David Healey - Rebel Train

Percy still wasn’t convinced. He had been a soldier too long to believe the odds were ever good, or that anything ever went according to plan.

“All right,” he said. “But how do a handful of men commandeer a train? There will be passengers, maybe even soldiers traveling home or back to their posts, not to mention Lincoln’s guards. We can’t overpower them all.”

“That’s where breakfast comes in,” Norris said. He tapped the map with a tobacco-stained finger. “The train is scheduled to stop briefly in a town called Sykesville, a few miles from Ellicott Mills. Most of the crew and passengers will get off to eat breakfast at a hotel near the tracks. At that point you’ll take the train and run for the Shenandoah Valley. You should have just enough daylight to make it.”

Percy suddenly remembered. The Andrews raid! That was where Norris had gotten the idea. The Yankees had stolen the train when the crew stopped for breakfast at a station outside Atlanta. The crew had left her under steam and gone inside the station house to eat, never thinking there was any danger of the train being stolen.

It had worked once before, Percy thought. It might just work again. The whole damn thing might work. Norris gave him the rest of the plan. Once they had the train, they would run like greased lightning across Maryland, cross the Potomac River at Harpers Ferry, and head for the Allegheny Mountains.

Percy interrupted again. “If you want us to head south into the Shenandoah Valley, why wouldn’t we take this branch?” he asked, letting his finger on the map trace the route of the Winchester and Potomac Railroad than ran south from Harpers Ferry to Winchester, Virginia.

Norris shook his head. “It would be faster — if Winchester weren’t crawling with Union troops. There’s no way we can get cavalry there to escort you to Richmond. The Yankees have had a firm grip on Winchester since Stonewall Jackson left the valley.”

Percy nodded in agreement, and Norris continued to outline his plan. Once the train had gone deep into the mountains, some of General Jubal Early’s men would be detailed to meet it near the town of Romney and help spirit Abraham Lincoln down the valley to Richmond, where the Union president would become a prisoner of war.

“That is, if you can take him alive,” Norris said. “If not, you’ll have to kill him.”

“He’s a civilian,” Percy pointed out.

“He’s commander in chief of the Union Army. Civilian or not, that makes him the enemy. Kill him if you must.”

“What’s to stop the Yankees from doing the same to Jefferson Davis?”

Norris shrugged. “There are those who might say we’d be better off without him.”

Percy chose not to acknowledge the last remark, just in case Norris was testing his loyalty. “Who do I take with me?”

“The men you have with you in Richmond will do,” Norris said.

Percy started to protest. “This is too risky.”

Norris held up a hand to interrupt him. He smiled wickedly again. “If I could have you arrested, Colonel, think of what I could do to them. Take your men.”

“You’re a bastard, Norris.”

The chief of the Signal Bureau calmly puffed his cigar, ignoring the insult. “Oh, and you’ll be taking Fletcher, too.”

Percy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? Look here, Colonel—”

“Fletcher goes with you,” Norris said. “I want two of my own men on this raid. Fletcher will serve as an official representative of the army. He’s also from Maryland, which might prove useful.”

“He does look good in a uniform.” Percy smirked. “Who’s the other man?”

“His name is Flynn.”

“Does he have a nice uniform, too?”

“Flynn doesn’t wear a uniform, Colonel. He’s not the type. In point of fact, he’s not even a soldier.”

“Then what’s he got to do with this raid?”

“I’m sending Flynn along to kill you if you change your mind about the raid once you get to Maryland.”

“What? I can’t do this thing with some murderous bastard waiting every moment to shoot me.”

Norris laughed around his cigar. “Flynn isn’t that way, Colonel. I think you’ll like him, in spite of yourself. But make no mistake, Flynn does as he is told. I pay him very well for that.”

“You mean this isn’t his first time?”

“Exactly.”

Percy shrugged. The whole plan was already outrageous. Adding Captain Fletcher to the mix couldn’t make things much worse, he decided. But who was this Flynn? The last thing Percy needed was someone waiting to shoot him in the back when things weren’t going right.

They discussed a few more details such as the number of raiders, weapons and cash for train tickets. Then Norris stood and extended his hand. “Good luck, Colonel.”

Percy made no effort to take Norris’s hand. “I would rather shake with the Devil,” he said.

Norris simply shrugged and sat down to busy himself with paperwork.

Head spinning, Percy practically ran from the room. In the hallway, he paused to take a deep breath. Captain Fletcher worked at his desk in the hall, pointedly ignoring both Percy and his servant, who sat in a chair near Norris’s door. It made sense, of course, that Norris wanted two of his own men along for the raid, although Fletcher was the last man Percy would have picked for the mission.

Hudson looked at Percy expectantly, but the colonel only shook his head, not wanting to take the time yet to explain what had happened. He just wanted to be out of that dark, dismal building. The place had an unwholesome air.

“Come on,” he said, and Hudson got up from his chair and followed Percy out.

On the street, Percy paused to get his bearings. He actually felt dizzy. This was madness. A plan to end the war, or at least to strike a terrible blow against the Yankees. He decided then that he would go on this mission not because of Norris’ threats but out of his own sense of duty. He knew that if they brought President Lincoln to Richmond as a prisoner, it would be a blow to the Union worth more than a thousand Buckley Courthouse raids.

Percy nearly laughed in spite of the circumstances. The plan was just crazy enough to work.

Tom Flynn stood in front of the rooming house that served as the headquarters for Colonel Percy’s train raiders. Poor bastards , he thought, watching the three men who lounged on the porch. In just five days they would cross the Potomac, probably never to return. Flynn felt even sorrier for himself because he would be going with them. Silently, he cursed Colonel Norris. The colonel was mad if he thought they could capture Abraham Lincoln with a handful of raiders.

He climbed the porch steps as the three men watched him warily.

“I’m looking for Colonel Percy.”

“You’re not welcome here,” said one of the men, who wore a lieutenant’s insignia.

“That’s no way to treat a stranger,” Flynn said, thickening his accent until he sounded like an Irishman fresh from the bog. He knew it was the quickest way to render himself harmless in the soldiers’ eyes. “What’s the world comin’ to?”

“Hud, you best go fetch the colonel,” the lieutenant said.

The biggest of the men, who looked as hard and dark as oiled locust, finally stood. Flynn shifted the heavy satchel that hung from his shoulder, ready for anything. But the enormous black man only looked him over for a moment, then disappeared into the house.

Flynn sighed and promptly collapsed into the old chair the guard had been using. The other two men just stared, like dogs deciding whether or not they would bite. He ignored them. After all, he had not been expecting a warm reception. He settled down to wait.