“What do you need for victory?” Arthur asked in a soft voice.
“I need rank sufficient to the task. Reinstate me, but as a lieutenant general. That will make me second to General Sheridan but above anyone in command in Cuba, which will eliminate conflicts.”
“Agreed,” said Arthur and the others nodded.
“General Miles is correct. We need more men. There are two more divisions in training and I want them immediately. General Gordon’s division and General Chamberlain’s must be on the move to Cuba as soon as humanly possible.”
There was silence but no disagreement. John Gordon’s men were all southerners and there had been resistance to having former Confederates fighting as a unit. But Hancock was popular in the South. He’d been fairly lenient to southerners during the Reconstruction period. His detractors had said he had been too lenient on the former and largely unrepentant rebels. No matter, he would have Gordon’s Division.
Joshua Chamberlain’s division of volunteers primarily came from Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont. In an exquisite irony, it had been Brevet Major General Chamberlain who had been tasked with receiving the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s troops at Appomattox. The Confederate General tasked with surrendering the Army of Northern Virginia had been John Gordon. Chamberlain had won Gordon’s and the rest of the Confederates’ respect by ordering his men to salute the rebels as they marched past and laid down their arms. After the war, Gordon had become very controversial. Even though he denied it, rumors said he had been in charge of the Ku Klux Klan.
On the other hand, John Gordon had been elected to the U.S. Senate.
“I understand that Joshua Chamberlain’s in poor health,” said Arthur.
Sheridan chuckled. “You tell him. The man’s insistent. He feels that serving as a General in the Civil War, being awarded the Medal of Honor and later becoming Governor of Maine, and still later President of Bowdoin College entitle him to consideration and I agree.”
Between Gordon and Chamberlain, they could bring another fifteen to twenty thousand men to the battle. Would they be enough to win? That would be up to Lieutenant General Hancock.
“We are in agreement?” asked Sheridan and all said yes.
Even Blaine seemed pleased. “Well, General Hancock, how soon will your men commence arriving at Matanzas?”
Lieutenant General Winfield Scott Hancock smiled widely, “Events will transpire very soon, gentlemen.”
Phil Sheridan turned away and smiled. He and Hancock had discussed strategy for the coming campaign. No reinforcements would be landing at Matanzas. For the time being, Nelson Miles, with help from the navy, would be on his own in defending his two perimeters at that dismal Cuban port.
* * *
“I think I’ve done this before,” sighed Wally Janson as he looked over the gathering host of ships anchored off Charleston, South Carolina, “Although maybe it was in another and more pleasant life.”
The transports were all shapes and sizes and of varying speeds. Someone had the bright idea of breaking them into two groups-the slower ships in one and the faster in another since a convoy would be held to the speed of its slowest member. A rough estimate had more than two hundred vessels clustered off Charleston. In a very short while they would commence loading two divisions of infantry and all their supplies.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul Prentice smiled tolerantly. He’d heard the comments several times in the last couple of days. Along with the other survivors from the ill-fated Aurora, he and Janson been exchanged for an equivalent number of Spanish prisoners. Treated as heroes for their role in sinking the Spanish battleship Vitoria, the US Navy had offered the older Janson command of a newly commissioned gunboat, which he promptly named the Orion. He didn’t ask if the navy already had plans for the name. As a sailor, he had a deep affection for the constellations. The two men had been awarded the Medal of Honor for sinking the Spanish battleship.
The Orion displaced about twelve hundred tons and was armed with a pair of six-inch guns, along with a handful of nine and twelve-pound cannon. Armored plating had been attached to her sides and around her bridge which affected her speed and maneuverability. She was a deadly force even no one would ever call her an ironclad. With luck, the light armor would deflect bullets or shrapnel and small cannon shells, but would be useless against the shells from bigger weapons. The Orion would choose her fights carefully. Spain might have lost her two battleships, but her remaining cruisers would be more than a match for Janson’s ship.
Janson was her skipper, while Prentice was on board as a supernumerary. The leg he’d broken when captured hadn’t completely healed and he was on crutches. He would not be able to return to active duty until he was fully healed. In the meantime, Janson needed assistance to function as a real naval officer. Janson’s commission would last for the duration of the war and it was presumed that the Orion would be signed over to his ownership as partial compensation for the loss of the Aurora.
The Orion was one of two score similar ships that had been hastily pressed into service in the rapidly expanding navy. All had been converted from merchantmen. Small and lethal, they would protect the gathering armada from the few remaining Spanish warships if they should venture out from wherever they were hiding. The navy was building a number of real armored cruisers that would be substantially better than the powerful Atlanta, which was patrolling off Charleston and no longer on duty at Havana. The new ships would not be ready for a year of two. The newspapers had called the situation a shame and heaped more blame on President Custer. Both Prentice and Janson were inclined to agree with the assessment as was most of the population of the United States.
“The first time I left on a mission like this, it was from Baltimore,” Janson mused out loud. “At least we’re a few hundred miles closer to Cuba than we were that first time, which will make it easier on all the troops who’ll be jammed in the holds of all those ships. Did I ever tell you how we were attacked by a Spanish gunboat and how that young Colonel Ryder figured out how to sink it? I like to think that fight was part of why he got promoted to general.”
“Only about a hundred times,” Prentice said tolerantly. “This Ryder must be a hell of a general. Not all generals and admirals are willing to fight. A lot of them simply want to make speeches and look good in their uniforms.”
“Lieutenant, you are wise beyond your years.”
“Skipper, have you learned our final destination?”
Janson’s eyes widened in surprise, “Are you telling me it’s not Matanzas?”
“All I’m saying is that I keep hearing rumors. I also understand that the army is going to undergo a major reorganization now that Hancock’s in charge. I keep hearing that someone named Couch is going to be named to an important position. The name’s familiar, but I don’t know why.”
Janson yawned. It was good to have someone he could talk to without having to worry about little things like rank. “Paul, I’m sure they’ll tell us when they decide it’s important enough. For your information, Darius Couch was a Union general, but I don’t recall all that much about him. Wait, I do recall one thing. He likes to pronounce his name Coach instead of Couch. I guess he doesn’t want to be compared to a piece of furniture.”
* * *
Darius N. Couch, recently returned to the army as a major general in command of the newly designated Second Corps, was looking for redemption. He was sixty years old and every day he recalled how he had failed his country at the Battle of Chancellorsville in the spring of 1863. In his mind he had let the very real chance of defeating or even destroying Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia slip through his normally very capable hands. Had he acted decisively, how many lives could have been saved, how many thousands of families would not still be in mourning. He could only wonder and mourn for himself and the faceless others.