“EARLY LETTER TO SANTY Claus?” asked Clarence, peering over Jake’s shoulder. “Would you like me to run it to the mailbox?”
No time to waste. Don’t talk.
Jake scribbled as fast as he could, letting the two men look on.
He drew a map — the pass, the mountains, the village. He drew the enemy position, closing in.
And he drew the battle plan — a series of arrows and a brief explanation underneath.
The picture was crude, but the words would explain everything.
Military Tactics for Beginners. I can’t believe they haven’t thought of this themselves.
“It’s a map,” Jamie whispered.
“Well, I’ll be …” Clarence murmured.
“They was right,” Jamie said.
Now both men were backing away toward the cell door.
Jake glanced up. “Who was right?”
“You’re the one,” Jamie said. “You’re the — ”
Clarence began banging on the cell bars, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Hey! GUARD! RADEMACHER!”
Rademacher stormed in. “Shut your mouth ’fore I — ”
“He’s the spy!” Clarence said, pointing at Jake. “It ain’t us! He’s making plans for the Rebels! We caught him!”
“What are you talking about?” Jake said. “Didn’t you read the explana — ?”
Jake cut himself off. The two men were staring at him, their eyes fearful, hopeful, and vacant.
No.
They didn’t read it.
They can’t read.
Of course. It was the 1860s. Not everybody was literate. Not everybody went to school.
“I can explain!” Jake said.
“I’m sure you can.” Rademacher was grinning. “What’s on that itty-bitty piece of paper you’re holding?”
“A battle plan — for us! I know how we can win — ”
Fool.
Don’t give it away.
Not to him.
You can’t trust him.
Jake held the paper behind his back. “I demand to see Colonel Weymouth at once!”
“Funny, I thought I was the one who made demands around here.” With one swift move, Rademacher reached between the cell bars and grabbed the paper from Jake’s hand.
“NO!”
Rademacher made a big show of reading the map — scratching his chin, tapping his jaw. “Hmm, looks mighty interesting. Why, I’ll be sure to give it to him myself. Y’all behave while I’m gone, Southern boy, hear?”
With a sneer, he folded the map and left the cabin.
Jake slumped against the wall, glaring at Clarence. “You ruined it. You destroyed our chances.”
“Sorry, kid,” Clarence said. “It’s a war. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
Suddenly new memories were bubbling up. Stuff he’d read long ago about the Battle of Dead Man’s Trace.
This is how they lost.
The Rebels knew the Union Army’s every move. They anticipated the counterstrategies. Their spies infiltrated the ranks.
They blew the Federals to smithereens.
I could have stopped it. But I didn’t.
I gave it away.
He gazed out the window. At the encampment.
No. Not the encampment anymore. The battlefield.
The killing field.
Rademacher was running, hunched down, eyes peeled, the green paper still in his right hand.
Near Colonel Weymouth’s tent, he ducked behind a fortification of sandbags. He was scanning the note now, reading it. Orvis was limping past him, his arms full of first-aid supplies.
Suddenly Rademacher grabbed Orvis by the arm and shouted something that Jake couldn’t hear. Both men looked toward the prison.
Jake ducked. Instinctively.
When he rose again, Orvis was gone. The supplies were in a pile.
And Rademacher was racing into Colonel Weymouth’s tent. With the note.
He’s giving it to Weymouth.
Which meant he wasn’t the spy.
Which meant there was a chance of victory.
“Everybody! Out!” Orvis’s voice, high-pitched and hysterical, rang through the cabin. “All men to fight! Corporal Rademacher say we needing all we have!”
“YEEEE-HAH!” Jamie hollered.
Yes.
Finally.
Jake’s hands clenched. His throat constricted.
No retreating now, the way we did at Hobson’s Corner.
This would be different.
This would be revenge.
This would be real.
Orvis fumbled with a set of keys, then inserted one into the cell door and turned.
Clarence abruptly kicked open the door. “Come on, Jamie!”
With a cry of surprise, Orvis flew across the room, slamming into the wall.
Jake ran to help him. “Are you okay?”
“Orvis not spy!” Orvis blurted out. “What Orvis tell you — South-North not matter — not means Orvis Rebel. Just needing job — ”
“Don’t worry!” Jake locked his arms around Orvis’s shoulders and helped him outside. “We’re even! I’m not a spy, either — ”
“Orvis knows this. Rademacher tells. He says you smarter than you look. NO, NOT GO THIS WAY. TO LEFT!”
Orvis yanked Jake to the left. Pulled him to the ground.
BLAAAAAAAM!
The ground erupted just to their right.
Clods of dirt rained around them. Jake rolled away and looked up.
Orvis was fine. But a crater had opened in the soil exactly where they’d been headed.
That could have been us.
Jake was shaking. The sound of the blast rang in his ears. H-h-how did you know?”
“I — I —” Orvis just shrugged.
“YEEEAAAAAAAGHHHH!”
A soldier was running toward Jake now, weaving. Shrieking.
The cook.
His eyes were wide, his head back. Blood dripped from a stump where his hand once was. It spurted as he pointed to Jake and Orvis. Then his face suddenly calmed and he began laughing uncontrollably.
“Down!” Orvis shouted. “He got the crazies! He — “
CRRRRRACK!
The cook’s body lurched off the ground. He fell, staring at Jake, trying to utter a sound. Then his eyes rolled back into his head.
“NO-O-O-O-O!”
Real that was real it couldn’t have been a fake, the stump HOW DO YOU FAKE A STUMP? He’s dead dead dead
Orvis was pulling Jake now. “Come!” he shouted. “Away from open fire!”
Suddenly Jake felt himself lifted off his feet. From behind.
“You!” Sergeant Edmonds yelled. “Say your prayers, ’cause you’re a dead man.”
“DEAD, THE COOK IS DEAD I SAW HIM — ”
“I SHOULD THROW YOU TO YOUR OWN MEN!” Edmonds shouted. “YOU BETRAYED SAMUELSON. YOU GAVE UP THE CAMP — “
BLAAMMM!
Jake hurtled toward a long mortar-and-stone wall. He fell and rolled, with Edmonds and Orvis beside him. A line of soldiers was firing at the ridge, nestling their muskets between the stones.
Get away, you DON’T belong here, it’s NOT better, it STINKS, go home go home NOW
Jake stood up.
CRRRACKKK!
“GET DOWN! ARE YOU NUTS?” Sergeant Edmonds bellowed.
Yes. Yes, THATS EXACTLY WHAT I AM—
“I — I have to go!” Jake said.
Edmonds shoved a musket in his hands. “TAKE THIS AND USE IT, OR GIVE IT TO ME AND I’LL SHOOT YOU RIGHT NOW!”
NO. NO!
“SERGEANT, I’M ONLY FOURTEEN — “
“Sergeant…”
Samuelson’s voice.
Samuelson?
“You fool!” Edmonds shouted. “What are you doing out of the cabin?”
Samuelson crawled toward them, smiling weakly. “I heard you needed all the help you could get.”
“There he is,” Edmonds said, gesturing to Jake. “Judas. Kill him.”
“S-s-sergeant, this is a big mistake,” Jake stammered.
“He didn’t betray me,” Samuelson said. “He saved my life.”
BOOOOM!
Stones and soil flew upward. Fifty yards away, a gap opened in the wall.
Closer, it’s getting closer, the next one’ll be here, time out, can we call a time-out —
“SHOOT, BRANFORD!”
Edmonds shoved Jake on his stomach. Propped the musket in a gap between the stones.
Jake looked through the sight. At a line of Rebels on the ridge.
Like my journal. Like the gray line I mowed down and it felt so good, so CLEAN and so EASY and here I am looking at them and they want to kill me.
One of the Rebels was aiming at him.
The trigger.
SQUEEZE THE TRIGGER!
KA-BLAM!
“AAAAAAAAAGH!” Jake recoiled.
A body was falling. Over the ridge. Screaming. Leaving a trail of bright red.
Did I do that?
I did.
I KILLED HIM.
It didn’t feel good. Not at all. Jake wanted to throw up. The ground was whirling …
“I got him for you,” Samuelson said. “You have to pull the trigger harder, son.”
Suddenly Edmonds bellowed, “Cover the colonel!”
Steady.
Stay alive, Jake.
Breathe deep. See this through.
Jake glanced toward Colonel Weymouth’s tent.
A squadron emerged. In formation. A V-shape like a flock of geese, with one man at the front and the others fanning out in back.
Briskly they walked forward, their muskets trained on the enemy, bursts of smoke puffing up with each shot fired.
In the midst of the formation, huddled together, were Colonel Weymouth and Mrs. Stoughton.
“What are they doing?” Jake asked.
“Weymouth insisted!” Edmonds shouted. “He wants to save her, at all costs. Now. In case they surround us. In case we’re slaughtered. He thinks they won’t fire on a woman — “
“He crazy!” Orvis said.
“He figures she can escape through the ravine while we focus fire on the rebels.” Edmonds replied.
“What? He’s using the men as a shield!” Jake said.
Edmonds didn’t answer. But his eyes were a soldier’s: they said I obey; I don’t question.
The formation was moving. Slowly. Toward the woods.
This is the dumbest thing I have ever seen.
Union shots echoed. Rebel bodies fell from the ridge.
But the men in the formation were untouched. Unfired upon. All of them.
Jake stared in total disbelief.
Then a sudden, unexpected motion. Mrs. Stoughton, stumbling over her dress.
Colonel Weymouth pulled her arm. Hard.
She lunged forward and fell. Her purse fell to the ground, spilling its contents.
Jake’s eyes fixed on one item.
A green piece of paper.
Quickly Weymouth stooped over. He picked up the paper.
For a moment he was exposed. An easy target.
But not one shot was fired near him.
Weymouth quickly stuffed the paper back into Mrs. Stoughton’s purse. And he fell into position again, protected by the V.
It can’t be.
They’re leaving the camp.
With the plan.
But why?
Where would she be taking it?
The answer hit Jake over the head.
Hard.
“She — she — ” Jake swallowed hard. “SHE HAS IT! SHE HAS THE PLAN!”
“What plan?” Edmonds shot back.
“Colonel Weymouth — didn’t he tell — Rademacher knows about it!”
“Rademacher’s dead! Someone shot him. In Weymouth’s tent.”
“What?”
“Sniper. The bullet must have gone right through the tent.”
No. That wasn’t it. The killer was inside.
“Who else was in there with him?” Jake asked.
“Just Colonel Weymouth and Mrs. Stoughton.”
Jake glanced back at the woods.
The men had reached the tree line. In moments they’d be out of sight.