Garrett stood alone in the mist by the lazy muddy river. Without being able to see into the darkness, he could tell it was stained with the blood of enemy troops. Surprise ambush at the riverain had been the dead’s watery fate, and though the killing always sickened Garrett, he was not sorry for what he had managed to accomplish. It had taken him long bog-filled heat-infested days and he had lost plenty of his own men to the older enemy of the South, swamp fever.
He begrudgingly felt a sense of pride toward the rag-tag group of confederate soldiers that had slipped consistently through his hands, all the while pulling him and his men deeper into the swamp, sniping and driving some of his own troops to a careless exhaustion that had cost them their lives. Now it was over. He could head back to the main force of Sherman’s troops. But he still had to negotiate his way out of the swamp before he lost all of his men.
Running a sweaty hand through his dark brown hair, he took one last look at the discolored reflection of the full moon on the tainted river. Hell, that’s all he had needed, a full moon! His cavalry would be sniper bait for sure. God he hated war, but he especially despised this part of it. He hadn’t been able to comprehend fully just exactly what Sherman had in mind for future campaigns.
He only knew what had been rumored that he and the men in his command might be ordered to do. It would be absolute war, and could without much further provocation, fall just short of murder. If Sherman was successful, he could save thousands of lives by shortening the war, but he would break the back of the South for decades to come.
What good could all this destruction be in the final analysis to the land that he loved. Turning abruptly into the shadow of a cypress, he called to his first sergeant in a rough whisper.
“Cal, get that Seminole up here to me. I want out of this hell hole by first break of day!”
• • •
Major Pickering was waiting at the edge of the clearing with his young aid the following morning as Garrett emerged from the swamp. Pickering stood with his stocky bow-legs braced wide apart and his rough hands clenched behind his back.
It was obvious he had been studying at length the sorry band of exhausted men who had spent the long mosquito infested night pulling themselves out of the muck. Then his searching eyes lit up as they found what they had been looking for and a broad toothy grin spread over his face. He pounded his young aid enthusiastically on the back.
“I’ll be damned if he hasn’t made it out of that steaming hell hole in record time and with his hide intact again! Slippery as a cotton mouth that kid! Always knew I was right about seeing he made Captain. Uh-huh, yes indeed! Well, wait till he hears I’m sending him to Charleston hardly before he can clean the muck from his boots! Captain Whitney, over here pronto!”
Garrett turned tired eyes to the sound of the familiar voice. Crusty old coot still worries about me, he thought smiling tiredly to himself. Wonder what the hell he’s got up his sleeve now. Dismounting he handed the reins to the waiting soldier just as Major Pickering’s booming voice bellowed at him again.
“Garrett!”
He was like the elderly officer’s son and he knew if he wasn’t careful the old buzzard would embrace him, so he quickly stuck out his hand.
“Major Pickering.” Garrett was careful in public to give him the official salute before he stood at ease beside him.
“Garrett! Thank god you made it back, son! I’ve got a mission for you I think you’ll like better than being Sherman’s mop up detail. Clean up, get some chow and report back to me pronto.”
“Sure thing, Major.”
Garrett walked tiredly toward his tent. God a bath and a shave would feel good, he thought trying to dredge up some enthusiasm, if he could just find the energy to make it to the creek. Stopping by his tent briefly for a few items and stripping away his shirt and trousers, he stepped into the sunlight and headed for the water. A quick half-hour later found him somewhat refreshed and heading for the Majors quarters.
Major Pickering glanced up from the table outside his tent where he had been hastily going over some dispatches. He watched the strong tall figure of Garrett Whitney as he strode into view, resplendent in dark blue uniform with shiny brass buttons, bright braid on each cuff and gold epaulets bearing the rank of captain riding on broad shoulders.
A gold and blue sash was bound about a lean waist beneath a wide black gun belt and a Hardee hat was pulled down over his brow. As he walked toward Pickering, the yellow stripes running down both sides of his trousers caught the sun and stood out against the blue of the cloth.
When he approached the table, Major Pickering looked up assessingly into intense azure blue eyes set deeply into a face tanned golden by the sun. With fatherly pride he noted the long dark brown sideburns had been recently trimmed, accentuating the pronounced cheekbones and firm angular jaw. His nose was well formed and slightly aquiline and beneath it were generous but tightly drawn lips.
He was the epitome of all Pickering would have desired in a son, for he had the air of professional soldier about him, which displayed itself in his quick manner, painfully neat apparel, and rather austere appearance. Gradually Garrett s stern visage softened, as he stared down at the man who was like a father to him.
Long ago, and as the war had lengthened, they had dispensed with official greetings on the now too numerous fields of battle. “Sorry about the lack of recoup time, Garrett, but I’m anxious as all hell to get you out of this piss hole. Have a seat, man, I’ve only a short time to brief you.” Garrett sank gratefully down into the camp chair and stretched his long Hessian clad legs in front of him.
“Garrett, I need you to act as an escort for my young nephew. I didn’t know until a few days past my sister had a kid. I knew she had come to the South years ago, but I lost all track of her. Seems her kid knew about me, though, cause she told him to find me in case something happened to her. Anyway, I need you to take him to his father’s parents in Charleston. I want you out of here and I’ll consider this mission a personal favor to me.
Here’s a map to the place, letters of introduction from me, and all the gold I could dig up at the moment to send with him. Oh, and this is an out of uniform job, okay? You’ll find the lad over in that tent near the trees. God bless you, son, and safe journey.” Major Pickering’s eyes had suddenly misted over and Garrett knew it was time to leave.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”