Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

by The Killer Angels(Lit)

  Blue troops, speckled a long fence. He could see them moving rails.

  Behind him, McLaws said, "Lot of them."

  Longstreet looked up toward the ridge. But he could make out nothing at all. You don't suppose... they moved down here? Forward, off the ridge? How many? You don't suppose a whole Corps?

  He looked around, spied Fairfax, sent him off with word to Lee.

  McLaws said, "What now?"

  "Same plan. You hit them. Hood goes first. You key on his last Brigade. That will be G. T. Anderson."

  "Right."

  Longstreet was running low on aides. He found Goree, sent him off to Hood, telling him to send vedettes ahead to scout the ground. There was not a cavalryman near, not one horse. Longstreet swore. But he was feeling better. Any minute now it would all begin. All hell would break loose and then no more worrying and fretting and fuming; he'd hit straight up that road with everything he had. Never been afraid of that. Never been afraid to lose it all if necessary.

  Longstreet knew himself. There was no fear there. The only fear was not of death, was not of the war, was of blind stupid human frailty, of blind proud foolishness that could lose it all. He was thinking very clearly now. Mind seemed to uncloud like washed glass. Everything cool and crystal.

  He glanced at his watch. Getting on toward four o'clock.

  Good God. Lee's echelon plan would never work. Send messenger to Lee. Let's all go in together. The hell with a plan.

  But no messenger was available. A moment later one of Hood's boys found him, riding slowly forward, watching McLaws moving into position.

  "Sir, message from General Hood. He says his scouts have moved to the right, says there's nothing there. Nothing between us and the Federal train. He suggests most urgently we move around the big hill there and take them from the rear."

  Longstreet sighed. "Sonny boy," he said patiently, disgustedly, "you go back and tell Sam that I been telling General Lee that same damn thing for two days, move to the right, and there aint no point in bringing it up again. Tell him to attack as ordered."

  The young scout saluted and was gone. Longstreet sat alone. And there was happy-eyed Fremantle, dirty and cheery on a ragged horse. He seemed never to change his clothes.

  "General, are things about to commence?"

  "They are indeed." Longstreet grinned. "I suggest you find a convenient tree."

  "I will, oh, I will indeed." He turned, pulling the horse away, then turned back. "Oh, sir, I say, best of luck."

  "Charming," Longstreet said.

  Barksdale's Brigade, Mississippians, was passing him, moving into line. He watched them place all extra baggage, all blankets, all kitbags, and post one lone guard-a frail young man who looked genuinely ill, who sagged against the fence. Longstreet approached and saw that the corn-silk hair was not young, not young at all. The frail young man was a gaunt man with white hair. And he was ill. He opened red eyes, stared vaguely upward.

  "Howdy, General," he said. He smiled feebly.

  Longstreet said, "Can I get you anything?"

  The old man shook his head. He gasped. "Aint nothin' serious. Damn green apples. Damn Yankee apples." He clutched his stomach. Longstreet grinned, moved on.

  He saw Barksdale from a long way off. The famous politician had his hat off and was waving it wildly and his white hair was flowing and bobbing, conspicuous, distinguished. Longstreet was fond of this Brigade. Privately he thought it the best in McLaws' whole Division, but of course he couldn't say so. But everybody knew Mississippi was tough. What was it that old man said back in Chambersburg? "You men of Virginia are gentlemen. But those people from Mississippi." Longstreet grinned. Another fella had said the same thing about Hood's Texans.

  The joke about breastworks. Oh God, let's go.

  The same officer, back from Hood. The face was wary, the voice was firm, "General Hood begs to report, sir, that the enemy has his left flank in the air. He requests your presence, sir, or that of General Lee. He begs to inform you that in his opinion it would be most unwise to attack up the Emmitsburg Road. The ground is very bad and heavily defended. Whereas if we move to the rear, sir, there is no defense all. The enemy has uncovered the Rocky Hill."

  Longstreet said, "Tell General Hood..." Then he thought: they uncovered the Rocky Hill. McLaws has troops in front of him. Good God. They aren't back on the ridge at all; they've moved forward. He took out the map he had drawn of the position, tried to visualize it.

  The Union Army was supposed to be up on the ridge. But it wasn't. It was down in the peach orchard.

  He stared at the map again.

  So Hood had found an opening to the right. Of course.

  Longstreet stared again at his watch. Almost four. Lee was miles away. If I go to him now... He saw again the grave gray face, the dark reproachful eyes. Too late.

  Well, Longstreet thought. Lee wants a frontal assault. I guess he'll have one. He turned to the messenger.

  "Tell General Hood to attack as ordered."

  McLaws and Barksdale came up together. Barksdale was breathing deeply, face pale, ready for the fight. He said, "When do we go in?"

  "In a while, in a while."

  There was a cannon to the right. The beginning? No. Hood was probing with his batteries. Longstreet extracted another cigar. The supply was low. Calmly he told Goree to go get some more. He looked up to see Harry Sellars. Hood's AG. Longstreet thought: Sellars is a good man, the best he has. Hood's trying to impress me. The cannon boomed. Sellars started talking. Longstreet said gently, "Harry, I'm sorry."

  Sellars said, his voice touched with desperation, "General, will you look at the ground? We can't even mount artillery."

  "All right." Longstreet decided to ride with him. Time was running out. Even now, if Lee attacked en echelon, some of the brigades could not attack before dark, unless everything went very smoothly, and it would not go smoothly, not today. Longstreet rode, listening to Sellars, thinking: when you study war it's all so clear. Everybody knows all the movements. General So and So should have done such and such. God knows we all try. We none of us lose battles on purpose. But now on this field what can we do that's undone?

  He came on Hood, preparing to move out. There was something rare in his face; a light was shining from his eyes. Longstreet had heard men talk of Hood's face in a fight, but he had not seen it; the fight had not yet begun. But Hood's eyes, normally so soft and sad, were wide and black as round coals, shining with a black heat.

  Hood said, "General, the ground is strewn with boulders.

  They are dug in all over the ground and there are guns in the rocks above. Every move I make is observed. If I attack as ordered I will lose half my Division, and they will still be looking down our throats from that hill. We must move to the right."

  Longstreet said nothing. He looked down; through thick woods he could begin to see the boulders, great boulders tall as houses, piled one upon another like the wreckage of a vast explosion.

  Hood said, "How can you mount cannon in that?"

  Longstreet: "Sam..." He shook his head. He thought of it again. No. Too late. I cannot go against Lee. Not again. He said, "Sam, the Commanding General will not approve a move to the right. I argued it yesterday. I argued it all morning. Hell, I've been arguing against any attack at all. How can I call this one off? We have our orders. Go on in. We're waiting on you."

  Hood stared at him with the black round eyes. Longstreet felt an overwhelming wave of sadness. They're all going in to die. But he could say nothing. Hood stared at him.

  Hood: "Let me move to the right, up the Round Hill. If I could get a battery up there..."

  Longstreet shook his head. "Not enough time. You'd have to cut trees; it would be dark before you were in action."

  But he was staring upward at the top of the Rocky Hill.

  Everywhere you went, that damned hill looked down on you. The key to the position. Once they got a battery up there. Longstreet said, "You're going to have to take that hill."

>   He pointed.

  Hood said, "They don't even need rifles to defend that. All they need to do is roll rocks down on you."

  Longstreet said, "But you're going to have to take it."

  "General, I do this under protest."

  Longstreet nodded. Hood turned. His staff was waiting.

  He began issuing orders in a low voice. Longstreet backed away. Hood saluted and rode off. Longstreet rode back toward McLaws.

  Goodbye, Sam. You're right. You're the best I've got. If I lose you, I don't know what I'll do. God bless you, Sam.

  Longstreet was rattled. Never been this rattled in a fight.

  But the guns began and the sound livened him. We'll brood later. We'll count the dead and brood later. With any luck at all... but did you see those rocks?

  He rode out into the open. That damned rocky hill stood off to his right, overlooking the field. That they should leave it uncovered was incredible. He saw motion: signal flags?

  Something was up there. Not a battery, not yet. The fire of Hood was spreading. The first brigade had hit. There was no wind now, the air all dead around him. Hood's smoke stayed where it was, then slowly, very slowly, like a huge ghost, the white cloud came drifting gracefully up the ridge, clinging to the trees, drifting and tearing. The second brigade was following. The fire grew. Longstreet moved to where McLaws and Barksdale were standing together.

  Wofford had come up.

  They all stood together, waiting. The old man who was guarding the clothing of that one Mississippi regiment was asleep against the rail fence, his mouth open. Longstreet rode forward with Barksdale. The man was eager to go in.

  McLaws moved back and forth, checking the line.

  There were woods in front of them, to the left a gray farmhouse. The men were scattered all through the trees, red pennants dipped down, rifles bristling like black sticks.

  Longstreet saw a shell burst in the woods ahead, another, another. The Yanks knew they were there, knew they were coming. God, did Meade have the whole Union Army here?

  Against my two divisions?

  McLaws came up. Even McLaws was getting nervous "Well, sir? When do I go in?"

  "Calmly," Longstreet said, "calmly" He stared through his glasses. He could see through the trees a Union battery firing from an orchard on the far side of the road. He said, "We'll all go in directly." Something in Longstreet was savage now; he enjoyed holding them back, the savage power. He could feel the fire building in McLaws, in Barksdale, as water builds behind a damn.

  But it was the point of an echelon attack. You begin on one side. The enemy is pressed and begins to move troops there. At the right moment your attack opens in another place. The enemy does not know where to move troops now, or to move any at all. He delays. He is upset where he is, not quite so definite. With luck, you catch him on the move. He does not realize the attack is en echelon for a while; he thinks perhaps it is a diversion, and he will be hit on another flank. So he waits, and then gradually he is enveloped where he is, and if his line was thin to begin with, you have not allowed him to concentrate, and if he gambled and concentrated, then he is very weak somewhere, and somewhere you break through. So restraint was necessary now, and Longstreet got down off the horse and sat astride the fence for a while, chatting, the fire growing all around him, shells coming down in the woods ahead, beginning to fall in the field around him, and McLaws stood there blinking and Barksdale running fingers through his hair.

  "Not yet, not yet," Longstreet said cheerily, but he got back on his horse and began riding slowly forward into the trees. In the dark of the trees he could smell splintered wood and see white upturned faces with wide white dirty flowers and he looked out to see a battery working steadily, firing into the woods. He heard the first moans but saw no dead.

  Almost time now. At his elbow, Barksdale was saying something, pleading. The Mississippi boys were staring not at Barksdale but at Longstreet. Longstreet looked down.

  "Well," he said, "I guess it's time. If you're ready, sir, why don't you go take that battery, that battery right there?"

  He pointed. Barksdale screamed, waved his hat. The men rose. Barksdale formed them in line, the shells zipping the leaves above them. They stepped out of the woods, Barksdale in front, on foot, forbidden to ride, and Longstreet saw them go off across the field and saw the enemy fire open up, a whole fence suddenly puff into white smoke, and the bullets whirred by and clipped among the leaves and thunked the trees, and Longstreet rode out into the open and took off his hat. Barksdale was going straight for the guns, running, screaming, far out in front, alone, as if in a race with all the world, hair streaming like a white torch.

  Longstreet rode behind him, his hat off, waving, screaming, Go! Go you Mississippi! Go!

  4. CHAMBERLAIN.

  ... heard the cannon begin. sat up. Kilrain sat up.

  Tom Chamberlain went on sleeping, mouth open, saintly young, at peace. .

  Chamberlain said, "That's mostly in the west."

  Kilrain cocked his head, listening. "I thought the Rebs were all up at Gettysburg." He looked at Chamberlain, eyes dark. "You don't suppose they're flanking us again."

  The cannons were blossoming, filling the air with thunder, far enough away to soften and roll, not angry yet, but growing.

  "At Chancellorsville they came in on the right. This time they could be on the left."

  "Do you think they'll ever learn, our goddamn generals?"

  Chamberlain shook his head. "Wait."

  The men in the field were stirring. Some of the newer men were pulling the tent halves down, but the others, professionals, had rolled over and were staring m the direction of the firing. The corn popper remained asleep.

  Chamberlain thought: Alert the men? Some of them were looking to him. One stood up, yawned, stretched, glanced unconcernedly in his direction. Not yet. Chamberlain put the novel away.

  Kilrain said, "That's a whole division.

  Chamberlain nodded.

  "Good thing their artillery aint very good.

  A rider had come over the crest of the hill, was loping down through the tall grass among the boulders. Chamberlain stood up. The courier saluted.

  "Colonel Vincent's compliments, sir. You are instructed to form your regiment."

  Chamberlain did not ask what was going on. He felt a coolness spreading all the way through him. He began buttoning his shirt as the courier rode off-no hurry, why hurry?-and began slipping on the belt and saber. When he was done with that he began smoothing his hair, yawned, grinned, turned to Tozier.

  "Sergeant, have the Regiment fall in."

  He looked down on Tom, sleeping Tom. Mom's favorite.

  He'll be all right. Did not want to wake him. Delayed a moment, buttoned his collar. Hot day for that. Shadows growing longer. Cool soon. He nudged Tom with his foot.

  Tom groaned, licked his lips, groaned again, opened his eyes.

  "Hey, Lawrence." He blinked and sat up, heard the thunder. "What's happening?"

  "Let's go," Chamberlain said.

  "Right." He jumped to his feet. Chamberlain walked out into the sun. Some of the men were in line, forming by companies. The Regiment was bigger now; Chamberlain was glad of the new men. Ellis Spear had come sleepily up, disarranged, eyes wide. Chamberlain told him to bring everybody, cooks and prisoners, sick-call people. Chamberlain took a deep breath, smelled wet grass, hay, felt his heart beating, looked up into God's broad sky, shivered as a thrill passed through him. He looked down through the woods.

  The whole Brigade was forming.

  And nothing happened. The guns thundered beyond the hill. They were in line, waiting. Chamberlain looked at his watch. Not quite four. The men were remarkably quiet, most of them still sleepy. Sergeant Ruel Thomas, an orderly, reported from sick call. Chamberlain nodded formally.

  Meade had ordered every soldier to action, even the Provost Guards. This was it, the last great effort. Don't think now: rest.

  Here, at last, was Vincent, riding at a
gallop down the long slope. He reined up, the horse rising and kicking the air. All the faces watched him.

  "Colonel, column of fours. Follow me."

  Chamberlain gave the order, mounted, feeling weak. No strength in his arms. Vincent gave orders to aides: they galloped away. Vincent said, "They're attacking the left flank. Sickles has got us in one hell of a jam."

  They began moving up the slope. The Twentieth Maine came after them, four abreast. Vincent was shaking his handsome head.

  "Damn fool. Unbelievable. But I must say, remarkably beautiful thing to see."

  They moved up between rocks. The artillery fire was growing, becoming massive. They found a narrow road leading upward: high ground ahead. Vincent spurred his horse, waved to Chamberlain to come on. They galloped across a wooden bridge, a dark creek, then up a narrow farm road. The firing was louder. A shell tore through the trees ahead, smashed a limb, blasted rock. Fragments spattered the air.