Battle for Atlantis

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Longstreet had been watching the assault through his field glass while perched atop a split rail fence. As the gray line closed on the Union lines, a British officer, Colonel Freemantle, sent to America to observe this new type of warfare, came riding up, almost out of breath.

“General Longstreet, General Lee sent me here and · said you would place me in a position to see this magnificent charge.”

Longstreet lowered his binoculars and stared at Freemantle at a loss for words at both the timing and the comment. The British colonel looked to the east and was astonished at what he saw. “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything!”

Longstreet laughed, a most strange sound amid what was happening. “The devil you wouldn’t. I would like to have missed it very much. We’ve attacked and been repulsed. Look there.”

Freemantle lifted his own field glasses, but all he could see among the smoke drifting over the field were men fighting desperately. Longstreet however, seemed resigned to defeat. “The charge is over.” He turned to a courier. “Ride to General Pickett and tell him what you heard me say to Colonel Freemantle.” It was a most curious way to issue a retreat order, but the entire day had been most strange for Longstreet.

The senior corps commander was interested in only two things now, which is why he kept his binoculars trained on the field. How many men would be coming back, and when would Meade counterattack?

The feelings of shame and disgrace the surviving Confederate soldiers felt as they fell back from the Union lines turned to shock and dismay as they saw the field they had charged across and the number of bodies that littered it. They’d made the charge and known it had been bad, but only by re-traversing it did the full spectrum of how terrible it had been hit home. Men saw friends, brothers, fathers, sons, with their bodies torn to pieces, staring blank-eyed up at the sky. Many of those retreating walked backward, preferring not to be shot in the back, sometimes stumbling over bodies they couldn’t see.

Less than half the men who had gone east returned west across the battlefield. More than seventy-five hundred men had been killed, wounded or captured. They had gained nothing but glory and lost the cream of the Army of Virginia in less than one hour.

So many prisoners had been taken, that as Meade belatedly galloped to the vicinity of the Angle, he saw a mass of gray coming down off Cemetery Ridge and thought for several anxious seconds that the Rebels had broken through his lines, Only when he saw that the Confederates had no arms and were under guard did his heart rate go back to something close to normal. The men of the Anny of the Potomac had never seen Confederates look so utterly beaten and tired. The jubilation of just minutes earlier, when the vengeful Fredericksburg chant had echoed across the field gave way to empathy, some Union soldiers even doffing their caps to their defeated foes.

Meade galloped up to the ridge and inquired how things were going. When informed the attack had been repulsed, he could scarce believe his ears. His eyes, however, looking out over the bloody field and the fleeing men in gray, confirmed this report.

On the other side, Longstreet was riding along Seminary Ridge, trying to prepare the defense. If he were Meade, he knew what he would do — attack.

Lee, on the other hand, had watched Pickett’s charge from the ridge and now rode down among the men flowing back. He spoke words of encouragement, knowing these men needed to hold on to Seminary Ridge in case the Federals attacked. Such was his presence that the majority of the men who even just saw him halted, and began to reform.

In the midst of this, General Pickett came riding back, · a dazed look on his face, his customary swagger gone. Lee moved up to him and ordered him to move his division to the rear of the hill to be a reserve.

“General Lee, I have no division now,” Pickett replied with tears streaming down his face. He began to run down the losses, starting with all three of his brigade commanders.

“Come, General Pickett,” Lee broke in. “This has been my fight, and upon my shoulders rests the blame. The men and officers of your command have written the name of Virginia as high today as it has ever been written before. Your men have done all that men can do. The fault is entirely my own.”

Earhart realized that the field was finally clear of men other than the dead and the wounded who had been left behind. She could hear men crying out in pain, many calling for their mothers or other loved ones. She dared to rise up higher in her hole and she could see the field of dead and dying all around in the waning daylight. She looked up to the Union lines where there had been much cheering and laughter, but now it was quiet and there was no sign of any counterattack.

Earhart grabbed the plastic case. It felt heavier.

It was time. She knew it, as if Dane were at her side and had whispered it in her ear.

She stood up tall, not caring if any on either side saw her in the little light that was left to this most bloody day. A small black dot appeared in front of her, elongating, until it was eight feet high and three wide. Carefully holding the case, Earhart stepped through the gate.

Longstreet could not believe what he had just seen. It appeared as if an angel had come out of the ground itself in the middle of the field near a burned-down farmhouse. The vision had floated in the air, then a black hole had appeared in front of it, which it had gone into and then disappeared.

Longstreet was not the only one who had seen the white figure. On top of Cemetery Ridge, Meade had been scanning the terrain between his lines and the Confederates as staff officers urged him to the attack.

“Did you see that?” he asked in surprise.

None of the others had been looking in the direction he had been and all replied negatively.

For Meade it was a clear sign. The battle was done. There’d been enough killing. It was time to turn to man’s better nature, if just for part of a day. He gave orders for his troops to stand down.

“It is done,” Mary Todd Lincoln told her husband.

The president was standing behind his desk, his back to the room, peering out the window. It was dark outside and all he could see were the lights of Washington. He slowly turned around. His desk was covered with telegrams, forwarded from the War Department. The last one, several hours old, indicated that Meade expected Lee to make an assault today.

“The result?” Lincoln asked.

“What was needed was received and taken from the battlefield,” Mary said strangely.

“And what exactly was that?” Lincoln asked his wife as he sat down at his desk.

“The strength to win a war.”

There was a knock at the door and a courier from the War Department bustled in excitement in his face. He handed a bound folder to Lincoln.

“What is it?” the President demanded as he opened the folder.

“Lee’s been thrown back with heavy losses. Our men hold the ground at Gettysburg.”

The first telegram on top of the packet, whether placed there by design or chance, was a preliminary casualty roll. Lincoln’s hands shook as he scanned the numbers. If these losses did not bring the war to a close, he wondered, what would it take?

Lieutenant Chard slid a round into the chamber of the rifle and peered over the mealie bag he was leaning against. He was very tired and wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and sleep. Even the specter of another wave of Zulu warriors charging at him could no longer bring a jolt of adrenaline to his system. He dared not put his head down. Though. because he knew he would not be able to wake. He issued orders, making sure none of the men tried to nap, because he knew they too would not be able to rise once more.

Dawn was still a couple of hours off and he did not see the sun coming up as bringing a respite. He wondered where Chelmsford and the rest of the British army were. As the minutes stretched on, he began to wonder where ne next Zulu assault was.

“I wish they would get it over with,” Bromhead said to him.

A single Zulu appeared on the outer stonewall, standing tall, with neither spear nor shield.

“What is this?” Bromhead asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Chard replied as he ordered his men not to fire. The Zulu warrior raised his hands to the sky. Then he began to chant.

“Bloody hell,” Chard muttered.

The Zulus on the other side of the wall picked up the chant.

“What the — ” Bromhead said, pointing.

A figure in white was now floating over the stonewall, slowly coming to a position in between the Zulu and British lines. It had some kind of pack on its back. but the face was featureless except for two large red bulges that might have been eyes.

“Either an angel or a demon,” Chard whispered. He turned. “Sergeant Major.”

“Sir?”

“I believe we should reply.”

“Yes, sir.”

Within seconds, the British troops were roused out of their lethargy and their voices were raised in song.

Inside the Valkyrie suit, Ahana felt goosebumps on her arms. The two sides were singing in different languages, but somehow there was a harmony to their songs. She glanced at the muonic indicator. The level of activity was rising. She turned to the northeast and headed for Isandlwana.

“Stand to,” Chamberlain ordered over the battalion frequency. He was in full armor and his weapons were loaded with live ammunition.

Glancing out the portal on the right side of his MH-90 he could see the circle of Oracles. They had not moved for over thirty hours, and the skin on the High Priestess’s face was red and blistered from exposure to the sun. Her eyes were staring vacantly, having been blinded beyond repair already.

Captain Eddings had just come from the circle and had relayed the High Priestess’s report that something was going to happen very shortly.

“Report,” Chamberlain ordered.

“Alpha company, ready.”

“Bravo company, ready.”

“Charlie company, ready.”

“Headquarters, ready.”

Chamberlain turned to the crew chief. “Seal us up.”

The back ramp slowly came up and locked in place.

Chamberlain walked over and sat down. They were ready.

“Take off,” Chamberlain ordered the pilots. The first MH-90 rose up into the sky.