The Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Chamberlain looked in the direction of the creek, the wide, empty ground, began to feel the heat, the raw fury, thought, We cannot hold here all day. Where are you?

  He rode a short way toward the creek, the field scattered with his men, many wounded, some men bending low over still bodies. He glanced at the rebel line, saw men moving out in a low crouch, moving toward their own wounded, dragging men back to the works. He took a deep breath, and for one moment there was silence, a complete calm, the smoke gone, and he looked out over the open ground, could see fresh dirt, furrows in the ground. Of course, he thought, it is planting time, but that will have to wait for now. He glanced at the scattered bodies, the dead. If we bury them here, he thought, what then? Is this s 'll I 1 1 at ti a farm) Will you go on as if nothing had happened) He looked the farmhouse, was suddenly curious, wondered about the people, thought, Probably a woman, maybe children. There would be no man, no able-bodied farmer. He would be gone, maybe dead himself, or maybe... right over there, behind those works. Maybe he's fighting on his own property. How odd, you could never have expected this, what must it feel like? Does it make you a better soldier?

  No, stop this, he thought, trying to clear his mind. Your brain again, you still think too much. He looked down the line of blue, saw men still falling In, the quiet, the lull, now drawing them up from behind. He looked back toward Gravelly Run, thought, There are still men there, there always are some, hiding, men paralyzed by the panic. He saw troops moving near the water, the provosts, the awful duty, finding the ones who ran, and if they did not return to the line, to arrest them, haul them to the stockade. He shook his head, thought, It is always like that, in every fight. Some men will suddenly come apart, something inside of them suddenly opens up, breaks out in a blinding madness. He recalled the firing squad, the execution of the deserters, the image always there, somewhere deep in his mind. No, we will not do that, not in this brigade, not if I can help it. But if they leave this field, if they run far enough and are caught... then I cannot help it.

  He saw horsemen now, flags, Griffin, let out a breath, Finally.

  Behind the horsemen came a column of troops, men moving double time Chamberlain tried to see the numbers, the strength as Griffin reined up, said, "That's a strong line over there, General. We have prisoners from Anderson's division. They say more are coming, a lot more. No surprise, Lee has to move out this way, can't allow us to keep pushing north."

  Chamberlain was watching GrIffin's face' thought, We did not do... what we were supposed to do. We were repulsed.

  Griffin was scanning the rebel lines, said, "Behind those woods... the White Oak Road. Very important, it's their main artery from this area back to Petersburg. The Southside Railroad is Just above. If we can take the road... they have no choice but to pull back, protect the railroad."

  Chamberlain absorbed the words as Griffin pulled out a map. Chamberlain thought, He doesn't seem to be too upset that we were pushed back. He felt a sudden wave of relief.

  Griffin was already moving beyond what had just happened, looked again at the rebel line, said, "General Chamberlain, we need those works. If you can move the enemy out of there by nightfall, we will be in strength here. The rest of the corps is behind us, and the Second is moving up on our right. We must hold here, keep Lee from pushing us back below the creek." Griffin's voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

  Chamberlain watched Griffin still scanning the map, thought, We tried once, but... Andersons whole division? That means we're up against... maybe four, five thousand men.

  Now Griffin looked at him, said, "Are you not clear about something, General? " Chamberlain cleared his throat, said, "Sir, how close is the rest of the corps? May we expect... support? " Griffin looked out toward Chamberlain's men, said, "If you can move the enemy out of those works, and hold that line for a while, you'll get all the support you need. There is no time to lose, General. General Sheridan has his hands full. We need to hold on here, keep Lee from moving any farther west."

  Griffin was looking at the map again, said something to a staff officer. Chamberlain looked across the open ground, past the farmhouse, the sawdust pile. He raised his field glasses, took in the rebel line, saw flags spread all along the wall, knew each one meant numbers, strength. He thought of Gettysburg then, of that rocky hill, those men from Alabama who had come at him, trying time after time to take that hill. Now that's... us. At least here... it's not uphill.

  He put the glasses down, and Griffin patted him on the shoulder, "Now, General!" Sal HEY ADVANCED WITHOUT FIRING, THE LINE FIRM AGAIN, MOVing forward quickly. Behind the works, the rebels met them -with one solid volley, cutting holes in the blue line, but then Chamberlain's men were up, climbing over the cut trees, men firing their muskets right into the faces of the enemy.

  Chamberlain was just beyond the sawdust pile, saw his men still pouring fire straight into the enemy's position, could hear the horrible sounds, the musket fire now replaced by the bayonet and the sword, the clash of steel, the grunts and shouts of men grabbing each other, clubbing with empty muskets, the hollow screams of men driven by the power of the beast, men ripped down by fists and feet, knives and boots.

  He moved the horse up closer, pulled his pistol, tried to find a target in the swarming mass of men around him, aimed, then held up, the chaos now complete, the targets swirling together into one mass of confusion. He raised the pistol again, saw a man swinging down hard on a blue soldier with the butt of a musket, a huge man with a bearded face, eyes now looking up at him, staring at Chamberlain with the bloody fire of some terrible demon. The man smiled, staring right at him, and Chamberlain aimed the pistol, pulled the trigger, his hand jumping with the blast. There was smoke, then he saw the man still staring at him, but the eyes were different now, the demon gone, and the man slowly dropped to his knees and fell forward.

  Chamberlain heard his name, saw an officer, yelling, waving him away, heard the man say something, then again, now heard the words, "Sir! Get back! Move back!"

  He looked into the mass of the fight again, thought, One hundred fifty yards behind the line... Men were swarming out on both sides of him, all along the log wall, the fight now all around him. He turned the horse, thought, You damned fool, get out of here. He spurred the horse, crouched low, saw a rebel officer suddenly right in front of him, the face of a boy, a long sword in the man's hand, and the sword went up, the man aiming for the legs of the horse. Chamberlain raised the pistol again, fired into the man's chest, moved quickly past him, did not look back, thought, Keep moving, go!

  He saw staff officers now, Sergeant Arthur with the flag, and he turned, could still see the fight across the enemy's works. Men were shouting all around him, officers giving orders, some with wounds. Others now moved back, away from the fight, with bloody faces, torn clothes.

  He moved the horse again, could see the woods beyond the wall, men up in the trees, sharpshooters taking slow, careful aim. Then he saw more men moving forward, coming out of the woods, more flags, rebel troops moving right into the fight, fresh muskets, and he could hear more of that horrible sound, a rising chorus of rebel yells.

  His men began to climb back out of the rebel works, some crouching low, reloading muskets, some without weapons at all, some snatching up muskets from the arms of the dead. He could still see beyond the wall, a cluster of blue moving across the road, straight into the oncoming rush of the enemy. He felt a thrill, thought, Yes, move ahead. Then he saw the rebels around them and stared in horror, recalling the men who had come by him before, near the creek, and he thought, My God... prisoners... my men.

  Chamberlain turned the horse, saw officers pulling their men back, trying to keep some order, pulling away from the rebel works, but there was no order, men firing blindly, more now climbing away from the enemy. He yelled, pointed, and an officer saw him, moved a few men into one small line. They loaded their muskets, the order was given, a small piece of command, and the muskets swept away a group of rebels climbing over the wall.
<
br />   His men were beginning to pull away, some organization forming now, small lines of musket fire holding the enemy back, keeping them away just long enough for the blue soldiers to make an orderly retreat. Chamberlain moved away from the road, toward the farmhouse, saw his men in a neat row, kneeling, firing. He rode toward the sawdust pile, saw rebels on both sides of it now, moving forward, pressing the retreat. His men were holding their position, firing in waves, the volleys growing, blowing in both directions, the waves of smoke drifting across. He held tight to the horse, stared for a long moment, and now his men began to move back again, slowly giving ground. The horse abruptly moved forward, pulled him into a cloud of smoke, and he could see nothing, the sounds of the fight suddenly all around him again. He pulled hard at the leather straps, jerked the horse to the side, and now a deafening blast of musket fire blew past him. The horse lurched forward in full panic, dashing through the smoke. He tried to hold it back, pulled hard on the reins. He could see the works again, the logs draped with the bodies of men, and the horse now rose up, threw him back. He lunged forward, grabbed the horse's mane, gripped the thick hair, thought, Damn you, stop! Behind him, he heard shouts, his own men, more horses, heard his name, a staff officer, but the horse still bucked him.

  He yelled, "Turn around!" In front of him there was a great flash of musket fire, and the horse rose again, its front legs pawing the air. He felt a hard punch in his chest, then was slammed down hard on the horse's neck. He wrapped his arms around the horse, felt a flood of wetness. The horse was running now, and he gripped the mane, his hat blown off. He could see nothing, the smoke choking him as he held tight to the mane, the blood now soaking his shirt. He could see red spreading down the horse's neck, his face pressed into it. Chamberlain thought, Oh God... both of us... He leaned back, out of control, his hand not holding the reins, and he caught a blurry glimpse of the sleeve, the coat ripped into bloody shreds. He tried to grab the reins, could not feel his hand or flex his fingers, his face soaked by the blood of the horse. He thought, No, not an arm... please, God, don't take my arm. The horse jerked again, and he dropped the pistol, grabbed at the mane with his right hand, but now the horse reared back and then down, Chamberlain thrown forward, his head slamming hard into the bloody wound on the horse's neck.... E WAS STILL ON THE HORSE, FELT A HAND INSIDE HIS SHIRT, could hear voices, distant echoes of sound. He tried to shake his head, clear his eyes, felt a rag rubbed across his face, heard a soft voice.

  "My dear general, you are gone."

  Chamberlain opened his eyes, focused, saw Griffin's face close to his, realized that Griffin was holding him up. He tried to move, felt a sharp pain through his ribs, then looked at his left arm, saw the fingers, thick with dried blood, flexed them, flexed them again, felt a great flood of relief, said, "Well, no, not just yet... He turned, his ribs screaming, saw a staff officer, and the surgeon who had a handful of bandages and was frowning, waiting to do his good work. Chamberlain gritted his teeth, sat up in the saddle, and Griffin released him, surprised. Chamberlain looked at the horse's neck, saw the hole, the thick blood still flowing.

  "Is it mortal?" he asked.

  The surgeon said, "No, Sir, not to worry. The bullet tore your sleeve, punched through your orders book, apparently, and moved... around you. Came out..." He pointed to Chamberlain's back, touched a tear in Chamberlain's coat. right here." The surgeon was Fl-eased with himself.

  Chamberlain was suddenly annoyed, said, "No, doctor the horse!"

  "Oh, well, no, Sir. The horse took the bullet before you did, probably saved your life. It passed through his neck, but just the muscle. We can patch that up as well."

  Griffin was staring at Chamberlain's face, said, "Doctor the blood."

  Chamberlain felt his face, the crusty goo, his hair a thick nnat, saw now that his shirt was dark red.

  The doctor said, "From the horse, Sir. Chamberlain could hear musket fire now, said, "What how are we doing?"

  Griffin backed away, still looking at him with horror, and Chamberlain tried to clear his brain again, gazed out toward the sounds.

  Griffin leaned closer, took another look at him, said, "We are holding the line, General. A few more minutes and I'll have you a battery. Are you... sure you're all right?"

  Chamberlain felt the tender ribs again, winced, said, "I am fit for duty, Sir."

  He could see the smoke now, a new volley of musket fire, thought, We're... still in place, they're still behind the works. He looked down at the horse, spurred it lightly, and the horse moved forward, ready for the next command. He touched the neck, and the surgeon handed him a small bandage, rolled into the shape of a plug. Chamberlain stuck the bandage into the hole, and the horse quivered, then snorted.

  Chamberlain looked at Griffin, said, "General, when will those guns be here?"

  Griffin turned, looking to the rear.

  "Anytime now. just hold on."

  Then Griffin moved away, and another man rode up, sweating" his face covered with dust. He reined up, looked at Chamberlain with wide eyes, said, "General Chamberlain, we have a problem... on the right, Sir. The enemy is reinforcing, Sir." The man looked closely at Chamberlain's face, said, "Are you... all right, Sir?"

  He thought, I have to see a mirror, reached into his coat, felt the metal frame of the small shaving mirror, pulled it from his pocket, a small shower of glass falling into his hands. He said, "The bullet seems to have made another stop in its travels.)) E PUSHED THE HORSE HARD, FOLLOWED THE WAVE OF HIS MEN, the momentum now driving the enemy away on the flank. For the moment, the crisis was over. They were pressing the enemy back into the woods, and there were small works here too, fresh cut trees. He wanted to jump the horse across, move closer to his men, thought, One hundred fifty yards behind the line. He stopped, looked at the horse, saw the head go down, the strength fading, thought, No, dear God... hang on, old man. He jumped down, turned the horse toward the rear, gave him a swat on the rump, and the horse began to move away from the fighting.

  Climbing up on the works, Chamberlain saw his men firing, saw bodies everywhere. Right below him, beside him, a man was sprawled faceup against the trees, the eyes wide, ghastly. He made himself look away, jumped down and felt for the pistol, moved toward his men, and suddenly they were not men in blue. The smoke washed past him, exposing different men, wearing ragged brown and tan, men with rough beards, barefoot, screaming. He thought of firing the pistol, turned, suddenly looked at the small black hole of a musket, the point of the bayonet right under his chin. There were voices, more bayonets.

  One man said, "You are mine, Yankee. Surrender or die."

  Chamberlain stared at the musket, then slowly looked up at the man's face, blackened with dirt, red eyes, no smile, no emotion, just the business of the fight. The man looked at Chamberlain's coat, the dirt and blood blended into dull filth, and Chamberlain saw a moment of doubt, a small question, and said, "Surrender?" He thought of the man's words, the perfect drawl, and said to him in a voice as close as he could to the one he'd just heard, "What's the matter with you) What do you take me for) The fight's... thatawaysl" The muskets were lowered, the men behind looking toward the works, toward their own line, where the Yankees had pushed them back. Now more rebels were moving past, the flow going forward, and Chamberlain looked at the man, saw the bayonet moving away, the man still looking at him, still not sure. Chamberlain moved then, said, "Come on, boys! Follow me!"

  He reached the works, saw his own men on, the far side, muskets aimed at him, then the faces, confusion, the muskets again rising toward the men behind him, the rebels following him across the works. He rushed straight at his men, thought, Dear God, let them see... Nowithey moved forward, a sudden lunge, muskets firing, bayonets clashing together, but there were too many men in blue, and suddenly the small group of rebels was surrounded, hands went up, muskets hit the ground. He looked back, saw the stunned surprise, saw the one man, his captor, looking at him. The man slowly nodded, looked to the ground, a quiet salute.


  His men began to pull away from the works now. There was another lull, a breath of silence, and he moved with them, saw officers on horseback and walked that way, felt the stiffness in his ribs, the arm throbbing. The officers saw him and there were salutes, men with wide eyes.

  One man said, "Sir... are you all right?" He looked at the man, familiar, then recalled his name and smiled; Major McEuen.

  "I believe so," he said.

  "Tend to your line, pull them together. We're not through here yet."

  McEuen turned, shouted something behind him, and now there was a horse, a heavy white mare. Chamberlain looked at McEuen, said, "Thank you, Major. I'll try to take good care of her."

  He climbed up, his side ripping with the pain, and felt the ribs, the wetness. Yes, the bullet was not that kind, had ripped into him more than he realized, a neat tear under his shirt, his skin split around his side. He looked at McEuen again, saw the concern, and McEuen said, "You sure, Sir? We can have you escorted to the rear...."

  Chamberlain heard the sound, the ball coming right past him, heard the impact, the sharp punch. McEuen looked at him with sudden surprise, shocked, his mouth open, now reached out a hand. Chamberlain reached for the hand, McEuen's fingertips just touching his, watched as the young man fell forward, off the horse, hard to the ground. Men were off their horses in sudden jumps, turned the young man over. There was blood now on McEuen's chest, his eyes staring away. Chamberlain closed his eyes, could not look at the face, thought, You cannot... you must not stop.