The Last Full Measure

by Jeff Shaara

  Sheridan turned, his mouth still open, looked up across the field, looked back at Chamberlain again, said, "Well... don't fire into my cavalry!"

  Now Ayres was there, and Chamberlain let out a long breath. Sheridan recognized Ayres, yelled, louder, "General Ayres, you are firing into my cavalry!"

  Ayres leaned forward, looked at Chamberlain, and Chamberlain thought, I should tell him, said quickly, a short burst, "Sir, Gwyn is in on the right."

  Ayres glanced up, searching, nodded to Chamberlain, looked at Sheridan, said, "General, we are firing at the people who are firing at us! I don't hear any carbine shots... those are muskets, the enemy's muskets. I ought to know, General!"

  Sheridan's face exploded into red again. Abruptly, he )erked at his horse, rode away through the blue lines moving up from behind. Chamberlain watched him, thought, My cavalry? I thought it was our cavalry.

  Ayres was watching Sheridan as well, then looked briefly at Chamberlain, said, "Fine work, General. We are back in the fight."

  Chamberlain saluted.

  "We're in the works, Sir." He turned, the musket fire slowing, said, "I would suggest, Sir... that way."

  Ayres shouted, and a bugler blew out a short command. The wave of blue began to move forward, adding to the strength, pushing into the rebel works, the fight now moving farther above the road. Ayres looked again at Chamberlain, said, "Don't fire into my men, General."

  H

  E HAD MOVED PAST THE REBEL WORKS, HIS OWN MEN, strengthened by Ayres's division, now moving the rebels back. There was still a fight, small pockets of rebels, led by officers who would not retreat. The fight had become disorganized, chaotic, and as the men in blue moved forward, there were sudden bursts of fire all around, hand-to-hand fighting rolling across the line as small groups of rebels tried to hold their ground.

  He moved again with his own brigade, the staff watching him with relief, men who were becoming used to the man who did not obey what they had all been trained to recite: one hundred fifty yards behind the lines.

  The fight was in all directions now, rebels suddenly appearing out of small depressions, over low hills. Chamberlain was looking behind them, saw a mass of troops emerge from brush. His heart lumped, and he yelled, "Turn... prepare to fire... by the rear rank!" The men close to him spun quickly around, saw the rebels moving close and raised their muskets. Suddenly, the rebels began to drop their muskets, hands went up, and the hand-to-hand combat was no longer combat at all.

  The rebels gathered around the raised bayonets of the blue troops, men shouting, "Surrender... we surrender!"

  Chamberlain stared in amazement, saw many rebels now, many more than the men they were surrendering to, and the blue troops were backing up slowly, nervous, unsure. Chamberlain thought, If they see how few we are, any one of them... they can Just pick up their muskets.

  "To the rear!" be shouted, pointing. Glancing down at his men, he motioned with his hand, the urgent silent command, spread out, move around them. Quickly, the prisoners were eased away from their muskets, and slowly began to drift back, away from the fight. He watched them for a moment, thought, Now that was interesting... The fight was still in front of him, and he could see more groups of rebels moving to the rear, escorted by the bayonets of their enemy.

  He moved forward again, saw a hard line of rebels, stronger. His men were kneeling, firing into brush, small stands of trees. The volleys flew out in both directions now, and Chamberlain moved the horse forward, was surrounded by bodies, down in the tall grass, realized the horse was stepping right across many dead, many more wounded. The sounds began to rise up from the grass around him, the horrible cries that he had heard on so many fields, so many bloody fights. He still moved forward, dropped down into a shallow depression, saw his men huddled close to the ground, a long line now stopped, men holding tight to the muskets, waiting for... something, as though if they just held here, in this one safe place, it would end. They began to see him, and men slowly stood, watching him. He pointed up, over the rise in front of them, the strong line of rebels still in place, still full of the fight, said, "Up, move forward! It's almost done! We have broken their flank!"

  More men stood, and he looked around, saw officers, a young lieutenant, and Chamberlain said, "Get them up, they want to follow you! Lead them!"

  The young man looked at him, dazed, his eyes blank. Chamberlain saw the man's shirt now, saw blood, a dark stain, and the man said nothing, stared past him. Chamberlain looked beyond the man, erased him quickly from his mind, gazed out across the wide depression. There was another officer, familiar. Chamberlain fought for the name... yes, Major Glenn, and Chamberlain knew now, these men... the 198th Pennsylvania, thought, These are fighting men, there is no line anywhere they cannot cross. He felt a rush of energy. Yes, we will push, or capture them all!

  He yelled to Glenn, "Major, get these men up! If you break that line you shall have a colonel's commission!" Glenn saluted, grinning', began to move, and Chamberlain thought, Yes, he always had the fire, then thought of himself, the green commander who didn't know how to do any of this, just that it had to be done. Chamberlain watched Glenn move up the hill. This is your time, he thought. Make your mark on these men, take them into the fight!

  Glenn shouted, "Boys, will you follow me?" There was a cheer, the men moving up the rise, a hard surge forward, and now the rebels could see their targets, and a sudden blast poured from the line of logs, but the men did not stop, rushed forward as one wave, were now up and over the low works. Chamberlain spurred the horse, moved up behind them, heard the voices, loud and strong, the sounds of the fight now swept away by the sounds of the fire in his men.

  It was over in a few minutes, and he rode forward again, felt a strange pride. I can tell them... to do anything. We cannot be stopped! He wanted to laugh, felt alive, the excitement taking over.

  The job was done, the work, leading the men, commanding the brigade, now something else. He said the word to himself... victory, wanted to yell it, waved his hat, something he had never done, something from a storybook, the glorious thrill, the pure joy.

  Men were falling back now, many with prisoners, small groups, then larger ones. He wanted to count them, thought, No, we will learn that soon enough. But I want to know... Then he saw the wounded, men carrying an officer, and he felt something turn inside him, gripped the hat hard in his hand, saw it was Glenn. The men saw Chamberlain, moved close, lay the young man down, and Chamberlain climbed down from the horse, felt a wave of sickness, leaned over.

  Glenn's face was gray as he looked up at Chamberlain.

  "General," said in a quiet voice, "I have carried out your wishes."

  Chamberlain nodded dumbly, could say nothing, thought, I did this. I chose him.

  One of the men kneeled down close to Chamberlain, said, "He was carrying the colors, Sir. The color bearer was down, and Major Glenn... he took the flag. It was... glorious, Sir."

  Chamberlain looked at the man, looked past him, thought, Glorious is that what this is?

  He looked at Glenn closely now, the man fighting for the one breath, but the fight was past, and Chamberlain saw the soft peace cover the man's face. Chamberlain leaned low, close to the man's face, said, "Colonel, I will remember my promise."

  He stood then, a last glance at the young man's face, turned to the horse, leaned on the saddle, thought, You have to remember... you can never forget this. This is what a soldier does, this is what you volunteered for. You make the decisions, you make the choices, you stand up to God and claim in all your arrogance that you are in command.

  He closed his eyes, felt a great need to pray, but not here, not on ground like this, not while the fight still echoed around him. He opened his eyes again, thought, No, this is not the time, I cannot do anything but... what I have to do.

  Crawford's division had finally come into the fight, far up the road that led north, away from Five Forks. It could have been disastrous, Crawford coming in alone, separated from the rest of the corp
s. But in fact it was the best place he could have been. As the rebels retreated, they ran right into the arms of Crawford's men, and so by dark there was no fight, no enemy left in front of the Federal troops. The rebels that did not find capture simply dissolved into the countryside, the scattered remnants of ten thousand of Lee's most veteran troops. The critical junction of Five Forks was now firmly in Federal Sheridan had no difficulty pushing up hands, and I past the Southside Railroad, cutting , Petersburg's last artery of supplying of blue By the next morning Lee's army was enclosed by a r' that stretched from east of Petersburg, from the Appomattox River, southward, then out to the west, until the tightening cord wound north again and secured its flank on the same river.

  In the camps the men gathered in quiet celebration, the complete victory, the crushing blow to Lee's right flank. THEY WERE IN THE FORKS ITSELF, THE INTERSECTION THAT spread the roadways out in all directions. it was nearly dark, a last glow framing the treetops in the west. Chamberlain sat on the horse, saw the animal licking at i s leg, a small hole, another wounded horse that would remember him. Griffin was in the center, surrounded by the rest, Bartlett, Ayres, Crawford. off to the side of the road the staff officers mingled together in small conversation, low voices.

  Griffin looked around, said, "Gentlemen, I have the order here. I should read it aloud, make it official."

  The horses shifted, the men quiet, attentive. Griffin read, "Major General Warren, commanding the Fifth Army Corps, is relieved from duty and will at once report for orders to Lieutenant General Grant, Commanding, Armies of the United States. By command of Major General Sheridan."

  There was no sound, no surprise. The word had come to all of them as the last of the fight died away. Warren had not been in the fight, had infuriated Sheridan for the final time. Warren had asked Sheridan with as much dignity as he could muster to reconsider the order, but Sheridan was angry and direct, and the order would stand. Now Warren was already gone, had ridden slowly away from his corps, and all who saw him knew this was the end of his career, his pride and his dignity swept away by the anger and impatience of Phil Sheridan.

  There had been another order, but Griffin did not read it. The men all knew this as well, did not need him to inform them that Sheridan had ordered Major General Charles Griffin to assume command of the Fifth Corps.

  They sat in silence, a dull shock, and Chamberlain saw a horseman moving up through the trees. He ended the silent moment, said, "Sir... it's General Sheridan."

  The faces turned, and Sheridan rode up quickly, was smiling, filled with the glow of a man who has had his way.

  "We have smashed them! This has been a magnificent day!" He paused, saw the subdued looks, said, "Gentlemen, I may have spoken harshly to some of you today. But I would not have it hurt you. You know how it is, we had to carry this place, and I fretted all day until it was done. You must forgive me. I know it is hard on the men too, but we must push on. There is more for us to do together." He looked down briefly, then around at each one of them, said, "I appreciate and thank you all."

  He turned abruptly, rode away into darkening woods. Chamberlain looked at Griffin, saw him staring in surprise, his eyes blinking, disbelieving. Griffin said, "So... we have learned something about Phil Sheridan."

  There were quiet murmurs, then a pause, and Chamberlain ran that through his mind, thought, We have learned... what? That Sheridan is not a man to dig trenches, and not a man to be kept waiting? He felt angry now, thought of Warren, No, he was never the perfect commander, he would never win great battles. But he is a good man, a careful man. Sheridan is not careful. But he is different from Warren, from Meade. Yes, there is the lesson. He is not different from Grant.

  Griffin said something, a quiet good night, and the men began to ride in separate directions. Chamberlain waited, was alone now, heard the slow sounds of hoofbeats moving away. He thought of Warren again, thought, You were a thinker. You thought too much, you took too much care. He suddenly felt he had learned something new, another lesson. Wars are not won by thinkers. He thought then of Major Glenn, of McEuen, others, Strong Vincent, Buster Kilrain. There were more, many more, and he stopped trying to recall them, thought of this afternoon, of trying to pray. No, there is no time for that, not as long as we do this. That is the lesson. This war will be won by the men who move forward, who do not stop to question what they do or what the consequences will be. It is not cause or country or the fellow beside you. It is simple and direct. The rebels were winning this war when they had men like Jackson. Now we are winning this war because we have men like Sheridan. Whether Warren's removal was justified or Glenn's death was my fault doesn't matter now. Those questions will be answered later. Now, we will simply move forward.

  43. LEE

  APRIL 2, 1865 LONGSTREET HAD ARRIVED, AND THE LAST OF THE STRONG DEfenses above the James was coming with him, still moving into Petersburg on the rough and battered rail line. Richmond was now defended by little more than scattered remnants of smaller units, cavalry and infantry, plus the home guard, the men commanded by Dick Ewell.

  Lee had heard the sounds of the fight from the west, but nothing from Pickett. He bad only the scouting reports of the cavalry, the small skirmish line that picked at the great Federal surge on the east side of Five Forks. He'd sent Anderson's troops farther west, at first, to link up with Pickett, to fill the gap in the line on the White Oak Road. But Anderson was too late, could only dig in and face the great force that routed Pickett at Five Forks. Anderson was now the right flank. With Pickett's men swept away, Anderson was the new end of the line.

  All night Lee had heard the sounds, the skirmishers firing at his defenses all along the line, all the way from the James River, all down below the city. The big guns had kept up the demonstration as well, and Lee had stayed awake, eyes wide, staring into darkness, uncomfortable now in the soft bed. By late night he knew the worst, that the strong right flank, the force that had kept Sheridan at bay for two days, was now gone, completely erased from the picture. With the first light would come the new reports, what he already knew inside, estimates, thousands of prisoners, a defeat as complete and quick as any he had suffered.

  The demonstrations meant something, and Lee had listened to a different sound, not the usual blind bombardment. They were picking a spot, many vulnerable places, the line so weakened that on many of the parapets of the long earthworks, Lee's men stood nearly twenty feet apart. By now Grant knows what happened to us at Five Forks, knows we have stretched this line yet again, stretched it so far that at almost any place he wants to, he can drive a spear, a hard wedge of power, and split us completely apart.

  T WAS FOGGY, THE DULL LIGHT MAKING ITS WAY INTO THE ROOM. Lee sat at a long table, stared down at the smoothness, the polished wood, looked slowly up at the grim face of Longstreet.

  Longstreet said, "Is anything known of Pickett?" Lee shook his head, said, "You mean, the man? No, nothing. He could be captured. He may not have survived. His troops are scattered.

  Longstreet held a small pipe, looked at it, said, "He gave it his best. Always did."

  Lee leaned back in the chair, was feeling very tired, the long sleepless night dragging on him, his patience frayed, washed away by the frustration of not knowIng. He'd had doubts about the plan from the beginning, of trusting the important position to a man who wore the shroud of defeat, who had not recovered and learned and grown, who could not be relied upon, not anymore. He was angry now at Longstreet, the blind loyalty, thought, You were not here, you don't know what happened. Your confidence in General Pickett is not justified.

  He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, held it in. No, it serves no purpose. He looked at Longstreet, thought, You have always been where I needed you to be. We must think of now. We must move on.

  Lee said, "I have not heard from him. I can tell you nothing more."

  There was noise from outside, boots on the porch, and the door opened. It was Hill, the small man pale behind the red beard, moving slowly, uncertain. Hill
looked at Longstreet and straightened, surprised. He said to Lee, "General, I hope you are well this morning. General Longstreet, welcome." There was a weary softness in Hill's voice.

  Longstreet nodded, said simply, "General Hill." There was a silent pause, an awkward moment, Hill still not certain he should be there.

  Lee said, "General Hill, please sit down. We are grateful for your return. You look in fine form, if I may say. I wish I could respond that we are all quite fit, but I am afraid that may not be the case."

  Hill sat slowly, looked at Lee, confused, said, "I am fit, Sir. Thank you. It is good to be here. The men... my troops are full of the fight, Sir. It is healing... to see that, to hear them salute me like that."

  Lee looked down, said, "Yes, General, the men... there is loyalty there that still... impresses me. I am gratified to hear of the morale of your corps. However, our situation may not be so... pleasant." There was an edge to Lee's voice.

  Hill glanced again at Longstreet, and Longstreet said, "General Hill, I am glad to see you here. We have serious work in front of us."