styles added.

David grinned and nodded.

As the soldiers to their front checked their weapons and prepared themselves for battle, the two officers realized the time was quickly escaping.

“Better get back and prepare the men,” Col. Stiles said simply.

David nodded once more, as the two kicked their heels and sped off.

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Confederate Headquarters…

Gen. Hood stowed his field glasses and dismounted his horse. Gathering his generals, he discussed his plans for attack.

“Gentlemen, we have them now. With the bridges out, there’ll be no escaping this time,” he said, his voice sounding energized.

Generals Steward, Cheatham and Forrest stood to his front and frowned disapprovingly. As the three searched each other’s eyes for solidarity, Gen. Hood scowled in frustration.

“What is this? I see unrest on your faces,” he spat.

“Sir, the hours are dwindling. Surely you can’t be considering an attack with so little light left to the day,” Gen. Cheatham challenged.

“Am I surrounded by cowards?” Gen. Hood shouted angrily. “This is an outrage. Thanks to my aggressive nature, I was able to assemble you men here in short order, even AFTER you three allowed that snake Schofield to slip on past us without as much as a single shot fired… and NOW, before our hour of victory, you again suggest we just let our prey slip from our grasp.”

“Sir, I must protest,” Gen. Stewart retorted. “There was a moment when we might have been able to cut off Schofield’s escape route, but you insisted his traverse through Spring Hill in the late evening, was merely a reconnaissance patrol. You specifically instructed us to hold our positions.”

“Hogwash General!” he rebutted angrily. “You did
not
announce your concerns strenuously enough. Had you done so then as you’re doing now, I might have understood the gravity of Schofield’s movements and acted more decisively.”