Edge: Killer's Breed

From his vantage point Hedges had an uninterrupted view of the river and the thousands of men, streaming across it in full, disorganized retreat. They were on foot and on horseback and many clung to the sides of trundling wagons. Their shouts and screams were answered by rifle fire and the boom of heavy artillery as the jubilant Confederates gave chase. Men fell individually and in groups as bullets and shells found random targets.

A small unit of cavalrymen crested the hill behind the wagon and the mounted gun spoke again. Six horses and their riders went down, mingling their blood in the rich Virginia earth.

"I want to join the artillery!" Seward shrieked as the survivors from the cavalry unit veered away.

"How about the navy?" Hedges asked him as he whipped the horses at full gallop into the Bull Run, trusting to luck that he had picked a shallow place.

"I can't swim," Scott screamed as spray from the flailing hooves of the team showered over the wagon. He didn't have to. The wagon sank to the level of its floor, but the horses, driven by the bite of the whip and their own fear of the gun exploding behind them, used every ounce of their considerable collective power to drag their burden against the pull of the water and burst into a full gallop as it came clear. There were no longer any pursuers hard on the heels of the escaping wagon, but Forrest continued to supervise the loading and firing of the field gun and with each report and recoil the horses were terrified into greater speed.

"Jesus, will you look at those stupid bastards!" Hedges shouted at the top of his voice as he struggled to change the course of the team's flight, angling towards the road that led northwards all the way to Washington.

Forrest poked his head through the front of the wagon, ripping aside the remnants of canvas which had survived the race through the trees. The grin which reflected his enjoyment of his period as an artillery man was suddenly wiped from his features by an expression of incredulous shock.

"They're having a goddamn picnic," he yelled. The cruel-faced man was not coining a metaphor. The road to Washington was actually lined with hundreds of civilians in all manner of conveyances who were eating dainty sandwiches and drinking coffee from delicate china as they viewed the battle. Excited by newspaper accounts of the opening stages of the Civil War, many of Washington's citizenry had decided they wished to see what all the fuss was about. The warm weather and prospects of some fighting only about twenty miles south of the capital had provided an excellent opportunity to accomplish this. So carriages, wagons and buggies had been hurriedly laden with hampers and a civilian convoy had been hot on the heels of the military on the route south. As the battle commenced the civilians had spread themselves on the road and in the fields east of the Bull Run and delighted in the sights and sounds of war. Then, when the first signs of a rout appeared, it took these spectators longer than was safe to decide it was time to leave.

"They're waving at us like we was in a parade or something," the still incredulous Forrest exclaimed. "Run the lunkheads down."

The panicked horses of the wagon team smashed through between two buggies and skidded on to the road, swaying dangerously and cannoning off the stationery vehicles of the shocked civilians. Back down the road other army wagons and hundreds of infantrymen and cavalry troopers spilled on to the road.

"They're coming. They're coming. The rebs are coming."

"They're raping and killing."

"Mommy, I wanna go home."

"McDowell's dead."

"McDowell says head for the Potomac."

"Let's get out of here." An infantryman tripped over his own musket and sent a ballshot into the laughing face of a year-old baby.

An elderly man fell beneath the wheels of a rumbling wagon, crushing his skull.

Two soldiers gun-whipped a man and his wife and stole their buggy.

Carriages smashed into wagons and axles snapped.

A rumor spread that a crack Confederate cavalry unit was speeding in for the kill and a thousand soldiers dropped their weapons and scrambled through the snarl of tangled traffic and terrified civilians.

Hedges drove the wagon over a small bridge as a stray rebel shell arced in through the cooling evening air and overturned another wagon immediately behind, blocking the road.

A hundred pairs of trembling hands tore at the wreckage to clear a way through.

"Captain," Douglas called as he peered back through the gathering dusk, his vision further impaired by the billowing dust from the spinning wheels of the speeding wagon.

"You want something" Hal?" Forrest answered.

"They ain't following us. Rebs are staying where they are."

Hedges stopped whipping the horses and hauled on the reins as Forrest clamped on the wheel brakes.

"You sure?" Hedges asked as the wagon slewed to a halt and he peered back down the road to see for himself.