Lincoln's Wizard Read online

  “Where is Thompson?” Hendricks yelled at his lieutenant.

  “Here sir,” a blocky man with a Van Dyke beard called as he came running up the hill.

  “Glad you could join us, Major,” Hendricks said, letting the displeasure seep into his voice. “Have you seen the enemy lines?”

  “Yes sir,” the Major reported.

  “We’re facing Grays that are going to come straight at us,” Hendricks said. “No subtlety here, they’re going to try to overwhelm us with numbers. I want you to break up your batteries and spread them throughout the line.”

  “That will take time, sir,” Major Thompson said.

  “We don’t a have a choice,” Hendricks said. “We have to thin out that charge if we’re to have any chance against the Grays. Now get—”

  “Look!”

  The urgency in the young lieutenant’s voice drew Hendricks’ attention. The starlight shell had burned down, but there was still enough light to see that the Monitor had moved. It walked out into the river, pouring fire into the enemy’s southern flank. Hundreds of Gray soldiers were rushing it, trying to swarm up the legs, shifting the entire Rebel line left.

  A surge of pure adrenalin rushed through Hendricks, and he swore. “They’re trying to flank them,” he said. “It’s pulled the whole Rebel line out of formation.”

  “They’re going to have to reinforce the weakened line from the right,” Major Thompson said.

  Hendricks nodded in agreement.

  “Get your artillery to the right,” he told the major. “And pass the word to the cavalry officer,” he said to the lieutenant. “Tell him to prepare a charge on the right flank.”

  The men saluted and scrambled down the hill. Across the field, the starlight shell burnt out, leaving the staccato firing of the Gatling gun and the Rebel artillery the only lights to be seen. Hendricks hadn’t expected the shoestring crew aboard the Monitor to do any actual fighting. He’d hoped the mere presence of the tall gun on the field would make the Rebels think better of a fight.

  Whoever operated the Monitor had done something no one had expected, and thanks to that bold move, they had a chance. That man was a damn genius.

  O O O

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Braxton yelled down through the floor grate.

  “Just keep shooting,” Sergeant Fulton called up from the pilot’s seat. “Whatever you’re doing, you sure kicked over their hornet’s nest.”

  A cannonball careened off the iron body of the Monitor, and Braxton would swear it rattled one of his fillings loose. When he could hear again, he leaned down toward the grate.

  “Get us out of here, Fulton,” he yelled.

  “I can see our lines now,” Fulton yelled back. “Welcome to the war, Lieutenant!”

  The Monitor lurched and began moving. Braxton loaded another shell in his gun and fired into a knot of Grays that were forming up around the artillery. The recoil pushed back against the tall gun’s motion but Braxton knew that Fulton could compensate. Almost immediately the Monitor jerked to a halt, teetering dangerously before coming to rest.

  Braxton leaned down to the grate, but before he could call down, Laurie’s voice reached up to him.

  “Braxton, get down here,” he yelled.

  Braxton slid out of the gunner’s chair and opened the trap door that led down to the Monitor’s body. As he descended the ladder, he saw Fulton lying on the deck behind the pilot’s chair. Laurie held him, pressing a cloth to a bloody wound in the Sergeant’s head.

  “It came though the view slot,” Laurie said.

  “Will he live?” he asked.

  Laurie looked at him and their eyes met before he shook his head. Braxton opened his mouth to speak but another cannon ball hit the Monitor. Its iron hide rang like a bell.

  Braxton stepped over Fulton and slipped into the pilot’s chair. The shot that hit the Sergeant had come through the view port, a rectangular opening that allowed the pilot to see the ground. Braxton reached up and closed it until only a small slit remained. He flinched as bullets hit the armor and shattered.

  “Is there anything you can do for Fulton?” he called to Laurie.

  “No,” Laurie said. “He’s dead. Should I get back on the Gatling gun?”

  Braxton shook his head as he grasped the levers that operated the Monitor’s legs. “With the view port closed this far I can’t tell which direction we should go. I need you up in the turret.”

  Laurie scrambled up the ladder as Braxton eased the Monitor forward. He could see the ground where the legs would step but not much else.

  “Go left,” Laurie called down after a moment.

  Braxton did as he was told, moving the Monitor left and forward at the same time.

  “They’re moving their artillery,” Laurie called. “They’ve cut us off from the field. Can we step over them?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” Braxton yelled. Being that close to enemy guns would give the Rebs a much better chance to hit one of the Monitor’s legs. It might not bring the tall gun down, but it could render them immobile.

  “We need another direction,” he yelled up through the grate.

  “Head into the river,” Laurie yelled.

  Braxton wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

  “That’s where they enemy is,” he said.

  “No,” Laurie said. “Their main force is on the Ohio side of the river. If we can get across to the West Virginia side, we’ll be pushing through their support column. Then we can head downriver until it’s safe to cross back.”

  Braxton didn’t like it, but with bullets and shells bouncing off the Monitor, he didn’t see any better options. The Monitor could take the guns, but sooner or later some Reb would try to blow up one of her legs with a powder keg and then he and Laurie would be dead.

  “I’m taking us out,” Braxton called over the chugging of the engine.

  He gripped the control levers and turned the Monitor into the river. The low narrow strip of Blennerhassett Island lay to his left and he could make out the confusion among the Rebels swarming there like a kicked-over ant hill. With the tall gun’s height, they should be able to cross as long as he took it slow and didn’t get the legs hung up on anything. He pushed downriver to the west, hoping to get around the island rather than try to cross through the Confederate ranks, but the island seemed to go on forever. When they moved, the cannon hits stopped as they passed out from in front of the Rebel artillery. Braxton breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it would take them several minutes to realign their guns. He had almost relaxed when something smashed against the boarding hatch.

  “Someone’s under us,” he yelled to Laurie.

  “They’ve sent out boats with Grays,” Laurie replied, panic in his voice. “They’re climbing up the legs.”

  “Not to worry,” Braxton called back. “There’s nothing on the Monitor’s legs that would be vulnerable to a few Grays.”

  Something heavy crashed into the hatch and it buckled.

  Braxton blanched. The boarding hatch, however, was another story. If they got that open, they could shoot him easily.

  “They’ve got a boat underneath us,” Braxton yelled, his chest tightening so that his words ended in a gasp. “They’re breaking through.”

  “Should we surrender?” Laurie asked.

  “To the Grays?” Braxton squawked. Laurie didn’t sound as panicked as Braxton felt and that gave Braxton some measure of courage. The hatch banged again, jumping almost free and bending the heavy brass bolt that secured it.

  Without taking time to think it through, Braxton leapt from the pilot’s seat. The rapid-fire guns had a bad habit of jamming, so Braxton had them mounted to the ceiling on swivel arms, allowing them to be pulled inside the cabin so that their gunners could clear them, getting them back in action. Braxton seized one of the Gatling guns, and swung it around, pointing its muzzle inside the Monitor’s lower compartment.

  It stopped well short of the boarding hatch.

 
For safety reasons, the gun arm didn’t swing around so that the gun would point at the inside of the cabin. The hatch banged again and Braxton heard the wood splinter. The Grays below must have a hammer or a crowbar.

  A desperate idea leapt into Braxton’s mind. Above him, the Gatling gun support arm was bolted to the ceiling. If he loosened two of the three bolts, he could move the gun far enough to cover the hatch. As this idea took full possession of his mind, Braxton sprinted across the deck to the tool box. Waves of heat assaulted him when he drew close to the boiler. A wooden tool box was secured to the wall there, and Braxton grabbed the large wrench. He had to drop it immediately as it burned his hand. He made a mental note to relocate the toolbox and untucked his shirt, using the fabric to grab the wrench.

  As he turned back to the gun, the boarding hatch burst open and a horror tried to climb in.

  Braxton had never seen a Gray soldier up close before. Its skin, as its name implied, was gray, with white eyes that seemed to leak some foul fluid. Its hair stuck up from beneath its kepi, like the straw of a broom, and a great scar ran across its face still showing the X pattern of stitches where it had been closed. In the center of its forehead the word “Antietam” had been tattooed in scrolling letters.

  The Gray reached inside the cabin to pull itself up.

  Braxton’s breath squeezed from his body as if a great pressure were bearing down on him. The rushing of his blood sounded in his ears and every nerve screamed at him to flee. But there was nowhere to go.

  He let out an incoherent yell and charged the lifeless soldier. Wielding the hot wrench like a club, he slammed it down into the nightmare’s face.

  The Gray blinked and it fell back against the far side of the hatch, but it seemed not to have felt the blow. Without a groan or sound of protest, it reached into the cabin and clawed at the floor, trying to find enough purchase to pull itself inside.

  Braxton’s skin crawled and he had to force himself to swing again. This time he put all his force into it and he heard the Gray’s skull crack with the blow. Whether the damage incapacitated the Gray or it simply lost its grip, he didn’t know, but it dropped out of sight, followed by a thud as it hit the boat, and a splash as it flopped into the water.

  Trembling, Braxton forced himself around the now open hatch. He had to get the gun free.

  Before he reached the gun, something latched on to his trouser leg and jerked. Braxton cried out and fell, slamming down hard on the deck and losing his grip on the wrench. A gray arm in a gray coat reached through the hatch and had him by the leg. As it pulled, Braxton slid toward the hatch and another pallid, dead face rose up as from the depths of hell itself.

  Braxton yelled in terror and lashed out, kicking the Gray in the face. The thing lost its grip on his trouser leg, but had gained enough ground to begin pulling itself inside with its other hand.

  “What’s going on down there?” Laurie yelled.

  Braxton ignored him. Seizing the discarded wrench, he smashed the Gray in the chin with all his force. He heard the neck break with a sickening snap and the second Gray followed the first down into the cold waters of the Ohio.

  Before another Gray could take its place, Braxton slammed the boarding hatch closed and wedged the wrench through the bolt cleat, securing the door, at least for the moment. Almost immediately, something heavy banged into the hatch and Braxton moved on top of it, adding his weight to help keep it closed.

  “What happened?” Laurie called from the turret, poking his head down from the opening above the ladder.

  Braxton opened his mouth to answer, but an unearthly scream cut him off. Something hit the top of the Monitor and the river was bathed in light. Fire erupted through the view ports and Laurie cried out, scrambling down the ladder amid a shower of curses.

  “What was that?” Laurie demanded.

  Braxton felt the hair on his neck rise.

  “Quiet,” he said, waving Laurie silent. “Listen.”

  After a moment of stillness, where the only sound was the chugging of the tall gun’s engine, Laurie shook his head.

  “What am I listening for?”

  “Mortars,” Braxton said. “Did you hear any mortars fire?”

  “No,” Laurie said. “It sounds like all the guns have stopped.”

  “Get out,” Braxton yelled, grabbing Laurie by the arm and dragging him toward the boarding hatch. “We have to get out now.”

  “What—”

  Laurie never finished the question. The shriek turned into a roar that shook the Monitor, and a moment later something slammed into it with the force of a hundred cannons. Braxton and Laurie were thrown to the floor as the tall gun tipped sideways. The machine groaned in metallic protest as it fell, slamming into the water with tremendous force.

  Braxton came to his senses. He lay against the Monitor’s sidewall with the Ohio pouring through the gun slot and soaking him. It took a moment to remember how he’d gotten there, but when he did, adrenaline surged through him, propelling him up. Before he was even half way up, pain shot through his side and he doubled over. Carefully, he prodded his ribs, wincing as he found the broken one.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, Braxton struggled to get his feet under him.

  “Laurie,” he yelled, shaking the limp form of his friend, draped over a support strut. “Come on, brother, we’ve got to get out. When the water hits the boiler it’ll blow.”

  He cast a furtive glance up at the boiler, now hanging above him. If they’d fallen the other way it would have been plunged under water and they’d both be dead.

  Lucky.

  Laurie groaned and pushed himself up. Blood ran into his face from a cut on his forehead and he blinked repeatedly to clear his eyes.

  “I’m okay,” he said, sounding a little dazed. “Let’s go.”

  He grabbed Braxton by the shoulder and turned toward the hole in the wall that used to be the boarding hatch. Braxton gasped in pain at the pressure and dropped to one knee.

  “What is it?” Laurie said, kneeling beside him.

  “Cracked rib,” Braxton said through clenched teeth. “Maybe broken”

  “I’ll have a look when we get out,” Laurie said, helping Braxton rise. “I can boost you up to the hatch. Do you think you can make it to shore?”

  The thought of swimming with the cracked rib made Braxton’s side throb, but what choice did he have? He nodded.

  Laurie leaned him on the planking that used to be the floor, just below the hatch.

  “Give me your foot,” he said. “I’ll lift you.”

  Braxton did as he was told, groaning as Laurie lifted, sliding him up the sloping floor. When he reached the hatch, Braxton clutched his injured rib and rolled through the opening.

  The icy water of the Ohio hit him like a hammer, threatening to suck the air from his lungs. He struggled to the surface, using his free arm and legs to make for the shore. Above him the Monitor was lit by the glow of the burning goo that still clung to its armor, casting a ruddy light over the dark water.

  An angry hiss filled his ears and he knew he was out of time. Hoping the water would shield him, Braxton gulped as much air as he could and dove down.

  The Monitor’s boiler exploded. Even underwater, the sound was deafening and it took all of Braxton’s will not to gasp as the pressure wave hit him. Shrapnel and chunks of metal the size of pumpkins plunged past him like iron rain, sinking slowly once their initial momentum was spent.

  When Braxton could hold his breath no longer, he made for the surface, breaking through with a ragged gasp. All around him, burning wreckage bobbed on the water and a tree had caught fire on the far side of the river. From somewhere in the darkness, cheers were going up from the Confederate lines, and beyond them the sounds of battle raged, but Braxton heard none of it nor cared for any of it in that moment.

  “Laurie!” Braxton yelled.

  Grunting in pain, he turned himself around, scanning the rolling water for any sign of life.

  “La
urie!” he called again, but there was no answer.

  Chapter Two

  The Hero’s Wage

  The chairs in the office of the Director of Military Intelligence were the finest quality, comfortable and richly upholstered in woven linen. Soft, padded carpets covered the floor, though their colors were somewhat faded from age. Rumor had it they’d been brought from the White House when the Union abandoned Washington. Now the Presidential residence, and its associated offices, encompassed the entire top floor of New York’s fashionable Fifth Avenue Hotel.

  Rechristened the Union House, the hotel now housed Congress on the first two floors, with the Presidential residence and offices above. This arrangement made for much sport in the New York papers, ran stories about Lincoln literally setting himself above Congress. Since these were the same newspaper men who proclaimed Braxton to be the Union’s greatest hero, he was inclined to think little of their opinions.

  Despite, or perhaps because of, the richness of the furniture and the opulence of his surroundings, Braxton fidgeted in his chair. He simply couldn’t get comfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been at ease.

  His hapless actions at Parkersburg had pulled the Confederate lines out of formation, allowing Colonel Hendricks to mount a successful attack on the Rebel flank. They had been forced to withdraw back across the river amid heavy losses. It was the most demonstrable Union victory in two years. The papers had declared Braxton the “Hero of Parkersburg,” printing sensationalized and downright fabricated accounts of the Monitor and his role in the attack. No one mentioned or seemed to care that he’d lost the Monitor in the battle, nor that he’d gotten his best friend killed.

  Laurie.

  Braxton sighed. He’d searched the shore for an hour before Colonel Hendricks’ troops found him. The river was filled with flotsam and the bodies of inert Gray soldiers, but no Laurie. It had taken a direct order from the Colonel himself to get Braxton to abandon the search and report to the medical tent.