Devil's Battle by Taylor Anderson

Author:Taylor Anderson [Anderson, Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

The bulk of the Allied Army marched inexorably forward, winding along the narrow mountain road Anson’s brigade so recently traversed like a long, blue snake sliding through the green forest “grass.” A blue racer, in fact. Narrow, seemingly endlessly long, and complete with the predominant dark blue and sky-blue coloring, thought Lewis Cayce with a nostalgic twinge, glancing behind as he loped toward the head of the column atop his surefooted Arete. A confident and nimble horse was important here, particularly riding on the outside of the column. This stretch of road, clinging to the side of a steep, wooded mountain, was especially constricted and treacherous. Men of the 3rd Pennsylvania, which he, Varaa-Choon, Colonel Itzam, Major Olayne, and Leonor, of course—along with a small retinue of aides and messengers—were presently passing, were clearly sensible to this and obligingly compressed their ranks as much as they could as NCOs shouted forward for them to do so. Quite a few of the veteran infantrymen called greetings as the officers passed. Lewis smiled and nodded back, occasionally calling, “Sorry to enforce such intimacy upon you fellows, but you’re infantry. I’m sure you’re used to it.”

“Grateful we are, sir!” cried a wag with his greatcoat wrapped tight. “Bloody cold it is this marnin’, an’ I hated leavin’ me tent, where I was spoonin’ with me mates!” Laughter and good-natured, off-color jibes showered him, but then moved on to artillerymen in general (with whom Lewis was still identified), spreading and rising in volume. The hilarity rolled down the line to a section of Hudgens’s battery, from which the wit bounced back at high velocity. Lewis just waved and grinned. The 3rd Pennsylvania, 1st US, and 1st Uxmal remained the infantry rocks he’d always rely on most. He knew they were cold and tired, especially since their long, uncomfortable march had tended ever upward into colder and thinner air, but he couldn’t be prouder of them, of his entire army, in fact. Grueling as the march had been, it hadn’t sapped morale. He slowed Arete to a walk alongside the regimental color-bearers and their cased flags.

“Major Ulrich,” he greeted the 3rd’s commander, leading his horse at the front of his men. Lewis thoroughly approved of John Ulrich. The man was an instinctive leader, incidentally possessed of a fine singing voice. A confirmed NCO, he’d been recently retired from the regular army before joining the 3rd Pennsylvania Volunteers. His subsequent transition from “permanent” sergeant to regimental command had been awkward at first, but he’d been equal to the task. The army was full of officers raised from the ranks, but few had his experience, and his men truly loved him.

“Good morning, sir,” Ulrich said, saluting.

“Good morning to you. I hope you slept well.”

Ulrich looked sheepish. “Well enough,” he fibbed, and Lewis chuckled. The narrow clearing the 3rd camped in the previous night was too steep for tents, and it was fortunate the weather held. Some had predicted light snow, which apparently wasn’t uncommon at this time of year in this clime.

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