"Pat, we did it at Ringgold Gap after they pushed the boys off Missionary Ridge, didn't we? We held Tunnel Hill too, saved the army that day. Sherman, Thomas, Grant, we stopped 'em cold, your division and my cavalry.
"You were right . . .the coloreds. They're here Pat. I'm commanding them and the 9th and 10th cavalry are the best in the regular army. You wanted us to free and recruit the slaves in '64. . . . I fought you. Raised all manner of opposition to it. Thought it crazy and unimaginable. Yes, Pat, they are good, and we might just have stopped Sherman on his way to the sea if they'd been in my command. What would we have been with thousands of colored in our ranks? I was so young. It was so different." He shook off the disturbing visitation returning to the now.
"I'm sure not twenty-five. Maybe I'm wiser now at 62!" he mumbled to himself as he reached for his pocket watch on the side table. "9:17." As he turned back and looked at the ceiling, his mind went to work. "What a mess this war is and I'm in the smack dab middle of it." He'd spent three twenty-hour days trying to get some system set up for his corp cavalry. He'd seen to his various units and tried mightily to do right by them. Joe Jr. had demanded he leave their tent in the camp and rest and had escorted him to this room even pulling off his boots. When he settled the fatigued general, the junior officer Wheeler had "ordered" his command officer father to bath and bed.
The general's thoughts wandered and struggled . . . . "So few horses meant a dismounted cavalry. Well maybe that can be overcome since jungle-like conditions face my boys. We're going to be facing the best of the kingdom of Spain and they know the ground. I'm not sure about Dr. Woods much - the 1st Volunteer Cavalry! That young socialite 'damn' Republican cowboy Roosevelt is a 'forward charge' type. That can be good and that can be bad. Fouled up supplies . . . . Army serving at the pleasure of the Navy . . . . no mounts . . . . outdated weapons, little smokeless ammunition . . . ."
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When they'd arrived the first time at headquarters at the hotel, there had been no small share of benevolent smiles and a few smirks as the two small men entered. They were versions of the same physique - one old wizened bald, whiskered 5'5" gentleman dressed years out of date and the young one clad in simple civilian attire. The General Wheeler's quick walk was duplicated by Captain Wheeler. They looked out of place in the assorted uniforms - National Guard, regular Army, Navy, wool and canvas, and dandy hangers-on.