Words Heard in Silence (96 page)

Having briefed each company commander on his duties for the following day, Charlie finally managed to get to bed at a reasonable hour. He literally dropped into bed like a sack of flour and fell into a deep sleep. The past few days had taken their toll. Rebecca’s letter, started two days earlier, would just have to wait another day.

The ground was soft; it had rained the night before. Charlie’s mount, one of the reserve horses, was not as sure footed as Jack. Before the sun was high, Charlie thought his tailbone was going to crack.

It was quiet for much of the morning. They rode circuits up and down the rail line, looking for any sign of a train, not expecting anything as Custer’s men were ahead of them further down the line.

Just before lunchtime, a messenger came riding in from Custer’s command post. "Move up, we have a major problem."

Charlie signaled Duncan, who had learned the basic bugle calls, to signal the men to move forward at all speed. As they rode, Charlie asked the courier what the problem was.

"They have guns, sir. No infantry that we can see, but howitzers to guard the train. They have General Custer’s men pinned down."

Charlie rode up to where Custer and his officers were huddled behind a rise, discussing the problem. It was artillery against cavalry –– a situation that no one had ever faced before.

"The 13th reporting, Sir." Charlie rode up to the group of officers milling around Custer.

"How many men do you have riding with you, General?" Custer looked almost gleeful. He had a battle on his hands.

"I have about five hundred mounted, sir. The other half of the regiment is providing protection against an attack from the main body of the Lee’s forces."

Custer stroked his little goatee. "That should be enough. This is what I want, Redmond. I will use the main body of my troops to hold their attention. I want your men to flank them and press them up against the rail lines. If you can get behind them before they can turn the guns, it should be fairly simple. We have word that General Walker is commanding. He does not have a history of being able to respond rapidly."

Charlie slipped up to the top of the hill to survey the situation. A supply train was stopped on the tracks, with light artillery on either side serving as escort. To the far right, there was a line of trees, with about five hundred feet of clear pasture on a slight uphill slope. Charlie looked very carefully. If he could get behind the trees without being detected, he had a chance of coming up behind the artillery. On the other hand, if his troopers were detected too early, and one or more of the guns could be turned, there would be a bloodbath. Fortunately, since half the guns were deployed on the other side of the train, it might not be too difficult if Custer could keep the gunners occupied while they got in position.

He returned to the cluster of officers. "Yes, Sir. Give us about a half an hour to get into position."

The conference with his company officers was tense and terse. Each trooper dismounted and carefully wrapped his horse’s hooves to help keep them silent. The men slipped behind the tree line, a few at a time.

It looked good. But as they broke from the woods to charge the Confederate’s flank, the end gunner swung his howitzer around and let loose with a round of deadly canister shot. Even though the shot was undirected, the effect was devastating, spraying a rain of Minnie balls into Charlie’s charging troops.

The blast kicked up a fountain of dirt, mixing fragments of the canister casing, the balls inside the casing and a cloud of rock pieces and dirt up into the faces of the charging men.

Charlie saw Raiford and the flag go down. Young Lieutenant Swallow snatched the banner up and the men charged forward. An instant later, Charlie’s horse stumbled and fell, a ball embedded in his chest. Charlie grabbed a stray horse, not knowing if the rider had fallen to the shot or if he had just been unseated when the horse shied from the flying debris. It did not matter at that moment.

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."

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.

Finally, Elizabeth and Samuelson emerged. Whitman stayed to watch over the patient for a while until he could be relieved. Richard looked at Elizabeth carefully. She was drawn and gray-skinned from exhaustion. Charlie’s blood was splattered all over her apron and dress. "Darling, how are you? And how is he?"

"I am all right. But I have my doubts that Charlie will survive the night. A third of his posterior right hip and buttock is missing. He lost more blood than any one man should. We have done everything we can. The rest is up to God and our friend."

"Dear God. Elizabeth, how can I tell Rebecca?"

She sighed and shook her head. "I do not know. If it comes to it, I think I should be the one to travel to Culpeper and tell her. However, I want to wait until it is absolutely necessary. You never know, Richard, Charlie is a fighter, he may survive."

Jocko, who had been listening to this conversation, broke in. "How dare you write him off? He will live. He has to. That baby girl back in Culpeper needs him. Miss Rebecca needs him. You have to get him through."

"Jocko, I have done everything for him medically that I can. His wounds are severe, he lost a lot of blood and, by all rights, I should have amputated that leg, but he did not want that. Believe me, I do not want to lose our friend any more than you do, but we have to be prepared for the possibility."

"If he does die, I will deal with it when it happens. Until then, I will be doing everything I can to get him back to his lady and their babies." Jocko turned and slipped into the tent to sit vigil with his oldest friend.

Richard looked at his retreating back. "If I had not received orders to stand at Appomattox Courthouse tomorrow morning, I think I might join him."

"We will all be taking our turns with him, Richard. The best thing you can do for him is to do your duty and hopefully bring a quick end to this horror. I need to get cleaned up. Having Charlie's blood all over my hands is making me ill."