Free The Railroad War by Jesse Taylor Croft

fortress of Vicksburg not many miles to the west of Jackson.
     And on that same day, a thousand miles to the northeast, the battle near the Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg had ended, and
     Robert E. Lee’s Army of Virginia began its long retreat back toward Richmond.
    The guns on this scorching-hot morning in Jackson were silent, which was one reason so many people were about—the women with
     their bundles and their children, the old people with just their bundles, and the men in bare feet and ragged clothes, with
     their old rugs for sleeping and their toothbrushes stuck like roses in their buttonholes. Most, like the major and the lieutenant,
     were either waiting for passage or trying to obtain it. No one had much appetite to be in town when Sherman entered it for
     the second time.
    The question was whether Joe Johnston intended to fight. The answer might lie in the numbers of soldiers who seemed to be
     waiting for trains. But that was not a conclusive answer; more evidence was needed.
    Because of the heat, the major had left open the top of his collar and uniform blouse. His wide-brimmed gray hat shaded his
     face, concealing his expression from Lieutenant Stetson. Tom Stetson was from Kentucky, and he, unlike the major, had left
     his collar tightly fastened, and he was suffering mightily for his propriety.
    The lieutenant stared up into the sky, where thunderheads were piling up. There’d be thunderstorms later in the afternoon,
     a welcome relief from the heat and dust. Then he looked again at the major, trying—and failing—to tell if the other man had
     been successful in his quest. Even if his face had not been darkly shaded, Stetson knew he’d have a hard time making out the
     major’s expression. He was a close one, behind his veils were curtains, and behind the curtains were walls of iron. But Stetson
     liked him for all that. He was good to work with. He was fair and he watched out for you. And more to the point, they got
     sent on assignments like this one, assignments that brought with them considerably more than the usual excitement—and danger.
     He and the major risked hanging for what they were doing now.
    When the major was close enough to address, Lieutenant Stetson gave him a salute. “How’d it go,” he asked, then added, “Major?”
     The “Major” didn’t come easily to him. He was used to addressing the other man with another title.
    “Fine, Lieutenant,” the major answered, returning his salute casually as he scanned the rail yards in front of him. The yards
     were a hive of activity. An empty train was just arriving from Meridian; it was pulling across the recently rebuilt bridge
     over the Pearl. Another train was forming up nearby, and yet others were being loaded. The area was surprisingly organized
     and orderly for a city under siege. The major was not used to seeing Confederate operations so well managed.
    The major turned his attention back to the lieutenant. “They can put us on a train that leaves here at one o’clock,” he said.
     Then he made a come-on motion with his hand, to take the lieutenant away from the other people who were milling about the
     station platform.
    When they were a few feet out of earshot, he pulled to a halt. “So, Tom,” he said, pointing a finger at the train that was
     loading, “what are they putting on that train over there?”
    “Mostly looms, as far as I can tell. And tents.”
    “Joe Johnston doesn’t want Sherman to get them this time.”
    “I guess not.”
    “I’m surprised he missed them when he had the chance before,” the major said.
    “We had only two days to do the job.”
    “Don’t say ‘we,’ Tom,” the major warned softly. “It’s ‘they’ for now.”
    When Sherman occupied Jackson in April, he found the looms of the factories still producing tents for the Confederacy. Johnston
     had pulled out so quickly and Sherman had pulled in so rapidly that no one thought to shut them down. Because Sherman was
     in