Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03 Read online

  Never Call Retreat - Civil War 03

  Book Jacket

  Series: Civil War [3]

  Tags: Military, Historical Novel

  SUMMARY:

  After his great victories at Gettysburg and Union Mills, General Robert E. Lee's attempt to bring the war to a final conclusion by attacking Washington, D.C., fails. However, in securing Washington, the remnants of the valiant Union Army of the Potomac, under the command of the impetuous General Dan Sickles, is trapped and destroyed. For Lincoln there is only one hope left: that General Ulysses S. Grant can save the Union cause. It is now August 22, 1863. Lincoln and Grant are facing a collapse of political will to continue the fight to preserve the Union. Lee, desperately short of manpower, must conserve his remaining strength while maneuvering for the killing blow that will take Gran''s army out of the fight and, at last, bring a final and complete victory for the South. Pursuing the remnants of the defeated Army of the Potomac up to the banks of the Susquehanna, Lee is caught off balance when news arrives that General Ulysses S. Grant, in command of more than seventy thousand men, has crossed that same river, a hundred miles to the northwest at Harrisburg. As General Grant brings his Army of the Susquehanna into Maryland, Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia maneuvers for position. Grant first sends General George Armstrong Custer on a mad dash to block Lee's path toward Frederick and with it control of the crucial B&O railroad, which moves troops and supplies. The two armies finally collide in Central Maryland, and a bloody week-long battle ensues along the banks of Monocacy Creek. This must be the "final" battle for both sides. -Dust jacket.

  'Well-executed alternative history. The authors show-thorough knowledge of the people, weapons, tactics and ambiance of the Civil War. A veritable feast."

  —Publishers Weekly

  "As historical fiction, this stands beside The Killer Angels. As an alternative history of Gettysburg, it stands alone. The mastery of operational history enables the authors to expand the story's scope. The narrative is so clear that the action can be followed without maps. And the characters are sometimes heartbreakingly true to their historical originals."

  —Dennis Showalter, Former President of the Society of Military Historians

  "Gettysburg is a creative, clever, and fascinating 'what if?' novel that promises to excite and entertain America's legions of Civil War buffs."

  —James Carville

  "The novel Gettysburg puts forth a highly plausible and exciting scenario of a Confederate victory in the Pennsylvania campaign of 1863. The authors exhibit an in-depth knowledge of not only technical details, but also the various personalities of the leaders and how they could have reacted had things gone quite differently from history as we know it."

  —Don Troiani, noted Civil War artist

  St Martin's Paperbacks Titles by NEWT GINGRICH and WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN

  Never Call Retreat

  Grant Comes East Gettysburg

  Never Call Retreat

  Lee and Grant: The Final Victory

  NEWT GINGRICH

  WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN

  and

  ALBERT S. HANSER,

  contributing editor

  ft

  St. Martin's Paperbacks

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  This is a work of Fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  NEVER CALL RETREAT

  Copyright © 2005 by Newt Gingrich and William R. Forstchen. Photographs © Library of Congress Maps © Carolyn Chu

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005041366

  ISBN: 0-312-94931-6 EAN: 978-0-312-94931-0

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin's Press hardcover edition / June 2005 St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / April 2007

  St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  10 987654321

  For Our Fathers

  WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN

  John J. Forstchen—a genuine cavalry trooper in our pre-World War II army who passed away while this volume was being written. "Gary Owen," Dad.

  NEWT GINGRICH

  Newt McPherson and Lt. Colonel Robert Gingrich—it was Robert, my stepfather, who took me on a tour of World War I battlefields when I was fourteen. The memory of that tour, the tragic waste I saw at Verdun, inspired me to try to make a difference in this world by entering politics and studying history.

  STEVE HANSER

  My father, Joseph A. Hanser, was a simple man of great wis-dom and greater character. Our family has missed him every day since he passed away.

  Acknowledgments

  How to say thank you to so many as this trilogy is finished up is a daunting task. Seven years ago, the idea started with a few phone calls back and forth, e-mails and dinner together. It was just the three of us then, but in the years since, dozens have come into our lives to help.

  To say the initial response to our idea was lukewarm is an understatement. Some publishers just "didn't get it," others said it would never work, and then Tom Dunne of Thomas Dunne Books came along and said he'd give it a try. So our first thanks must go to the incredible team at Thomas Dunne Books, and we're not just saying that because they're the publishers! Pete Wolverton, our editor, has been an incredible gentleman to work with. Patient, understanding, and from Bill's perspective especially, compassionate when his father fell ill and passed away while we were facing our deadline for delivery. Pete's ideas for inserts, changes, and editing have always been on the mark. The team working with Pete: his assistant, Kathleen Gilligan; Carolyn Chu, our patient map maker; and the copyeditor, Donald J. Davidson, have all been wonderful.

  About a year into our project we met General Robert Scales, former commandant of the Army War College at Carlisle, and Dr. Len Fullenkamp, the senior historian at the War College. Both were enthralled with the idea for the series and volunteered their own time to advise, take us on staff rides, pick apart theories, and review our work.

  One of the truly great discoveries was the wonderful team of folks at the Carroll County, Maryland, Historical Society and, through them, a truly gifted historian, Tom LeGore and his wonderful wife, Mary. Tom has an encyclopedic knowledge of the details of that region, historically and geographically, and his information was crucial in the framing of our story.

  George Lomas, owner of the Regimental Quartermaster in Gettysburg, proved to be a great friend in the marketing of our first two books and offering advice as well along the way. As has Michael Greene, who has helped to educate us about the marketing side of this business. Our friends with the Civil War educational firm, Hardtack & Wool, gave advice especially related to marketing and the review of drafts.

  It’s been an honor for us to have the famous artist Don Troiani as our cover artist. Besides his incredible talent with the paintbrush he is a noted historian in his own right and offered detailed information we surely would have missed. Two advisers behind the scene have been the New York Times bestselling author W. E. B. Griffin and his son, William Butterworth. William has been an editor and friend of Bill
Forstchen's for over twenty years with Boys'Life magazine, and provided great moral support and friendship throughout the creation of this series.

  For Bill Forstchen, a special thanks as well to the administration at Montreat College: Academic Deans Beth Doriani and Abby Fapetu, and president Dan Struble for the offering of a year-long sabbatical, their enthusiasm for this project (which some colleges might not have embraced), and their understanding during difficult times.

  There have been a number of people on Newt's Team who contributed time and wonderful advice: Randy Evans and Stefan Passantino for all the intricacies involved in coordinating the development of this series, Bill Sanders for a fine job of fact checking, and Amy Pearman and Rick Tyler for their tireless efforts with keeping our schedules together. Needless to say Kathy Lubbers, head of Gingrich Communications and our agent for Never Call Retreat, has been as tough as Grant in helping to keep this project on track and as understanding as Lee in helping to keep things coordinated.

  And, of course, the "ever-suffering" companions in our lives, Callista, Sharon, and Krys. Some people seem to think that the life of an author has a certain romantic appeal to it. Just ask our wives and they will set you straight as to the reality!

  There are so many fans, as well, who we wish we could acknowledge. People we've met while going through airports, doing book signings, those who have offered reviews and letters of encouragement. We especially appreciate those who "got" the idea behind the story and what we have tried to create with what we call "Active History," the examining of a crucial decision-making process in the past, and how if another path were followed, just how profoundly different our lives would be today. We see Active History as an exciting way to teach real history, to get students, "buffs," and anyone with an interest in our past to look back, to understand the courage, sacrifice, and strength of those who have shaped our nation. We can't resist mentioning with a smile, one critic who "dished" us with the comment, "These guys have PhDs? Don't they know Lee lost Gettysburg?" We hope that reader finally did "catch on," and we thank all of you who did "get it" and found pleasure in the reading of our story.

  And in closing, a very serious acknowledgment as well... to those who lived the story for real. Approximately 660,000 young men lost their lives in our Civil War. Whether you are from the North or South, a citizen who just took his oath of citizenship today, or a descendant from the Mayflower, their story is our story. North or South, they gave the last full measure of devotion for what they believed in and have forever set for us an example of self-sacrifice and nobility.

  Though of opposing sides, Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln stand as two men of courage who shared as well a deep sense of Christian compassion, and at the end of the war set the example for a tragically divided nation that did indeed bind up its wounds and made us one again.

  We are humbled by their example and we hope that in some small way our work pays tribute to them and pays tribute as well to all our veterans, right up to today and those who tonight stand the long watch for freedom on distant fronts. We believe firmly in that declaration by Abraham Lincoln that America is, indeed, "the last best hope of mankind."

  CHAPTER ONE

  Carlisle, Pennsylvania

  August 22, 1863 5:15 A.M.

  Capt. Phil Duvall of the Third Virginia Cavalry, Fitz Lee's Brigade, Army of Northern Virginia, raced up the steps of the Carlisle Barracks, taking them two at a time. Reaching the top floor, he scrambled up a ladder to the small cupola that domed the building.

  One of his men was already there, Sergeant Lucas, half squatting, eye to the telescope. As Duvall reached the top step of the ladder, Lucas stepped back from the telescope and looked down at him. "It ain't good, sir."

  Lucas offered him a hand, pulling his captain up. Phil looked around. Morning mist carpeted the valley around them. At any other time he would have just stood there for a long moment to soak in the view. It was a stunningly beautiful morning. The heat of the previous days had broken during the night as a line of thunderstorms marched down from the northwest. The air was fresh, the valley bathed in the indigo glow and deep shadows of approaching dawn. The sounds of an early summer morning floated about him, birds singing, someone nearby chopping wood, but mingled in was another sound.

  He squatted down, putting his eye to the telescope, squinting, adjusting the focus. He saw nothing but mist, then, after several seconds, a flash of light. It was hard to distinguish, but long seconds later a distant pop echoed, then another.

  He stood back up, taking out his field glasses, focusing them on the same spot. With their broader sweep he could now see them, antlike, deployed in open line, mounted, crossing a pasture at a trot, their uniforms almost black in the early morning light... Yankee cavalry, a skirmish line ... behind them, a half mile back, what looked to be a mounted regiment in column on the Cumberland Valley Pike.

  He lowered his glasses and looked down at the parade ground in front of the barracks. His troopers were already falling in, saddling mounts, scrambling about.

  "Lucas, get down there and tell the boys they got ten minutes to pack up."

  "We gonna fight 'em?"

  Phil looked at him.

  "Are you insane? That's at least a regiment out there. Now tell 'em they got ten minutes to pack it up."

  Lucas slid down the ladder, his boots echoing as he ran down the stairs.

  Phil looked back to the east. He didn't need field glasses now. He could see them. The Yankee skirmishers were across the pasture, disappearing into a narrow stretch of woods bordering a winding stream. A few more pops, and from the west side of the creek, half a dozen troopers emerged ... his boys. They were riding at full gallop, jumping a fence, coming out on the main pike.

  Only six of them? There should be twenty or more. These were the boys at the forward picket just outside of Marysville. So the first rumor was true: They had been caught by surprise.

  The Yankee skirmishers did not come out of the wood line in pursuit, reining in after emerging from the woods. There were a few flashes. One of his men slumped over in the saddle but managed to stay mounted. The mounted Yankee regiment on the road started to come forward, beginning to shake out from column into line, obviously preparing to rush the town.

  He lowered his glasses and looked around one last time. It had been a lovely month here, duty easy, the locals not exactly friendly, but not hostile either. The land was rich, the food good, his mounts fattening on the rich grass, the bushels of oats, his men fattening as well.

  Positioned here as an outpost they had missed the battles of the previous four weeks around Washington and Baltimore ... and he was glad of it.

  As a West Pointer, class of 1861, he knew he should be of higher rank by now, but that did not bother him. He had seen enough of slaughter. Though others sought "recognition in dispatches" in order to gain promotions, that was a vainglorious game he felt to be childish. Staying alive and making sure his men stayed alive held a higher priority. Besides, Jeb Stuart trusted his judgment as a scout. That was recognition enough. Ever since Grant came east and started moving tens of thousands of troops into Harrisburg, it was his job to watch them from the other side of the river and report in with accurate assessments, and he had been doing that.

  He had sent a report just yesterday that he suspected a move was about to begin on their part, and now it had indeed begun. What was surprising was the speed of it all. Carlisle was a dozen miles west of Harrisburg. Apparently, the Yankees had thrown a bridge across the river during the night and were now pushing forward with their cavalry to create a screen behind which their infantry would advance.

  He ran his hand along the smooth polished brass tube of the telescope. There had been quiet evenings when he had used it to study the moon, the crescent of Venus, and now, on August mornings, before dawn, the belt of Orion.

  Bring it along? It weighed a good thirty pounds.

  Reluctantly he upended it, letting it tumble back down the stairwell, crashing on the fl
oor below.

  He took one last look, then slid down the ladder, boots echoing as he tromped down the stairs. Some men were running back into the building, darting into rooms, re-emerging carrying some souvenir or keepsake picked up over the last month ... a banjo, a wall clock, a quilt. At the sight of this, he regretted the destruction of the telescope. After the war it would have been nice to have it back home in the valley and take it up Massanutten to watch the stars at night or gaze out across a Shenandoah peaceful once more.

  He heard heavy steps coming up the stairs. It was Lieutenant Syms, the man he had assigned to their forward station at Marysville. Syms was gray-faced, wincing with each step, his right calf bleeding, boot punctured by a ball.

  "Damn it, Syms. Where the hell have you been?" Phil shouted.

  "Sir, I'm sorry, sir. Didn't you get our report by wire?" "Only part of it."

  Phil stuck his head into the telegraphy station they had established on the second floor of the barracks.

  Sergeant Billings was sitting by the key, looking at him calmly, awaiting orders.

  "Read what Syms wired."

  Billings picked up a scrap of paper.

  'This came through at two-ten this morning. 'Pontoon bridge across river. Cavalry ...'"

  Billings looked back up.

  'That was it, sir."

  Syms shook his head.

  "Damn all. I'm sorry, sir. They slipped some troopers across. Cut the line behind us before we could get more out."

  "In other words, they caught you by surprise."

  Syms was always straightforward, and after only a second's hesitation he reluctantly nodded his head in agreement.

  "Something like that, sir."

  "So what the hell is going on?"

  'They jumped us at our headquarters. Ten of us got out. I sent a few boys down to the river, and in the confusion they were able to see that one bridge was already across and infantry on it. A civilian, reliable, he's been in our pay, told one of my boys that it was Ord's Corps leading the crossing."

  "Do you believe that?"

  "Yes, sir. I caught a glimpse of the bridge as we pulled out."