Standing in the center of the low-roofed barracks, Robert looked at his men. “Is everyone here?”
There was a murmur of assent. The men were anxious and ready. They were slipping with ease into the calm determination men had before battle.
“I want to make the guards think we are going to General Cornell’s grave for a proper prayer. We need torches. We must be so obvious the guards suspect nothing. Once we reach the grave, we douse the torches on my signal and go for the woods. We head north in small groups. Be certain to cross tracks with other groups to confuse the guards. Enough tracks in the woods will hide our intentions. We must do all of this while avoiding the guards.”
“Get to the north shore of the island by dawn. This gives us time to set tracks across the entire island. Are you with me?”
“Yes,” men nodded. They were ready to leave the tender care of Lieutenant Pace.
“Major,” one lookout called a warning from the door.
“All prisoners assemble in front of the barracks,” a Union guard outside the barracks pronounced, then rapped on the wooden door several times.
“It’s Pace,” the lookout peered through a gap in the logs.
Robert bowed his head and pressed a hand to his eyes in resignation. “So much for plans,” he looked at his men. “Our war has come to us. We must stand now or lose any chance to survive, our last chance to live. Stand strong, hold firm, and keep Dixie in your hearts.” He wished he could make the coming death palatable. “Let’s go.”
Soldiers stood in the confines of the barracks, leaving their status as prisoners in the simple act of rising to their feet. The south rose with the men. Leaving true rebels in its wake.
The attitude of the prisoners as they exited the barracks took the Union guards aback. The huge sergeant was now commanding eighty young men, pretending to be soldiers. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. These were Confederate soldiers, proud and deadly.
“Stand ready.”
The Rebels were forming lines with vigor and precision.
The Sergeant looked to Lieutenant Pace, but the officer was waiting for the appearance of one man.
Somehow, the neutral faces of the Rebels held suppressed rage, a palpable hatred that radiated from the prisoners that the Union veteran could feel. “Be ready for it boys,” the Sergeant calmed his men, “this won’t be pretty.”
Last to exit the barracks was Major Kane, rising upright from the low door, then straightening his coat and cap. He strolled through the formation and stood indolently.
“You called?”
Lieutenant Pace paused with a bemused expression, then gathered himself. “Major Kane. You are under arrest for the murder of General Cornell,” spoken with no conviction, still confused.
“I give you this last chance, Lieutenant Pace.” Robert spoke strongly, no waiver of uncertainty, only strength. “End this charade now and we will survive in peace. Stop killing us. Treat us as men, with honor and dignity, and we will toil for our mutual good. Be an excellent officer of the Union Army, not a vengeful child, and we will survive this place. Forget your accusation and live.”
“You are not in command here,” Lieutenant Pace bristled.
“Neither are you.”
“Your action of leaving this camp was the instigating event leading to the death of a good man. You are incapable of surrender and wage your own war on this island. You are the problem here.” Pace grew angrier as he spoke until he was shouting while pointing an accusing finger at Robert. “Arrest him.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Without orders, the southern men broke into a scream known on every battlefield, a cry of rage against oppression that echoed forth as they charged the Union guards. Ragged men in uniforms of gray and butternut charging were a terrifying sight.
Most of the guards were young conscripts who had never seen battle. They fumbled with their rifles, wasting precious moments as the Rebels got closer. All the men had fired their weapons at many animals, but shooting at a man was different. Killing a man was harder to do when it was taught to be bad.
“Fire!” The Union Sergeant knew what was going to happen from bitter experience. The young soldiers pulled triggers with little to no aim, most of the bullets slicing through the air above the charging rebels.
Several southerners fell to the ragged volley, most remaining on their feet and charging at guards who had no time to reload their rifles or to fix bayonets.
In seconds the Rebel’s struck, a savage horde overwhelming the thin Union line, fists and feet pummeling the young men to the ground unconscious or cowering.
As the mass of men rolled and fought, Robert set his sight on Pace. It was his opportunity to beat the source of his torment senseless. Robert moved toward Lieutenant Pace with angry determination.
Perhaps sensing his doom, Pace fumbled his pistol from its holster and aimed the gun at Robert as the fighting spilled to his left and right.
The long barrel wavered as Robert closed the distance until he was close enough to see Pace was struggling with the trigger. In his inexperience, the Lieutenant had forgotten to cock the pistol hammer.
Robert snatched the pistol from Pace’s grip by the barrel, then whipped the butt of the gun against Pace’s temple.
Lieutenant Pace fell to the ground in an inglorious heap.
Pushing struggling men aside, the Union Sergeant burst through the fray intent on Robert.
Reversing his grip on the pistol, Robert cocked the weapon, aimed, and shot the Sergeant in the face, a deft, fluid movement lethally precise. The dead man fell to the ground, taking the fighting spirit from the rest of the guards.
“Hold!” the fighting stopped. “Strip the guards of their weapons and munitions.”
They stripped rifles from the living and dead; the Rebels grinning fiercely with their freedom. Dead lay scattered on the ground, twice as many Union men as Confederate. It was a price the Rebel’s knew they might accept now but hate later when there was time to think. Men who found no rifles helped wounded to their feet to their feet. Robert estimated they gained close to fifty weapons.
“Form up.” The armed men formed a loose skirmish line to protect the unarmed and wounded.
“Corporal Anders, are you alive?” Robert called out.
“Here, Sir,” Anders trotted toward Robert.
“To the warehouse, Corporal. Lead us on.”
“Move,” the Rebels walked, each man avoiding the dead, wounded, and living guards lying on the ground.
“To the guards,” Robert surveyed the men on the ground. “We southerners intend to survive Coal Island. You may join us if you wish. We will forgive the fight here, but if you follow this boy,” Robert kicked the unconscious lieutenant in the ribs, “you will be our enemy. Think it over.”
Following his troops, Robert reached the warehouse as the guards were being disarmed and shuffled aside.
“Get sacks of beans and meat. Three of you get powder and shot. Hurry!” Robert waved men to the open door.
More unarmed guards were appearing out of the dark to watch the rebellion. The snowfall was growing steadily, cloaking all the stationary men with a white dusting of flakes.
The Rebels were quick. Years of foraging for supplies for the Army of Virginia had given them a practiced knowledge of how much weight to carry. Men exited the warehouse in a steady stream until the entire contingent was once again standing in formation.
“I will say this once,” Robert directed his words at the unarmed Union guards gathered to watch the Rebels. “If you wish to join us in survival, you will be welcome. But as God is my witness, I will allow no man under my command to die without a fight. Winter is our enemy. We will not be enemies unless you attack. Good luck.”
No one moved. Men stared at each other, lost in contemplation of Major Kane’s words. Out of allegiance, or fear perhaps, none of the Union men moved to join the Rebels, the repercussion of joining the Confederacy too much to challenge.
“Major,” Corporal Anders held out a pouch of pistol ammunition.
Accepting the leather pouch, Robert made a slight wave to the north with the pistol. “Head them out.”
“Sir,” the Corporal saluted with vigor.
The Confederate troops, newly returned to the Army of Virginia despite their location near the northern border of the United States, marched in to the dark increasingly muffled then hidden by the falling snow.
The Union soldiers milled about, some of them tending to the wounded.
Eventually, the Union men simply waited for what seemed inevitable. There were more weapons in the guard’s barracks; when he woke, the Lieutenant would follow the prisoners and more men would die.
When dawn arrived, the snowfall was thick with several inches of snow covering the ground.
Cowards who had huddled by fires all night now saw a new truth. Many of their friends had disappeared into the night. They could only assume the missing guards had joined the Confederacy.
They had chosen sides.