I would rather die a thousand deaths than surrender.
– General Robert E. Lee
A quick knock on the door was followed by the entrance of Malone. “Kulnel, the boys got someone trying to get through our lines.”
Hunter looked up from the map he’d been studying with his officers. “What does he know?”
“Can’t get a thing out of him one way or another. Says he wants to speak to you.”
“I don’t have time for a private consultation with a—” Hunter’s gaze drifted to the window where he saw the lone figure being held at gunpoint about twenty yards away. He shifted his focus to Carter and then to the other men in the room. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Perhaps it’d be best if I see what he has to say. Send him in, Lieutenant Malone.”
When the other officers had departed and the door opened again, Hunter stared at the figure who stared at the floor. His heart sank and swelled at the sight of the slender form whose boots and trousers were splattered with mud. His nerves quivered and tingled at the danger she had placed herself in by coming, and his mind whirled at what could possibly have been her motive for doing so. He dismissed the escort with an impassive nod, hoping it masked the hurricane of feeling raging within.
Hunter heard the door latch close, but waited for her to speak. He could not help but remember with anguish the torment of their last meeting. And deep down, he possessed little hope there was to be a sudden reconciliation now.
* * *
“The impending attack…” Andrea swallowed hard in mid-sentence at the sight of Hunter’s stalwart form standing behind a table, his hands braced on either side of a map. “You cannot—”
There was something in his proud eyes and kingly bearing that took her breath away. She’d been unsure if he would receive her, let alone agree to hear her request. And now, face to face with him again, she could not frame the words she had practiced to say. Andrea averted her eyes and tried to catch her breath, recognizing for the first time she both worshiped and feared this man’s size and martial masculinity.
“You did not come to ask me to surrender.”
Andrea looked up at the tone of disgust in his voice and noticed his eyes seemed to portray deep annoyance. She unconsciously put one hand on her chest to ease a pain so intense it felt as if invisible claws had seized her heart and were slowly wrenching it from within. How often had she thought of him…pictured him…dreamed of him? Yet seeing him thus caused an agonizing and mysterious pain to pulse through her heart.
“I have never surrendered and it is a little late to be learning the meaning of the word now.” His focus moved from the window to her face. “Surely you did not come here thinking to teach it to me.”
There was no affection or even friendliness in his voice. His cold and uncaring tone was enough to freeze the blood in Andrea’s veins. But when she saw his gaze drop down to her boots, she thought she read a hint of wistfulness there, as if the memory of the night she’d received them had invaded his thoughts.
“I should not have come.” Andrea took another deep, shaky breath as his expression returned to one of callousness and indifference. Riding into his heavily armed camp had not been half so hard as facing him thus. “I would not have come,” she started again, “but you will be facing General Jordan.” She exhaled loudly, relieved to have finally finished her sentence.
“And that is why you are here?” Hunter threw his hands up in the air. “It cannot be helped. It is the fate of war.”
Andrea closed her eyes from his look of scorn, her cheeks burning. So this was to be the conclusion to what she’d hoped would be a happy ending. The thought of what could have been and what was to be froze her in a place where all decisions and actions were impossible. She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “I understand. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Hunter walked up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You know that is a sacrifice I cannot make.” His voice was softer now.
“Not even for me?” Andrea turned around, imploring him with her eyes.
“You have no right to ask that which I have no right to grant.” He leaned forward, his coat redolent with the intoxicating aroma of gunpowder and smoke. “It is a matter of duty, not mere inclination, that I must stand.”
Andrea stared solemnly out the window at the men talking in small groups outside. Hunter’s presence and poise were so comforting to her, she had to pretend he had no effect on her
“Andrea, this is no longer about you and me. It’s bigger than that. My Command, the Confederacy, demand I fight.”
“But the Cause is lost.”
“The Cause is not lost!” His voice rose in anger. “And we may yet prove it with another victory.”
“Victory?” Andrea threw her hands in the air, forgetting her former fears. “Victory or defeat, the price is the same—a senseless effusion of blood! Tell me, when will it be over?”
“When the last man falls or peace and liberty are restored…whichever comes first.” His voice was low and even. “We are willing to sacrifice—and to lose—everything but our honor.”
“For heaven’s sake. Half a million of the bravest men in the world have already shed their blood for honor. Where did it get them? Where has it gotten you?”
When she stopped and looked up, Andrea noticed Hunter’s countenance for the first time—tired, weary, like he had not slept for days. His eyes looked strained under the weight of responsibility that rested upon him. Yet he bore the burden with the confidence of one who is accustomed to suffering, one who considers it so commonplace as to be unworthy of his contemplation.
“The odds against you are great. Please…reconsider.”
“I am not good at arithmetic nor accustomed to counting odds.” He pulled out one of his revolvers and checked the chamber. “I’m an officer. My duty is to fight, not calculate the capability of the enemy.”
“But the size and number of the enemy’s guns generally have something to do with the end result, do they not?”
Hunter did not respond other than to raise his eyes to hers and then calmly lower them again. From that look she knew that fear, no matter the odds, never entered his mind; just as the word surrender, no matter the hazardous gamble, never entered his thoughts. He was planning to accept an assault he had no chance of surviving, simply in accordance with his habitual policy of withstanding anything placed in his path.
“I do not wish you to come back a corpse.”
“I intend to do everything in my power to prevent that,” he replied. “The task is difficult, but I trust not entirely impossible.”
“But Alex, you cannot win this battle based on Southern resolve. All your men and your Maker cannot withstand that which is aligned against you. Please—”
“If you are asking why I do not surrender, I’ll give you my uncompromising reply.” He paused and looked directly into her eyes. “My honor forbids it.”
“But it is not up to you to vindicate the South’s honor. It is too late for that.”
“You yourself said once that honor is the most priceless gift we can have.” His piercing gray eyes scrutinized her. “And I tend to agree.”
Andrea sighed in exasperation at the way he always used her own words against her. Then she looked at him wistfully and bit her lip, wanting to say something more but, for once, not venturing to do so.