Free Talons of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page B

dawn, Jamie had moved his people several hundred yards away from Evans’ position and was keeping them hidden in a stand of brush and timber. Nothing was happening down the line, and Jamie felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a strong suspicion that the whole of the Union army was going to come pouring right over and through his and Evans’ men.
    He wasn’t that far from being right.
    Just a few minutes after seven that morning, Colonel Evans sent a runner to tell Jamie, “The colonel thinks the Yankees are bluffing. They aren’t going to attack in strength along our positions. He thinks they’re going to strike at Sudley Ford. That’s Burnside’s Yankees. The colonel wants you and your people over there. He’ll join you as quickly as possible.”
    Jamie quickly shifted his Marauders over to the left, and they waited. Just a few minutes later, he saw the glint of Union bayonets flashing in the morning sun as the first troops moved into position in the trees around Sudley Ford.
    Jamie sent Ben Pardee on the fly to tell Evans of the news. After Pardee blurted out the message, Evans quickly shifted his command around, putting Major Wheat and his red-shirted, five-hundred-man Louisiana Tigers just to Jamie’s right.
    Wheat’s Tigers were a unit known for its bravery under fire. Later on during the Battle of Bull Run, one Union colonel, after witnessing his men being soundly thrashed by the Louisiana Tigers, called them, “The most belligerent bunch of bastards I have ever faced.”
    Jamie rode over to meet with Wheat. He could look Wheat straight in the eye, for both men were over six feet, four inches tall, although Wheat outweighed Jamie’s two hundred twenty-five pounds by a good seventy-five pounds. Major Roberdeau Wheat was a very imposing figure of a man.
    â€œWe’re slightly outnumbered down there, MacCallister,” Wheat remarked, after lowering field glasses.
    Jamie smiled. “About twenty-five to one, I’d say. But I have a plan.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œWe’ll charge!”
    Wheat roared with laughter. “You’re damn right, we will. I’ll get my boys ready and wait for your signal.”
    Jamie rode back to his Marauders and told them what he planned to do. His men grinned at him. Jamie, at the far point of the left side, watched for a time longer and then sent Ben Pardee racing back to Evans.
    â€œWe’re being flanked, sir,” Pardee panted out the warning. “Just north of the Stone Bridge.”
    â€œWhat’s Major MacCallister going to do?”
    â€œUs and Major Wheat is fixin’ to charge, sir.”
    â€œWhat?” Evans blurted, but Pardee was already back in the saddle and galloping away, not wanting to miss the charge against the Yankees. His haste was uncalled for. The first charge would not come for a couple more hours.
    Colonel Evans was thoughtful for a moment; then he smiled. “That just might be a pretty good idea,” he said aloud.
    Evans then began moving very fast. He ordered out skirmishers but kept the bulk of his troops well hidden. He did not want the Yankees to know just how few men he really had and just how vulnerable he was.
    Then the Union troops came in a rush. Evans committed more of his Rebels, and they caught the Union troops in a blistering fire, pinning them down. The Yankee commanders started shifting troops around, somehow realizing how thin the Rebels’ lines were. Just as the Union commanders were shouting the orders to charge, a thundering pound of hooves and spine-tingling Rebel battle cries filled the air.
    The Federal troops must have thought somebody opened the gates to hell. On one side there were some two-hundred-odd gray-shirted and black-trousered men on horseback, screaming as they charged them, a horrible-looking black flag with a ghastly white skull and crossbones against the black flapping in the wind. The mounted charge