"Never Call Retreat" - читать интересную книгу автора (INGRICH NEWT G, Forstchen William R)CHAPTER EIGHTNear Sykesville, Maryland August 25 3:00 A.M. Stop the train, stop the damn train!" Jeb Stuart leaned over the side of the car. Mules in the boxcar up ahead were kicking, screaming in panic. Flames shot out from under the wheels of the boxcar, streaming back. The train whistle was shrieking, a couple of brakemen running aft, leaping from car to car, clamping down the brakes as the train skidded to a halt. As the train slowed, flames that had been trailing in the wind started to lick upward. Jeb jumped off the car he was riding on, nearly tripping, regaining his footing and running alongside the train. The mules inside the burning car were terrified. A brakeman was by his side, helping to fling the door open, and the animals leapt out, disappearing into the darkness. The front left journal box of the car was glowing red hot, flames licking out. The engineer of the train and the fireman came back, lugging canvas buckets which they threw on the box, steam hissing. More buckets were hauled by several soldiers, dousing the side of the railcar. "What in hell is going on here?" Jeb roared. "Happens all the time, General," a brakeman announced. "That's a journal box. Filled with grease to lubricate the axle of the wheel. Sometimes it just catches fire." Another bucket was upended on the box, the water hissing. "Open the damn thing up." "Once it cools, we'll repack it," the engineer said. "How long?" "Once it cools." "Just open the damn thing." A brakeman with a crowbar flipped the lid of the journal box open, the engineer holding a lantern and peering in at the steaming mess. "I'll be damned," he whispered. "What is it?" Jeb asked. "Packed with wood shavings and scrap metal." "What?" "Sorry, sir. Someone sabotaged this car. It should have caught fire twenty miles back. Was most likely smoldering and we didn't even notice it in the dark." "You mean someone deliberately wrecked it?" The engineer said nothing, finally nodding his head when Jeb gave him a sharp look. "Where?" "Don't know, sir. Most likely back in Baltimore. Should have burned miles back down the track. Lucky we got this far. We're going to have to check every single box on this train now." "Damn all," Jeb hissed, turned away, slapping his thigh angrily. Looking down the track he saw the headlight of the following train, hauling ten more cars loaded with the pontoon bridging. One of the brakemen was already running down the track, waving a lantern. "How long?" "In the dark like this?" the engineer said. "An hour or two to check all the boxes. Better check the ones on the following trains as well. Sorry, sir, but we're stopped for now." Exasperated, Stuart looked around at his staff, who had climbed off the cattle car to witness the show. "Mount our horses up. How far to Frederick?" he asked. "Follow the track, another twenty miles or so to Frederick, sir." "You wait to dawn, sir, we'll have things ready." "I have no time, Custer isn't waiting for some train to get fixed," Stuart snapped. "Mount up. We ride to Frederick." Two Miles North of Frederick, Maryland August 25 |
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