The Fateful Lightning by Shaara Jeff

Author:Shaara, Jeff [Shaara, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Military, Retail, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345549198
Publisher: Ballantine
Published: 2015-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

ON BOARD THE HARVEST MOON—DECEMBER 19, 1864

There was a small burst of lantern light, Dahlgren emerging from the ship’s main cabin, moving toward him.

“We should arrive at Hilton Head at dawn, or thereabouts. The tides are somewhat in our favor.”

Sherman stood with his hands pressed against the rail, his thoughts far away, his fingers caressing the damp wood, polished smooth. He suddenly realized Dahlgren had spoken to him, said, “Dawn, you say? Sorry, Admiral, my mind is elsewhere. Something about the water after dark, the moonlight flickering. The lights of Savannah seem brighter out here than anything I’ve seen from the other side. Rather peaceful, actually. All of that…takes my mind to other places.”

Dahlgren chuckled. “Indeed. That’s why many of us go to sea. There is always work to do, always those details of command to attend to, but then there are the times like this. Quiet moments. Thoughts of family, of home, one’s wife, I suppose. These are happy times for some of us, I’m sure. Not all, I’m afraid.”

Sherman knew only the slightest details of Dahlgren’s son, Ulric, killed earlier that year. He was said to be a Northern spy, involved in a plot to assassinate Jefferson Davis. Ulric’s capture and subsequent execution made rich fodder for the Southern newspapers, something Sherman almost always ignored. He looked at Dahlgren’s face, saw a father’s emotion, was suddenly struck by his own, stared out to sea again, tried to hold back the memories, his eyes dancing with the shimmering moonlight.

Dahlgren settled in beside him, leaned out as well, a silent moment between them, the only sounds the rhythmic chug of the steam engine beneath their feet, the soft splashing of the paddle wheels to each side of the ship.

Dahlgren was older than Sherman by more than ten years, the age showing itself in the man’s lean and drawn face, a receding hairline with a healthy dose of gray. The man seemed stern, rarely smiled, but Sherman had seen moments of warmth, hints of melancholy, and more, had felt the man’s respect for Sherman’s command, a prize all its own.

The breeze seemed to shift slightly, a chill against Sherman’s face, the ship turning, and Dahlgren said, “There are Confederate forts out from those lights, two miles or so, several heavy shore batteries we try to avoid. No need risking any chance encounter with a lucky rebel gunner. Once we’re past Savannah itself, there won’t be any problems.”

Sherman studied the low line of faint lights, the shoreline blending together, nothing that showed him a fort. “Not sure how many men they have in those forts. Hardee’s stretched pretty thin. I have to believe that.”

Dahlgren seemed to ponder that, said, “Once we start bombarding those places, it won’t much matter how many people they’ve got. I understand your need for delay. But I promise you, General, it will be a grand show.” Dahlgren paused. “Your plans seem to have been well designed. My compliments again.”

“Thank you.”

“Doesn’t always happen like that. Even good plans can take a tragic turn.

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