"Fletcher, get to work or I'll blow your goddamn head off." Percy's voice was brittle, like broken glass. "I have no patience with shirkers."
Fletcher's face blanched with fear. He began to stammer some protest, thought better of it, and edged around the gun to join Hazlett and Hudson, who were straining to free a rail.
"That's better," Percy said, holstering his pistol.
The spikes holding a rail in place gave all at once with a shriek as they ripped from the wooden tie, nearly pitching the men over backward. Forbes whooped as he lost his balance and plunked down on his backside. The men grabbed the loose rail and pitched it into the ravine twenty feet below. They joined the others sweating and cursing over the second rail and soon had that one free as well.
"Sure, and that will be a fine surprise for anyone coming after us," said Flynn, looking down at the twin rails now gleaming in the brush.
"I don't believe you mean that, Irish," Hazlett said. He was standing a few feet away, a crowbar over one shoulder. "Maybe you want them to catch us. Hell, you might just be a Yankee yourself. Lord knows there's enough potato-eaters wearing blue."
"Hazlett, you don't know your arse from a potato, much less a Yankee from a Reb."
Hazlett snarled and in one, smooth motion, he planted his feet and swung the iron bar at Flynn's head. The Irishman ducked and the bar swished harmlessly through the air. Forbes, standing next to Flynn, couldn't get out of the way fast enough and the crow bar struck him a glancing blow on the upper arm. He howled and swore.
Flynn went at Hazlett from a crouch, thumping hard fists deep into his belly. Hazlett slashed down with the crow bar. Flynn dodged a second too late. The iron bar missed his head but the flattened tip ripped a bloody furrow along his jawbone.
Flynn ignored the pain and danced back out of reach. The two men circled each other. Hazlett's dark eyes burned with hatred as he sneered at Flynn.
"I'm goin' to do you good, Irish."
"Anytime you're ready."
Colonel Percy stepped between them. "I will not have this!" he shouted, reaching for the iron bar in Hazlett's hands. Hazlett didn't let go. For a moment, it looked as if he might even attack Percy. Then, reluctantly, he let Percy have the crowbar. "There will be no fighting among ourselves. Flynn, Hazlett, do you hear me?"
Percy's face had turned red, his grip on the crowbar tightening until his knuckles showed white, and it looked as if he might swing it at the sergeants. His voice was shrill. "Do you hear me?"
"I hear you." Flynn spoke first. He relaxed, went out of a fighter's stance, and gingerly touched the wound on his chin. His fingertips came away bloody and he glared at Hazlett. "I understand."
"Hazlett?"
"All right, Colonel."
"We move again in five minutes."
The men drifted away. Some found a spring near the tracks and drank deeply. They pulled biscuits and cold fried chicken from their pockets and ate it standing near the train. A soldier learned to eat and drink when he could.
“I could use some coffee,” John Cook said wistfully. “Real coffee like we had this morning, not what we’re used to drinking back home that’s made out of chicory.”
“Ain’t no time for making coffee.”
“I just said it would be nice, is all,” Cook said, then stared hungrily at the bundle of food the other man had taken from his pocket and unwrapped. “You gonna eat that biscuit?”
Further down the tracks, Colonel Percy fell into step beside Pettibone.
"What's with those two?" Percy asked. "I think they would have killed each other."
"It's like two roosters in a barnyard, Colonel," Pettibone said philosophically. "Sooner or later, they's goin' to fight. This ain't the end of it, neither."
"But why those two?" Percy wondered aloud. If there was trouble between his men, he wanted to know the cause.
"Hazlett is a son-of-a-bitch and a no-good troublemaker," Pettibone said, then added, "Sir. I know he's married to your cousin. But he always was a bully back home, and a man like that thrives in army life, 'specially if he wears stripes. Now Flynn, he won't abide a man like that. He's quick to make a joke, I reckon, but make no mistake, he's a hard man. Someone like him stands up to a piece of horse shit like Hazlett. And Hazlett don't like that."
Percy shook his head. He supposed he had known as much all along. "It ain't enough that the Yankees want to kill us. We have to try and kill each other, too."
Shaking his head, Percy stomped toward the locomotive. He would much rather have been on horseback, where a man felt free and easy, instead of riding this steam locomotive. Some called a locomotive an iron horse, but in Percy's mind the Chesapeake was as far as you could get from four hooves and a saddle. It wasn't natural. This damn train was making them all nervous.
"Colonel!"
Percy turned. Lieutenant Cater had jumped down from the last car and was waving his arms and shouting. "Colonel! Colonel!"
Percy looked beyond Cater and saw at once what all the shouting was about. Something was coming at them down the tracks. He squinted, trying to make it out, but his near-sighted eyes saw only a distant blur.
"What is it?"
"Hand car, sir," Pettibone drawled. "Coming right at us."
"How many men on her?"
"Just three, sir."
Percy squinted again, and could begin to make out the up-and-down pumping motion. He knew his small band of raiders could easily overwhelm three men, but if his pursuers were armed, the victory might come at a bloody price.
"Everyone on the train!" he shouted. "Let's go."
He turned and ran for the engine. Wilson had already heard the commotion and pulled back the Johnson bar, getting the Chesapeake underway. At first, the huge drive wheels slipped uselessly on the slick, polished rails. Wilson pulled a lever, sand dropped on the rails, and the wheels caught. The train began to creep ahead, although the pursuers were gaining on them. Percy swung into the cab.
"She won't go no faster, Colonel," Wilson said, working the lever to the sandbox again. Too slowly, the locomotive was gathering speed. "There's just no traction."
"It doesn't matter," Percy said. He nodded at the gap in the rails behind them. "They won't be getting any closer."
Chapter 15
“We’ve got them now,” Greer shouted. “Faster!”
He laughed at the sight of the thieves up ahead scrambling aboard the train. Cowards, he thought, every last one of them. The Chesapeake was just ahead. Sweat streamed down the faces of the three railroad men and the muscles of their arms burned as they pumped harder and harder.
Greer spotted the train ahead and laughed out loud. The hand car flew over the rails, closing the distance between the pursuers and the creeping train, which was just beyond the Twin Arch Bridge.
“I knew we’d find them sooner or later,” Greer crowed as they rushed closer. On the last car, he could make out two men watching them come on. Briefly, he wondered if they were armed. However, Greer's excitement over the first glimpse of his train overwhelmed his sense of caution. At this point, he really didn't give a damn if they had guns. All Greer could think about was catching up to the stolen train. By God, he would teach those train thieves a lesson.
Too late, Greer saw the missing rails ahead. Schmidt saw it an instant later and his mouth fell open. The push car lacked brakes, so they hurtled helplessly toward disaster.
"Jump!" Greer shouted.
The three men launched themselves into thin air. The hand car hurtled on, the pump handle still beating up and down as if to invisible hands. At the gap, it ran out of rail and the front wheels churned up dirt and rocks. The car careened wildly onto its side, then flipped end over end and landed upside down in the brush lining the tracks. The four wheels went on spinning silently. If its momentum had carried it just a few more feet, the car would have sailed clear off the bridge ahead.