The Left Flank

Inspired by The Overland Campaign, a series of battles fought in Virginia during May and June of 1864 where the Union Army, led by Ulysses S. Grant, attempted to march on Richmond and end the war.

The Left Flank

The general received the news. Dozens of bloodshot eyes awaited his response. Men glossed in sweat and smothered in dust and dirt, their blue coats itchy and heavy under the scorching May sun. In the distance behind them plumes of smoke gushing above the wilderness wherein the crackling of wood mixed with the faint cries of men consumed in fire and death. The general thanked the messenger coolly and sent orders for his council to meet him in his tent immediately.

The meeting lasted well past midnight. Plans were debated and decisions made and before dismissing his officers the general appealed to them once more for confidence and courage. He then finished his letters and left the tent. The night hot and dreary as he walked until the penny glow of the camp’s lights had finally disappeared. He found a good oak tree and collapsed. He sobbed uncontrollably.

The soldiers huddled around a small campfire, the same spot the night before when there had been fifteen of them. Now there were eight. They stared into the fire, soot and ash smeared across their faces. The colossal flames they had seen earlier ripping through the lines of battle still dwindling in the distance. Yet they stared at the small camp fire anyway. Not because they were cold or hungry but because their eyes were still entranced by the terrible beauty and they feared to look away and contemplate the ugliness and despair they had endured. They did not speak until their captain came and joined them.

The captain offered them coffee and filled their mugs and sat with them. “Get ready to march in the morning,” he said. “We’re leaving before dawn.”

“Are we retreating, sir?”

The captain shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“We’re moving forward on the left flank,” the captain said. “General’s orders.”

“Sir, what about the losses?”

“Moving forward on the left flank,” the captain said.

“Did we not lose this battle, sir?”

“We’re moving forward on the left flank,” the captain replied.

The soldiers looked at one another confused. The captain stood up and patted a few of them on the back. “Get some rest if you can. Another long day ahead.”

In the grey before dawn the army picked themselves up and marched off from the ruins of yesterday’s battle. They were quiet and whipped. Some with heads down, some limping. All of them confused and nervous as to the direction they were going. It was then the general appeared from out of the woods on horseback, galloping alongside the ragged columns of soldiers. His back straight and his face set forward toward the rising sun where somewhere ahead another battle lay waiting. He slowed his horse to a trot.

“General!” One of the soldiers called to him. “General! Did we win the battle yesterday? Is the enemy retreating?”

The general turned and looked at the soldier calling to him. His gaunt and bearded face stoic and weathered. His blue and melancholy eyes a sharp contrast with the rest of him.

“No,” he said, his voice harsh and loud for all to hear. “We’re moving forward on the left flank.”

 “What about the enemy?” Another anxious voice cried out among the sea of blue caps.

 “The enemy will follow until we beat him,” the general announced. The soldiers looked at one another. They were dismayed. The general grinned. “Likely want to beat him soon, don’t you agree?”

The soldiers mumbled amongst each other. The general rode on and slowly the soldiers began to talk louder, tightened up, and continued to march forward on the left flank. And they fought on that line all summer, fought until they reached the sea, but despite their successes, the enemy still remained with them, and so would the enemy always remain. But they never forgot the sea. The endless caps which battered the rocks and never quit. The sea was gorgeous.