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Departing the dreary inn for the bright sunshine greatly lifted our spirits. I turned to look back at the place, wondering what had happened to turn a once-promising business into the hive of despair it had become. There were certainly no clues in the neighborhood, which were primarily modest businesses with neat window displays and painted trim. The people walking about and the occasional passing carriages were respectable enough, not ostentatious but obviously having the means to go about in decent comfort and style. Gordon caught me looking and tugged at my sleeve. “Come on,” he said, pointing down the street. “Stables are just over yonder.”
“I’m coming, just taking a last look, I don’t expect we’ll be back this way again. Wonder what happened, why it’s so run down?”
Gordon gave me a curious look. “Does it matter?”
“Not really,” I replied. “But it’s part of the trade. Question everything which seems out of place.”
He took another look at the building. “What’s so out of place?”
“Are you kidding? It’s falling apart, filthy, the proprietor has about given up- meanwhile, every other business on the street is thriving. Look at the shops, fresh paint, new lace curtains in that store, this one is offering fine imported goods, according to the sign. And the people- well dressed, expensive hats and jewelry, nice carriages. Everything on this street is either new or in good condition, catering to a well-to-do clientele. Then there’s this place,” I said, indicating the inn behind us.
Gordon took another look around. “Oh. Sure, now that you mention it, yes, it is rather out of place. Wonder why I didn’t notice it at first?”
“You have to observe- it’s like you said about fighting Indians. You have to be alert to the ambush, which means looking for what’s out of place. The bush moving against the wind, the tree which doesn’t look like the other trees, rocks sliding without any animal to move them. You learned all those tricks by observation, the same rules apply anywhere. Find the pattern, then find the anomaly. What doesn’t belong. Identify that, and then figure out why it doesn’t belong. And once you know the why, you have to figure out what it’s supposed to be, or do, which is different from everything else. When you look at a supply depot, for example, and see that they have a large number of pontoons, what does that tell you?”
“That they’ll be crossing a river, obviously.”
“Right. Now, you see pontoons, and you see lots of wagons. What does that tell you?”
“That they’ll need wagons when they cross the river. Is there a point to all this?”
“Which way are they going?”
Gordon was stunned into silence. He stood there for several moments, opening his mouth to reply and closing it almost as fast. At last he gave up. “I don’t think you can tell from that much information.”
“Do wagons accompany the assault force? Of course not, they would come along after- by which time you’d be in possession of the ground and be building a bridge. More than one probably. So not going forward. But if you’re going back, why would you need pontoons? Because the way you’re going doesn’t have a bridge, or you can’t count on it being there when you arrive. So, if we’re trying to determine the enemy’s plans, and we determine it involves wagons crossing a river without control of a bridge, then we need to determine where such a crossing would be made. That is actionable information which we can provide a friendly commander- who will then mass troops at the potential crossing site, and trap the enemy.”
Gordon shook his head again. “Amazing. All that from two pieces of information.”
“Well, that’s the theory, anyway- it doesn’t always work out so well. Sometimes you don’t find the right pieces of the puzzle, or the information isn’t reliable. Sometimes you get information which contradicts other information. Then what?”
“What do you mean- contradicts it how?”
I took a minute to collect my thoughts. So many meetings with shopkeepers, guards, journalists, farmers- all convinced of the reliability and accuracy of their information. Eyewitnesses who would swear on the Bible to the veracity of their account, when it could be positively proven they were never in a position to witness an event. “For example, take our wagons and pontoons. We assess that to mean the enemy is retreating and is using a river without a safe crossing. We’re pretty sure of that. But we have reports from deserters warning of a huge offensive- that the pontoons are to carry the army across the river, that the wagons are the supplies for the offensive. So we have a source of information which is in a position to know the real story- he’s got access first-hand- but can he be trusted? Maybe he’s here to misdirect us- convince us of an attack, since that’s what we would be inclined to think anyway. He gives us information which seems to confirm what we already believe. But it’s really just to get us to prepare to receive an attack, to dig in, and prevent us from pursuing the retreating enemy. Or, maybe the individual has no way of knowing the information, but wants us to think he does- maybe it’s a sutler, or a local, someone who’s not in the army but figures we’ll be willing to pay for information. So he tells us what he thinks we want to hear, or he repeats what the enemy is telling him, hoping he’ll tell us, and we pay him and everyone’s happy. He’s got money, we’re convinced the enemy’s preparing an attack, and they get away.”
“This is insane!” Gordon protested. “How can you ever determine reality? How do you know which information is true, and which false? How do you decide?”
I smiled. Now he was getting the point. “That’s just it, you may never know the truth of any given situation- but you can assess the probability of an event occurring, or of a fact being true, and assign a value to your confidence in your judgments. You can say that something has a high probability of being true, or of occurring, and you can say you have high confidence in your assessment. You achieve these levels by analyzing all the information you can get, evaluating each fact against the others and against past observations, and drawing conclusions based on the most reliable and mutually supported facts. Sometimes, you make do with what you have. Sometimes, you have high confidence just because of previous experience- example: you don’t need to have information that Apaches are currently waiting in a pass to ambush you if they’ve done it before. The fact that Apaches have previously ambushed you in a pass is enough reason to take precautions.”
He nodded. “Sure, I understand that. That’s obvious, any good soldier would know that.”
“Of course he would. And a multitude of other things, as well. This isn’t some brand-new concept, it’s the simple application of logic and experience to current problem sets. For any new situation, evaluate what is known, what has happened previously, and what we expect the outcomes could be. Then collect information and apply it to these sets. Does the new information concur with what we already know? Does it conflict with previous events? Does it match any of the expected outcomes? We keep refining our questions until we have an answer.”
“This is all very confusing. I don’t recall anything like this ever being taught at the Point. How did you come by this technique?”
“Well, it’s a bit of a synthesis from a few officers I’ve served under. General Lee, for one. He’s an exceptional engineer, able to look at terrain and instantly determine the key features for the attacker and the defender. It’s how he was able to serve General Scott so well in Mexico- he’d analyze the Mexican Army’s dispositions, analyze the terrain, determine General Scott’s plans, and find the best use of the terrain to accomplish it. There were some other officers I’ve met here and there who had similar ways of viewing problems. From there, the technique, as you call it, just came together. I’ve said it before, it’s rare that we truly don’t have enough information. Information is everywhere- you can’t help but to have information. The trick is to determine which information is reliable and which is not. Well, that’s part of it. Beyond that, you have to determine why the information is or is not reliable, because that may mask potentially more valuable information. Another example: You get word that a bunch of horses have been stolen and the Apaches are being blamed. Is this accurate? Well, we can determine that there are horses missing, but is there actual proof they were stolen? Did someone leave the corral open and the horses escaped? Is the report of theft covering up negligence? Maybe the horses were actually sold, or taken for private use, and the person making the report is trying to cover their tracks? Is there proof the Apaches stole the horses? Could it have been settlers? Rustlers? Bandits? Could the Indians be a scapegoat? If so, why? What would be the point in blaming Indians? To get us to attack them? Possibly, but why? Who stands to gain from hostilities between the Army and the Indians? Is there another motive at work here beyond simple theft of horses?”
“Truly, you have a devious mind!”
“Thanks, Gordon, I’ll take that as a compliment.” I grinned broadly, pleased to have succeeded in confusing him. “Look, you know how well the Cavalry does its job- it’s great at scouting ahead, screening, finding out the enemy’s positions and emplacement and general disposition. For the tactical level, there’s nothing better. If I want to know the military purpose behind any movement or emplacement of troops, I’ll get a horse soldier. But can he tell me the enemy’s overall intentions? Preparations? Morale? Will to fight? Health? Anything at all about the enemy’s ability to carry out his intentions or thwart ours? Not reliably. They may be able to get glimpses of that information, but the very nature of a military body will prevent them from accessing the areas they need to for that level of information. This is where stealth and cunning will avail us, not brave charges.”
Gordon looked at me suspiciously. “Are you a spy?”
I laughed. “Not hardly! I’m a soldier, just like you. Maybe one with a highly specialized skill set, but nevertheless a soldier. Spies are paid to bring back information- and that’s what they do. You task them to find out something specific, and they bring back the answer. They won’t get you the whole picture though- they will only bring back the one specific thing you need. Oh, some of them will try to gather as much as they can, but they’ll either bring back a lot of chaff with the little bit of wheat, or they’ll bring it all back and then try to sell it, a bit at a time. Either way, you waste time trying to find out what they really know. No, better to send a few, specially-selected men to gather the information the commander needs. They know how to operate, they respond to orders, and they generally understand the commander’s goals and objectives and can shift their priorities in the middle of the operation if new information becomes available which would be beneficial to their command operations.”
We had been walking down the sidewalk this whole time, and were rapidly drawing near to the stables. This was a makeshift building which was close to a rail terminus, allowing the horses to be brought to the city limits and then driven the short distance to the corral where they were kept for inspection. Already we were beginning to hear the noises associated with a large number of horses, the sounds of the animals mixing with yells and whistles from the stablehands, mixed with the ringing of a blacksmith’s hammer. There were more soldiers, too, on the sidewalks, including a few small bands attired in gray uniforms. I glanced at Gordon, who looked a bit self-conscious in his blue jacket. He straightened it and adjusted the cockade pinned to the front as we drew near.
“One thing puzzles me- well, more than one thing, the whole idea frankly, but let’s just deal with one thing for right now,” his speech was a rapid-fire of nervousness, no doubt brought on by his apprehension as we approached the soldiers. “Just how much value do you and your fellow, what did you call them? Agents actually bring? I know you’ve spoken of potentially battle-winning information, but you’ve also spoken of the difficulty in actually finding anything sometimes. So how often do you actually return anything useful?”
I pondered this for a minute. “That’s a fair question,” I conceded. “I guess it comes down to how you define ‘useful’- when I go out on assignment, I always bring back information. I think it’s useful, and as I keep being sent out, I can only presume my superiors find it to be so. How often is it what we’d consider to have a dramatic impact on a battlefield? Very rarely, but only because we haven’t had any battles lately. I’ve had success in Mexico in preventing battles, keeping them on their side of the border and peaceful, and some of that has been due to disrupting their plans to test us, test our resolve. So we’ve kept them off balance and second-guessing themselves and kept them from engaging in hostilities. Is that dramatic enough? But you’re right on one count- it’s not often enough to justify having a large number of individuals engaged in this type of work. Same thing for the evaluation and analysis- although we’ve shown the value in having groups devoted to synthesizing all available information into one location for processing, it’s never been seriously adopted as a battlefield or even headquarters function. I may broach the subject with General Lee when we get back.”
Gordon stared straight ahead, to where the troops in gray were starting to point at us and move into a large group. “I guess it’s not a serious manpower drain, then, if only a few people are engaging in the activity. What do you suppose General Lee will think of your suggestion?”
I started to answer, but didn’t get a chance as one of the men in gray challenged us. “Hello boys, what’s a couple of bluebellies doing creeping round our stables? And officers to boot! Hey y’all, we’s got some officers who don’t know which side of the war they’s on.”
The rest of the soldiers, about a dozen, started laughing and jeering. I looked around and saw a few other men in Federal blue who were hanging about, watching us; they showed no signs of interfering with the hazing ritual now taking place. I wondered if they had been victims of it- or instigators.
I decided to take action before things got out of hand. Striding up to the ringleader, I summoned all the command presence I could muster. “How DARE you address an officer of the Confederate States Army- any officer- with such disrespect?!” I thundered. “Who is in charge of this rabble? I demand to know your commander’s name IMMEDIATELY so I may have you dealt with appropriately. Strong disciplinary actions will need to be taken so your example does not infect our forces and impair our defense against Yankee aggression!”
The man visibly wilted at this tirade. Clearly, he hadn’t expected such a reaction. “Beg-begging your pardon, Sir, I-I meant no disrespect to you gentlemen. I, we was just-”
I cut him off. “Spare me your lies. Of course you meant disrespect. Let me explain something very clearly. Whatever you were previously, you are a soldier in the Confederate Army and you WILL behave as such. That means following regulations TO THE LETTER. What do you do when you see an officer?” I gave him a brief pause. “You SALUTE. You greet him appropriately. Good day to you Sir, may I be of service? That goes for any officer, including Yankee officers. We WILL obey military customs and courtesies, we WILL comport ourselves as soldiers and men with honor, and we WILL demand the same of our enemies. Right now, they speak of you as disorderly rabble, uneducated, undisciplined, lacking the will to fight- to even be soldiers. They expect you to break and run at the first gun. You will NOT run- you will show them the true character of the men of Virginia! And you will do so by behaving as professional soldiers, not as hooligans. AM I CLEAR?!”
The man stood at attention, or as close as he could come to it, and threw out a hasty salute. “Perfectly clear Sir! Begging the Captain’s pardon Sir, for any offense.” The rest of the mob tried, with varying degrees of success, to emulate their spokesman’s example. While not the most military formation I’d ever seen, they showed that they at least knew the rudiments of military drill. A pity they needed to be reminded.
I returned his salute. “You men stand at ease. What is your purpose here, and where are your officers?”
He glanced off to the side where the men in blue were now taking an interest in events. One broke off and sauntered over to us, offering a lazy salute as he approached. I wasn’t impressed. Neither was Gordon, who appeared at my shoulder and accosted the young officer. “I presume you are in charge of this formation?” The words dripped with contempt as he spoke. “Small wonder, then, that these men have so little concept of military behavior. Who are you Sir, what is your name and regiment? Speak up, quickly!”
The man stopped in his tracks, and the other men were now standing. It was quite clear they were not used to being spoken to so harshly; I began to wonder just what sort of army was shaping up around here- hopefully, the regular forces were better drilled than this. “Lieutenant Porter, Sir, Dunston Rifles. We, uh, our job is to guard, to guard this here depot and, uh, keep anyone from comin’ an’ takin’ the horses.” The man’s accent sounded familiar, one of the mountain counties no doubt. It also explained to some extent the lack of courtesy- these men were undoubtedly a local militia unit, accustomed to getting together for hunting and drinking (not necessarily in that order) and strolling about in uniforms. The mountain counties also tended to be more independent-minded and unwilling to accept outside ‘interference’; I wondered why these men had volunteered.
Gordon fixed the man with a withering gaze as he took in the unkempt appearance of the young officer. “So, Mr. Porter of the Dunston Rifles, you have a problem with men in blue uniforms? Ironic isn’t it?”
Porter swallowed nervously. “Sir, my uniforms are still being tailored. This was the only one they had.”
Gordon walked around the man slowly, ticking off items like an inspector on the parade ground. “Shoes need polished, pants hemmed, coat dirty, sleeves too long, body too big, insignia on crooked.” He sighed. “When did you get commissioned?”
Porter, his eyes straining to follow Gordon’s travels, was at rigid attention. “Last week, Sir! This uniform was the only one I could get, our lieutenant got hisself a commission with a different regiment so the men voted me and my brothers to be the new company commanders. He gave me his old uniform, said he didn’t need it now and I would. We all got officer uniforms from our old officers who got promoted.”
One of the men on the port, another Porter no doubt, chimed in. “Thass’ right Cap’n! Our Colonel got promoted to Gen’rl, and our Cap’n got to be the Colonel. I got his uniform. He was a short feller,” he concluded sorrowfully. I looked at his highwater pants and sleeves ending above the wrist. Short indeed. Pointing my finger at the men, I beckoned them forward. Dutifully, they filed in next to their brother and stood at ragged attention. The resemblance was definite- all had dark, curly hair, dark eyes, and huge black beards. They were lean and wiry, used to the hardscrabble life in the mountains. These men would be fierce fighters, if they could ever learn to adopt the ways of the army- and it had to start here, by instilling them with a sense of authority and purpose.
“You men are the officers of the regiment. These men,” I indicated the small group in gray, “will look to you for leadership. They have chosen you to lead them into battle, and placed their lives in your hands. You must set the example for them. If you are brave, so they will be. If you take pride in your appearance, and your bearing, so will they. If you act with proper military courtesy, then they will do the same. And when you are in line of battle, and you order them to charge the enemy’s guns- then they will do so, for you are their officers and they will have trust that you are making the right decisions. Be the leaders that these men deserve, and they will be the soldiers you deserve.”
Gordon spoke up. “No one can say for sure what will happen in the future. Mr. Lincoln has called for troops to suppress the rebellion, and Virginia has said she will stand with her sisters. If Mr. Lincoln’s army invades, we will defend our state and our nation with our lives, if need be. Otherwise, there is no point in pretending to be soldiers. We must be prepared to fight, and to die, if we are to prevail. It may be that our resolution, our defiance, is enough to convince the Federals to quit and let us go in peace. It may be that we must fight a battle, maybe two or even three, before they are convinced. They say we will not fight, that we will run- they are counting on that. We must ensure they are not right. If we all work hard to become good soldiers, and good officers, then we will stand the test of arms and we will be independent. If we fail, then we will be less than slaves, for we will be an occupied people for whom the Constitution is no longer any protection.”
As Gordon finished speaking, the men began to cheer loudly. The Porter brothers beamed with a new sense of duty, flushed with the notion of their leadership in battle turning the tide of victory. I was skeptical- they had too much to learn and not enough time in which to do so, but maybe they’d turn out all right. If nothing else, we had at least given them a lesson on military customs and courtesies, which might keep them out of trouble elsewhere.