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From Mensagenda - February 2003
The Spy
by Tapan Sharma
[A short story by Tapan Sharma, a
teen member of Minnesota Mensa.]
His name was Alan Hunt. He had
seen only fourteen summers when he was
drafted into the army. He started out as a
simple messenger, carrying important
messages back and forth between the various
camps. This task, although seemingly
uncomplicated, was in fact very important
and even dangerous. If the right
message wasn’t sent at the right time, any
one of the armies could potentially falter
in its goal; it could cost lives, land, or even
the entire war.
Vicksburg, Mississippi
May 25, 1863
He awoke to the sound of blaring
horns. It was five in the morning and it
was time to start the daily routine: get up,
put on the uniform, and carry out any
orders given by those higher in command,
for he was a Confederate messenger.
After promptly completing the
first two of the tasks, Alan stepped
outside his tent into the dirtpaved
aisle formed by the parallel
rows of tents. It was a
beautiful spring day in 1863,
but the mood was hectic. Soldiers
were running about,
some were training and
warming up, some were taking
their posts. People were yelling
back and forth, some people
quietly conversing, and others
just keeping to themselves.
However, when it came down to it, everyone
was serious, for they knew that
Vicksburg was one of the two Confederate
holdouts on the Mississippi River preventing
a total Union takeover. It’s protection
was vital to the Confederacy.
Alan kept walking, almost aimlessly,
hoping anxiously for someone to approach
him and give some kind of order
or message to send. “Excuse me, Private
Hunt,” said an unfamiliar voice from behind
him. Alan turned around. “Please
come with me,” the man continued. Alan
followed as the man led, saying nothing,
knowing that the soldier had a higher
rank than he. Alan expected that the man
was leading him to one of the generals, or
someone in even higher command, to receive
his next set of orders. The man led
him into the largest of the tents at the end
of the trail. He opened the flap, let Alan
in, and left.
“Good morning, Private Hunt,” said
another man as Alan stepped inside. He
stood at attention, instincts telling him
that he was in the presence of great men.
It was dim in the tent, so it was a few
moments before Alan could make out the
faces in the room, one of whom was the
famous General Lee himself. Lee was sitting
at a table facing the young man, with
a mess of maps, drawings, route marks,
and notes sitting in front of them on the
table. General Lee spoke again.
“At ease, Private.”
Alan complied.
“I’ve been noticing your work for a
while. My comrades have as well.
They have exalted you extensively.
It is in part because of you,” Lee
continued, “that we were able
to defeat the Army of the
Potomac at Fredericksville
and again at Chancellorsville.
You’re good, there’s no doubt
about it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hunt repeated.
“After consultation with these
men, we’ve come to a decision. What I
am about to tell you cannot leave this
tent.” There was a short pause. “Is that
understood?”
“Yes, sir!” Alan’s interest was suddenly
aroused.
“As you know, Vicksburg is one of
the last hold-outs we have left, and despite
our recent winning streak, we have
to be cautious. It is imperative that we
know when the Union will strike. There is
only one way to do this now.” There was
another pause. “Private Hunt, we’ve decided
to make you our spy.”
Alan’s eyes widened as he was struck
with shock. “I know how alarmed you
must feel. If you feel that you can’t do the
job, this is your chance to back out... well,
are you ready, Private Hunt?”
Alan’s mind raced. He didn’t know
what to do or say. After a few moments,
he was quite ready and confident with his
decision and replied, “Yes, sir!”
“Good choice, comrade!” Lee stood
up and his face fell into the light. “Now,
your mission is this.” He started pacing in
front of Alan. “You will get as close to the
enemy as possible and learn as much as
possible. After you have done so, you will
return here. We have provided you with
this pack. It contains food, water, some
other basic necessities, a Union uniform,
and a map detailing your route as well as
the Union camps in the area. You are to go
to any one of the camps indicated on the
map, but we are depending on you to
return with useful information. We have
provided you with a false identity as well.
To the Union, you are Colonel James Searing.”
Lee handed Hunt the pack. “Are
these instructions clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“OK, we are at 05:30 hours. You will
take a designated horse and depart
promptly at 24:00 tonight.”
“Yes, sir!”
“You are excused, Private. Good
luck.”
The two, Alan and Lee, shook hands
firmly. Alan, carrying the bag of items,
walked casually out of the tent, but then
sped up and hurried to his own. With the
journey ahead of him, he decided to catch
up on his sleep ahead of time, despite his
mind still racing.
Behind Union Lines
May 31, 1863
Alan found his way to one of the
Union camps. It took four days and three
nights to get there, minimally stopping
for rest. It was 12:36 hours when Alan
entered the camp on his horse, wearing
the Union uniform. The camp looked
very similar to the Confederate camp at
Vicksburg. Soldiers were running
around, yelling, taking their posts, praying
out loud, and conversing amongst
themselves. Except for the Union uniforms
and flag, the camp was a virtual
replica of the Confederate one.
After tying his horse to one of the trees,
Alan walked confidently down an aisle
formed by the rows of tents. He walked into
the dimly lit tent at the end of one of the
rows. He immediately stood at attention.
“Welcome, Captain Hunt.” Ulysses S.
Grant was sitting in a chair behind a desk,
with his back to Alan.
Alan smiled. “Thank you, sir!”
“At ease, Captain.” Alan responded.
“Did you get the information we
needed?”
“Yes, sir. We are ready to attack, sir.
Vicksburg is weak.”
“Excellent. Tell the men to be ready.”
Grant turned around in his chair, faced
Alan, and smiled. He stood up and moved
toward him. He shook his hand firmly and
said, “Excellent job, Captain. Your efforts
shall soon be rewarded in our victory.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alan replied. They
both motioned to exit the tent.
“By the way,” Grant inquired, “why
are you wearing that colonel uniform? It’s
not yours, is it?”
Alan laughed. “It’s a long story, sir.”
And they both walked off.
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