Charlie’s men charged on. Another gunner started to swing around and train his muzzle on the charging 13th. Then, finally, Charlie heard Custer’s men sound the charge. Cavalry came crashing into the jaws of the artillery barrage from two sides. From the calm that had reigned no more than five minutes earlier, the world had become total mayhem.
As the 13th closed on the artillery emplacement, many of the men jumped from their horses to engage the rebel gunners hand to hand. Horses milled, men fought with saber and side arm. Charlie, followed closely by Duncan, rode into the midst of the turmoil. With sword in hand, Charlie started to cut a path to the command position, close to the train’s engine. He thought all of the guns were incapacitated, for, having fired their loaded round, the gunners would not be able to reload once they were engaged in hand to hand combat.
He was wrong.
One gunnery team still had a loaded howitzer. The charge hit to Charlie’s right, a shattering blast. Men from both sides went down. Charlie felt fire and flame tear through his right arm, his leg, and his hand. The horse fell, dead in his tracks. That sense of falling was the last thing Charlie felt. In that instant, knowing he was dying, he cried out, "Rebecca!"
Duncan heard Charlie cry out. The Sergeant had taken a ball in his arm, his horse had fallen, but he was still on his feet.
"General? General Charlie! Oh, my God!"
--*--
Jocko had stayed with the support staff, as was his normal position. He was coordinating the movement of reserve horses and the medical support team. Jack was healing, so Jocko chose to ride him and give him a light workout. He had just finished checking on Elizabeth and was turning away when Jack bolted.
Jocko hung on. No horse was going to get the better of him, even General Charlie’s blasted pig-headed stallion. Ten minutes of hard galloping later, Jocko had passed Custer’s emplacement and been dragged through a small stand of trees. The scene in front of him horrified him.
There was Duncan, on his knees, blood pouring down one arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood from what looked like Charlie’s entire right side. The General was soaked in blood and a small pool was gathering under him. His face was sheet white, and he was clearly unconscious.
Jocko pulled his coat and shirt off, ripping them to use them as bandages. He pulled Duncan up by the collar of his coat. "Go. Take Jack. Get Dr. Walker and a medic crew here immediately."
Duncan nodded, unable to speak for the tears running down his cheeks, and leapt on the waiting horse.
Very gently, Jocko checked Charlie’s wounds. It was bad, very bad. His shoulder was ripped up, half his hand had been torn off, and several chunks were gone from his buttock and thigh. The worst was a gaping wound, almost as wide as Jocko’s hand, in the heavy muscles of his thigh. It looked like most of the blood was from the hand and the thigh wound. Jocko packed his shirt in the thigh and used the sleeve of his jacket to tie it off, trying to slow the flow of blood. He removed his belt and tied off Charlie’s wrist with a makeshift tourniquet. The shoulder would just have to wait. It was seeping, but not gushing like the leg would. Then he waited.
--*--
The makeshift camp was roaring with activity. Dr Walker had issued orders before leaving that made a lot of the men feel like she was a fully commissioned officer. The orders were simple. Get a tent raised for General Redmond and make sure it was outfitted with a warm bed, a stove and lanterns. And not a word of his injuries was to leave the camp –– especially not to Rebecca - until Elizabeth gave approval.
The men did her bidding without question. They knew General Redmond was hurt, they just did not know how badly. They watched as their commander was brought back into camp on a stretcher. Jocko and Samuelson carefully carried the litter with Whitman and Dr Walker half walking, half running ahead of them into his tent.
Somber looks were traded as the men silently wondered when Dr. Walker would come tell them that General Redmond had succumbed to his injuries.
Inside the tent, Elizabeth tossed her cloak off and quickly began washing her hands. "All right. Jocko, post a guard on this tent. No one, and I mean no one gets in here until after I have treated him."
"Right away, Doctor." Jocko gave one last look at his friend and then left the tent.
Elizabeth dried her hands and nodded to Whitman and Samuelson, "Get him out of that uniform. And prepare him for surgery."
She looked down at her friend, more dead than alive, and for the first time in a very long time, Dr. Elizabeth Walker felt sick. She found an apron in the pile of supplies and draped it over her neck as Whitman cut Charlie out of the tattered remnants of his uniform and Samuelson prepared all the equipment the doctor would need.
Elizabeth leaned over, taking a wet cloth to remove the blood spatter from Charlie’s face. "Listen to me, you stubborn bastard. Charlie Redmond is not a quitter. You have never run from anything in all the years I have known you. You need not start now. I do not want to have to go face Rebecca with the news you have died."
She looked at the wounds as best she could without removing the packing that was keeping Charlie from bleeding to death. She had just started removing the bandages against his hip and leg when Jocko came back into the tent.
"Dr. Walker, I am afraid you are needed."
"I am needed here."
"Ma’am there is a soldier with a serious wound……"
She blew a disgusted breath and looked to Samuelson. "Repack that, I will be back as soon as I can. Go ahead and treat the hand as best as you can and the shoulder as well."
"Yes, Doctor." Samuelson nodded.
--*--
An hour later Elizabeth returned to the tent. Charlie’s shoulder and hand had been treated and re-bandaged. She lifted his hand and examined the bandages. "How many fingers?"
"He lost the third and fourth finger, Doctor. They were completely blown off. Fortunately, it was a relatively clean wound."
Placing his hand back at his side she ran her fingers over the shoulder. "And this?"
"More severe, but we managed to clean and repair it. The General may lose some use of the arm, but at least it is still attached."
Elizabeth nodded and prepared to deal with the leg. "Which is more than we can probably hope for here."
As she removed the bandages, Charlie moaned. "Liz……a……beth……"
"I am here, Charlie."
"Bad?"
"Yes Charlie, it is bad. I think we are going to have to take your leg."
"No."
"Charlie, there may be no option."
"No."
"This wound is serious, I do not think I can save your leg. If I do not take it you will die."
Charlie nodded slowly. "Then……so……be……it……" He drew a deep breath and was once again unconscious.
Elizabeth looked to the faces in the room. "Come on. We have to try and save this leg."
Chapter 33
Saturday, April 8, 1865
Elizabeth, Samuelson and Whitman stayed in Charlie’s tent, working long hours to try and save his mangled leg. She sent Jocko to try and get some sleep; someone would have to sit with him through the night and watch for any hemorrhages or fever. Jocko was the obvious choice. Instead, the man had taken up a position in front of the tent, waiting and keeping others away. Richard was ducking back and forth between the command tent and Charlie’s tent. He had received orders to march to Appomattox Courthouse in the morning to join Sheridan in attempting to keep Lee contained.
The effort that had cost Charlie so dearly had done much to help the cause. They had captured three supply trains carrying the critical supplies Grant believed would make the difference between Lee reaching North Carolina and surrendering. It was little comfort to Richard and the men of the 13th Pennsylvania.