“Hold us, sir?” Forrest’s laugh sounded more like a bay. “You haven’t the chance of a snake in the Garden of Eden of holding us.”
“How many battles did you win by bluff?” Rhoodie said. “You won’t bluff me.”
“I won by bluff when I was weak. I ain’t weak now, Andries.”
“You say so.”
“Want to see my army, so you know what I’ve got?” It was Rhoodie’s turn to laugh. “How many of them would I see three times, to make you look stronger than you are? You can trick damnfool Yankees that way, but don’t expect me to fall for it.”
“Git back to your lines, Rhoodie, or you’ll find the truce runnin’ out a mite early,” Forrest growled, taking a step toward the Rivington man. He was ten years older than Rhoodie and, while large, could not match his massive frame. Still, Caudell would have bet on him in a fight—he had a fire, a vitality, the Rivington man lacked.
But Andries Rhoodie, if stolid next to Forrest, was also stolid enough not to be overawed by him. He held his ground, glowering like a big slow bear facing a panther. “How many lives do you want to spend taking us down?”
“Few as I have to,” Forrest said. “But when it comes to that, Andries, I got more lives to spend than you. That worked for Grant against Lee till you came along, didn’t it? Reckon it can work just as well for us this time.”
Most of the Confederates who heard Forrest—even Major Strange—frowned and scratched their heads, wondering what he was talking about. Caudell started to frown with them until he remembered the Picture History of the Civil War. If Forrest hadn’t seen it, he knew of something like it and knew it was true. Rhoodie knew that, too; for the first time, Forrest succeeded in rocking him. He ground his teeth, once, twice, three times. Then, without another word, he turned and stamped back to his own line.
Nineteen ninety-six, Caudell thought as he watched that broad retreating back. But there was no dream to it; somehow, the Rivington men had slid back through time to change the way the Second American Revolution turned out. And, having changed that, they’d also tried to change the subsequent Confederate government—tried to change it by gunfire. Caudell’s hands tightened on his own AK-47. They weren’t going to get away with it.
Nathan Bedford Forrest muttered a curse which his mustache muffled. He, too, stared after Andries Rhoodie. When he turned back to his own troops, his eye fell on Caudell and Mollie Bean. His gaze sharpened. “I saw you two back at Nashville with Pleasants,” he said, not making it a question. “You’re from around these parts, then.”
“Yes, sir,” they said together. Mollie added, “Matter of fact, sir, I’m from Rivington.”
“Are you?” Forrest said, suddenly smiling. “Suppose you could guide a company around east to outflank these works the Rivington bastards are running up here?”
“Reckon so,” Mollie answered. “I expect we can march faster’n they can dig.”
“I expect so, too.” Forrest turned to his adjutant. “Major Strange, gather a force from the men moving up. Take command of it and go with Bean and Caudell here”—Nate envied the general his memory—”around to the right. I want you moving before the hour’s up, on account of they’re surely digging now.”
“Yes, sir,” Strange said, adding to his guides: “You two come along with me and help me assemble my force.”
“If you do get around them, drive straight for Rivington,” Forrest said. “Get into their rear one more time and they’re done for.”
“Question, sir,” Strange said; at Forrest’s nod, he went on, “Do you want us to strike for the town once in their rear, or back at the fighting men themselves? Your usual aim is to beat the army; with that accomplished, the place it defended will fall of its own accord.”
“Nothing is usual about the Rivington men,” Nathan Bedford Forrest answered. “In Rivington they have the engine they use to bring in their weapons—I gather they travel here through it, too, come to that. If it’s taken or wrecked, the fighters are done for, too. So this time I want the town.”
“You’ll have it,” Major Strange promised. “Caudell, Bean—do I have your names straight?—come along now. This time I really mean it.” Caudell stumbled over his own feet a couple of times as he followed Forrest’s aide—he wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going. His mind kept chewing on the idea of an engine that ran through time. It made perfect sense; the Rivington men had to come from somewhen that wasn’t 1868. But he’d never wondered about how they did it until Forrest set him thinking.
The soldiers he and Mollie helped Strange collect belonged to several different regiments; advance was as likely as retreat to break up an army’s neat ranks. When they’d rounded up about a company’s worth, the major said,” All right, Bean, get us around them.”
“Do my best, sir.” Mollie led the impromptu force east, saying, “We’ll go most of the way to the railroad tracks before I try and bring us north. There’s a little path runs alongside ‘em, about half a mile this way.”
“Good enough,” Strange said. “The line of the railroad itself is sure to be strongly held, but a path…” His features were not nearly so mobile as those of his commander, but anticipation sparked in his eyes.
The detachment had not been moving long when firing erupted up ahead. After a few minutes, mortar bombs began falling, crump, crump, crump, back around where Major Strange had chosen his men. Caudell said, “I’m not usually what you’d call fond of marching, but right this second, it looks pretty fine to me.” Major Strange, who tramped along in front of him, bobbed his head up and down in emphatic agreement.
The din of gunfire faded behind the Confederates. Caudell took that as a good sign, hoping it meant the Rivington men hadn’t the men to extend their wired line all the way from the position they’d been defending to the Wilmington and Weldon tracks. If they had—He took a deep breath which had nothing to do with how tired he was. If they had enough men for that, this detachment was going to get chewed up.
Mollie recognized the path when she came to it. Nate would have marched right by; it was so narrow and overgrown that he wondered if it went back to Indian days. That made it harder to follow north, but also raised his spirits: newcomers like the Rivington men might never have discovered it.
No wire with teeth reached out to trap him for enemy guns. The soldiers who marched with him had seen too much war to make a lot of unnecessary noise, but they grinned and checked their rifles. They knew what they were gaining here.
“How close to the town do the woods grow?” Strange asked Mollie.
“Inside half a mile, sir,” she answered. The major beamed like a cherub.
As it turned out, they didn’t do quite as well as Mollie expected. They came to a new clearing with a half-built big house in the middle of it. On the far side were four or five Rivington men hurrying toward the fighting. They stopped in comic dismay as the Confederates began coming out of the woods. Then one of them raised his repeater to his shoulder and started shooting.
The fierce little fire fight lasted only a few minutes: even with body armor, four or five were no match for a company. Major Strange was rubbing his chin as he trotted north. He waved the detachment to a halt, told off about a quarter of his little force and pointed them westward. “I know the general told me to drive for the town, but the Rivington men have to know we’re here now after the racket we just made,” he said. “I don’t aim to be hit from the side when I ‘m supposed to be doing the hitting myself.”
The men he’d split off from his main command went regretfully, but they went: Strange’s order made too much military sense to be disobeyed, even by soldiers who wanted to be in at the kill. They’d all been outflanked at one time or another and didn’t fancy ending up on the receiving end of that punishment ever again.