Lincoln's Wizard (Dragons of the Confederacy Book 1)

CONTENTS 1. Parkersburg 2. The Hero's Wage 3. Mr. Lincoln's War 4. The Airship Plot 5. Fire in the Sky 6. Leaks 7. The Downgrade 8. Breaks 9. The Castle 10. Nehushtan 11. Davidsonville 12. Hattie 13. Visitors 14. Fire in the Belly 15. The Slaughter House 16. Following About the Authors Digital Edition – 2016 This version copyright © 2021 by Tracy Hickman & Dan Willis. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. Initial Edits by Bryan Thomas Schmidt Edited by Stephanie Osborn Cover by Mihaela Voicu Published by Runeblade Entertainment Spanish Fork, Utah. PARKERSBURG Lieutenant Braxton Wright released his grip on the brass levers controlling the Monitor’s gun turret as the craft turned, following a bend in the Ohio River. The condensation of his own sweat chilled the iron plating that surrounded him. He sat on the gunner’s seat, bolted to the floor, nervously wiping his hands on his stained cotton trousers. His blue sack coat was stuffed between the rungs of one of the vertical support trusses behind him. A kepi forage cap sat back on his head as he squinted through the gun port, seeking any sign of the enemy on the dark shoreline. Cool air poured in through the observation slits, contrasting with the wet heat welling up through the grating at his feet. A gibbous moon shone high in the sky, painting the landscape in shades of silver and leaving pools of inky darkness under every tree. He wiped his hands again down his cotton trousers, trying to calm himself with the repetitive nature of the gesture. If there were rebs out there, they’d see him long before he saw them. He felt certain all of West Virginia on the other side of the river could hear the Monitor’s steam engine as it chugged and hissed from the deck below his feet. The engine had not sounded terribly loud in the factory tests, but in the dark stillness of the Ohio valley it thundered. Braxton took a deep breath, wiping his hands a third time, and reminded himself that only a lucky shot would penetrate their armored shell. Fixing this firmly in his mind, he gripped the sweat-slicked levers again and kept his vigil. Outside a thick growth of trees reached out from the riverbank into their path. “Come to starboard,” he called down through the grated opening in the floor. “Speak plain,” came the answering call from Sergeant Fulton. “I mean right,” Braxton called again. “Come right just a bit.” The Monitor lurched, then began to drift right. Braxton rolled his eyes. Fulton was a good man, but he wasn’t the tall gun’s regular pilot. The regular crew missed their train at Albany. All this trouble over a little slip of paper. A telegram from Colonel Hendricks had reached them as they stopped for water in Steubenville. He’d been worried that the rebs were preparing for a major offensive. Crew or no crew, Hendricks ordered the train not to stop in Marietta but continue down to Belle Prairie with the Monitor at once. Braxton and what crew he had were to get the Monitor into the fight before Hendricks’ lines – weak and still forming up west of Belle Prairie – were overrun. Rumors had already spread through the train station. The prevailing story was that General Longstreet had, under the cover of darkness, ferried a force of five thousand Grays to Blennerhasset Island west of Sharpsburg. Colonel Hendricks had been forced to sortie at once out of Marietta in order to head off the flanking maneuver by Longstreet. The Monitor had to arrive in Marietta before troops landed on the Union side of the Ohio River. I’m not supposed to be here, he thought angrily to himself before calling down again through the grating. “How’s your pressure?” “Well, I’m a little nervous in this steel coffin of yours,” came a different, cheerier voice from below, “and it’s hot enough to boil lobster down here but otherwise I’m fine.” “Not you, Laurie!” Braxton called back. “What’s your reading, Fulton?” Below him, Fulton checked the wall of gauges next to the Pilot’s seat. “Normal,” he yelled back. “You might want to give the cannon and traverse controls a whirl there, Lieutenant.” Braxton nodded. He pulled back on the lever that elevated the muzzle and, with a rush of steam, the gun barrel rose. He pushed the lever forward and the gun lowered to its original position. Swiveling his chair forward, Braxton stepped onto two metal pedals protruding from the floor. He pushed down on the left one. The turret rotated, rapidly turning left. Braxton used the right pedal to move the gun back. “It’s good, Fulton. Get us into position around the bend ... and pray this Monitor is just here to look pretty.” The gun controls worked, but that did little to lighten his mood. Braxton wasn’t a soldier, he was an engineer. Much of the new tall gun design had been his idea. He was supposed to be back at the Yard, overseeing new construction of more iron-clad tall guns just like this one. That was before Laurie’s letter, offering to meet Braxton in Stubenville when he brought the Monitor down from the foundry. At the time, Braxton thought it a perfect place for a reunion. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said we should meet,” Braxton said in the direction of the deck below. “Funny you would say so,” Laurie called back up. “This was exactly what I had in mind ... two old Sharpsburg boys cruising down the Ohio in