The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time by Raymond Dean White Page A
Authors: Raymond Dean White
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their 81 mm mortars. On the north side of the ridge, a small valley followed the curve of the hill around to a point half a mile south of the ranch, where it entered the larger valley below.
“Recommendations, Captain Cummins?” Adam rarely missed a training opportunity.
“Sir!” Cheryl Cummins replied. “I’d place Lieutenant Parsons and his mortar battery on the knob where they can take out the APC and provide enfilade and cover fire. I’d take First and Second Platoons around the hill and flank the enemy as Mister Beeman suggested. Once Lt. Parsons blows the APC, I’d sound simultaneous charges from this position and the flank.”
Adam smiled inwardly. Exactly how I would do it.
“Very well, Captain. See to it,” Adam said. Then he leaned close so only the Captain could hear, “And Cheryl, go slow enough not to raise a dust cloud, or you’ll tip our hand. It sounds like those folks below can hold out long enough for us to play it safe.”
Captain Cummins sat a bit taller in her saddle as she turned her horse back down the hill.
Adam’s mind was already adding refinements to the plan as he and Walt Beeman followed the Captain back down to the troops. Sergeant Buell remained behind to keep an eye on the situation at the ranch. Adam was about to speak up when the Captain turned to him.
“Sir,” Cheryl Cummins said. “With your permission, I’ll have Sergeant O’Malley and twenty troopers mount a rear guard position here beside the ambulance wagon. Just in case the enemy has a surprise in store for us.”
Again the Captain had anticipated his thoughts. This time, Adam couldn’t restrain a smile as he nodded permission. He observed the way Cummins reeled off the requisite orders, noting with approval that Lt. Parson’s mortar squad was well along the hill before First and Second platoons were even halfway down the valley.
Adam spread his arms and his troops, those of the Third and Fourth platoons, formed a skirmish line. Swinging his right arm forward and pointing up the hill, Adam led the men up to the top of the ridge.
Walt Beeman noted how the men responded to the silent hand signals and how swiftly they followed orders. He saw that each platoon had a bugler. Hell, he thought, they even have uniforms. He reined to a stop beside Adam.
“Colonel, Sir,” he said, “Y’all have a sure ‘nuff cavalry troop here. Ah been watchin’, an’ mah bet is that you put this here outfit tuhgether yoreownself.”
Adam wasn’t sure whether Beeman was giving him a sincere compliment or just buttering him up. In any event, before he could respond, Walt continued.
“Ah can see you’ve read Von Clausewitz, but ah figger you’ve done some chewin’ on Jeb Stuart and Gen’l Lee too.”
Adam looked at the man with newborn respect. Walt just laughed.
“I wasn’t always a cowboy,” Walt said, dropping his Texas drawl. “Ex-lieutenant Walter Beeman, 101st Airborne, at your service, Sir!” Walt extended his hand to Adam, who shook it.
“I admit to being pleasantly surprised,” Adam allowed, then asked, “Why the corn pone accent?”
“Throws folks off guard ‘til I can size’em up,” Walt admitted with a shrug. “An’ besides, it’s muh nacheral way a talkin’.”
Adam nodded. He well understood the need for caution in this day and age and he was pleased Walt had seen fit to confide in him so soon. It showed the man had good instincts and trusted them.
“Mr. Beeman--Walt, if you prefer--I think it’s going to be a pleasure having you around. Or was I wrong in assuming that was your enlistment speech?”
“Oh, ah want tuh enlist alright, Sir,” Walt said. “Ah jist figgered you’d want to see how good ah can fight first, seein’s we got one about tuh pop.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Adam said.
He nodded at the knoll where Lieutenant Parsons had three mortars set up and was carefully aiming the first one at the APC, which was sitting still in the driveway of the
“Recommendations, Captain Cummins?” Adam rarely missed a training opportunity.
“Sir!” Cheryl Cummins replied. “I’d place Lieutenant Parsons and his mortar battery on the knob where they can take out the APC and provide enfilade and cover fire. I’d take First and Second Platoons around the hill and flank the enemy as Mister Beeman suggested. Once Lt. Parsons blows the APC, I’d sound simultaneous charges from this position and the flank.”
Adam smiled inwardly. Exactly how I would do it.
“Very well, Captain. See to it,” Adam said. Then he leaned close so only the Captain could hear, “And Cheryl, go slow enough not to raise a dust cloud, or you’ll tip our hand. It sounds like those folks below can hold out long enough for us to play it safe.”
Captain Cummins sat a bit taller in her saddle as she turned her horse back down the hill.
Adam’s mind was already adding refinements to the plan as he and Walt Beeman followed the Captain back down to the troops. Sergeant Buell remained behind to keep an eye on the situation at the ranch. Adam was about to speak up when the Captain turned to him.
“Sir,” Cheryl Cummins said. “With your permission, I’ll have Sergeant O’Malley and twenty troopers mount a rear guard position here beside the ambulance wagon. Just in case the enemy has a surprise in store for us.”
Again the Captain had anticipated his thoughts. This time, Adam couldn’t restrain a smile as he nodded permission. He observed the way Cummins reeled off the requisite orders, noting with approval that Lt. Parson’s mortar squad was well along the hill before First and Second platoons were even halfway down the valley.
Adam spread his arms and his troops, those of the Third and Fourth platoons, formed a skirmish line. Swinging his right arm forward and pointing up the hill, Adam led the men up to the top of the ridge.
Walt Beeman noted how the men responded to the silent hand signals and how swiftly they followed orders. He saw that each platoon had a bugler. Hell, he thought, they even have uniforms. He reined to a stop beside Adam.
“Colonel, Sir,” he said, “Y’all have a sure ‘nuff cavalry troop here. Ah been watchin’, an’ mah bet is that you put this here outfit tuhgether yoreownself.”
Adam wasn’t sure whether Beeman was giving him a sincere compliment or just buttering him up. In any event, before he could respond, Walt continued.
“Ah can see you’ve read Von Clausewitz, but ah figger you’ve done some chewin’ on Jeb Stuart and Gen’l Lee too.”
Adam looked at the man with newborn respect. Walt just laughed.
“I wasn’t always a cowboy,” Walt said, dropping his Texas drawl. “Ex-lieutenant Walter Beeman, 101st Airborne, at your service, Sir!” Walt extended his hand to Adam, who shook it.
“I admit to being pleasantly surprised,” Adam allowed, then asked, “Why the corn pone accent?”
“Throws folks off guard ‘til I can size’em up,” Walt admitted with a shrug. “An’ besides, it’s muh nacheral way a talkin’.”
Adam nodded. He well understood the need for caution in this day and age and he was pleased Walt had seen fit to confide in him so soon. It showed the man had good instincts and trusted them.
“Mr. Beeman--Walt, if you prefer--I think it’s going to be a pleasure having you around. Or was I wrong in assuming that was your enlistment speech?”
“Oh, ah want tuh enlist alright, Sir,” Walt said. “Ah jist figgered you’d want to see how good ah can fight first, seein’s we got one about tuh pop.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” Adam said.
He nodded at the knoll where Lieutenant Parsons had three mortars set up and was carefully aiming the first one at the APC, which was sitting still in the driveway of the
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