[Concluding chapter seventeen]
Patton nudged his horse forward. It must have been instinct that made him curious about the reason the column had stopped moving, he decided, because it could no longer be a matter of him caring about what happened. The letter that weighed so heavily on his heart had pretty much destroyed his chances of ever caring about anything again. How could he ever face Stewart again, should God give him the chance to? And what would his family think if they learned what he’d been doing? He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and fought to banish those thoughts. If instinct was still working for him, then let instinct take over completely, and leave the rest in God’s hands. In a deliberate gesture of acquiescence, he slackened his hold on the reins and let God guide the horse.
Walker had left his ambulance and was standing in the center of a group of horsemen at the head of the column. Patton recognized the captains, Wheat and Fontaine. Colonel Parsons was also there, and an officer in the pale blue of the dragoons. A couple of scouts completed the tableau, and Patton guessed that the scouts must have encountered some form of resistance, either real or potential, up ahead. Just what we need, thought Patton: a fight.
The group ahead broke up before Patton could reach them; Wheat waved at him to halt, then rode back to meet him. “No more time for mooning, young fellow,” Wheat said. The captain was, Patton realized, examining him quite closely. Assessing my potential as a liability, Patton thought. And well he might. “Get the officers together,” Wheat said. “There are enemy forces ahead a couple of miles from here. Walker wants to take them on, says this will be the last shreds of resistance and he wants to flatten ‘em.” Wheat cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t go yellow on me now, boy,” he said. “I need you to keep this rabble together. We still don’t know how they’ll react to a real stink of powder.”
Patton woke out of his misery to examine Wheat. The captain’s face was slightly flushed, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. His habitual grin had a lopsided, slightly manic look to it now. Does that mean, Patton wondered, that he’s afraid? Or that he’s looking forward to this?
A familiar sensation tickled his vitals and played on his mind. It was the feeling his instructors had worked so hard to inculcate in him at the Institute, the feeling his superiors, his teachers—even his brothers—had encouraged. Do I have a duty to these men, he asked himself, in spite of what I know? Does a man’s responsibility to his men override his responsibilities to a greater truth? You have to make the men respect you, Wheat had told him. What do I do, Patton asked himself bitterly, when I find that I’ve earned their respect for all the wrong reasons?
“Are you with me, Patton?” Wheat’s voice was pitched high enough that his nervousness was now audible. “I can’t afford to have you doubting yourself now, man.”
Patton blinked, refocused his eyes on the captain. “Don’t worry about me, sir,” he said finally. “I know my duty.” He tightened the reins. “I’ll get the others; where shall we meet?”
“Damn it, Patton, but you’re a strange one. For days now you’ve been itching for a fight, and now that we’ve got one you’re turning into a woman—or maybe a politician.” Wheat laughed, and his laugh was a bit less brittle now. “No need for us to be uncomfortable about this. We’ll meet under the tallest of those trees”—he pointed east, to the woods on the bank of the Brazos River—“as soon as you’ve told the men to stand down. Tell ‘em to be sure they’ll be ready to ride at a moment’s notice, though.”
Patton was grateful for the shade offered by the trees, and persuaded himself that the nearby presence of the river made things just a bit cooler. He felt much less nervous than he had expected to; was that because the truly frightening thing about battle was the uncertainty leading to it? Or did he simply no longer care what happened to him?
That was a fruitless line of questioning, he decided, and returned his attention to Wheat, who was sketching a crude map in the dirt at the foot of the tree under which he and his junior officers sat. “There may be more of them coming up,” Wheat said, “but here’s what we know so far. There’s a small force on the south bank of a creek just over that rise.” He pointed to a broad, low hill just visible in the distance to the south. “They’re on either side of a bridge. Walker wants to take that bridge, and destroy the enemy force at the same time. Our job will be to swing to the right as we come over the hill and take on their left wing. We have the better weapons, so we should be able to sit back, just out of their range, and pick them off until they break. Then we charge across the creek and roll up anyone on the bridge.”
He scratched a line in the dirt to the north of the line representing the creek. “We’ll come over the rise in column,” he said, “and advance to here, about a hundred-fifty yards from the creek. Then—and this is the important bit for you fellows—we’ll dismount. We’re going to fight this on foot, gentlemen.” When the others murmured their surprise, Wheat turned to Patton. “Thank Mister Patton here, gentlemen. He’s showed me that we’ll be much more effective on foot than on horseback. You will detail every fourth man to remove the horses to a spot about twenty yards behind the line. The rest of the men will form up in line, as we’ve been practicing these last weeks. We’ll fire in volleys as long as we have to, in order to break the enemy line. When they’ve shown enough signs of weakness, we’ll remount and charge them on horseback. No infantry will be able to resist that.”
“Are they regulars,” Patton asked, “or militia?”
“Texas regulars pretty much are militia,” Wheat said. “But the scouts say they’re in uniform, so we have to assume that they’re from one of the infantry regiments. How they got here I have no idea. Doesn’t matter, though—our rifles out-range their muskets, and we can fire eight shots to their one or two. They don’t stand a chance. My biggest concern is that our men keep their formation and don’t charge before time. And that’s what you’re going to have to do for me, gentlemen: enforce discipline. Our boys aren’t exactly a trained fighting force. You keep a tight rein on them, and we’ll be fine.” He looked at each of them in turn, resting his gaze finally on Patton. “Any questions?”
Patton shook his head. He had no questions Wheat would be able to answer.
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter TwelvePatton nudged his horse forward. It must have been instinct that made him curious about the reason the column had stopped moving, he decided, because it could no longer be a matter of him caring about what happened. The letter that weighed so heavily on his heart had pretty much destroyed his chances of ever caring about anything again. How could he ever face Stewart again, should God give him the chance to? And what would his family think if they learned what he’d been doing? He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, and fought to banish those thoughts. If instinct was still working for him, then let instinct take over completely, and leave the rest in God’s hands. In a deliberate gesture of acquiescence, he slackened his hold on the reins and let God guide the horse.
Walker had left his ambulance and was standing in the center of a group of horsemen at the head of the column. Patton recognized the captains, Wheat and Fontaine. Colonel Parsons was also there, and an officer in the pale blue of the dragoons. A couple of scouts completed the tableau, and Patton guessed that the scouts must have encountered some form of resistance, either real or potential, up ahead. Just what we need, thought Patton: a fight.
The group ahead broke up before Patton could reach them; Wheat waved at him to halt, then rode back to meet him. “No more time for mooning, young fellow,” Wheat said. The captain was, Patton realized, examining him quite closely. Assessing my potential as a liability, Patton thought. And well he might. “Get the officers together,” Wheat said. “There are enemy forces ahead a couple of miles from here. Walker wants to take them on, says this will be the last shreds of resistance and he wants to flatten ‘em.” Wheat cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t go yellow on me now, boy,” he said. “I need you to keep this rabble together. We still don’t know how they’ll react to a real stink of powder.”
Patton woke out of his misery to examine Wheat. The captain’s face was slightly flushed, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. His habitual grin had a lopsided, slightly manic look to it now. Does that mean, Patton wondered, that he’s afraid? Or that he’s looking forward to this?
A familiar sensation tickled his vitals and played on his mind. It was the feeling his instructors had worked so hard to inculcate in him at the Institute, the feeling his superiors, his teachers—even his brothers—had encouraged. Do I have a duty to these men, he asked himself, in spite of what I know? Does a man’s responsibility to his men override his responsibilities to a greater truth? You have to make the men respect you, Wheat had told him. What do I do, Patton asked himself bitterly, when I find that I’ve earned their respect for all the wrong reasons?
“Are you with me, Patton?” Wheat’s voice was pitched high enough that his nervousness was now audible. “I can’t afford to have you doubting yourself now, man.”
Patton blinked, refocused his eyes on the captain. “Don’t worry about me, sir,” he said finally. “I know my duty.” He tightened the reins. “I’ll get the others; where shall we meet?”
“Damn it, Patton, but you’re a strange one. For days now you’ve been itching for a fight, and now that we’ve got one you’re turning into a woman—or maybe a politician.” Wheat laughed, and his laugh was a bit less brittle now. “No need for us to be uncomfortable about this. We’ll meet under the tallest of those trees”—he pointed east, to the woods on the bank of the Brazos River—“as soon as you’ve told the men to stand down. Tell ‘em to be sure they’ll be ready to ride at a moment’s notice, though.”
Patton was grateful for the shade offered by the trees, and persuaded himself that the nearby presence of the river made things just a bit cooler. He felt much less nervous than he had expected to; was that because the truly frightening thing about battle was the uncertainty leading to it? Or did he simply no longer care what happened to him?
That was a fruitless line of questioning, he decided, and returned his attention to Wheat, who was sketching a crude map in the dirt at the foot of the tree under which he and his junior officers sat. “There may be more of them coming up,” Wheat said, “but here’s what we know so far. There’s a small force on the south bank of a creek just over that rise.” He pointed to a broad, low hill just visible in the distance to the south. “They’re on either side of a bridge. Walker wants to take that bridge, and destroy the enemy force at the same time. Our job will be to swing to the right as we come over the hill and take on their left wing. We have the better weapons, so we should be able to sit back, just out of their range, and pick them off until they break. Then we charge across the creek and roll up anyone on the bridge.”
He scratched a line in the dirt to the north of the line representing the creek. “We’ll come over the rise in column,” he said, “and advance to here, about a hundred-fifty yards from the creek. Then—and this is the important bit for you fellows—we’ll dismount. We’re going to fight this on foot, gentlemen.” When the others murmured their surprise, Wheat turned to Patton. “Thank Mister Patton here, gentlemen. He’s showed me that we’ll be much more effective on foot than on horseback. You will detail every fourth man to remove the horses to a spot about twenty yards behind the line. The rest of the men will form up in line, as we’ve been practicing these last weeks. We’ll fire in volleys as long as we have to, in order to break the enemy line. When they’ve shown enough signs of weakness, we’ll remount and charge them on horseback. No infantry will be able to resist that.”
“Are they regulars,” Patton asked, “or militia?”
“Texas regulars pretty much are militia,” Wheat said. “But the scouts say they’re in uniform, so we have to assume that they’re from one of the infantry regiments. How they got here I have no idea. Doesn’t matter, though—our rifles out-range their muskets, and we can fire eight shots to their one or two. They don’t stand a chance. My biggest concern is that our men keep their formation and don’t charge before time. And that’s what you’re going to have to do for me, gentlemen: enforce discipline. Our boys aren’t exactly a trained fighting force. You keep a tight rein on them, and we’ll be fine.” He looked at each of them in turn, resting his gaze finally on Patton. “Any questions?”
Patton shook his head. He had no questions Wheat would be able to answer.
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
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