Free Valley of the Shadow: A Novel by Ralph Peters

McCausland?”
    “Here, sir,” the cavalryman said. “Just standing off from what’s left of that fire.”
    “Yes, indeed,” Early said. “I have observed that cavalrymen tend to withdraw when things get hot. McCausland, you and your mule-jockeys cover the right. Minus Johnson. He’s setting off to cover himself in glory. Substantial amount of horseshit, anyway.” Early grunted pleasurably at the latter thought. “Uncover any fords not on Jed’s maps. Then get on down to Urbana, push right along. Clear the road for Ramseur’s boys—I’ll have no excuses—and screen the march. No reason you couldn’t reach Silver Spring come nightfall.”
    The darkness had fallen heavily and the fire had faded to coals. His generals had become mere forms, highlighted by the occasional glint of a button or a belt buckle.
    “Questions?”
    Ramseur’s voice crossed the darkness. “Where will I find you, sir? If I need to report?”
    Early smiled. “I mean to take my breakfast in Frederick, gentlemen. I have weighty matters to discuss with the local authorities … who I am convinced desire to make a substantial contribution to the Confederate States of America.” He cackled again. “Under threat of seeing their fair city put to the torch.”
    *   *   *
    After Early retreated into his tent, Gordon sought out Pendleton.
    “Sandie … for God’s sake…”
    “He doesn’t mean it, sir. He has no mind to burn Frederick. But the moneybags in Frederick won’t know that.”
    The fireflies blinked like skirmishers. Gordon believed he could actually smell the heat.
    “And Washington?”
    Pendleton hesitated. Gordon could just discern the chief of staff’s features, not well enough to read them.
    “He doesn’t say,” Pendleton confided. “But I hardly think—”
    “Sandie, Jackson made you. And you helped make Jackson. You know we’ve been dawdling along. Oh, the marches themselves are hard enough, I’ll admit that under duress. But they haven’t been direct, they haven’t gone anywhere. We’ve been fiddling around with no-account Yankee detachments and minor supply depots, splitting off in every direction and tearing up rails we could just as well rip up later. And now we’re behind, by my reckoning. Sooner or later, even the dumbest Yankee in Washington is going to get some inkling of what we’re up to.”
    Infinitely frustrated, weary, and crusted with sweat, Gordon continued: “And what on earth is he thinking, Sandie? He and I have our differences, but we’re not enemies. We’re both on the same side in this blasted war, last time I caught up on the Richmond papers.”
    Pendleton stood stock-still, a barely breathing outline in the darkness. Gordon knew that the young man was wise far beyond his years, an expert judge of his fellow man, and skilled at measuring just how much to say. But he and Gordon had been in agreement many a time over the months, even when the chief of staff declined to support Gordon’s position publicly. Pendleton had not survived Jackson, Ewell, and now Early by offering strong opinions. The boy had physical courage, more than a surfeit. Uncanny judgment, too. But speaking up just wasn’t in his blood.
    Voice low as a regicide’s, Pendleton said, “Lynchburg, the business in the Valley … now this … this raid or invasion, or whatever one may call it … it’s his first independent command, his first truly independent command. And he’s done pretty well, up until now. But with every success, the possibility of failure…” Pendleton shook his head, slowly, a dark shape in dark air. “Consider the responsibility, the weight he’s feeling. We’re all Lee could spare—and the truth is Lee really couldn’t spare us, either. General Early loses this army, and he’s the man who lost the Confederacy, that’s how he looks on things. On top of all that, he’s measuring himself against Jackson, he can’t help it. He’s just—”
    “Jackson would’ve been in