Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

by The Killer Angels(Lit)

  "Half expect 'em to come in from behind."

  Chamberlain said, "Did you hear Morrill's Company?"

  "No, sir. Couldn't hear nothing in that mess."

  "Tom?"

  Tom shook his head. He had the look of a man who has just heard a very loud noise and has not yet regained his hearing. Chamberlain felt a sudden moment of wonderful delight. He put out a hand and touched his brother's cheek.

  "You stay down, boy."

  Tom nodded, wide-eyed. "Damn right," he said.

  Chamberlain looked out into the smoke. Morrill might have run into them already, might already be wiped out. He saw: a red flag, down in the smoke and dark. Battle flag. A new burst of firing. He moved down the line, Kilrain following, crouched. Men were down. He saw the first dead: Willard Buxton of K. Neat hole in the forehead.

  Instantaneous. Merciful. First Sergeant Noyes was with him. Chamberlain touched the dead hand, moved on. He was thinking: with Morrill gone, I have perhaps three hundred men. Few more, few less. What do I do if they flank me?

  The emptiness to the left was a vacuum, drawing him back that way. Men were drinking water. He warned them to save it. The new attack broke before he could get to the left.

  The attack came all down the line, a full, wild, leaping charge. Three men came inside the low stone wall the boys had built. Two died; the other lay badly wounded, unable to speak. Chamberlain called for a surgeon to treat him. A few feet away he saw a man lying dead, half his face shot away Vaguely familiar. He turned away, turned back. Half the right jawbone visible, above the bloody leer: face of one of the Second Maine prisoners who had volunteered just a few moments past-the fat one. Never had time to know his name. He turned to Kilrain. "That was one of the Maine prisoners. Don't let me forget."

  Kilrain nodded. Odd look on his face. Chamberlain felt a cool wind. He put a hand out.

  "Buster? You all right?"

  Bleak gray look. Holding his side.

  "Fine, Colonel. Hardly touched me."

  He turned, showed his side. Tear just under the right shoulder, blood filling the armpit. Kilrain stuffed white cloth into the hole. "Be fine in a moment. But plays hell with me target practice. Would you care for the carbine?"

  He sat down abruptly Weak from loss of blood. But not a bad wound, surely not a bad wound.

  "You stay there," Chamberlain said. Another attack was coming. New firing blossomed around them. Chamberlain knelt.

  Kilrain grinned widely. "Hell, Colonel, I feel saintly."

  "Tom'll get a surgeon."

  "Just a bit of bandage is all I'll be needin'. And a few minutes off me feet. Me brogans are killin' me." Lapse into brogue.

  Tom moved off into the smoke. Chamberlain lost him. He stood. Whine of bullets, whisking murder. Leaves were falling around him. Face in the smoke. Chamberlain stepped forward.

  Jim Nichols, K Company: "Colonel, something goin' on in our front. Better come see."

  Nichols a good man. Chamberlain hopped forward, slipped on a rock, nearly fell, hopped to another boulder, felt an explosion under his right foot, blow knocked his leg away, twirled, fell, caught by Nicholas. Damned undignified. Hurt? Damn!

  How are you, sir?

  Looked at his foot. Hole in the boot? Blood? No. Numb.

  Oh my, begins to hurt now. But no hole, thank God. He stood up.

  Nichols pointed. Chamberlain clambered up on a high boulder. Going to get killed, give 'em a good high target.

  Saw: they were coming in groups, from rock to rock, tree to tree, not charging wildly as before, firing as they came, going down, killing us. But there, back there: masses of men, flags, two flags, flanking, moving down the line.

  They're going to turn us. They're going to that hole in the left...

  He was knocked clean off the rock. Blow in the side like lightning bolt. Must be what it feels like. Dirt and leaves in his mouth. Rolling over. This is ridiculous. Hands pulled him up. He looked down. His scabbard rippled like a spider's leg, stuck out at a ridiculous angle. Blood? No. But the hip, oh my. Damn, damn. He stood up. Becoming quite a target. What was that now? He steadied his mind.

  Remembered: they're flanking us.

  He moved back behind the boulder from which he had just been knocked. His hands were skinned; he was licking blood out of his mouth. His mind, temporarily sidetracked, oiled itself and ticked and turned and woke up, functioning.

  To Nichols: "Find my brother. Send all company commanders. Hold your positions."

  Extend the line? No.

  He brooded. Stood up. Stared to the left, then mounted the rock again, aware of pain but concentrating. To the left the Regiment ended, a high boulder there. Chamberlain thought: What was the phrase in the manual? Muddled brain. Oh yes: refuse the line.

  The commanders were arriving. Chamberlain, for the first time, raised his voice. "You men! MOVE!"

  The other commanders came in a hurry. Chamberlain said, "We're about to be flanked. Now here's what we do. Keep up a good hot masking fire, you understand? Now let's just make sure the Rebs keep their heads down. And let's keep a tight hold on the Eighty-third, on old Pennsylvania over there. I want no breaks in the line. That's you. Captain Clark, understand? No breaks."

  Clark nodded. Bullets chipped the tree above him.

  "Now here's the move. Keeping up the fire, and keeping a tight hold on the Eighty-third, we refuse the line. Men will sidestep to the left, thinning out to twice the present distance. See that boulder? When we reach that point we'll refuse the line, form a new line at right angles. That boulder will be the salient. Let's place the colors there, right? Five.

  Now you go on back and move your men in sidestep and form a new line to the boulder, and then back from the boulder like a swinging door. I assume that, ah, F Company will take the point. Clear? Any questions?"

  They moved. It was very well done. Chamberlain limped to the boulder, to stand at the colors with Tozier. He grinned at Tozier.

  "How are you, Andrew?"

  "Fine, sir. And you?"

  "Worn." Chamberlain grinned. "A bit worn."

  "I tell you this. Colonel. The boys are making a hell of a fight."

  "They are indeed."

  The fire increased. The Rebs moved up close and began aimed fire, trying to mask their own movement. In a few moments several men died near where Chamberlain was standing. One boy was hit in the head and the wound seemed so bloody it had to be fatal, but the boy sat up and shook hi& head and bound up the wound himself with a handkerchief and went back to firing. Chamberlain noted: most of our wounds are in the head or hands, bodies protected. Bless the stone wall. Pleasure to be behind it.

  Pity the men out there. Very good men. Here they come. Whose?

  The next charge struck the angle at the boulder, at the colors, lapped around it, ran into the new line, was enfiladed, collapsed. Chamberlain saw Tom come up, whirling through smoke, saw a rip in his coat, thought: no good to have a brother here. Weakens a man. He sent to the 83rd to tell them of his move to the left, asking if perhaps they couldn't come a little this way and help him out. He sent Ruel Thomas back up the hill to find out how things were going there, to find Vincent to tell him that life was getting difficult and we need a little help.

  He looked for Kilrain. The old Buster was sitting among some rocks, aiming the carbine, looking chipper. Hat was off. An old man, really. No business here. Kilrain said, "I'm not much good to you. Colonel."

  There was a momentary calm. Chamberlain sat.

  "Buster, how are you?"

  Grin. Stained crooked teeth. All the pores remarkably clear, red bulbous nose. Eyes of an old man. How old? I've never asked.

  "How's the ammunition?" Kilrain asked.

  "I've sent back."

  "They're in a mess on the other side." He frowned, grinned, wiped his mouth with the good hand, the right arm folded across his chest, a bloody rag tucked in his armpit. "Half expect Rebs comin' right over the top of the hill. Nothing much to do then. Be Jesus. Fight makes
a thirst. And I've brought nothin' a-tall, would you believe that? Not even my emergency ration against snakebite and bad dreams. Not even a spoonful of Save the Baby."

  Aimed fire now. He heard a man crying with pain. He looked down the hill. Darker down there. He saw a boy behind a thick tree, tears running down his face, ramming home a ball, crying, whimpering, aiming fire, Jolted shoulders, ball of smoke, then turning back, crying aloud, sobbing, biting the paper cartridge, tears all over his face, wiping his nose with a wet sleeve, ramming home another ball.

  Kilrain said, "I can stand now, I think."

  Darker down the hill. Sunset soon. How long had this been going on? Longer pause then usual. But... the Rebel yell. A rush on the left. He stood up. Pain in the right foot; unmistakable squish of blood in the boot. Didn't know it was bleeding. See them come, bounding up the rocks, hitting the left flank. Kilrain moved by him on the right, knelt, fired. Chamberlain pulled out the pistol. No damn good expect at very close range. You couldn't hit anything.

  He moved to the left flank. Much smoke. Smoke changing now, blowing this way, blinding. He was caught m it, a smothering shroud, hot, white, the bitter smell of burned powder. It broke. He saw a man swinging a black rifle, grunts and yells and weird thick sounds unlike anything he had ever heard before. A Reb came over a rock, bayonet fixed, black thin point forward and poised, face seemed blinded, head twitched. Chamberlain aimed the pistol, fired, hit the man dead center, down he went, folding; smoke swallowed him. Chamberlain moved forward He expected them to be everywhere, flood of brown bodies, gray bodies. But the smoke cleared and the line was firm.

  Only a few Rebs had come up, a few come over the stones all were down. He ran forward to a boulder, ducked, looked out: dead men, ten, fifteen, lumps of gray blood spattering everywhere, dirty white skin, a claw-like hand, black sightless eyes. Burst of white smoke, again, again. Tom at his shoulder: "Lawrence?"

  Chamberlain turned. All right? Boyish face. He smiled.

  "They can't send us no help from the Eighty-third. Woodward said they have got their troubles, but they can extend the line a little and help us out."

  "Good. Go tell Clarke to shift a bit, strengthen the center."

  Kilrain, on hands and knees, squinting: "They keep coming in on the flank."

  Chamberlain, grateful for the presence: "What do you think?"

  "We've been shooting a lot of rounds."

  Chamberlain looked toward the crest of the hill. No Thomas anywhere. Looked down again toward the dark. Motion. They're forming again. Must have made five or six tries already To Kilrain: "Don't know what else to do."

  Looked down the line. Every few feet, a man down. Men sitting facing numbly to the rear. He thought: let's pull back a ways. He gave the order to Spear. The Regiment bent back from the colors, from the boulder, swung back to a new line, tighter, almost a U. The next assault came against both flanks and the center all at once, worst of all.

  Chamberlain dizzy in the smoke began to lose track of events, saw only blurred images of smoke and death, Tozier with the flag, great black gaps in the line, the left flank giving again, falling back, tightening. Now there was only a few yards between the line on the right and the line on the left, and Chamberlain walked the narrow corridor between, Kilrain at his side, always at a crouch.

  Ruel Thomas came back. "Sir? Colonel Vincent is dead."

  Chamberlain swung to look him in the face. Thomas nodded jerkily.

  "Yes, sir. Got hit a few moments after fight started. We've already been reinforced by Weed's Brigade, up front, but now Weed is dead, and they moved Hazlett's battery up top and Hazlett's dead."

  Chamberlain listened, nodded, took a moment to let it come to focus.

  "Can't get no ammunition, sir. Everything's a mess up there. But they're holdin' pretty good. Rebs having trouble coming up the hill. Pretty steep."

  "Got to have bullets," Chamberlain said.

  Spear came up from the left. "Colonel, half the men are down. If they come again..." He shrugged, annoyed, baffled as if by a problem he could not quite solve, yet ought to, certainly, easily. "Don't know if we can stop 'em."

  "Send out word," Chamberlain said. "Take ammunition from the wounded. Make every round count." Tom went off, along with Ruel Thomas. Reports began coming in.

  Spear was right. But the right flank was better, not so many casualties there. Chamberlain moved, shifting men. And heard the assault coming, up the rocks, clawing up through the bushes, through the shattered trees, the peeked stone, the ripped and bloody earth. It struck the left flank.

  Chamberlain shot another man, an officer. He fell inside me new rock wall, face a bloody rag. On the left two Maine men went down, side by side, at the same moment, and along that spot there was no one left, no one at all, and yet no Rebs coming, just one moment of emptiness in all the battle, as if in that spot the end had come and there were not enough men left now to fill the earth, that final death was beginning there and spreading like a stain. Chamberlain saw movements below, troops drawn toward the gap as toward a cool place in all the heat, and looking down, saw Tom's face and yelled, but not being heard, pointed and pushed, but his hand stopped in mid-air, not my own brother, but Tom understood, hopped across to the vacant place and plugged it with his body so that there was no longer a hole but one terribly mortal exposed boy, and smoke cut him off, so that Chamberlain could no longer see, moving forward himself, had to shoot another man, shot him twice, the first ball taking him in the shoulder, and the man was trying to fire a musket with one hand when Chamberlain got him again, taking careful aim this time. Fought off this assault, thinking all the while coldly, calmly, perhaps now we are approaching the end. They can't keep coming. We can't keep stopping them.

  Firing faded. Darker now. Old Tom. Where?

  Familiar form in familiar position, aiming downhill, firing again. All right. God be praised.

  Chamberlain thought: not right, not right at all. If he was hit, I sent him there. What would I tell Mother? What do I feel myself? His duty to go. No, no. Chamberlain blinked.

  He was becoming tired. Think on all that later, the theology of it.

  He limped along the line. Signs of exhaustion. Men down, everywhere. He thought: we cannot hold.

  Looked up toward the crest. Fire still hot there, still hot everywhere. Down into the dark. They are damned good men, those Rebs. Rebs, I salute you. I don't think we can hold you.

  He gathered with Spear and Kilrain back behind the line.

  He saw another long gap, sent Ruel Thomas to this one.

  Spear made a count.

  "We've lost a third of the men. Colonel. Over a hundred down. The left is too thin."

  "How's the ammunition?"

  "I'm checking."

  A new face, dirt-stained, bloody: Homan Melcher, Lieutenant, Company F, a gaunt boy with buck teeth.

  "Colonel? Request permission to go pick up some of our wounded. We left a few boys out there."

  "Wait," Chamberlain said.

  Spear came back, shaking his head. "We're out." Alarm stained his face, a grayness in his cheeks.

  "Some of the boys have nothing at all."

  "Nothing," Chamberlain said.

  Officers were coming from the right. Down to a round or two per man. And now there was a silence around him. No man spoke. They stood and looked at him, and then looked down into the dark and then looked back at Chamberlain.

  One man said, "Sir, I guess we ought to pull out."

  Chamberlain said, "Can't do that."

  Spear: "We won't hold 'em again. Colonel, you know we can't hold 'em again."

  Chamberlain: "If we don't hold, they go right on by and over the hill and the whole flank caves in."

  He looked from face to face. The enormity of it, the weight of the line, was a mass too great to express. But he could see it as clearly as in a broad wide vision, a Biblical dream: If the line broke here, then the hill was gone, all these boys from Pennsylvania, New York, hit from behind above. Once th
e hill went, the flank of the army went. Good God! He could see troops running; he could see the blue flood, the bloody tide.

  Kilrain: "Colonel, they're coming."

  Chamberlain marveled. But we're not so bad ourselves.

  One recourse: Can't go back. Can't stay where we are.

  Results: inevitable.

  The idea formed.

  "Let's fix bayonets," Chamberlain said.