Chapter 2
The droning of aircraft engines became audible just two minutes later. By then uniformed cadets were streaming out of every barracks on the Post. TAC officers and staff members who lived on Post were coming out of their houses. Those young enough to be able to fight quickly joined the cadets and took charge where they could; those too old to be able to help were respectfully but firmly rushed along to one of the air raid shelters.
Two 3.7-inch anti-aircraft cannons had been installed on the Post in 1941, just a month before the war started. They were already beginning to fire as Christian followed the regimental commander out across the parade ground. Their explosions thundered across the darkened campus, temporarily turning night into day.
Any time now the bombs would begin to fall.
"There hasn't been a raid on Lexington for the whole goddamn war!" one of Rogers' roommates panted as they ran.
"Maybe they figured they'd hit Richmond enough," another replied.
"Maybe they got tired of you telling your goddamn nigger jokes, De la Riviere," the third one said, and the four First Classmen laughed.
"Where are we going, sir?" Christian asked, unable to help himself.
"Into town, Rats," Rogers yelled over his shoulder. "Myself and a bunch of other upperclassmen are air raid wardens and AA gunners for this town. We're supposed to get into town and help the civilians get to the shelters, keep 'em from losing their shit."
"Even the Minks?" Christian asked- again, he couldn't seem to stop himself.
"Especially the Minks, Rat," Rogers replied, as he and his roommates laughed.
"Mink" was the VMI cadet's name for anyone who was a student of Washington University, the other college to inhabit Lexington. It was the Athens to VMI's Sparta, and the two had a mostly-friendly rivalry between their Officer Training Force units. Sometimes there were fights, especially between cadets and some of the fraternities at W&L, but overall things were pretty civil. Minks, along with many other people around Virginia, called VMI cadets "Keydets", a term that the Institute had officially adopted after deciding they liked it. The term originated with a Southern slang pronunciation of the term "cadet".
"Sir, what about the Institute? Who'll be in charge if you're gone?" Brian asked.
"My XO's taking care of the Institute," Rogers replied. "Now shut up, Rats. They're gonna be hitting us any second now."
Never stopping or even pausing once, the team of 6 cadets pounded downhill, off Post, and into the streets of Lexington. Within moments, other teams of cadets, some already in place, some just arriving, turned on massive searchlights and began firing the handful of other AA guns in Lexington. Other groups rushed by, heading for their positions at street intersections. Rogers led them to one a few blocks into town, joining up with a desperate-looking man in his fifties with the uniform of a Major in the Home Guard, who was trying to manage a frantic crowd rushing towards Town Hall.
"No, no, folks, not so fast, please!" the man was saying. "Y'all gotta slow down or y'gonna keep on crowding the entrance!"
Christian threw a quick look towards Town Hall behind them; it was besieged by a crowd even bigger than the one ahead, and he could see a few beleaguered authority figures, probably also Home Guard members, trying to guide the townspeople into forming some kind of an actual line. They just went on crowding and shoving towards the jammed doorway.
"We're here to help," Rogers said simply as he came up alongside the man.
"Keydets," the man said, relief plain on his face. "Thank God."
"People, people!" he said, renewed strength in his voice. "Please form a line as you head into the shelter!"
"Form a line!" Rogers shouted, his youthful vigor, and that special fire that made him such an effective regimental commander, putting even more authority in his voice, and making him more easily heard over the sirens and cannons. "Hurry up! Y'all don't have long, just long enough! Get this done, now! Come on, let's go! Form a line!"
"Form a line! Fall in line!" Christian yelled, moving out to work the crowd on his own initiative. Brian went alongside him, and they could see and hear the staff officers accompanying Rogers doing the same thing.
Miraculously, the crowd did seem to heed their commands, and the speed at which the frightened civilians assigned to take shelter here made their way into Town Hall increased greatly.
As the wardens hastened to close the doors, a young man- a teenage boy, no older than fourteen- came running out of the dark towards them. He was carrying something in his arms; it was a small child, maybe five or six, clinging to his older brother and crying. The older boy had a small teddy bear in one hand, probably the child's most prized possession.
"No!" the boy screamed, panic clear in his voice. "No! Don't close the doors, please! Wait!"
"Marshal, d'Arbanville, get ready to close those doors!" Rogers yelled from the intersection, looking towards the running boy.
Christian and Brian both hesitated; he didn't want to close them. Not yet.
"But, sir-"
"Do it!"
Running to join the wardens at the door, two old men who were waving the last few people in as calmly as they could manage, Christian and Brian each stopped near one of the big, wide doors. They began swinging them shut.
"Please!" the boy yelled again. He broke into an even faster sprint than before; even in the dark Christian could see his face, white as a ghost, was shining with sweat.
Rogers slapped the boy on the back as he ran past. He cleared the intersection in seconds and didn't slow a bit. "Run! Run for it! Marshal, close those doors the second-"
The regimental commander's voice was cut off amidst a thunderous roar. The hand of God picked Christian up and threw him off his feet. He rebounded off the wall, hit the brick walk, and struck his head. The lights went out.
XX
"Marshal! Marshal, come on, man! Wake up!" Christian opened his eyes to see Brian crouched over him, a worried look on his grimy face.
"Oh, damn," the redhead grumbled. "What the hell-"
"No time, man, there's no time!"
"Okay," Christian said, sitting up. The ground shook. Again, and again. The drone of aircraft engines overhead, the heavy, deep thudding of anti-aircraft cannons, brought him back.
"The doors!" he shouted, jumping up. "Close the doors!"
"We've done that!" Brian yelled. "It's okay! The two kids made it inside, they were the last ones!"
"Where's the Colonel?" Christian slowly got up and looked around. "Hell, where'd all his roommates go? Where the hell are those guys?"
Brian stared around. "I… I don't know. That bomb went off in the middle of the street."
"Maybe-maybe he's with one of the gun crews or something," Christian said, thinking out loud. As he and Brian neared the jagged edges of the crater, though, his heart sank.
1,000 pounds is a lot just by itself, but it takes on a whole new kind of power when consisting mostly of high explosive, dropped from hundreds of feet up. Almost spot where the regimental commander had last been seen standing was a crater more than fifteen feet wide and at least as deep. Chunks of torn pavement were scattered in every direction. A long, bloody smear was visible in the twilight along the street. A blood-stained cap lay on the grass nearby, torn and messy. Christian ran over to it, knelt and picked it up, looking at the scrawled name written on the inside.
Andrew Rogers
"Oh, shit," Christian whispered. "Oh, God."
A gray-clad figure lay writhing not far away. As the two Rats moved closer, they recognized the older cadet's face, pale and handsome even when twisted with pain. It was the blond regimental athletic officer, Kevin de la Riviere.
"What happened, sir?" Christian asked as he crouched over him.
"They fucking bombed the shit outta this town, that's what, you dumbass Rats," De la Riviere said, shutting his eyes as he clenched at his side; his gray wool uniform was darkening with blood. "That-that bomb hit as I was gonna rejoin Rogers on the street; I just barely missed the whole blast." He groaned. "Augh! Fuck, this hurts."
"Well- well, what do we do now?" Brian asked. He sounded not far from the edge of panic. Christian wasn't doing so great himself, but he somehow managed to keep calm enough to take in more of what was happening around him.
The explosions of the bombs, beginning to slacken off now as the droning engines retreated, came mostly from the direction of Washington University.
The Yankees had come to bomb a goddamn college.
"Always knew they'd come for us one of these days," De la Riviere said, lying back on the grass. "Never thought they'd go for Washington instead."
"Those sons of bitches," Christian whispered, his voice trembling with rage.
Brian seemed to have realized what was happening, too. "It can't- it can't be. Not even they would stoop so low."
But they had. And as if to drive the point home, flames light the advancing night with their warm, orange glow. So comforting when seen from a fireplace in the winter, that reddish-orange light signified something terrifying and horrible now.
Washington University was on fire. And if those screams said anything, Minks were burning to death.
XX
Christian went to jump up but a strong hand jerked him down. Turning to see who it was, the redhead saw Kevin De la Riviere, his face filled with pain.
"Other people are gonna help them. You think the boys back at Post will just let the Minks burn? That fucking rivalry shit is meaningless now."
"But I can help!" Christian insisted, getting angry now. "Let me go!"
"No!" De la Riviere said, holding on with surprising strength. He jerked his head across the street, to the 3.7-inch anti-aircraft cannon. The gun crew were all down and writhing, or down and not moving at all. A lot of the sandbags surrounding their position had been blown out of place by a near-miss from a bomb, and the whole position had been showered in dirt. Yet still the cannon pointed skyward, as did the unmanned spotlight nearby.
"You really think the damn Yankees just sent one wave?" De la Riviere asked, his face pale and strained. "That's like asking if a nigger's got dark skin."
"Guys!" a cadet shouted; one of the few who seemed mostly unharmed was getting to his feet by the gun. "Guys, over here! I got wounded over here, too!"
The droning of aircraft engines was growing again.
"You hear 'em," De la Riviere breathed. "You wanna help those boys n'girls at Washington? Get your asses over to that gun."
"What about you, sir?" Brian asked.
De la Riviere hesitated for a second. "Help me up," he said.
Getting one arm around each of their shoulders, Kevin De la Riviere fought to stand up between them. One of his legs had been injured and he was clearly in a great deal of pain.
"You okay?" Christian asked.
"I'm here," De la Riviere answered with effort. "I'm alive. Don't worry about me."
The roar of aircraft engines was growing closer; the second wave had to be just moments away.
"Get over here, come on!" a cadet sergeant called, waving them over; he and another boy in gray had managed to get on their feet again.
Walking De la Riviere over as quick as they could, Christian and Brian introduced themselves as Rats from A Company.
"Well, I'm a squad leader in 2nd Platoon," the sergeant said. "Will Camden. I am-" he paused, noticing the regimental athletic officer- "I was in charge here."
But De la Riviere just waved him off. "Forget about me, Camden. This is your gun, and I've been hit. You're in charge." Looking between the two Rats holding him up, he added,"Put me down, guys. I'll help look after the wounded."
Carefully setting him down behind an intact section of sandbags, Christian and Brian quickly came over to Sergeant Camden.
"Guys, there's just a couple of us that can still man the gun," Camden said nervously. He motioned to a few other gray-clad cadets who'd managed to sit up. "They can help hand us ammo, but I need some help. Those damn Yankees are comin' back and I'll be damned if I'm gonna take this shit lyin' down."
Christian felt surprisingly calm as the droning noise of the engines grew louder, and other guns around town began to fire for the second time. "Where do you need us?"
A/N: The United States' first bombing of Lexington, Virginia occurred in late 1943 in Settling Accounts: The Grapple and was specifically an attempt to target the Confederate nuclear weapons project, based at Washington University. I depict the locals, and VMI's cadets, as not really knowing that their country has its nuclear program there, as such a project would be highly classified. The relatively low amount of air defenses in Lexington- how I chose to depict it- I explain largely by the fact that Lexington is a small college town in the mountains of western Virginia, and the raid in late 1943 was probably the first Lexington had experienced in the whole war. Installing more air defenses, while helpful in some respects, would also have risked drawing attention to Lexington and getting the town bombed sooner.
VMI was a great asset to the Confederate States of America in the mere four years that nation existed, as was The Citadel of Charleston, South Carolina. VMI's graduates not only distinguished themselves in Confederate service, the cadets themselves served as drill instructors for the Confederate States Army, often being responsible for training groups of men much older than themselves. In a world where the Confederacy had won its war for independence and thus military colleges like the United States Military Academy at West Point and the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis would have become unavailable to train aspiring officers, VMI's usefulness to the Commonwealth of Virginia and the nation Virginia seceded to join would have only increased.
"These are the times that try men's souls" is part of a writing by Thomas Paine.
The details of VMI and life there and of the bombing raid on Lexington are as authentic as I have been able to make them. For any mistakes, errors, or inaccuracies, I apologize.