Battle for Atlantis

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Darkness fell but the fighting did not abate. Lee had grudgingly accepted that Longstreet’s flanking attempt had failed to the right. He had watched thick smoke from furious fighting float off of both the Round Tops throughout the afternoon, but just before dusk it was a Union flag that still flew at the very top of Big Round Top.

Still, there was some success there as Sickles’s exposed corps, badly battered, was thrown back out of the peach orchard and sent tumbling back to the main Union · line. By this time, Ewell and A. P. Hill’s corps had managed to bring themselves on line in the center and north, preparing to coordinate with the flanking maneuver of Longstreet. Despite the latter’s failure, Lee did not want to give up the initiative and allow the Union troops the chance to counterattack.

At Lee’s command, Ewell’s artillery opened fire from Seminary Ridge toward Cemetery Ridge. The response from the more numerous Northern guns was instant and furious. Within twenty minutes, Ewell was forced to silence his guns and pull them back behind the cover of the ridge to keep his men from being destroyed by the counter-battery fire.

On the Union right flank, the Union corps occupying Culp’s Hill had had the better part of the day to prepare their positions, as had the troops along the length of Cemetery Ridge. Still, lee issued orders for an attack. By the time the orders were disseminated down, night was falling across the land. The focus ‘of Lee’s thrust was the Union right, from his Own left, at the juncture of Cemetery Ridge with Culp’s Hill.

Initially, the attack did not go well as the terrain was difficult to move across in the dark. Then Union batteries began firing, inflicting heavy casualties on the advancing Confederates. Still, the Southern forces came forward and then found a reprieve as they reached the base of the ridge and hill as the Union guns on top could not depress their angle of fire to hit them anymore.

The ebullient Rebels, glad to be out of the artillery fire charged uphill, striking the Union lines. They were soon in among the artillery itself and hand-to-hand fighting broke out. Meade counterattacked immediately with his reserves, and the exhausted Confederates, having already charged forward over a mile under heavy fire and engaged in heavy combat, fell back before the fresh Federal troops.

The situation began to get confusing in the darkness as neither senior commander could tell exactly where his forces were. In some places, Union units fired on fellow Union units in the confusion.

Gradually, the men of both sides simply decided the day was done. Units pulled back to their original lines and despite the horrific casualties of the day, neither side could claim victory.

At Lee’s headquarters, Lee was grudgingly accepting the pause of night. He had launched night attacks before, but this situation was simply too confused and his units too scattered to do so now. He felt he still had the initiative though, and considered his plan for the next day.

Despite Lee’s optimistic thoughts, the reality of the situation was far different The Army of the Potomac was massed inside the fishhook, new units arriving all day, until over eighty thousand Federal troops were crowded into a defensive Position less than three miles long. Lee’s forces, numbering fewer than fifty thousand, was stretched around the fishhook in a line almost five miles long. Meade also had three hundred and fifty artillery pieces to Lee’s two hundred seventy-two. Dividing men and gun totals by mileage of front, Meade had an overwhelming force advantage.

There was another problem, one that the last attack on the left had clearly shown — his troops might be able to breach the Union lines, but to gain victory he would have to be able to sustain the assault In fact, lee’s victory over Sickles’s exposed corps on the right had shown the problem also.

Lee stared at his map in the flickering light of a lantern. The headquarters was bustling as couriers came and went, but around Lee there was a reverent circle of silence as his staff waited for him to do what he always had before — come up with a brilliant plan that would defeat the Federals.

The circle was broken as Longstreet walked up. Old Pete was the last person lee wanted to see right now. He felt his subordinate commander had not pressed the attack sufficiently during the day on the Round Tops or at the Union left. Lee sensed that Longstreet was almost sulking after having been rebuffed in his tactical suggestions repeatedly. What lee did not know was that Longstreet was indeed upset, not only from having his suggestions rebuffed but also from having spent the day doing the same — as per Lee’s strict orders — to his own subordinate’s pleas for the ability to maneuver farther to the south around the Union flank. His lead divisions had thus thrown themselves into futile frontal attacks that had been smashed with high casualty rates.

Elements of Longstreet’s corps had seen their most brutal of the war in places like Little Round Top, the peach orchard, the wheat field, and Devil’s Den. Most of his divisions had been chewed up badly, to the point where they were almost combat ineffective. Some had taken almost 50 percent casualties. Longstreet was proud of the fighting his men had done but not happy with the results as the line had little changed other than throwing Sickles back.

As exhausted soldiers on both sides collapsed to the ground to catch much needed sleep, the two-army staffs waited for orders from their commanders. Longstreet came · to Lee’s headquarters to see what devilment the next day would bring and, for one more time, to make his own case.

“How is your corps?” Lee finally looked up from the map and acknowledged Longstreet’s presence.

“They fought well,” Longstreet said. “My adjutant has the initial casualty figures and gave them to your adjutant.” He paused, but Lee did not ask, so he continued. “We lost many good men today.”

“So did the Federals,” Lee said.

Longstreet felt What little energy he had left drain out of his body. He sat down heavily on a campstool, not even interested in looking at the map. He knew the terrain now by memory.

“You have an intact division,” Lee said. “One that has not yet entered the fray.”

Longstreet nodded. “Pickett came up just before dark. I held him back as it was too late for him to join the fight.”

“Good,” lee said.

“Do you remember what we did last year at Gaines’ Mill?”

Longstreet blinked, not quite believing what he was,hearing. “Right up the center?”

“The Union lines are solid,” Lee acknowledged. ‘They’re packed along that damn ridge tight. But” — Lee emphasized the word — “last year they had the same type of position at Gaines’ Mill on Turkey Hill. Hood smashed right into them and once he broke the line, their collapse was complete.”

“Hood’s wounded,” Longstreet said. “The surgeon thinks he’ll live, but he’s out of the fight.”

Lee looked to the east, as if he could see Cemetery Ridge in the dark. “We break them there, we can run over their entire army. They’re packed in there so tight, they won’t be able to retreat.

Longstreet found Lee’s logic strange, looking only at a possibility instead of the initial reality of what it meant for the Union forces to be so tightly formed.

“1 also have two divisions from Ewell that saw little action today,” Lee said. ‘’Pickett will make the initial assault and breakthrough. Then Ewell’s men will finish the Union men.”

Lee smiled. “And Stuart’s cavalry is on the way. Two of his brigades will be here tomorrow. We’ll be able to chase the Federals all the way to Washington in disarray.”

“Sir,” Longstreet finally said, ‘’the only advantage to the position we hold now is that we can abandon it with relative ease in the morning.”

Lee’s head snapped around toward Longstreet as if he had been struck a blow. “Retreat?”

“Disengage, and then flank Meade,” Longstreet argued with little conviction, knowing the decision had already been made.

“Pickett will do it,” Lee said. He stood. “I am going to get some sleep.”

Longstreet watched his old friend walk to his tent and disappear inside. It was only then that Longstreet realized Lee had issued him no orders nor sent any out.

Across the way, Meade was meeting with his corps commander, contemplating doing exactly what Longstreet was suggesting-pulling back. He’d even had his chief of staff draw up orders for a withdrawal earlier in the evening. All that was needed was to hand them out.

The day had been bloody and long. While Meade had initially felt very confident about his position and army, having repulsed the Southern attacks all across his front, as darkness grew, so did his doubts. Lee was over there and · who knew what the Virginian planned for the morning?

They met in the small parlor of a house the army had commandeered. Twelve generals crowded into a room less than ten feet by twelve to discuss the future of the Army of the Potomac. There was a card table in the center on which a map was placed, lit by two sputtering candles.

Meade began the meeting in a way Lee would have never considered saying he would follow the course of action the majority of those in the room agreed on. He posed three questions to his generals, which they would vote on: 1. Should the army remain in position or retire to a position closer to their lines of supplies? 2. 2. If they remained in place, mould they attack or await lee’s attack? 3. 3. If they decided to stay on the defensive in the current position, how long should they wait?

It Was a strange meeting, one that West Point had certainly not taught as the proper way for an army commander to operate. But Meade was shaken by the casualty lists that were coming in to his headquarters and he felt it best to give some responsibility for the decision on the army’s course of action to the men who had seen the combat firsthand that day and whose men were the names on those lists.

The vote went quickly. On question 1 it was unanimous that the army stay in place and not withdraw, indicating the confidence all of the generals felt in their positions. The vote on question 1 was also unanimous, that they should remain on the defensive and await lee’s attack rather than leave their positions and attack lee. Only on question 3 was there some disagreement, and Meade realized those who favored staying longer had seen less combat whereas those who wanted a shorter wait had seen more that day.

Meade ended the meeting by telling his generals that they would remain in place. He dismissed them all but General Gibbon, who held the center of Cemetery Ridge.

“If Lee attacks tomorrow, it will be on your front,” Meade told Gibbon.

Gibbon was surprised. “Why do you think that?”

“Because he has made attacks on both our flanks and failed,” Meade explained. “If he decides to attack again, it will be in the center, which he has not seriously tested.”

Gibbon smiled grimly. “I hope he does come. Because if he does, we will defeat him.”

Amelia Earhart waited until long after darkness fell to leave her tree, The Union lines had moved forward, leaving her in the company of the dead from the battle earlier in the day. Occasionally distant shots rang out, but other than that there was an eerie silence, given that so many men were gathered within a half dozen miles of her location.

She reached the ground, pulling her Valkyrie suit with her on its tether, and moved toward where she had hidden the crystal skull case. She stumbled over a corpse, the · man’s arms extended upward in some last plea, and locked in place like that. She found the boulders and dug through the leaves, pulling out the case. With trembling hands she lifted the lid.

There was a faint blue glow deep inside each of the nine skulls. Very faint.

If today had not been enough, what more was needed?

Earhart immediately knew the answer to that because she knew what the next day would bring and she knew where she had to be with the skulls. She closed the lid on the case and began carefully making her way down the hill to the north, pulling the Valkyrie suit behind her. She considered putting it on, but thought she was better off presenting herself as human rather than a strange white creature if she ran into anyone. When she passed a cluster of bodies, she forced herself to go over them. Strapped to one of the corpse’s back was a spade. She removed it and took it with her.

As she cleared Little Round Top, she walked onto a long field with knee- to waist-high grass. To her left were the Confederate lines, hidden in a tree line. To her right, on the high ground, were the Union forces. Campfires clearly delineated both lines but there was little sound.

Earhart made her way about a mile and a half north, then stopped. She put the plastic case on the ground. She looked right, toward the stonewall of the Union lines, then left to the tree line. She was about equidistant between the two.

There was a small farmhouse, its roof ripped off by artillery fire and the walls smashed and mostly knocked down. On the eastern side she found a small storm cellar for storing goods, accessible through an opening covered with a thick wooden plank. As quietly as possible, she pulled the plank up and peered in. She slid the shovel inside, then followed it. It was not large enough for her to fit with the case and suit.

Earhart began to dig.

“They are fighting in earnest,” Lincoln said as he shifted through the mound of telegrams on his desk. As the day had changed into night, the situation had become a little · clearer. “All around Gettysburg is as you said it would be,” he added, glancing up at his wife.

Mary Todd Lincoln was in the middle of the room, seated on a couch. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. She was in the midst of one of her migraines and although Lincoln had insisted she take to bed, she had refused.

“As near as I can tell, reading general-speak,” Lincoln continued, “today was a stand-off with heavy casualties on both sides. The latest cable from Meade says he will hold his ground. Now if General Lee would oblige and attack him, tomorrow — this day, actually — might bring some conclusive result.”

“What happens here,” Mary said, “what happens now, is not as important as the larger war, the larger battle.”

“It matters to the men who will fight the battle,” Lincoln said. “Those who will die or be maimed for life.”

Mary opened her eyes. “1 know. But. Not only will there be a greater!O~ achieved but this will change the tide of the war. Our war.”

“Will it end it?”

Mary Todd Lincoln closed her eyes once more. “No.”

The emotion behind that single word hit Lincoln in the chest and remained there, a heavy weight. For the last two years the cry had been to have peace by Christmas. By his wife’s tone he knew now there would be no peace by this Christmas. The tide may change today but it would be a long time going out.

Ahana packed her gear up while Shakan waited. There were campfires on the plain below Isandlwana, whether British or Zulu, she neither knew nor cared. Against the dark sky, there was a blackness on the top of Isandlwana.

Ahana threw the backpack over her shoulder and nodded. Shakan led the way off the conical hill and toward the pass to the south of Isandlwana.

As they reached the plain, a small war party of Zulus suddenly appeared out of a dong a, brandishing their spears, the metal covered with dried blood. One of them ran toward Ahana ready to strike.

Shakan stepped between them and raised her hand. Surprisingly, the warrior came to a complete halt.

“You will let us pass,” Shakan ordered.

The warrior backed up, but one of his fellows did not. The second warrior cocked his arm back to throw his spear, when the leader of the party cut him down before he could let loose.

The leader waved his spear, indicating they could go by.

Having the bulk of Isandlwana between their location and where the battle had taken place meant that the small group of soldiers manning the missionary outpost had not heard any of the battle that had just been fought. Bromhead kept his men at work, improving the defensive position and also preparing some of the supplies to be loaded on the oxen wagons that were supposed to come from the main camp.

Chard had gone over to the camp at Isandlwana in the morning to get further orders and returned about noon. He’d then gone back to work with a platoon of Bromhead’s infantry, improving the ford.

At a quarter past three in the afternoon, they received the first indication that something was wrong as two riders appeared, pushing their mounts hard. Chard hurried · back to the station, arriving just as the riders did.

Chard and Bromhead stood shoulder-to-shoulder just outside the mealie bag wall the men had built as the two riders pulled up. They were from the Natal National Police, locals, and both looked as wide-eyed as their mounts.

“They’re gone,” one cried out.

Chard glanced over his shoulder, noting that some of the men were edging closer to the wall, trying to hear what was happening.

“Easy, man,” Chard said, as he stepped forward and took the man’s reins. “Who’s gone?”

“All of them. Isandlwana. Every one of them. Dead.”

“Chelmsford?” Bromhead asked, confused about who exactly the man was referring to.

“No,” the man gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “Chelmsford took off with a column. Those he left behind. All of them. The Zulus wiped them out. There’s thousands dead.

“Lower your voice,” Bromhead hissed, knowing it was already too late, that the word was spreading through their camp.

“Where are the Zulus now?” Chard asked.

The man gave a hysterical laugh. “Coming here. Right this way. Thousands and thousands of them. We saw them.” The man gestured vaguely to the northeast. “On the march. Coming fast.”

“All right,” Chard said. “Take your mounts into the station — ”

“To hell with you,” the man jerked his reins, pulling the bridle out of the Chard’s hand. Before another word could be said both men were galloping away.

“That was helpful,” Bromhead said.

Chard turned and looked back the way the men had come. There was no sign of the Zulu, but as an engineer he knew this terrain could bide an entire army until it was just about on top of them.

“We have quite a few sick and wounded,” Bromhead said.

“And?” Chard asked as be used his binoculars to take a closer look, searching for a dust cloud, any sign.

“We have some wagons,” Bromhead said. “We could evacuate to Helpmakaar across the border.”

“We have some wagons,” Bromhead said. “We could evacuate to Helpmakaar across the border.”

“We didn’t respect the border,” Chard noted, “what makes you think the Zulu will respect it?”

“There will be more men at Helpmakaar to help defend.”

“We’d never make it,” Chard said. “We’re better off here, with some walls, then out on the track. Let’s finish the defensive preparations.”

There were a couple of things they had not done yet, since it would require damaging the buildings, but Chard saw no option now. Rifle loopholes were knocked in the walls of the buildings. He also directed the mealie bags and ration boxes that had been stacked to load onto wagons that apparently were never going to come, to instead be used to build up a final wall, a last outpost in front of the storehouse where they could retreat to if the outer wall was breached.

It was clear that word of what the rider had said had already spread throughout the camp. Men worked with a high degree of earnest, while many a worried eye was cast to the northeast. Chard sent out scouts to the nearby hills to give them some warning.

Even as the scouts moved out, everyone noted a cloud of dust approaching rapidly along the track that led to Isandlwana. Bromhead ordered the men to stand-to, and they exchanged mealie bags for weapons.

They were not needed as the incoming forces were recognized as cavalry as they got closer. Approximately one hundred men, militia, came galloping up, not even slowing as they raced by the camp, despite Chard’s attempts to get them to. Obviously, they knew what was coming and had no desire to hang around.

“It’s your damn country!” Chard yelled at one of the officers as he tried to intercept him.

“It’s your damn war,” the man yelled back as he lashed his horse.

As quickly as they had approached, the cavalry was gone.

“This is getting a bit awkward,” Bromhead observed. Chard silently agreed. The native contingent in the camp was restless, muttering among themselves. Muttering turned to panic when one of the outposts carne running down hill toward the station, crying out a warning.

“Here they come! Black as hell and thick as grass!”

That was all it took for the native contingent to bolt after the other who had already fled. Several of the British regulars, outraged, fired at the fleeing militia, killing a few.

Chard saw no reason to make an issue of this fratricide. His command had just been more than halved in the space of a few minutes. As he shouted orders, realigning the defense to close the gaps just created, he sensed first, rather than heard, something in the distance. So, apparently, did everyone else, as the station came to a standstill.

There was the slightest vibration in the ground. Then there was a noise. The nearest Chard could describe it was like a locomotive engine in the distance — a rhythmic pounding. It took him several moments before he realized what he was feeling and hearing: the Zulu army on the march, coming this way.

The right horn of the Zulu army came over the high ground to the northeast, more than four thousand strong. Their spears had not tasted blood at Isandlwana due to the roundabout march, and they were eager for the battle. Technically, Rorke’s Drift was not a target in Cetewayo’s plan, but the commander of the right horn felt he had enough flexibility in orders to swing this far out of the advance. The station was simply too tempting a target, obviously lightly defended. Also, it represented the missionaries who had corrupted many of the people.

The Zulu force did not halt on the high ground but came straight on, deploying from column to wide front for the attack while on the move, an example of their superb training.

There was no time for a plan, Chard knew as he watched the Zulu come on, nor was one needed. They had to hold in place. As soon as the front of the Zulu line was in range he gave the order to fire.

The massed volleys did their job, smashing into the ranks of Zulu warriors, killing and wounding many. But the ranks behind leapt over their fallen comrades and kept coming.

The odds were not good for the small outpost. There · were slightly over one hundred defenders while there were thousands of attackers. And some of the Zulu also had rifles, scavenged from the edges of the Isandlwana battlefield as they had passed by. As the main force charged. A cluster of Zulu riflemen fired down into the camp from a nearby hill. Their fire was terribly inaccurate, yet they did hit an unfortunate few British regulars.

Volley after volley rang out from the British walls, yet the Zulu kept coming, useless shields held in front of their bodies, their shoulders hunched, in the way all men advanced against fire, as if moving into a fierce wind.

“Independent fire,” Chard called out as the Zulu got within one hundred yards of the wall, allowing each man to fire at his own pace. He pulled his pistol out and checked the rounds, then cocked it. He drew his saber with his other hand and waited for the inevitable.

Shakan and Ahana reached past the track that crested between Isandlwana and the next hill to the south. Ahana had her Valkyrie suit tied off to her waist now, pulling it along as she moved. They had been hearing the fire for a while and now they could see the cause. The missionary station was a small island of red surrounded by a surging black sea. As they watched, the sea hit the island.

The defenders of Rorke’s Drift had two advantages that their comrades at Isandlwana had not had. First, they had tighter lines, allowing better volley fire. And second, they · were behind a wall. As each Zulu reached the wall, he had to lower his shield to try to climb over. As he did so, he left himself vulnerable to British steel. Bayonets glinted in the setting sun as British soldiers spitted Zulu warriors on their bayonets as they tried to climb into the compound.

Still, numbers counted. Here and there, the outer wall was breached and Zulus poured into the compound. They were met with more volley fire as Bromhead rushed to and fro with a platoon that he would form up wherever there was breach. And when the volley fire wasn’t enough, the platoon would charge, shoulder to shoulder, bayonets in front, to push those Zulu still alive out of the breach and reseal the perimeter.

The battle raged for what seemed like hours, days, to the participants, but in reality was little more than a half hour, before the Zulu finally managed to breach the outer wall in so many places that Bromhead’s platoon could not seal them all. Darkness was falling, but the battle was well lit by the burning hospital roof.

Most of the patients had already been evacuated from the hospital to the storage building by that time. But some men were still in there as the roof burned and Zulus began to surround the building. Chard realized the outer wall was lost and ordered a withdrawal to the final outpost 17, near the storage building, unfortunately abandoning the hospital in the process and the men trapped inside.

The situation was further exacerbated by the fact that the rooms of the hospital did not have inner connections, only opening to outside doors. As the Zulus broke into the end room, the British inside were forced to use a pickax to cut through the internal walls to create an opening to the next room in order to retreat, dragging their wounded with them.

Those who fought the rear guard action in this room-by-room retreat were overwhelmed and hacked to death as Zulu swarmed over them. A handful of men managed to make it to the other end of the building in this manner and then dashed across the open ground to the final outpost.

Shakan and Ahana were making their way closer to the besieged station. In Ahana’s hands was her muonic detector and as they closed the distance, the reading got stronger.

Shakan put out a hand and halted Ahana. The Zulu woman pointed. About three miles from the station, a column of British soldiers was approaching. Even as they watched, though. the column came to halt, seeing the glow of the fire ahead and hearing the firing.

Ahana noticed that the amulet that Shakan wore around her neck was beginning to emit a faint glow. Shakan noticed it too and wrapped her hand tight around the crystal.

On the roof of the storehouse, Chard also saw the column. He· d climbed up there in a brief lull in the battle. As the Zulu pulled back to prepare another assault. Thankfully he was the only one who could see the column, because as he watched, it turned and headed back the way it had come, obviously assuming either everyone at the station was dead or that they could do little to help.

Chard watched the last of the soldiers disappear in the moonlight with a heavy heart. The Zulu had smashed the entire outer wall and were just on the other side, preparing another attack.

He had no doubt they would come again and again until they wiped out every living soul.

Ahana and Shakan reached the rear of the Zulu force assaulting Rorke’s Drift. Lifting her crystal amulet high, Shakan cried out for the warriors to let them pass. As they · made their way forward the glow from the crystal grew brighter and the muonic reading on Ahana’s instrument was beginning to spike.

Abana’s instruments gave her some idea of the amount of power that was flowing through the Isandlwana Gate. She knew this was the latest tap by the Shadow to draw power to itself.

She just didn’t see how she could do anything about it. If anything, this battle at Rorke’s Drift was adding more power.

Colonel Chamberlain had the MH-90s deployed along the Palisades, using the craft as temporary lodging for his battalion. He’d sent out patrols, both on the ground and in the air. Not that he expected trouble, but one thing that had always concerned him was that the Final Assault didn’t necessarily mean it would be his forces attacking the Shadow — it could also mean the Shadow attacking this timeline for the last time and completely wiping it out.

Shortly after the patrols had gone out, he received an alert that an aircraft was inbound. Chamberlain suited up and went outside to await its arrival. It was a cargo plane and it landed along the remains of a highway that had once run along the top of the Palisades. Chamberlain remembered driving on the same road while a cadet at West Point, beading south, away from the academy on leave, happy to be free for a short while, and later driving north back to school, usually on dark Sunday evenings, anticipating another week. At the time, his major concern had been passing his classes and making it to graduation.

So much had been lost.

The cargo plane landed and came to a halt. The back ramp came down and Chamberlain was surprised to see the Oracles on board. The High Priestess walked off, black robe tight around her body and a black veil covering her face. Captain Eddings, in full combat gear, was at her side.

Chamberlain switched to tactical frequency to talk to Eddings so the Oracles wouldn’t hear. “What the hell are they doing? Those robes aren’t exactly the best shields and they’re breathing unfiltered air.”

“1 told the High Priestess that,” Eddings said.

Chamberlain dropped to one knee as the High Priestess halted in front of him. To his shock, the old woman pulled back her veil, exposing her face and eyes to the sun’s rays.

“It is good to feel the sun after so many years hiding from it,” the High Priestess said.

“Ma’ am.” Chamberlain got to his feet. “I highly recommend that — ”

“That I go back to hiding?” the High Priestess cut him off. “I know the effect the sun is having on me. And the air. But it doesn’t matter now. Because the end, what I have lived for all my life, is coming now. Beyond that does not matter. All that counts is that we Oracles do our duty.”

She turned from Chamberlain and looked out toward what had once been New York City. “They are coming.”

“Who?” Chamberlain asked. “The Shadow?”

“No. The orcas. They come.”