Free Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia by Jessica James Page A

wondrous
admiration, as did the rest of his men, at the feat just pulled off before
their very eyes. It seemed impossible that a mere boy could rush with such mad
recklessness through the very gates of hell with only his fortitude as a
shield. A prettier piece of daring and audacity even Hunter had not yet
achieved.
    “Hell of a rider there,” Lieutenant Carter said,
chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “Got no fear or no sense.”
    Hunter did not answer at first. He continued to
stare at the familiar horse tearing through the valley with long strides, the
rider sitting effortlessly, as if the gauntlet through which he had just ridden
was a sporting event. “I rather believe the latter,” he said with disgust,
turning to his horse and motioning for his men to follow. “They’ll be coming
soon. Let’s go, men.”
    No sooner did he utter the words than heavy fire
rained down from behind him. He realized then that the rider had been a decoy,
giving the Union troops time to move in behind him and determine the location
of his guns. His firing at the rider had done nothing but show the Yankees
their exact position.
    “The devil with you! You are mine !”
Hunter waved his fist at the figure, now only a dot in the distance. The trick
inspired him with a doubled rage for revenge, but he knew he must concentrate
on getting his men to safety. He had a score to settle, but that could wait. He
had only a small piece of real estate to use for his escape—and come hell or
high water, he had every intention of making his withdraw a costly one for the enemy.
    * * *
    When Andrea finally cantered into the Union
encampment behind the guide, she tried to act as though nothing of importance
had transpired. “Nice and clear up here, boys,” she said to a group of men
standing around Justus. “Strangest thing. A bit of a fog suddenly rolled in
down below.”
    Some of the men gazed with a sense of admiring
awe as their eyes traced the path of her recent flight. “Sinclair, you crazy
fool,” one of them yelled. “By gravy, you must be the luckiest sonbitch I ever
seen!”
    “I thought you was food for powder, sure,”
another said incredulously.
    “Kicked up a little dust is all,” Andrea joked.
It was well known that Virginia roads were either dust or mud, depending on the
season, and the dry version was not what clung to her at the moment. She was
covered in a spattered layer of juicy earth, accumulated from the bed of
fathomless mire through which she had galloped.
    Andrea looked up to see J.J. stomping toward
her, and gave him an exaggerated salute despite clear signs he was not in a
joking mood.
    “Follow me, Sinclair.” J.J. turned and tramped
away without the waste of any more words. Andrea heard the men behind her talking
in hushed tones as she limped after him. Now that she was out of danger, her
ankle throbbed and her legs trembled. She was dizzy with pain by the time she
reached the stone mill that J.J. occupied, and opened the door.
    “Damnation! Are you trying to get yourself
killed, or does it just appear that way?” J.J.’s breath came in gasps as he
patted the perspiration off his head with a handkerchief. The pop, pop, pop of
gunfire from the upper floors of the mill echoed through the room as
sharpshooters continued to find targets.
    “For the love of liberty, if you wish to commit
suicide, I will supply the gun,” he roared. “You needn’t provide target
practice for the enemy!”
    “Obviously they are in need of practice,” Andrea
replied matter-of-factly. She loosened a drying clod of dirt from her arm and
watched it explode into little pellets as it hit the floor.
    “Where have you been?” J.J. bellowed over the
din. “From what I witnessed, your tardiness isn’t due to your horse being lame
or your spurs being broke.”
    Andrea almost smiled at the use of the two most
familiar excuses used by cavalrymen, but decided by his expression that humor
was not his intent. “I was …