Jumping Virginia

   The cavalryman looked back over his shoulder. Gray soldiers marched along, exhausted after days of marching nearly non-stop. Those on horses were lucky, for the didn't have to slug their feet through the ever present mud, allowing their beasts to faithfully carry them these many miles, but even they were tiring. Three had already collapsed, never to get up again. They had lain on the earth, sides heaving, eyes glazed, hardly aware of the men surrounding them. Nothing could be done, and no bullets could be spared, so they were left behind, acting as grim path markers. Yet ahead lay a different light, one that all these men and horses had followed and would continue to do so till the end of the war: Major General J.E.B. Stuart, and his little fireball bay mare, Virginia.

   Virginia was small, hardly over 15 hands, making Stuart look as if he was a giant on a pony. But she had proved herself in previous battles and long cross country treks. Stuart was idolized by the other cavalrymen as being calm, firm, acute, active, and enterprising; any decision he made was the right one. Captain Blackford rode beside him atop a chestnut stallion, another grand horse. The soldier looked down at his own mount. Mud and dust had covered her thoroughly, but underneath, a golden brown coat gleamed. She was skittish around cannons, but her speed could match that of even the general's Virginia.

   Stuart held up his hand, and the procession puttered to a stop. He turned around looking at his cavalry. "Lasky," he said, "take your horse over to the copse of trees at the top of the hill. I want you back in twenty minutes with a report of numbers and stage of preparation." Private Lasky nodded, and galloped his tired horse until they both disappeared into the trees.

   18 minutes later, they came running back. "Sir," he said, issuing Major General Stuart a sharp salute, "600 men, same as our own company. Union soldiers are all in position with cannons pointed towards the hill. Artillery is stationed at the courthouse behind a large ditch."

   The general nodded and looked down, doing some calculations in his head. After what felt like a year of silence from men and horses alike, he looked back up again. "Half of the cavalry will spread out atop the hill and lead the charge. Station a cannon every 10 yards along the top. Keep firing until I or Blackford tell you otherwise. The other half will accompany us around the hill to the courthouse to surround, disarm, and destroy. Names A through M will stay. One hour until we move."

   The men flurried into activity but stayed surprisingly quiet. Any advantage that could be taken would be, and not a single man wanted to be the one to alert the Union troops of their presence.

   Lasky rode up the soldier. "You're a lucky duck, getting to accompany the general on his sneak attack." He gave a grim smile. "Smaller chance you'll get blown to smithereens, too, when the cannons aren't even pointing your way." The soldier nodded, and Lasky went on his way to do his own preparations.

   Exactly one hour later, men were organized in straight lines with cannons spaced evenly through them. Horses of every color stamped and snorted. They could feel the change of energy. They wanted to run, even through their exhaustion. The soldier was positioned directly behind Stuart and Blackford, so close he could hear their hushed conversation. It was light with talk of what they would have for supper. Again, Major General held up his hand, and the unit snapped to attention. The hand swept forward, summoning the 600 men to begin their march up the hill.

   Halfway there, cavalrymen N through Z split from the others and picked up a controlled canter to get around the hill. The soldiers' energy soared, adrenaline pumping, preparing them for the coming fight. The clanking of bits and the pounding of hooves echoed their own heartbeats, the throng of four and two legged animals pulsing as if one being. The crest of the hill was only a hundred yards away. Seventy-five. Fifty. Approaching so fast. Then they were over the top. Green grass spread out before them on the steep slope of the hill. Blue union soldiers were arranged in straight lines, cannons pointed at the Confederate troops now peeking over the hill. For a moment, it could even be described as a beautiful, orderly world. Until the shouting started.

   Confederate and Union men alike started their battle cries, and the first cannons fired. Dirt and chunks of grass sprayed up all around the charging cavalry A through M, distracting so that the other half might make it through unnoticed, but that was a fool's wish. There hadn't been nearly as many trees for cover as Stuart had hoped for, so little in fact, that they were nearly out in the open. Two cannons seemed to notice this at the same time they did, and they slowly turned their gaping mouths to the heaving herd. A cannon ball was loaded. Everything seemed to slow as it was fired, and the giant metal ball came hurtling their way. He couldn't take his eyes from it. The way it travelled through the air, slightly curving, and then carving a deadly path through the air--directly toward him.

   As if recognizing his fear, his mare surged forward, passing other horses right and left. In no time, he was directly behind Stuart and Blackford, and then the cannonball struck home. Horses and men alike screamed and slid to the ground. Some horses crushed their riders when they fell; others panicked and ran from the earth spraying into their faces. He watched as a piece of shrapnel colored a red line along his horse's rump, but she faithfully kept running. The only ones still running were Blackford's stallion, little Virginia, and her.

   The soldier tore his eyes from the fallen horses and looked forward to his superior and his mare, now galloping ahead of them. Virginia's neck was stretched out parallel to the ground, her ears pointed backward to listen to Major General Stuart's muttered commands and soft words of encouragement. The large ditch maybe fifteen feet wide and deep ran beside them, the sides steep and rocky with jagged stones at the bottom. He rode closer to the men in front. "We need to turn around and regroup!" shouted Blackford over the din.

   "Too late for that!" replied Stuart. "They've already got cannons pointed down there. We need to find a roundabout way to get back, and from what I'm seeing, the only way to get back to our boys is either through a few hundred blue cavalrymen or over that ditch that'll break the horses legs if they don't make it." He grinned. "What do you think, boy?"

   Before he could answer, the Union horses made their move. Men held their silver cavalry swords above their heads and screamed their bloody war cries. But that was just for intimidation. Their goal was capture, not death. Death would only come later, once they had been stripped, interrogated, and thoroughly humiliated. Blackford cursed, "Your call Stuart! Capture or the jump?" The general gritted his teeth in a feral smile.

   "If these ponies couldn't hop over a little crack in the ground, well, what kind of war horses would they be? We make the jump!" And with that, he turned Virginia toward that gaping ditch and spurred her for whatever speed and power she had left. The other two followed suit, whispering, then shouting in their friend's ears, not to hesitate, make the jump, and a hearty, warm oat mash would be waiting for them back at the camp. The Union edged closer but not fast enough because Virginia, Blackford, and the soldier were already flying. Virginia was in the front of their procession, closely followed by the big chestnut stallion valiantly soaring in a graceful arch. The soldier's mare had fallen behind, but she too took off in a push of last minute power. The world slowed down for the second time that day.

   Virginia's little hooves landed sturdy on the bank, closely followed by Blackford, and then the soldier was there. But--he wasn't. Virginia and the stallion were running back to the retreating Confederate soldiers, but he seemed to be moving backward. No. Not moving. They were falling. His faithful friend hadn't had the energy to make it over the ditch, and then they were separated from each other as he flew from the saddle. He saw the world turn, and turn, and the last thing he saw over the side of the ditch was little Virginia's big brown eye looking back at him, and she whinnied, as if asking why he wasn't following. Then the world turned again, just in time to see his pretty, faithful, four legged copper brown friend hit the rocks, just before he did himself.