Free Talons of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page A

drawled.
    â€œYes,” the aide said with a smile. “We know.”
    * * *
    Long after the aide had left, Jamie studied the crude maps and the overall battle plan carefully and again immediately picked up the flaws in it. The northwest, or left, side of the line was grossly undermanned. Beauregard had placed the bulk of his troops far to the right, down around Mitchell’s Ford, Blackburn’s Ford, and McLean’s Ford, leaving the left side of the line very nearly wide open.
    But Jamie wasn’t about to openly question the commanding general on his battle tactics. However, he could see to it that the Union forces he was to face in a few hours would think they were up against a much larger force. He didn’t know quite how he was going to do that, yet, but he’d work it out.
    He was awakened at three o’clock on the morning of July 21 by a runner. “The Yankees are on the move, sir,” the young man told him. “They were rousted out about an hour ago. Them that could sleep that is. Our people in the observation posts say the Yankees hardly slept at all.”
    Pulling on his moccasins and tying his leggins, Jamie looked at the young man. “And you, son?”
    The runner grinned. “I ain’t slept none, Major. War’s in the air, I reckon.”
    â€œIndeed,” Jamie replied, standing up.
    Jamie and his men drank coffee and ate cold biscuits, then doused their small fires and saddled up. With Jamie in the lead, they moved silently through the brush and timber over to Colonel Evans’ position between Young’s Branch and the stream called Bull Run.
    Jamie and Evans shook hands, and Evans asked, “Your orders, Major?”
    â€œTo raise some hell with the Yankees, sir. I figure they’ll hit us at dawn.”
    â€œIf they can ever get into position. My forward people report a lot of confusion and cussing over there.”
    He was right about that. The terrain was totally unfamiliar to the Union troops, and many were stumbling around and tripping over things and falling down. The rattle of Yankee equipment clattering against rocks and such was enough to raise the dead.
    The Rebels waited behind their guns, silent in the gloom of night.
    From Ewell’s command far to the right, all the way over to Evans’ command, some six or seven miles away, the Rebels shared the same fear as the Yankees. It was hard to get enough moisture in their mouths to even spit. In a few spots along the snakelike line, Union and Confederate troops were only a few yards away from each other, with many of them taunting the other.
    â€œYou come acrost this crick, boy, you gonna die.”
    â€œYou go straight to hell, Rebel!”
    â€œHell’s waitin’ for both of us, I reckon.”
    â€œNot for me, I don’t own human beings as slaves.”
    â€œI don’t neither. Never owned a slave in my life. Ain’t nary a slave on either side of my family. Never has been.”
    A long silence followed that. Finally, the unknown Union soldier asked the equally unknown Rebel, “Then what the hell are you doing fighting?”
    â€œSo’s you Yankees will stay out of my business, I reckon.”
    â€œI’m not in your business!”
    â€œThe hell you say. You here, ain’t you?”
    The Yankee could not argue that.
    â€œIf you blue-bellies had tended to your own affairs, I’d be home asleep ’side my wife instead of on this damn cold ground.”
    â€œWhere are you from?”
    â€œSouth Carolina. You?”
    â€œNew York. We’re both a long way from hearth and home.”
    â€œYou damn shore got that right.”
    â€œSilence up and down the line!” Rebel and Union sergeants ordered.
    Both Yankee and Rebel told the unseen voices where they could shove their orders.
    Both men would be dead in a few hours. Neither man quite sure what he was fighting for, but each firmly convinced he was on the right side.
    At