Brig. Gen. John Buford fought to regain his saddle, his mount nervously shying back from the shell burst that had detonated a dozen feet away. The trooper who had been reporting to him was down, lying still in the middle of the road, covered in white dust. "You hurt, General?"
Head ringing from the concussion, John turned. It was Gamble, commander of his First Brigade.
He was stunned from the blast, and it took a moment for his thoughts to clear.
Gamble leaned over, grabbing the reins to John's horse.
"Are you hurt, sir?"
"No, no. I'll be fine in a moment"
"They're spreading the line," Gamble shouted, "extending to our right!"
John nodded, willing the pounding in his chest to settle down, his thoughts to clear.
It was getting decidedly hot the air thick, sticky. He looked back to the east toward Taneytown. The rest of Devin's brigade was coming up on the pike, troops of cavalry spreading out across the fields, riding hard.
But the horses were blown, moving slowly. Hard days of campaigning, the fight yesterday, were telling now. Cavalry could move quickly when need be, but then horses had to be rested. Push too hard and your entire command is on foot. That's why he had requested the pullback to the rear, to give the mounts a day or two to feed on the rich pastures, get reshod after nearly two hundred miles of marching in the last two weeks, and even more importantly, resupply his command with ammunition and rations.
And now this, a battle that was never supposed to happen, a dozen miles to the flank and rear, with me in the way, taking a break at Taneytown when a scout brought the word in that Rebs were on the road to the west
From the bluff overlooking the river, he could see the bridge below, a solid affair, stone foundation, wide enough for two wagons to pass. Ten more minutes, and the Rebs would have had it. Only a hard ride, a flat-out gallop of five miles by his lead regiment the Eighth New York, a ride that had killed at least a dozen mounts and blown the rest could secure the crossing, even as the Rebs were racing in from the other side.
Now the damn affair was spreading out. This wasn't a raiding force probing the army's flank; it was a full-out attack. As his regiments came up from Taneytown, the Rebs were pouring their men in as well, rapidly extending to either side of the bridge, looking for places to cross and envelop him.
The Rebs had at least a division on the other side of the river, the trooper who was killed having just reported that they had taken a man who claimed to be with Law's brigade, Hood's division.
Damn, if I'm facing Hood down here, a dozen miles south of Gettysburg, that must mean all of Longstreet is behind him. They wouldn't just send a lone division this far off the flank. No, this was like Second Manassas all over again, with Longstreet again on the other side. Fix our attention in one direction, then slip around to the flank or rear. It was always the same with the Army of the Potomac. We focus on Lee, then he weaves like a boxer, dodging off in another direction, and our damn generals sit there dumbfounded. Once, just once, why couldn't it be the other way around?
The opposite bank of the creek was a shadowland of smoke and flickering gunfire. The air was still, humid, the smoke cringing to the ground, hanging in choking clouds beneath the trees that lined the banks of the stream. His men were giving back, rifle fire echoing in the shallow valley, but doing so slowly, with measured pace. Ammunition was low; every shot had to count.
He turned about and drew back a hundred yards, coming back out at the crest on the east side of the creek. Heat shimmers were rising off the pike to Taneytown, distorting the column of troopers coming up to reinforce the line.
"Should I tell Devin to put his men in on the right?" Gamble asked.
John raised his field glasses, scanning the opposite slope on the far side of the river. He caught glimpses of an infantry column a half mile away heading to his right. A second artillery battery was swinging into line. I don't have a single damn field piece, Calef won't be up for another half hour, and now there are two batteries on the other side, most likely more coming up.
I held the good ground for the army yesterday, did my duty, pulled back to refit, and now this. How the hell did Hood get around to the rear?
John looked over at Gamble, who was still awaiting orders. "We've got to hold them here, right here. Lose this line and there is no defendable position between here and the far side of Taneytown"-he hesitated for a second trying to remember the name "-along Pipe Creek.
"On the right, Gamble; put whatever we've got in there."
"Reserve?"
John shook his head. "We don't have any now."
Hood was a good player, he knew what to do. Yesterday, Harry Heth was impetuous, came on too fast; Hood though, John was different Aggressive as all hell, but he'd get a full division up and then come storming in with everything at once. Just keep extending the line until he finds a place to get across and turns us. That and some of my men have gone in with cartridge boxes half-empty. The few precious companies armed with repeating Spencer rifles were just about empty, having poured out nearly everything they had up at Gettysburg yesterday.
This was going to get bad real quick.
"Find a trooper with a damn good horse and get him over here now" John announced.
Dismounting in front of a farmhouse on the crest of the hill, he walked up to the porch. A woman with two children behind her stood in the doorway.
"I’d suggest you get your family down into the cellar," Buford said.
The woman turned, pushing the children inside, but returned a moment later, bearing of all things an earthen mug filled with foaming buttermilk.
In spite of his concern for her safety, he gratefully took the offering and downed it. It was cool, delicious. He drank it so fast his head ached for a moment
"Ma'am, please find some shelter."
"You're wounded, sir," and she pointed to his left arm. He glanced down, saw the torn sleeve, and for the first time felt the pain. The last shell burst must have nicked him.
"I'll be fine. Now please go with your children."
"Have your wounded brought in here where it's safe."
Safe? He couldn't help but smile. This house, on the crossroads, would be a target for the guns deploying on the other side.
"Down to the cellar with you, ma'am. I'll send one of my men to stay with you."
Gamble came up, leading a trooper riding a fine-looking stallion, which had obviously just "joined" the army.
Buford pulled out his dispatch book, folded it open, and addressed a note to Meade.