Battle for Atlantis

CHAPTER TWENTY

It was going to be a hot day. That was apparent to all on both sides of the lines as they woke with the rising sun. Cooking fires filled the air with their aroma but few had the desire to eat. H the previous day had been any indicator, many of those who greeted the morning sun had seen their last sunrise.

For the Federals, there was little movement to be made as the plan that had been decided was simple — hold in place.

On the Southern side, things were more complicated. Lee had not held a meeting with his subordinate commanders the previous night, nor had he had his staff issue any written orders. So, despite having decided on a course of action, Lee now had to implement it.

Lee started the morning by riding to Longstreet’s headquarters. On his way to his right flank corps, he scanned the length of the Union position as he rode along Seminary Ridge with a few of his staff officers. Just south of Cemetery Hill he saw something that he liked. There was a six-hundred-fifty-yard-wide stretch of almost bare ridgeline crowned by a copse of trees. From the Confederate skirmish line to the Union line was about thirteen hundred yards of pretty much open field. There were a few farm buildings and fences, but overall it was good terrain.

Lee continued south and found his senior corps commander with his staff, discussing a possible flanking movement. Lee was both stunned and angered.

“General, I wish to speak with you in private,” he told Longstreet.

The corps staff scattered out of earshot, before Lee continued. “You were with me, last night. You know my desires.”

Longstreet shook his head. “Sir, we had a discussion of possible courses of actions but you issued no orders last night, nor have I received any today. I have been over the terrain since first light and my scouts have also reported in. The Union holds both Round Tops but beyond that they have practically nothing. We can flank them still, and put ourselves both astride their supply and retreat line and between Meade and Washington.”

“We have had this discussion before,” Lee said. “I have not changed my mind.”

“Neither have I,” Longstreet shot back, the most visible sign of discontent he had ever shown the commander whom he revered.

“You will bring up General Pickett’s division,” Lee ordered. “I have already issued orders for artillery to mass opposite where I want him to attack. We will fire a prolonged artillery preparation before Pickett attacks.”

Lee turned on his heel and walked away. Longstreet stared after him as his adjutant came up. “He thinks the Army of Northern Virginia can do anything,” Longstreet · muttered. He gave in to the inevitable and began issuing orders.

As Lee rode off he realized it would take hours for Pickett’s division to be brought forward and move into assault position. Rather than let the Union forces sit still for the day, and to draw off reinforcements from the center, he engaged the part of his army most ready to attack immediately, his left flank.

Waves of Confederate troops attacked Culp’s Hill. Uncharacteristically as the morning progressed, the Southern forces seemed unwilling to press forward with their usual vigor. Not only was the terrain not favorable for the assault, being steep and rocky, there was little artillery support for them as Lee was massing his guns in the center. It was as if the Confederate troops involved were attacking simply because they had been told to, but not with any true determination.

This did not mean that men were not dying in droves. For each Southern attack, there was a corresponding Union counterattack and the same terrain saw bodies from both sides drop on it, soaking the ground with their blood. 3ut overall, there was a strong sense of anticipation in the air as if a powerful thunderstorm were coming and all were awaiting its arrival to see what it would bring.

Inside the storage cellar she had dug out the previous · evening, Amelia Earhart felt the sweat begin to come to the surface of her skin. She had the plank covering lifted about an inch, held in place with the haft of the shovel, so she could peer out. The Union line was silhouetted against the rising sun. She sat on the plastic case that held the skulls. She couldn’t tell if it was from the small amount of power the skulls had gained from the battle on Little Round Top or from the summer heat, but the case felt warm.

She drank from a canteen she had scavenged from a body the previous evening. She spit out the contents as it seared into her throat. Some terrible rotgut from a camp still. Earhart considered sneaking out to try to find water, but she knew her position was too exposed to the Union lines. She would be spotted.

All she could do now was wait.

Meade rode his lines one more time, making small adjustments here and there, but overall he was very satisfied with the way his men were positioned. He decided to join General Gibbon and his staff for lunch on Cemetery Ridge.

Lee intended to keep his word to Longstreet. He had spent most of the morning gathering his artillery together along a thirteen-boomed-yard front facing the copse of trees on Cemetery Ridge, which he had determined to be the focal point of the attack as it was very noticeable.

Most of the guns were massed in two great batteries. · One consisted of seventy pieces lined up hub to hub on the southern part of Seminary Ridge. The other was a set of thirty-five and another of twenty-six guns on the northern part of the ridge.

Meade was informed by his own chief of artillery of the Rebels moving their guns into position as he ate some of the fried chicken Gibbon’s staff had cooked up.

“Where are they aimed?” Meade asked, wiping his hands on his breeches.

“Here,” the artillery officer said.

“Will their fire be effective?” Meade asked.

“Somewhat. But many of the guns are at maximum range given their lateral displacement. Also, they will have to elevate to fire. Either they will be dead on and hit the front side of this ridge or else their shells will go overhead harmlessly.”

“And how many do you think will be dead on?” Meade asked.

“At the range they’re firing. Not many.”

“Good.”

“Should I initiate counter artillery fire?”

“No.” Meade ordered. “Conserve your ammunition. I think you will soon have more targets that you could have dreamed for.”

Pickett had had a hard time getting his troops forward, moving through the rest of Longstreet’s corp that was in · front of it. Also they had to ride against the steady flow of ambulances moving to the rear, overloaded with moaning and crying wounded. Not the most motivational scene. Still, morale was high among the Virginians of his division because the word had spread that Robert E. himself had chosen them to carry the day and the battle.

Pickett had no idea what the battlefield ahead looked like. He drew his forces up according to the orders he had received, on the western slope of Seminary Ridge, out of sight — and artillery fire — of the Union lines. He deployed his division in two waves, each about eight hundred yards wide. Each wave consisted of two ranks with me closers behind. In front was a thin line of skirmishers who would lead the way. Some had been sent out in the early dawn, crawling forward into the field before the Union lines to pull down fences and other obstacles. Now they lay still in the high grass, waiting.

By noon it was in the eighties, and troops lay in position, waiting, as all men in the military spent most of their time doing. A couple of the brigade commanders who would lead the assault gathered together for a liquid lunch of some liberated whiskey. It was a common, if not widely reported, practice for soldiers on both sides before the attack. It was somewhat easier to charge into hot lead with some hot liquor in one’s belly. It might becloud the mind, but it emboldened the spirit and held fear a little further at bay.

Throughout the morning there had been little firing along this part of the front, although heavy fire had been heard to the north in the vicinity of Culp’s Hill. Snipers occasionally put out a round here and there. A few artillery rounds were fired, but these were for ranging purposes, to lay the guns.

As noon came a strange silence descended. Even the battling at Culp’s Hill died off. There was no breeze, and the stillness was heavy over both sides. Yet, both sides also brimmed with confidence about what was to come.

Save for Longstreet. Remarkably, he even sent a courier with a message to the Confederate commander of artillery. The message directed him to tell Pickett to call off the attack if the barrage did not have the anticipated effect on · the Union lines. This was a bizarre message given that · Longstreet commanded Pickett’s division, but it was the only thing Longstreet could think of to try to forestall the attack short of disobeying Lee’s orders.

The artillery commander sent a message back to Longstreet, bouncing the ball of responsibility back. The message said that if there were any doubt about the wisdom of this attack, it should be called off before the barrage began as it would use most of the remaining artillery ammunition. Longstreet realized that his first message had been inappropriate and dropped the issue.

At 1:00 P.M. the Confederate batteries opened fire.

Earhart’s morning had not been uneventful. Confederate skirmishers had crawled forward, several not far from where she hid. Around eleven, a half dozen Rebel snipers actually took cover in the house and opened fire on the Union positions, bringing fire back at them. Earhart was forced to shut the cover to her hole.

She heard firing for almost a half hour, then shouts as the Confederates were forced to relinquish their position as a strong Union patrol charged forward. Earhart thought she was safe when she heard the Union soldiers retreat back to their lines. She pushed up the plank and was greeted by the strong smell of wood smoke. Twisting her head she could see that the remnants of the farmhouse had been set on fire by the Union troops to destroy it as a refuge for snipers. She shut the top and hunkered down, praying that the plank would not catch fire.

After an hour or so she carefully pushed up the top. The farmhouse was smoldering remains. Then a roll of thunder roared overlie battlefield, and she saw the Union lines explode with the incoming artillery.

The infantrymen did as infantry had done since the invention of the cannon and when receiving incoming fire. They sought cover. Given no orders to return fire, the Union artillerymen quickly did the same.

General Gibbon jumped up from his lunch with Meade and yelled for his horse. As an orderly brought it, a piece of shrapnel from an exploding shell tore through the man’s chest killing him instantly. The horse fled. Gibbon ignored this and strode off for the nearby front line on foot.

Men were torn apart, animals killed, and occasionally an ammunition wagon would explode, causing a distant roar of applause from the unscathed Confederate lines. Meade headed to his headquarters, behind Cemetery Ridge. Which actually was a more dangerous position than the front lines as most Confederate shells were high and landed on the reverse slope. Meade arrived to find that his chief of staff had been wounded.

Along the Union front, the massed Confederate firing was having an effect, although not as great as Lee had hoped for. The Union artillery commander was almost playing games in response. ·He allowed some of his batteries to fire back for short periods of time, more to bolster morale among the beleaguered infantrymen than to counter what was coming in. He also had some guns deliberately not fire among those batteries, to make the Confederates think they had knocked out many of his pieces.

Casualties among the infantry were actually relatively · light as they had the advantage of hiding behind the stonewall and most of the rounds sailed harmlessly overhead. Officers had the highest rate of dead and wounded as they strolled along the line, shouting encouragement to the men. In a strange way, the fact that so many of the shells were high discouraged any who might have thought about running as it was actually safer to be behind the wall. Also, the lack of trees, except for the copse, along the place receiving the most fire, was advantageous as it reduced the possibility of wood splinters from exploding shells.

The one effect the bombardment did have, though, on the Union troops, was to convince them an attack was coming.

General Gibbon, who would later admit that he had been terrified throughout the day, found another horse, mounted it, and then sat on it, perfectly still, in plain view · of his men, throughout the rest of the bombardment. Such was the role of officers.

General Warren, the engineer who had helped save the day at Little Round Top, was still there, watching to the north. He realized that the Union counter-fire was very ineffective and sent word to Meade. The Union commander sent orders to all his batteries directing them to cease-fire and conserve ammunition for the expected infantry assault.

His orders reached the various batteries that had been firing at different times, meaning they fell silent gradually, giving the impression to the Confederates that they were stopping because they were running short of ammunition. This, combined with the selective withholding of pieces by the Union artillery commander, led the Confederate artillery commander to decide his fire had been extremely effective in silencing the Union guns. Thus, even if he had agreed with the message Longstreet had sent him earlier in the day, he would not have acted on it.

The Confederate artillery commander then hastily:>penned a note for Pickett: “For God’s sake come quick.”

With his own guns just about out of ammunition, he gave the order to save fire, then looked over his shoulder, anxiously awaiting the attack.

The courier found Pickett in conversation with Longstreet. Pickett read the note, then handed it without comment to his corps commander. Longstreet read it without comment.

“General, shall I advance?” the excited Pickett asked.

Longstreet could not speak. He bowed his head.

Pickett saluted. “I shall lead my division forward, sir.” He pulled a note out of his tunic and gave it to Longstreet. “For my fiancée.” Then he bound onto his horse and galloped off, without seeing the tears that were streaming down Old Pete’s face.

Longstreet wiped the tears from his cheeks and rode forward. He was dismayed to find that the battery of guns he had ordered held in reserve to support Pickett during the advance were nowhere to be seen. He learned they had retired to the rear and that it would take an hour for them to be brought back forward. This delay would extend the time between the end of the barrage and the assault too long.

Longstreet shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as he saw that Pickett’s men were moving. It was now three in the afternoon.

General Warren on Little Round Top saw the advance from his vantage point and had signalmen with flags relay the message, north. Along Cemetery Ridge the infantry slowly peeked over the stonewall. Wounded were carried off, ammunition was brought forward, and artillery pieces were lined up and zeroed in.

“Here they come!”

The cry echoed along the Union line as the first of the Confederate troops appeared cresting Seminary Ridge. It was magnificent spectacle as Pickett’s division appeared on line, flags flying, in perfect order.

A Union artillery officer, wounded in the stomach, used one hand to hold his intestines from spilling out, resited his guns. Men made sure their rifles were loaded. Solid shot was loaded into artillery pieces.

The Union artillery opened fire.

Pickett already had a problem. He had formed his lines on · the outward curved reverse slope of Seminary Ridge. Which meant there were gaps, and some of the units orientations were not on line with the objective.

Federal troops were shocked and impressed as the Confederate lines in places actually wheeled and aligned, slowing their advance, under the rain of shells corning · into them. As the long line of gray formed. There was no doubt in the mind of anyone in the Union lines that this was the final assault.

The commander of the right horn, Dabulamanzi, was not happy to see Shakan and the strange woman and the strange white being she pulled with her. He had lost many warriors to get to this point, and he knew he was going to lose more in the final assault to take down the last outpost that the British had been forced into. The redcoats had fought bravely. Still it was just a matter of more force and a little more time and he knew he would be victorious.

A small band of his men had captured the two women coming down the track from Isandlwana and brought them to him. He was just outside the outer wall of the mission that his men had already breached, issuing orders for another assault.

“I have the protection of Cetewayo,” Shakan said, standing tall between the two warriors holding her arms.

“Cetewayo is my brother,” Dabulamanzi said. “I was there when you first came to him. You may have bewitched him, but you will not do the same to me.”

“I do not bewitch,” Shakan said.

“Who is that?” Dabulamanzi pointed at Ahana. He reached out and touched her eyes. ‘1 have never seen the like.”

“She is one like me,” Shakan said. “From a place far from here.”

“And why is she here? Why are you here?”

“To serve the greater good.”

A warrior called out that all was ready. Dabulamanzi turned from the two women and issued his orders. With a great surge, a thousand warriors leapt up from the cover of the outer wall and charged the final outpost.

“Steady,” Chard called out, his voice cracking from both dryness and fear. He knew what Dabulamanzi knew. It was just a matter of time and numbers.

“Fire,” Chard ordered as the next assault wave appeared in the firelight Huge gaps were tom in the Zulu line as they vaulted the wall and came forward. “Independent fire,” Chard quickly yelled. He had abandoned his pistol for a rifle and he joined his men on the mealie bag rampart, firing as quickly as he could load.

The distance between the two walls was short and the ground was filled with Zulu bodies, so much so that the other warriors had literally to run on top of the bodies to get to the British lines. Such a dash in the face of the rifle fire resulted in frightening apparitions, covered with the blood of their comrades, reaching the mealie bag wall. Bayonets went against iKlwa. Black against white, united only in the redness of the blood that came from their veins and mixed together, soaking the bags and ground.

A handful of Zulu warriors made it into the final outpost, but they were quickly cut down and the wave receded. Left behind, the British were lower in numbers, close to the critical point where all the walls could be effectively manned.

“What do you want?” Dabulamanzi demanded as he watched his warriors come back. their numbers greatly depleted.

“A great victory has already been won,” Shakan said. “Cetewayo defeated the camp on the slopes of Isandlwana.” She did not add what had appeared on the top of Isandlwana. It was something she sensed was beyond words.

“And I will defeat them here,” Dabulamanzi said.

“There is no point to it” Shakan said.

“Do you want me to just walk away?” Dabulamanzi laughed. “We have paid in blood and we will take what we have earned in their blood.”

“I do not want you to just walk away,” Shakan said. “I want you to help me. Help her and her people” — Shakan indicated Ahana — “And many more people in many places and times.”

“You speak foolishness,” Dabulamanzi said.

Shakan indicated for Ahana to take out the muonic detector. Ahana pulled the device out of the pack. Dabulamanzi stared at the LED display and the blinking lights, but did not seem overly impressed.

“This,” Shakan indicated the detector, “says something great can happen here. We can make something good happen out of this terrible day and night.”

“And how do I do that?” Dabulamanzi asked, even as his warriors formed for another assault.

“The British are brave, are they not?” Shakan asked.

Dabulamanzi had to grant that. “Yes. They fight well.”

“And the Zulu, we fight with great bravery also.”

“Of course.”

“Then do something different,” Shakan begged.

“And that is?” Dabulamanzi asked.

“Combine the Zulu bravery with the British bravery to change the course of things.”

Chamberlain flew over what had once been Manhattan. The wings rotated up and the specially modified MH-90 came to a hover. That particular Nighthawk had a cargo bay full of sensors and imaging equipment. Both walls were crammed full of displays with seats in front of them manned by scientists.

Waiting was fine, but Chamberlain figured he’d been brought to this location for a reason, so he wanted to get an idea of the lay of the land, even if most of it was buried under hundreds of feet of water. He had a feeling the extreme Shadow reaction during the war to the tip of Manhattan had to have been for a reason. He wanted to know what that was. Oracles and prophecies were fine, but facts helped.

“What do you have?” Chamberlain asked the lead scientist.

The man looked up in Surprise. “We’re getting low level muonic activity. We haven’t seen this since the end of the war.”

“Is it the Shadow?” Chamberlain asked.

The scientist shrugged. “It’s just low level activity right now. Traces.” He pointed down. “Directly below us.” The scientist turned to the man on his left and checked his screen. “Sonar indicates we’ve got an opening in the earth itself. Geez, whatever the Shadow did to blast this place, sure went through. We’re reading a narrow tunnel all the way to the center of the planet.”