“IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDING,” Jake insisted. They were in the woods now. Almost to the camp. He and Harrington were struggling to drag Samuelson over the path. “When Samuelson comes to, he’ll tell you — ”
“WHO ASKED YOU TO SPEAK?” shouted Schroeder from behind him.
Any minute Jake expected the Rebels to fire. The escape from Hobson’s Corner had been slow going. Samuelson was unconscious and heavy. The others had gone on ahead to prepare the encampment for attack.
But now they were approaching the ridge, and the Rebels hadn’t followed.
The camp was in pandemonium. As they carefully moved Samuelson down the path, men were shouting instructions, loading muskets, bridling horses, shouting the news.
Jake heard the same phrases over and over: one dead … two injured … town empty … don’t know how they got past … must have been tipped off … didn’t follow us … don’t know why.
Jake knew why.
They’re moving in from both sides now.
They have us just where they want us.
When they’ve gathered themselves within striking range, we’re dead.
Now Orvis was rushing out of the supply cabin. “Is he … ?” he called out.
“Not yet,” Jake replied.
“I help.” Orvis nudged Jake aside, putting his arm around Samuelson.
Suddenly Jake felt a hand grabbing the back of his collar. “This way, swamp rat.”
Platt.
Jake tried to protest, but Platt was pulling him across the camp, weaving through the panicked throng — and right into Edmonds’s tent.
“Just try to escape,” Platt said, gripping his gun. “You’ll make me and my blunderbuss very happy.”
“You need me out there,” Jake insisted. “I can help!”
“The way you helped at Hobson’s Corner? The way you set us up? Why, I’d shoot you right here if n Edmonds didn’t say to keep you for him.”
With that, Platt turned away and stood at attention, keeping sentry.
Jake straightened his collar. The tent was large. No people. Just a table in the center, covered with a map.
Jake moved closer.
The map showed two long mountain ranges with a wide pass between them. In the pass was a big red circle. The camp.
At the top of the map — north — the pass became a forest that eventually ended at a village, marked by crudely drawn houses and a church. Hobson’s Corner.
From the south, large black arrows labeled with the word REBELS pointed into the pass.
From the camp, blue arrows pointing south. Edmonds’s plan of attack.
No post in the mountains. No guard watch to the east or west. No reconnaissance.
This was amateurish.
Stupid.
Hobson’s Corner was wide open to a sneak attack.
No wonder the Confederates got through.
What was he thinking?
“You left him in there ALONE?” thundered Edmonds’s voice.
Jake spun around.
Edmonds was barging into the tent. Wild-eyed, drenched with sweat. He pushed Jake aside and grabbed the plans off the table.
“Sergeant Edmonds,” Jake said. “I can explain — ”
BLAAAAM!
They both turned.
Now Corporal Rademacher was storming inside, his pistol smoking.
Only Platt’s legs were visible. Flat on the ground. Platt was howling with pain.
Rademacher shot him.
“You trigger-happy fool!” Edmonds said.
Rademacher pointed his pistol at Jake. “He let that schoolboy Rebel in here. And I aim not to let him out!”
No.
Jake backed away. “I’m not a spy! I can help you!”
“RADEMACHER!”
A deep voice. A new one.
Rademacher froze. He lowered his gun, cursing under his breath.
Jake recognized the man who now came through the tent flap. He’d seen the man’s cracked, faded photo in books — the droopy, walruslike white mustache, the fierce blue eyes and deep-lined skin, the broad shoulders and ample belly.
Weymouth.
“Colonel, our men have identified this boy as the spy,” Edmonds said. “Overmyer saw him aiding the Rebels, looting Samuelson’s body while he was still alive.”
Jake felt impaled by Weymouth’s cold, steely eyes.
“I — I was at gunpoint!” Jake pleaded.” They ordered me to take the weapons. Then they wanted me to shout, so the rest of the guys would come into the trap. That was when Overmyer showed up. That’s what he saw.”
“Liar!” Rademacher shouted.
Colonel Weymouth came face-to-face with Jake. “Would you have shouted if Overmyer hadn’t come?”
“Well — I — “
Yes.
I would have.
Probably.
“My life was in danger,” Jake said softly.
Edmonds was fuming. “So you’d risk the lives of the other men.”
“Treacherous pond scum — ” Rademacher lunged forward.
Colonel Weymouth turned his head, and Rademacher stopped in his tracks.
“Gentlemen, we have bigger concerns right now,” Weymouth said. “We will keep the young man in the compound jail until we have rid the countryside of our Southern nemesis. Then, if we are still alive, we will conduct a fair trial — ”
“Jail?” Jake blurted out. Impossible. Not during a great battle. “What am I going to do there? I won’t be able to fight!”
“And Corporal Rademacher here will be your guard,” Weymouth went on. “Judging from the way he treated Mr. Platt, he’s having a bit of trouble discerning who the enemy is — so we will keep him away from battle.”
Rademacher’s face fell. “But — but sir — ”
Colonel Weymouth ignored him and addressed Jake. “You will, of course, be able to present your case —eyewitnesses and so forth.”
“I don’t have any eyewitnesses!” Jake replied.
“Just tell us what you know about the Rebels,” Edmonds snapped.
“I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!”
“A shame.” Colonel Weymouth raised a heavy white eyebrow. “That kind of statement tends not to work well in a court-martial proceeding.”
Court-martial.
Trial by military officers.
Weymouth, Rademacher, and Edmonds.
I don’t stand a chance.
“But what if I lose?” Jake asked. “Doesn’t someone have to, like, shoot me?”
“No, no, no.” Rademacher smirked. “Not someone. A firing squad.”