‘To be heroic is to be courageous enough to die for something; to be inspirational is to be crazy enough to live a little.'
Criss Jami
- Army of the Potomac Camp -
- Falmouth Virginia - November 29th, 1862 -
-As the sun's golden fingers reached for the edge of the world, casting long shadows over the landscape, 'The Black Watch' marched their way into the heart of the Army of the Potomac Camp near Falmouth. The camp's reception was not one of open arms, but rather wary eyes and cautious postures. Junior officers exchanged glances, and sentries stiffened at the sight of this unconventional unit's arrival. Yet, amidst this undercurrent of doubt, Sergeant Koddles emerged as a tempest of authority, his presence a force that cut through uncertainty with the precision of a well-honed blade. He forged a path forward, his resolve unwavering, brushing aside any sparks of resistance that dared to ignite.
As if stepping onto a stage of scrutiny, 'The Black Watch' entered the camp, a mysterious cargo shrouded under their enigmatic tarp. Murmurs of curiosity danced like whispers on the wind, the ranks of infantrymen stirred by the sight of this unorthodox ensemble. Uncertainty mingled with intrigue, a concoction of emotions swirling amidst the eyes fixed upon the covered equipment.
Guided by Koddles's steady hand, the unit found their designated area for camp. Their movements were a symphony of unity and purpose, practiced coordination evident as tents were erected and a sense of home was carved from the unfamiliar surroundings. Amid the settling dust of their arrival, Koddles directed his men towards the facilities that promised a balm for their battle-worn bodies. The mere thought of a warm bath and the luxury of a clean shave kindled a collective sigh of relief among them, a chance to shed the sweat and grime of combat and rejuvenate their spirits weary from the road.-
With a graceful fluidity that speaks of countless practiced dismounts, Reeves gracefully swings his leg over the saddle, descending from the back of his stalwart companion, 'Ambrose'. His boots connect with the ground in a solid thud, a testament to his unwavering resolve. A gentle pat on the horse's flank conveys silent gratitude, recognizing the equine partner's contribution to the arduous journey. He gestures for Koddles to step forward, his eyes a fierce amalgamation of determination and curiosity, his words cutting the air like a whip's crack, "Did we just step into a den of vipers?"
Koddles, a pipe expertly brought to life with the flick of a match, ignites the tobacco nestled within. The flame dances across his features, casting a fleeting glow on his face etched with purpose. Striding alongside his spirited mount 'Marmaduke', whose restless energy mirrors his rider's, a knowing grin tugs at Reeves's lips, recognizing the mirrored fire between man and beast. "Seems like they have a taste for the familiar, Sir. Our fresh faces might not be their preferred flavor."
Reeves's response blends amusement with a trace of exasperation, his focus shifting to the haphazard stables ahead as they continue forward. Each step resonates with their shared conviction, a declaration to confront whatever trials await them head-on.
An impudent young soldier emerges from the shadows, seizing the reins for 'Marmaduke' from Koddles's grip, and then offering a dismissive shake of his head to Reeves. "You can manage your own horse."
Before Reeves can react, a surge of unbridled fury surges through Koddles's veins. His fingers close around the insolent soldier's collar, effortlessly lifting him off the ground, and with a grip as unyielding as iron, he slams the youth onto the snow-blanketed earth. "A lesson in respect is long overdue, son. That's not how you address an officer of 'The Black Watch.'"
Struggling and gasping for air, the soldier's frantic shouts ring through the air, drawing the attention of nearby infantrymen who rush to his aid. They launch themselves at Koddles, hoping to overwhelm him in sheer numbers, but Koddles stands unyielding, a tempest of calculated aggression. Bent but unbroken, he parries their advances with one hand, his movements a testament to his honed skills. A wry grin tugs at Reeves's lips as he watches the spectacle unfold. "Whenever you're ready, Sir, " Koddles growls.
Without a moment's hesitation, Reeves launches into action. His movements are a symphony of controlled grace, fluidly dropping to his knees and executing a lightning-fast leg sweep that sends one of the charging infantrymen crashing onto the ground. The second assailant barrels towards Reeves, only to find himself unceremoniously upended and incapacitated beside his fallen comrade.
As Reeves rises to his full height, a tide of soldiers surges towards the scene, rifles raised and tension palpable in the air. In swift response, Reeves's men snap into position, their own rifles trained on the encroaching threat. Koddles, still unwavering in his hold on the young soldier, exchanges a defiant look with Reeves. "I can release him now, Commander. Just give me the word."
Amid the tumultuous storm of unfolding events, a sea of Union soldiers materializes, their rifles poised like sentinels against the backdrop of 'The Black Watch'. An authoritative voice, sharp as a blade, cuts through the mounting tension. "State your purpose!" The ranks of soldiers part, revealing a figure striding forward with an aura of unquestionable authority.
With a composed stride, Koddles advances, dusting off dirt from his coat and knees as if preparing for an audience. "This young troublemaker here decided to show a lack of respect to my commanding officer. So, I thought I'd give him a lesson in manners. And it seems his companions over yonder thought they'd join the educational endeavor as well."
The officer's gaze sweeps across the scene, assessing the situation with practiced precision. His attention locks onto Reeves. "And who might your commanding officer be?"
Koddles's gesture towards Reeves is a blend of pride and mirth. "Commander Reeves."
The officer's scrutiny shifts to Reeves, a veil of bewilderment clouding his features. "Step aside, soldier. I'd like a word with your Commander."
Reeves's smirk is a portrait of casual authority as he peels off his gloves. Taking a step forward, he extends a gloved hand as if offering a truce. "You're already speaking to him. I am Commander Reeves, in the flesh."
Caught off guard, the officer stammers, trying to reconcile the unexpected revelation. "But... your... you're..."
"Black? Indeed, no amount of scrubbing seems to do the trick. But I reckon that's a secondary concern, at best, " Reeves interjects with a playful grin that dances on the edge of mischief.
Koddles bursts into laughter, his amusement a contagion that spreads like wildfire.
Reeves pivots his attention to his men, his voice a steady drumbeat of command. "Holster your arms, secure the horses, and make ready for camp."
In a synchronized chorus, his men respond with crisp adherence, "Sir, yes, sir!"
Returning his focus to the officer, Reeves extends his hand with a courtesy that belies his standing. "And may I have the honor of knowing to whom I'm addressing?"
Still grappling with the surreal revelation, the officer stumbles over his words. "I am... it's, I am General Ambrose E. Burnside."
Reeves's demeanor remains unwavering as he reaches out, clasping General Burnside's hand in a handshake that reverberates with mutual respect. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, General Burnside. It appears the circumstances necessitate a formal greeting."
Their hands meet, bridging the unspoken divide between officers. General Burnside gestures toward the camp with a deference that speaks volumes. "Welcome to Falmouth, Commander Reeves. My men are at your disposal for settling your unit. Whatever you require, consider it done."
Reeves acknowledges the General's gesture with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you, General. Sergeant Koddles, join me, if you would. General Burnside, perhaps a more private setting would better serve our conversation?"
With resolute strides, Reeves and Koddles set forth into the unknown, ready to navigate the uncharted waters of their impending exchange, steeled for the challenges that lie ahead.
General Burnside nods in agreement, beckoning Reeves to follow him. The crisp crunch of snow beneath their boots sets the tempo as the trio advances toward a modest wooden structure. Warm candlelight spills from the windows, and the stone chimney exhales tendrils of smoke into the chilly air. They step inside, shaking off the clinging snow before entering the inviting interior. The General guides them to a small table flanked by sturdy wooden chairs. "Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen. Please, take a seat."
With the ease of familiarity, General Burnside retrieves cups from a shelf and a pot from the stove, its contents emitting a thick, steamy aroma. "I'd offer sugar and cream, but our supplies are dwindling, " he apologizes with a rueful smile.
Reeves exchanges a knowing look with Koddles, who deftly produces two waterproof pouches from a canvas nap sack. The pouches glide across the table to the General's curious hands. Burnside carefully unties the first pouch, inspecting its contents before dabbing a finger into it and tasting. "Sugar, " he confirms, moving on to the second pouch. "Creamer."
With a contented smile, General Burnside adds pinches of both into each cup, stirring the brew into a harmonious concoction. He lifts the cup, taking a measured sip of the now-sweetened coffee, a spark of delight gleaming in his eyes. "I've heard the tales of 'The Black Watch' and its remarkable feats, Commander Reeves. Yet, to find you at my doorstep is an unexpected twist. Might I inquire as to the purpose of your presence?"
Reeves cradles the cup in his hands, drawing solace from its warmth. "We bear the President's direct orders, General. 'The Black Watch' is here to aid in the dislodging of the Confederate forces from Fredericksburg. My men will infiltrate discreetly, sowing disruption, demoralization, and weakening their defenses. This, in turn, will pave the way for your advance, along with your forces."
Reeves leans forward, his voice carrying the weight of determination. "You see, General, 'The Black Watch' is skilled in precisely these types of covert missions. Our aim is to minimize Union casualties. Considering the entrenched and fortified nature of the Confederate positions, we intend to create an opening for you to exploit."
The ensuing hours become a tempest of strategic discourse, plans unfurling like a storm front on the horizon. Spread before them is a sprawling map, a canvas of impending conflict. General Burnside meticulously marks Confederate encampments bristling with defenses. His pencil traces the contours of General Robert Edward Lee's imposing network, a line of fortifications spanning eight miles, tracing the Rappahannock valley's western rim. Reeves studies the map intently, his gaze tracing the formidable curve, an imposing bulwark barring the Union's progress.
Upon scrutinizing the terrain, Reeves arrived at a stark conclusion, a direct assault on General Lee's center amounted to a dangerous gamble, a reckless waltz with certain annihilation. Instead, two alternative strategies emerged: to strike at the jutting flanks where Lee's lines curved outwards. Reeves leaned in, his mind ablaze with a daring proposition, simultaneous strikes on both ends. His gaze fastened onto the marked positions. "General, " he began, his tone carrying the weight of a plan crystallizing, "launch the primary assault to the south of Fredericksburg. Target Lieutenant General 'Stonewall' Jackson's Confederate Second Corps stationed at Prospect Hill. Concurrently, unleash a secondary offensive against Lieutenant General James Longstreet's divisions positioned at Marye's Heights and the Sunken Road. This dual thrust will stymie Longstreet's potential reinforcement of Jackson."
General Burnside's intrigue ignited, his perception of Reeves undergoing a profound shift. The young commander exuded a veteran's wisdom beyond his years, knowledge that seemed to eclipse the entire Union army's collective understanding. Burnside acknowledged his own initial assessment had been clouded by prejudice.
The weight of contemplation hung heavily in the room, and Burnside's posture betrayed his grappling thoughts. He arched his back, stretching his arms aloft, a symphony of satisfying pops resonating. With renewed determination, he leaned back, his eyes aflame with the audacity of a daring strategy forged amidst the crucible of warfare. "Commander, I must extend my sincerest apologies for the misconceptions that colored our first meeting."
"General, let bygones be bygones. Our priority is the task ahead."
With a decisive tap of his finger, General Burnside illuminated the map's sections housing Confederate sharpshooters. Reeves's attention followed, his mind already plotting tactical solutions.
"These sharpshooters shift their positions frequently, " Burnside explained. "I've stationed troops here, with the intention of ferrying them across the river. Unfortunately, pontoon bridges, crucially requested from Union High Command, have been delayed due to weather and logistical constraints."
"That's precisely why I'm here, General. The convoys did face weather-related hindrances, but my most recent report indicates that pontoon bridges are en route down the Potomac, towed by steam tugs."
A sigh escaped the General's lips. "So, Commander, what is your recommendation?"
Reeves called upon Sergeant Koddles, his voice firm. "Gather a squad of four men and position them here. Their task is to engage any sharpshooters within their reach. Let's give these marksmen a taste of uncertainty."
Koddles responded with a brisk nod before exiting the room. Reeves returned his focus to the map, his voice steady and resolute. "We're about to stir the pot, General. My men will scout, engage from concealed vantage points, and catch these marksmen unawares. Following this, 'The Black Watch' will execute a series of targeted assaults over the next days. We'll whittle down their ranks and embed our presence within the town itself. Our training excels in close-quarters combat and covert infiltration."
General Burnside leaned heavily onto the weathered oak table, the flickering lamplight illuminating the weathered lines of his face. He met Commander Reeves’ gaze, his eyes radiating agreement. "Your plan has my blessing, Commander, " he said with a weightiness that echoed the gravity of their mission.
As he spoke, the timeworn door protested with a soft groan, revealing the dark silhouette of Sergeant Koddles. An icy gust accompanied him, brushing past the men as it kissed the ends of his coat. As the door closed behind him, Koddles nodded in acknowledgement. "I've set our best on the task. Mackenzie, Badger, Nails, and Smiles are on it, Sir."
Reeves gave a satisfied nod. "Well done, Sergeant."
Brushing frost from his coat, Koddles wore a mischievous smirk. From his battered rucksack, he brought forth a well-worn bottle of 'Evan Williams'. A sharp pop pierced the room as he freed the cork. "Gentlemen, " he declared, holding the bottle high, "how about a drink to the endeavor?"
Reeves shared a knowing glance with Burnside, their anticipation palpable. Eagerly, they extended their cups, their cold metal reflecting the dim light.
Koddles generously filled each with amber liquid, letting the bourbon's rich aroma permeate the air. Raising his glass, Burnside intoned with somber authority, "To the United States of America."
His toast was echoed with fervor by the others, their cups clinking in solemn agreement.
Time blurred in the wake of bourbon, laughter, and impassioned discussions. The trio eventually found their way back to ‘The Black Watch’ camp, their path winding yet purposeful.
As they approached, a wave of jubilation rippled through the camp. Soldiers caught sight of their returning officers and General Burnside, and the night was filled with hearty cheers. Reeves, grinning amidst the boisterous welcome, held a finger to his lips, encouraging the men to keep the merriment to a low roar.
The three men settled near the roaring campfire, hastily wrapping themselves with thick blankets to fend off the biting cold. As they did, their brothers-in-arms joined in, circulating tankards overflowing with frothy ale, a gesture of shared triumph and camaraderie.
"Sir!" Bull's voice rang out above the rest, mischief evident. "Give us that 'Love' song of yours!"
Reeves shot a playful glare towards Bull. "Not tonight, Bull. Save it for another time."
Koddles chuckled heartily, clapping Bull on the back. "Come now, Commander. If the mood strikes, don’t hold back. The lads could use some cheer."
With laughter in his eyes, Reeves finally relented. "Fish, bring me my guitar."
In mere moments, Fish delivered the instrument into Reeves' waiting hands. As the commander strummed a few chords, his voice murmured with gratitude, "God bless you, Mr. Denver." Soon, a melodic tune resonated through the night, harmonizing with the crackle of the fire and the distant rustle of the wind.
With the twang of a country-style voice, he croons, "You fill up my senses, Like a night in a forest, Like the mountains in springtime, Like a walk in the rain..."
Strumming with purpose, his gaze sweeps across the men encircled around the blazing fire, his eyes looking past them as a small audience gathers. A nod and a smile pass between him and the approaching newcomers, and he continues his soulful rendition.
"Let me love you, Let me give my life to you, Let me drown in your laughter, Let me die in your arms..."
Abruptly, the Commander halts, his eyes shifting as he moves through the gathering crowd, familiar faces emerging, Mackenzie, Badger, Nails, and Smiles. Placing his guitar down with purpose, he gestures toward the vacant chairs by the fire, taking charge of the moment.
"Men, grab a seat! Reeves stands tall, flinging additional blankets to his shivering comrades. "Now, what've you got for me, gentlemen?" he demands, his tone a mixture of authority and anticipation.
His men wear triumphant grins, and it's McKenzie who steps forward, words brimming with urgency. "We got right up close to Marye’s Heights. Split into teams, we secured strategic positions for firing and bunkered down for the night."
Locking eyes with 'Badger', McKenzie affirms, "The Confederate sharpshooters, Commander, they've nestled themselves amidst the town's folk. Perched on rooftops and at windows. But here's the silver lining, sir, the roofs they're on, well, they're exposed. The sharpshooters are freezing, swapping places regularly. And those indoor fireplaces? They turn them into silhouette targets when they stand at the windows."
A nudge from 'Badger' to 'Nails' follows, prompting a nod from the latter. "Indeed, sir. We eliminated 41 Confederate sharpshooters and 16 soldiers on foot patrol. They couldn't pin down our firing points."
General Burnside rises, his blanket firmly draped around him. "Outstanding work, all four of you."
Commander Reeves ponders for a moment, a flicker of an idea forming. "I reckon I've got something brewing. Now, you all, go get some rest."
Koddles stands, curiosity etched on his face. "What's churnin' in that mind of yours, Commander?"
All eyes converge on the Commander as he steps forward. "Sergeant 'The Black Watch' is going to slip into that town come midnight tomorrow. As for the rest, well, I'll fill you in when sobrieties got a firmer grip on me."
Advancing toward the General, Reeves addresses them all. "I reckon we could all use some shut eye. General, care to join us for breakfast at 10am tomorrow?"
A smile of agreement breaks across General Burnside's face as he nods and clasps Reeves' shoulder. "Goodnight to you both. Breakfast is a grand idea, Commander. By the way, that song of yours, it's a true beauty."