Battle for Atlantis

CHAPTER EIGHT

“He comes.”

Lincoln turned in surprise to his wife next to him in the carriage. “Who?”

“Lee. He’s coming. And he’s bringing the terrible storm of death with him.” She looked at her husband. “It’s coming. As the voice told it would. This summer.”

The carriage was bringing them back from dinner with a group of generals at the War Department. Lincoln could smell raw sewage, the odor of Washington in the summer. To his left, along the Mall, were rows and rows of tents. Soldiers. Just arrived from New York. Via the Baltimore railroad. In both cities, the soldiers had been attacked by mobs. The eastern cities were boiling over with resentment at the draft. Which the rich could buy their way out of for three hundred dollars. Lincoln had fought against the practice and lost. There were simply too many rich contributors to Congress who did not want their sons sent · into the cauldron of battle.

Lincoln understood, to an extent, the desire of these men not to lose their sons. His and Mary’s firstborn, Edward, had died in 1850 at the age of four. Willie had died. These deaths had caused Mary much grief, and there had been times in public where she’d grown hysterical.

Washington had never been a good place for Mary. They’d first come here in 1846 when he was elected to Congress. They’d come with high expectations, which had been quickly dashed by the reality of the situation. Lincoln had thought he could make his mark quickly, only to find that he was one of many unknown freshmen congressman and the inner sanctums of power were closed to him. The social life Mary had been looking forward to was as equally distant and closed.

He served one term, before heading back home. He’d been offered the governorship of the new Oregon territory but he’d turned it down to return to practice law, having seen his first foray into politics on a national level end discouragingly.

It took the passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Act to energize him in 1854. This act had created the territories of Kansas and Nebraska and said that each territory could be admitted as states with or without slavery, as dictated by the people of the state at the time of admission. Lincoln felt this went against what had previously been determined and would spread slavery, something he was strongly opposed to. This led him into direct conflict with the author of the Kansas-Nebraska Act, Stephen Douglas. And their famous series of debates that brought Lincoln into national prominence.

For Douglas, slavery had been a political issue. For compatible with democracy. Although as he had campaigned, Lincoln had kept himself distant from the strong abolitionist views, preferring to work within the system to solve this festering problem. That approach, obviously, had not worked.

“Do you hear anything else?” Lincoln asked his wife as they turned up the drive to the White House.

Mary nodded. “Meade.”

Lincoln was confused. Was she referring to beer? His wife drank rarely, and he was always fearful when she did as it upset her delicate disposition.

“The general,” Mary said, sensing his confusion. “Fifth Corps commander, He’s the one.”

It was hot and humid, not good marching weather, but Lee’s men had covered man)miles so far in this war, and the fact that they were moving North served to give their step an extra spring.

Jubal Early’s division, part of Ewell’s corps, was in the lead and made forty-five miles in two days, surprising the Union garrison at Winchester. A. P. Hill’s corps was still in the vicinity of Fredericksburg, which meant Lee’s army was stretched over one hundred miles, not exactly sound tactics as he had been taught at West Point.

Lee was not unaware of the danger, but he felt his position to be reasonably secure. He had a screen of cavalry to his east, between him and Hooker’s troops, and he had the cover of the Rappahannock and the Blue Ridge mountains also on his flanks. Lee’s spies told him that Hooker was finally reacting, albeit several days too late, doing as expected, and pulling back North, as the Union commander was uncertain of Lee’s objective. Given that Lee himself was a bit uncertain about his specific objectives, he could understand Hooker’s uncertainty. Hooker was reacting, which meant lee could maintain the initiative.

Winchester fell quickly, and the Union forces that didn’t surrender fell back in disarray toward Harpers Ferry on the Potomac. It became almost a race between the retreating Union forces and the front edge of Lee’s army for the crossing.

Meanwhile Lee’s cavalry under Jeb Stuart fought · pitched battles with Union forces along the eastern flank. Crossing the Potomac certainly raised the morale of the troops, but it troubled Lee that he was losing touch with Hooker’s army. He had enough respect for the Union Army to know that he needed to fix his enemy’s position before venturing too much farther North.

On June 24, Lee called Jeb Stuart to his headquarters, even as his advance troops entered Chambersburg in Pennsylvania, sending the countryside into a panic. Still feeling the effects of his recent illness, Lee was quick with his orders to Stuart.

Too quick as events would show. On the evening of the 24^th, Stuart rode off with the majority of the Southern Cavalry to the East. Lee would not see him again until it was too late.

Feeling he still had several days’ lead on Hooker, Lee ordered his subordinate units to spread out to forage the bountiful countryside. A secondary goal of this attack was to resupply his army, and IDS men took the orders to heart.

“Everyone knows lee is in Pennsylvania, it seems, except Hooker.”

Secretary of War Stanton had nothing to say to Lincoln’s statement. The president held up a copy of a newspaper, whose headline screamed of plundering Confederate troops. “I am sick of editors being more informed than my commanding general.”

Stanton cleared his throat.

“Yes?” Lincoln folded the newspaper and placed it in front of him as he waited for his secretary of war.

“Hooker is — ahh — ”

“Say it,” Lincoln ordered.

Stanton glanced at the telegram in his hands. “Displeased that General Halleck refuses to send him more reinforcements. He threatens to resign his position unless I order Halleck to do as he requests.”

Lincoln rubbed his temples. “Take his resignation. Effective right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Stanton said.

Everyone waited as Lincoln continued to rub his temples as if trying to push out bad thoughts. “General Meade, the Fifth Corps commander, is from Pennsylvania, is he not?”

“Yes, sir,” Stanton said.

“Your opinion of him?” Lincoln asked Stanton.

“Solid. He did a good job at Antietam and Fredericksburg. His men held their own.”

“Which is more than we can say about most others,” Lincoln said.

“Yes, sir. But he is not the senior corps commander.”

“Let’s see how he is at defending his own state’s soil,” Lincoln said as he scratched out the order putting Meade in command on a piece of parchment.

Hard marching had taken a toll on the Army of Virginia in · a way most would not think of. That is those who were not infantry would think of.

Shoes.

More than half the army lacked them. And those who were shod had worn the leather on their soles down to paper thin, making every footfall on a stone or pebble a painful experience.

Early’s division of Ewell’s corp force-marched to Gettysburg, a sleepy little town mostly known for its Lutheran seminary on a ridge nearby. They arrived on June 24, even as General Meade was being roused by an aide with Lincoln’s order putting him in charge of the Army of the Potomac.

Reaching Gettysburg, Early demanded ten thousand dollars worth of goods from the town’s inhabitants, but most had fled, and those who were still there had hidden their wealth. As they passed through the town, Early did notice something of interest, though. A shoe factory.

Early scribbled out a note to A. P. Hill, telling him of the fact, before marching on to occupy York.

The few remaining citizens of Gettysburg were thankful the Confederates had passed through and life got back to normal. There was movement all around the town, but no soldiers from either side in it. Gettysburg seemed to be free of the COIl11ng storm. Calm settled over the inhabitants. Just like the calm at the eye of a hurricane.

Three columns of British forces crossed in Zululand on January 6, exactly as Shakan had predicted. They were under the overall command of Lieutenant-General Lord Chelmsford, whose expertise leaned more to the lord and less to the general side of his titles. He led six thousand regulars and colonial volunteers along with nine thousand levied natives. He felt the core force of British regulars more than enough to deal with any African force, even though experienced officers and the Boer advisers on his staff made dire warnings about the capabilities of the Zulus.

Besides, his troops had twenty field guns and ten rocket launchers, a potent mix of firepower that he believed should cow any dark-skinned foes, who were armed with spears and ox-hide shields. Chelmsford saw no possible way such a foe could offer a threat to a British regular.

Chelmsford had never heard of Custer. Even though that battle had taken place less than three years earlier on the American continent. If he had known the details of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, he might have been startled to see the similarities between his plan of splitting his force into three columns and Custer’s ill-fated plan. Then again, Chelmsford was a man whose imagination was limited to his field of vision, so the similarities would most likely have escaped him.

The British movement did not go unnoticed by the Zulus. Cetewayo had been sufficiently impressed by both Shakan’s vision and by the reports of his spies in the Transvaal of British preparations so that he sent out reconnaissance patrols along the border. His immediate concern Was the column that posed the most immediate threat, the central column.

Nominally under the command of Colonel Glynn of the Twenty-fourth Regiment, the central column crossed the Buffalo River near the Swedish missionary at Rorke’s Drift. The command was only nominally Glynn’s due to his misfortune of having Chelmsford and the general’s staff accompanying him. Not content with being in overall command, Chelmsford also issued orders to Glynn’s men as if they were his own and the central column his specific command.

It was a long formation of almost five thousand men, eighteen hundred of which were European. Using oxen to pull their wagons limited the rate of advance to that of the lumbering beasts.

They moved in a thick mist and drizzling rain that did · little to keep morale up. Mounted troops from the local militia led the way, into the Buffalo River. Trouble struck the column immediately at the river as several of the mounted troops, up to their necks in the water, were swept away and drowned. The column was delayed as Chelmsway and drowned, The column was delayed as Chelmsford ordered flat-bottom pontoon boats brought up to move his less expendable regulars of the regiment across the river. Chelmsford left behind a small force of infantry at Rorke’s Drift before pressing forward into Zululand.

Sitting on his mount, watching the troops file past, · Lord Chelmsford felt quite confident that he would soon have the African nation under British rule. Which was only appropriate. After all, the sun never set on the British Empire.

Noting that it was early afternoon and knowing how long it took to make an appropriate camp and get his tent erected, Chelmsford ordered the column to halt, only a few miles into enemy territory, overruling Glynn’s protests that they should push on farther to maintain the initiative. It was tea time and a civilized man always paid attention to such details, He also overruled Glynn’s orders to prepare a proper encampment with barriers and outposts.

Shakan climbed to the top of Isandlwana. She shivered, feeling a chill in the air, one that cut to the bone and that no amount of clothing could alleviate. She felt some warmth on her collarbone, pulled away her robe, and looked down, noting that the crystal amulet around her neck was glowing very faintly.

This was the place she had seen in her visions. Besides the chill, there was distinct feeling of evil about the hill.

Shakan knelt down and began to pray as her mother had taught her. Not prayers to a God, but prayers for courage from within.

The MH-90 Nighthawks came in high and fast from the east toward the operational area. The MH-90 was the direct descendant of a program from the early twentieth century called the Osprey, which had failed. Each craft was over sixty feet long and capable of holding forty combat-equipped troops in the cargo hold. Each stubby wing had a powerful jet engine mounted on it and could rotate from horizontal to vertical to allow lake-offs and landings just like a helicopter. When the wings rotated back to horizontal the craft could fly at just over the speed of sound just like any other jet. On top of all that, the fuselage and engines were pressure sealed, and the craft could operate for limited amounts of time underwater.

In the rear of the lead Nighthawk, Colonel Chamberlain had his suit on night vision and full combat power mode. He’d done one hundred twenty-seven combat equipment drops, but each one brought a level of anxiety. He was the rearmost soldier in the plane, right next to the back ramp. His chute was rigged to the back of the combat suit at four contact points.

“Six minutes.” The pilot’s voice was flat, emotionless over the secure command frequency.

Chamberlain echoed the command on the platoon net to the men and women on board. Then he continued with the jump commands. While at the academy, Chamberlain had attended the Airborne School at Fort Benning, Georgia, one of the last classes to graduate there before the post was destroyed in the final phase of the Shadow War. He imagined that the Black Hat instructors who had taught him so many years ago would have approved of similar jump commands being used for this operation, even though they would have not recognized the technology.

“Get ready,” Chamberlain called out. A red light began flickering in the rear of the plane, just above the ramp.

“Outboard personnel, lock in,” he ordered. He took a step toward the center of the plane, where two steel rails ran from the forward bulkhead to the tail. He straightened and the locks on the top of his helmet slid into the two rails securely. “Inboard personnel, lock in.”

The rest of the platoon attached themselves to the rail. The red light stopped flickering, confirming that all the soldiers were securely fastened. Still, Chamberlain followed procedure.

“Confirm lock in.”

From the front most soldier toward the rear of the plane, each man and woman counted off, confirming they were in place and ready.

“Three minutes,” the pilot announced. “Depressurizing in thirty seconds.”

“Check suit pressure,” Chamberlain ordered. Again, all confirmed their suits were sealed and they were on internal oxygen.

Secure in his suit, Chamberlain noticed no change as the cabin was depressurized. He did a quick switch of views on his internal screen, tapping into the cockpit’s display, getting a view of the terrain ahead. Through swirling snow, he saw mountains to the left and right, with a narrow valley in between, just as planned. The winds were high, beyond normal safety parameters, but it did not occur to Chamberlain to call off the jump.

‘’Two minutes,” the pilot announced, and Chamberlain relayed it to the platoon.

The plane jerked hard right then left. Locked into the rail, the soldiers weren’t really affected, but each knew something wasn’t right.

“Incoming,” the pilot’s voice had yet to change in affect.

Checking the pilot’s view, Chamberlain could see red bursts come from the high ground to the left, arcing toward them.

“One minute,” the pilot said.

Chamberlain changed his view to his own. A crack appeared in the rear of the plane as the back ramp began to open. Cold air swirled into the cargo bay. The red light was a steady beacon above the opening.

“Ten seconds. Lock down.”

Chamberlain tensed, keeping his breathing steady. He locked down his arm, neck, and leg manipulators.

“Stand by.”

The light turned green and Chamberlain barely heard the pilot as an electromagnetic surge ran down the two steel rails, accelerating the line of jumpers out of the plane.

Chamberlain hit the plane’s slipstream and tumbled about for several seconds. They were dropping at four thousand feet, but he immediately realized something was wrong. The plane’s evasive actions had taken them too far to the left and they were partly over the ridgeline.

“Unlock.” Chamberlain ordered his suit as he glanced at his above ground level — AGL — display. Fifteen hundred feet, not four thousand. And he was free-falling. The numbers were winding down swiftly.

Chamberlain spread his arms and legs, trying to get stable. The tumbling slowed as he passed through eight hundred feet. Too low.

“Deploy,” Chamberlain shouted.

A drogue chute popped out of the pack on the top of his back, immediately pulling out the main chute. Chamberlain was jerked backward, even as the AGL indicator went below four hundred feet. The ground was rushing up. Chamberlain’s training took over as he brought his legs together, bending his knees, just as he had in the fields of Fort Benning so many years ago. He rotated his armored arms in front of his helmet.

He hit hard, harder than he ever had. The suit’s micro-motors took most of the impact, but he was on the side of the ridge and instead of coming to a halt, he tumbled downslope.

“Disconnect,” Chamberlain ordered, but it was too late, as he was getting wrapped up in the lines leading to his canopy. His cameras were covered by nylon and he was effectively blinded as he still slid down the side of the ridge. He came to a halt when he crashed into something that sent a jarring splice of pain into his left rib cage.

“Blade,” Chamberlain ordered through gritted teeth. A knife snapped out from its case on top of his left wrist and he sliced through lines and chute, freeing himself. The chute fell away as he got to his feet, automatically scanning the immediate area.

He could see other Nighthawks coming in, dropping their complement of soldiers.

He accessed his tactical display and he knew right away the drop was a disaster. The pilots had reacted to the incoming fire and their evasive maneuvers had spread the battalion across not only the valley but both ridgelines on either side. The battalion frequency was full of calls for medics from soldiers injured on the drop. There were also seven small flashing red dots on tactical.

Seven dead. Seven who had hit the ground too fast. And at least three times that many injured.

Chamberlain watched as platoon and company commanders organized their units and the casualties were tended to. Chamberlain moved into place in the formation, his three-member battalion staff falling into place surrounding him.

“Seven dead,” his adjutant reported. ‘’Twenty six injured, five serious. Med Evacs are in-bound.”

He could hear the reproach in her voice. A high price for a training jump. He went up to her and touched his helmet to hers so that only she would hear what he had to say. “Lieutenant, I ordered that simulated fire on the planes. I wanted to see how we — and the pilots — reacted to the unexpected. And we did not do well. So we will do this again and again until we do react well. Because I can assure you one thing. When we hit the Shadow, whatever is waiting for us is going to be something we can never expect.”

He pulled his head away and went to the Battalion Command Net “Reform.” Then he ordered the Nighthawks to come in and pick them up. “We’re jumping again.”