The fray was an endless eternal flood of blood, steel and gunfire as Jeremiah frantically parried sabers, slashed at revolvers and thrust into bodies.
With no warning at all, he was suddenly clear of the press of men and horses with no target near to hand as blue and grey riders shattered away from each other. Pulling the .44 Army Colt with his left hand, he thumbed the hammer back and fired once after the retreating backs of the Confederates.
“You’re a mad man Jeremiah Lodge!” Jeremiah spun in his saddle to see Captain Hargrove laughing and waving him frantically back to the reconsolidating Union line.
As he trotted back to the front of the line, the grinning New Jersey Captain pointed to him. “Be careful with that one, boys, he thinks he can take on all Jeb’s men by himself.”
“So what’s the next…” Jeremiah froze as the preparatory bugle call for the charge sounded up and down the Federal line. “Again?”
*****
A mix of acrid powder smoke and the iron smell of blood hung over the battlefield as Sergeant McKay watched the last of the flood omen and horses surge past his position. Blown and wounded horses, carrying exhausted and wounded men, poured down the small track as the Union forces pulled back. The battle had lasted for hours, charges and counter-charges sweeping back and forth across the ridge, the shock of the Confederate cavalry was palpable in the atmosphere; the Federal cavalry, for the first time, had met them charge for charge as equals on the battlefield.
McKay had detailed a couple of his men to catch the reigns of riderless horses that were caught up in the mass. His men would be a part of the screen for the withdrawal, though it didn’t look like there would be much screening to do. The Rebels seemed uninterested in any real pursuit along this line, and McKay, with the senses of a veteran cavalryman, sensed that harassment would be halfhearted at best, at least for a while.
One of the troopers moving down the road leading a roan caught his eye and he reached over and grabbed the reigns of the blood-drenched horse and pulled it closer, looking at the blue checked gingham wrapped rations tied off to the saddle and shook his head sadly. “Aw, Captain Lodge. I warned ya to be careful in this great bloody brawl.”
*****
3rd of September 1863
Wheeling, West Virginia
“She’s gone?” Irish Mary looked over the empty room sadly and shook her head. “Was nae door nor lock that held her here.”
Bruna combed through the room. “She has taken his letters and everything.”
“She’ll nae be comin’ back, then.” Irish Mary picked carefully closed the empty desk drawer she had checked. “She’s nae right in the head, you know?”
“It was the shock.”
“Aye, ’twas the shock. She waited for near a week.”
Mary hadn’t cried or wailed after they had received the casualty list with Jeremiah’s name on it. She’d just sat at the desk, hollow-eyed, staring blankly at an unwritten letter, a nearly blank sheet of paper she’d been at when they got the awful news. The only thing on the page was “My Dearest Jeremiah,” written in the most careful and beautiful script a hill country girl could manage.