Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

by The Killer Angels(Lit)

For a moment no one moved.

  "We'll have the advantage of moving downhill," he said.

  Spear understood. His eyes saw; he nodded automatically. The men coming up the hill stopped to volley; weak fire came in return. Chamberlain said, "They've got to be tired, those Rebs. They've got to be close to the end. Fix bayonets. Wait. Ellis, you take the left wing. I want a right wheel forward of the whole Regiment."

  Lieutenant Melcher said, perplexed, "Sir, excuse me but what's a 'right wheel forward'?"

  Ellis Spear said, "He means 'charge,' Lieutenant, 'charge.' "

  Chamberlain nodded. "Not quite. We charge swinging down to the right. We straighten out our line. Clarke hangs onto the Eight-third, and we swing like a door, sweeping them down the hill. Understand? Everybody understand? Ellis, you take the wing, and when I yell you go to it, the whole Regiment goes forward, swinging to the right."

  "Well," Ellis Spear said. He shook his head. "Well."

  "Let's go." Chamberlain raised his saber, bawled at the top of his voice, "Fix bayonets!"

  He was thinking: We don't have two hundred men left.

  Not two hundred. More than that coming at us. He saw Melcher bounding away toward his company, yelling, waving. Bayonets were coming out, clinking, clattering. He heard men beginning to shout. Marine men, strange shouts, hoarse, wordless, animal. He limped to the front, toward the great boulder where Tozier stood with the colors, Kilrain at his side. The Rebs were in plain view, moving, firing.

  Chamberlain saw clearly a tall man aiming a rifle at him. At me. Saw the smoke, the flash, but did not hear the bullet go by. Missed. Ha! He stepped out into the open, balanced on the gray rock. Tozier had lifted the colors into the clear. The Rebs were thirty yards off. Chamberlain raised his saber, let loose the shout that was the greatest sound he could make, boiling the yell up from his chest: Fix bayonets! Charge!

  Fix bayonets! Charge! Fix bayonets! Charge! He leaped down from the boulder, still screaming, his voice beginning to crack and give, and all around him his men were roaring animal screams, and he saw the whole Regiment rising and pouring over the wall and beginning to bound down through the dark bushes, over the dead and dying and wounded, hats coming off, hair flying, mouths making sounds, one man firing as he ran, the last bullet, last round. Chamberlain saw gray men below stop, freeze, crouch, then quickly turn. The move was so quick he could not believe it. Men were turning and running. Some were stopping to fire. There was the yellow flash and then they turned. Chamberlain saw a man drop a rifle and run. Another. A bullet plucked at Chamberlain's coat, a hard pluck so that he thought he had caught a mom but looked down and saw the huge gash. But he was not hit. He saw an officer: handsome full-bearded man in gray, sword and revolver. Chamberlain ran toward him, stumbled, cursed the bad foot, looked up and aimed and fired and missed, then held aloft the saber. The officer turned, saw him coming, raised a pistol, and Chamberlain ran toward it downhill, unable to stop, stumbling downhill seeing the black hole of the pistol turning toward him, not anything but the small hole yards away, feet away, the officer's face a blur behind it and no thought, a moment of gray suspension rushing silently, soundlessly toward the black hole... and the gun did not fire; the hammer clicked down on an empty shell, and Chamberlain was at the man's throat with the saber and the man was handing him his sword, all in one motion, and Chamberlain stopped.

  "The pistol too," he said.

  The officer handed him the gun: a cavalry revolver, Colt.

  "Your prisoner, sir." The face of the officer was very white, like old paper. Chamberlain nodded.

  He looked up to see an open space. The Rebs had begun to fall back; now they were running. He had never seen them run; he stared, began limping forward to see. Great cries, incredible sounds, firing and yelling. The Regiment was driving a line, swinging to the fight, into the dark valley. Men were surrendering. He saw masses of gray coats, a hundred or more, moving back up the slope to his front, in good order, the only ones not running, and thought If they form again we're in trouble, desperate trouble, and he began moving that way, ignoring the officer he had just captured. At that moment a new wave of firing broke out on the other side of the gray mass. He saw a line of white smoke erupt, the gray troops waver and move back this way, stop, rifles begin to fall, men begin to run to the right, trying to get away. Another line of fire-Morrill. B Company. Chamberlain moved that way. A soldier grabbed his Reb officer, grinning, by the arm. Chamberlain passed a man sitting on a rock, holding his stomach. He had been bayoneted. Blood coming from his mouth. Stepped on a dead body, wedged between rocks. Came upon Ellis Spear, grinning crazily, foolishly, face stretched and glowing with a wondrous light.

  "By God, Colonel, by God, by God," Spear said. He pointed. Men were running off down the valley. The Regiment was moving across the front of the 83rd Pennsylvania. He looked up the hill and saw them waving and a cheering. Chamberlain said, aloud, "I'll be damned."

  The Regiment had not stopped, was chasing the Rebs down the long valley between the hills. Rebs had stopped everywhere, surrendering. Chamberlain said to Spear, "Go on up and stop the boys. They've gone far enough."

  "Yes, sir. But they're on their way to Richmond."

  "Not today," Chamberlain said. "They've done enough today."

  He stopped, took a deep breath, stood still, then turned a to look for Tom. Saw Morrill, of Company B, wandering toward him through thick brush.

  "Hey, Colonel, glad to see you. I was beginning to wonder."

  Chamberlain stared. "You were beginning to wonder?"

  "I tell you. Colonel, I keep thinking I better come back and help you, but you said stay out there and guard that flank, so I did, and I guess it come out all right, thank the Lord. Nobody came nowhere near me until just a few minutes ago. Then they come backin' my way, which I didn't expect. So we opened up, and they all turned around and quit, just like that. Damnedest thing you ever saw." He shook his head, amazed. "Easiest fight I was ever in."

  Chamberlain sighed. "Captain," he said, "next time I tell you to go out a ways, please don't go quite so far."

  "Well, Colonel, we looked around, and there was this here stone wall, and it was comfortin', you know?"

  Tom was here, well, untouched. Chamberlain opened up into a smile. Tom had a Reb officer in tow, a weary gentleman with a face of grime and sadness, of exhausted despair.

  "Hey, Lawrence, want you to meet this fella from Alabama. Cap'n Hawkins, want you to meet my brother. This here's Colonel Chamberlain."

  Chamberlain put out a hand. "Sir," he said. The Alabama man nodded slightly. His voice was so low Chamberlain could hardly hear it. "Do you have some water?"

  "Certainly." Chamberlain offered his own canteen. Off to the right a huge mass of prisoners: two hundred, maybe more. Most of them sitting, exhausted, heads down. Only a few men of the Regiment here, mostly Morrill's Company.

  Ironic. Chamberlain thought: well, he's the only one with ammunition.

  Firing was slacking beyond the hill. The charge of the 20th Maine had cleared the ground in front of the 83rd Pennsylvania; they were beginning to move down the hill, rounding up prisoners. As the Reb flank on this side fell apart and running men began to appear on the other side of the hill the attack there would break up. Yes, firing was less.

  He heard whoops and hollers, felt a grin break out as if stepping into lovely sunshine. We did it, by God.

  The Alabama man was sitting down. Chamberlain let him alone. Kilrain. Looked. Where? He moved painfully back up the rocks toward the position from which they had charged. Hip stiffening badly. Old Kilrain. Unhurtable.

  He saw Kilrain from a distance. He was sitting on a rock, head back against a tree, arm black with streaked blood. But all right, all right, head bobbing bareheaded like a lively mossy white rock. Ruel Thomas was with him, and Tozier, working on the arm. Chamberlain bounded and slipped on wet rocks, forgetting his hurts, his throat stuffed. He knelt.

  They had peeled back the shirt and the arm was whitely soft
where they had cleaned it and there was a mess around the shoulder. Great round muscle: strong old man. Chamberlain grinned, giggled, wiped his face.

  "Buster? How you doin'? You old mick."

  Kilrain peered at him vaguely cheerily. His face had a linen softness.

  "They couldn't seem hardly to miss," he said regretfully, apologizing. "Twice, would you believe. For the love of Mary. Twicet."

  He snorted, gloomed, looked up into Chamberlain's eyes and blinked.

  "And how are you. Colonel darlin'? This fine day?"

  Chamberlain nodded, grinning foolishly. There was a tight long silent moment. Chamberlain felt a thickness all through his chest. It was like coming back to your father, having done something fine, and your father knows it, and you can see the knowledge in his eyes, and you are both too proud to speak of it. But he knows. Kilrain looked away. He tried to move bloody fingers.

  "In the armpit," he gloomed forlornly. "For the love of God. He died of his wounds. In the bloody bleedin' armpit. Ak."

  To Tozier, Chamberlain said, "How is that?"

  Tozier shrugged. "It's an arm."

  "By God," Chamberlain said. "I think you'll live."

  Kilrain blinked hazily. "Only an arm. Got to lose something, might's well be an arm. Can part with that easier than the other mechanics of nature, an thass the truth." He was blurring; he stretched his eyes. "Used to worry about that, you know? Only thing ever worried, really. Losing wrong part." His eyes closed; his voice was plaintive. "I could do with a nip right now."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  "You do pretty good." Kilrain blinked, peered, looking for him.

  "Colonel?"

  "Right here."

  "The army was blessed..." But he ran out of breath, closed his eyes.

  "You take it easy."

  "Want you to know. Just in case. That I have never served..."He paused to breathe, put out the bloody hand, looked into Chamberlain's eyes. "Never served under a better man. Want you to know. Want to thank you, sir."

  Chamberlain nodded. Kilrain closed his eyes. His face began to relax; his skin was very pale. Chamberlain held the great cold hand. Chamberlain said, "Let me go round up something medicinal."

  "I'd be eternal grateful."

  "You rest." Chamberlain was feeling alarm.

  Tozier said, "I've sent off."

  "Well I've seen them run," Kilrain said dreamily.

  "Glory be. Thanks to you. Colonel darlin'. Lived long enough to see the Rebs run. Come the Millennium. Did you see them run. Colonel darlin'?"

  "I did."

  "I got one fella. Raggedy fella. Beautiful offhand shot, if I say so mesel'."

  "I've got to go. Buster."

  "He was drawin' a bead on you. Colonel. I got him with one quick shot offhand. Oh lovely." Kilrain sighed.

  "Loveliest shot I ever made."

  "You stay with him. Sergeant," Chamberlain said.

  Thomas nodded.

  "Be back in a while, Buster."

  Kilrain opened his eyes, but he was drifting off toward sleep, and he nodded but did not see. Chamberlain backed away. There were some men around him from the old Second Maine and he talked to them automatically, not knowing what he was saying, thanking them for the fight, looking on strange young bloody faces. He moved back down the slope.

  He went back along the low stone wall. The dead were mostly covered now with blankets and shelter halves, but some of them were still dying and there were groups of men clustered here and there. There were dead bodies and wounded bodies all down the wall and all down through the trees and blood was streaked on the trees and rocks and rich wet wood splinters were everywhere. He patted shoulders, noted faces. It was very quiet and dark down among the trees. Night was coming. He began to feel tired. He went on talking. A boy was dying. He had made a good fight and he wanted to be promoted before he died and Chamberlain promoted him. He spoke to a man who had been clubbed over the head with a musket and who could not seem to say what he wanted to say, and another man who was crying because both of the Men-ill boys were dead, both brothers, and he would be the one who would have to tell their mother. Chamberlain reached the foot of the hill and came out into the last light.

  Ellis Spear came up. There were tears in the comers of his eyes. He nodded jerkily, a habit of Maine men, a greeting.

  "Well," he said. He did not know what to say. After a moment he pulled out an impressively ornamented silver flask, dented, lustrous.

  "Colonel? Ah, I have a beverage here which I have been saving for an, ah, appropriate moment. I think this is- well, would the Colonel honor me by joining me in a, ah, swallow?"

  Chamberlain thought: Kilrain. But he could not hurt Spear's feelings. And his mouth was gritty and dry. Spear handed it over solemnly, gravely, with the air of a man taking part in a ceremony. Chamberlain drank. Oh, good.

  Very, very good. He saw one small flicker of sadness pass over Spear's face, took the bottle from his lips.

  "Sorry, Ellis. 'Swallow' is a flighty word. An indiscriminate word. But thank you. Very much. And now."

  Spear bowed formally. "Colonel, it has been my pleasure."

  Here through the rocks was a grinning Tom. Young Tom.

  Only a boy. Chamberlain felt a shattering rush of emotion, restrained it. Behind Tom were troops of the 83rd Pennsylvania: Captain Woodward, Colonel Rice of the 44th New York. Chamberlain thought: Rice must be the new commander of the whole brigade.

  Tom said with vast delight, ticking them off, "Lawrence, we got prisoners from the Fifteenth Alabama, the Forty-seventh Alabama, the Fourth and Fifth Texas. Man, we fought four Reb regiments!"

  Four regiments would be perhaps two thousand men.

  Chamberlain was impressed.

  "We got five hundred prisoners," Tom insisted.

  The figure seemed high. Chamberlain: "What are our casualties?"

  Tom's face lost its light. "Well, I'll go check."

  Colonel Rice came up. Much darker now. He put out a hand.

  "Colonel Chamberlain, may I shake your hand?"

  "Sir."

  "Colonel, I watched that from above. Colonel, that was the damnedest thing I ever saw."

  "Well," Chamberlain said. A private popped up, saluted, whispered in Chamberlain's ear: "Colonel, sir, I'm guardin' these here Rebs with a empty rifle."

  Chamberlain grinned. "Not so loud. Colonel Rice, we sure could use some ammunition."

  Rice was clucking like a chicken. "Amazing. They ran like sheep."

  Woodward said, "It was getting a bit tight there, Colonel, I'll say."

  Rice wandered about, stared at the prisoners, wandered back, hands behind him, peered at Chamberlain, shook his head.

  "You're not Regular Army?"

  "No, sir."

  "Oh yes. You're the professor. Um. What did you teach?"

  "Rhetoric, sir."

  "Really?" Rice grimaced. "Amazing." After a moment: " Where'd you get the idea to charge?"

  Chamberlain said, "We were out of ammunition."

  Rice nodded. "So. You fixed bayonets."

  Chamberlain nodded. It seemed logical enough. It was beginning to dawn on him that what he had done might be considered unusual. He said, "There didn't seem to be any alternative."

  Rice shook his head, chuckled, grunted.

  Chamberlain said, "I heard about Colonel Vincent."

  "Yes. Damn shame. They think he won't make it."

  "He's still alive?"

  "Not by much."

  "Well. But there's always hope."

  Rice looked at him. "Of course," Rice said.

  Chamberlain wandered among his men. Ought to put them in some kind of order. He was beginning to feel an elation in him, like a bubble blowing up in his chest. A few moments later. Rice was back.

  "Colonel, I have to ask your help. You see the big hill there, the wooded hill? There's nobody there. I think.

  General Warren wants that hill occupied. Could you do that?"

  "Well," Chamber
lain said. "If we had some ammunition."

  "I'll move a train up. That hill's been unoccupied all day.

  If the Rebs get a battery there... it's the extreme flank of the Union line. Highest ground. Warren sends you his compliments and says to tell you he would prefer to have your regiment there."

  Chamberlain said, "Well of course, sir. But the boys are tired. May take a while. And I sure need that ammunition."

  "Right. I'll tell the General you'll be up soon as possible."

  Chamberlain squinted. A wall of trees, thick brush. He sighed.