“We'll move then,” Forrest said. “Captain Anderson!” “Yes, sir?”

“Colonel McCulloch's brigade is at Sharon's Ferry along the Forked Deer, right?” Forrest said. Anderson nodded. Forrest went on, “And General Bell's got his brigade up at Eaton, in Gibson County?” He waited.

Charles Anderson nodded again. “Yes, sir, that's where he was last we heard from him.”

Forrest waved dismissively. “Yankees haven't got enough men up there to shift him, so that's where he's at, all right. How many soldiers you reckon McCulloch and Bell put together have?”

Anderson's eyes took on a faraway look. Under his mustache, his lips moved silently. He wore a neat beard much like Bedford Forrest's. “I'd say about fifteen hundred, sir.”

“ 'Bout what I ciphered out for myself. Wanted to make sure you were with me.” Forrest's gaze sharpened. “Now, Captain, how many Yankees d'you suppose Fort Pillow holds?”

“It can't have half that many.” This time, Anderson didn't hesitate, though he did add, “They've got a gunboat out in the river to support the place.”

“That's bluff country,” Forrest said. “Gunboat won't be able to see up high enough to do 'em much good. Send orders to McCulloch and Bell, Captain. Get 'em moving tomorrow. I want them to hit Fort Pillow first thing Tuesday morning. We will take it away from the United States, and we will free this part of Tennessee from Yankee oppression. “

“Yes, sir,” Anderson said once more. “General Bell in overall command?”

“No, General Chalmers.” Forrest made a sour face. He'd tried to have James Chalmers posted somewhere other than under his command, but he'd been overruled both here in the West and by the War Department in Richmond. Chalmers was a good – better than a good – cavalry officer, but not respectful enough of those set above him. In that way, and in some others, he was more than a little like Forrest himself, though he had the education his superior lacked.