The Battle of the Crater: A Novel by Gingrich Newt & Forstchen William R

Author:Gingrich, Newt & Forstchen, William R. [Gingrich, Newt & Forstchen, William R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429990622
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2011-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

JULY 28, 1864

HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC

11:00 A.M.

“I will see General Meade now.”

Colonel Andrew Humphreys, Meade’s chief of staff, looked up at him with exasperation.

“General, I have told you he is busy at this moment.”

The bombproof bunker which served as Meade’s forward headquarters was well situated, dug deep, several rooms connecting, illuminated day and night with coal oil lights, the fumes of which only added to the hot stuffiness of the damp room. Several telegraphers occupied the other corner of the room, each one of them linked by wire to the various corps headquarters along the front and to Grant’s main headquarters back at City Point.

The door—looted from some farmhouse—to Meade’s private room opened, and the general stepped out, jacket off in the heat.

“Can’t this wait, Burnside?”

“I don’t think so, sir.” He was now taking a far more formal tone.

“All right then,” and Meade gestured to the steps that led up to the surface, lighting a cigar as he stepped out into the open, both of them squinting under the blazing sun.

“It’s about the powder and the fuses and everything else, isn’t it?” Meade pressed, and his voice was low pitched. The headquarters encampment was alive with enlisted men and officers. There were couriers and the ever present reporters, who were looking over expectantly, but were being held back by provosts. Meade gestured to the high parapet, which faced the Rebel line 1,200 yards away. At their approach the sentries, keeping a bored watch, knew to withdraw out of earshot.

“I just met with Pleasants,” Burnside began without preamble.

“Who?”

“Colonel Pleasants. Commander of the 48th, the regiment that thought up this tunnel project and have been digging it,” he paused, “even though your own engineers said it was impossible.”

“Oh … him.”

“He told me that rather than the ten tons of blasting powder needed, he has received only four, of a too-coarse grade. Worse, the fuses are not the kinds that were ordered. We were to have a galvanic detonator to ensure an instantaneous explosion, precisely as planned, and with a backup of quick fuse. Instead we receive slow fuse in ten-foot lengths. General, you were trained at the Point as well as I was on blasting obstacles. Lengths of ten-foot, slow fuse almost guarantee something will go wrong.”

Meade looked at his cigar, inhaling deeply, blowing it out.

“Ambrose, you have to work with what you have. This is the army, not some treasure chest you can pop open with an open sesame, and find everything you want.”

“Sir, I put this request in a month ago. Surely, somewhere, some depot had what was needed?”

“We are talking about today, Ambrose,” Meade retorted. “Today.”

“I must press this,” and Burnside’s voice began to pitch up. “I had to send Pleasants to Washington to buy a theodolite and did so out of my own pocket.”

“Most patriotic of you.”

Burnside bristled.

“I knew that if I put in a requisition, even if I were lucky, it would arrive as a Christmas present. If I had known there would be a

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