Alternate Generals (26 page)

"Well, the good Lord willing, Joshua, this will be the end of it," Hood announced. "Maybe after it's over you can cross the line and see that brother of yours. Which corps is he with?"

"My brother Tom? Fifth Corps," Joshua whispered. "Last I heard he was promoted to command a regiment with them."

"Well, that's Third Corps over there," Hood said, pointing towards the Peach Orchard which was wreathed in fire and smoke. "Maybe you won't have to face your kin today."

Joshua said nothing.
What would Mother say? Two of her boys facing each other thus. Never did we raise a hand to each other. When some of the boys down along the docks at Brewer worked Tom over a bit, I was the one who came to his rescue. God, don't let him be over there now, not that.

"Get a move on, Joshua," Hood announced. "Time to go in. Remember, Robertson's on your left flank. Hang on tight to him, don't let a hole open up or you'll be cut off. Remember, Joshua, you are the extreme right of the line. There's nobody beyond you. If we're going to carry this day, it'll be your brigade that does it. Time your attack to roll in after Robertson hits."

"Yes sir."

Hood leaned over, eyes alight with the fire of battle.

"Joshua, this could be the last day. Take that damn hill and we roll up their line. We can end it here, Joshua. Do you understand me?"

Joshua nodded, attention focused on the hill.

"The fate of our nation might very well rest on your shoulders."

Joshua looked straight into Hood's eyes. Not like him to speak like that. Battlefield rhetoric.
Strange, I taught rhetoric, now I see the power of it, sense it in my soul. Fate of the nation. Which nation?

"Now take that hill, Joshua, and good luck to you."

Joshua saluted and turning his mount he cantered down the line, weaving his way past the batteries which were turning their fire on the rocky ground below the hill which was his objective. As he drifted through the woods the rumble of fire rolled down along the flank as regiment after regiment stepped off into the assault.

Following a narrow path he emerged into a clearing where his brigade was deployed, the men looking up at him curiously as he trotted past. Their gazes were blank, drawn, exhausted after the ten long hours of marching and countermarching as they maneuvered into the position for the assault. He could he brief snatches of conversation, whispered prayers, jokes, angrily barked commands of sergeants for the men to remain still. Strange voices, deep south, Alabama, almost a different language. The years in Virginia had softened his nasal twang and clipped
r
's of Maine but it was still there, especially when he got angry, and he knew the men of his new command looked upon him with suspicion.

"Colonel Oates!"

The commander of his right flank regiment, the 44th Alabama, stepped out from the shade of a tree and saluted.

"You lead off, Colonel. We're cutting across the face of that hill up there." He pointed to Big Round Top. "We come down into the valley between the two hills and then assault the Rocky Hill from the south. Now let's move."

Oates saluted again and with a roar of command his regiment was up. With Joshua in the lead, skirmishers sprinting out ahead, they started over the boulder-strewn ground. The going on horseback was tough and Joshua dismounted. Panting hard he scrambled up the slope, a scattering of rifle fire erupting ahead as the skirmishers brushed aside a light screen of Union soldiers.

"My boys, sir," Oates explained, struggling to keep up with Joshua's long-legged stride. "We sent out a detachment for water while waiting for the word to go in. They haven't come back. Every canteen in my regiment is bone dry, sir."

Joshua nodded, pausing for a moment to gain his bearing, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face period.

Can't flag now. Don't think about the heat. The extreme right. Jackson would like that, out on the flank. The last day, Hood said. The last day of what? The war, the Union, the Confederacy if we fail?

Joshua looked over his shoulder. His men were closing up, red faced, panting hard; a few of them were deathly pale, skin clammy looking, and some were falling out, collapsing silently.
Can't stop for them. Lord don't let me fall, at least not here, on that hill ahead, yes, a bullet rather than the heat, but not here.

Firing raged down in the valley below. Devil's Den he had heard someone call it.
Hell in the Devil's Den
, he thought with a smile. The smoke parted for an instant and up on the Rocky Hill he saw a banner. National colors surging along the crest, moving to the south flank. They were deploying to meet him . . . damn. Another flag bobbed into view, one of their new brigade guidons—a Maltese cross in the middle of the triangular pennant—and there was a ripple of fear. Fifth Corps.
God no, not that.

Water, damn it. We're going to need water if we're going to take that hill. An hour of fighting in this heat will knock a man over as surely as a bullet if he doesn't have water.

"Colonel, pass the word back. If we see a stream or spring, a corporal and two men from each company detailed off to fill canteens. Now let's keep moving."

Going up over the flank of Big Round Top he started down into the valley. The humid heat hung thick under the trees, trapping the swirls of powder smoke drifting down from the Devil's Den to their left. The thunder of battle was washing along behind them as the attack developed from the Peach Orchard, down through the Wheat Field and across Devil's Den. A shrill cry rolled through the woods, the rebel yell, sending a shiver of excitement down his spine. Through a gap in the trees he saw butternut and gray swarming over the boulders of Devil's Den, pushing towards the base of Rocky Hill.

The slope of Big Round Top started to drop away and he could sense more than see the narrow valley ahead and the upward rise of the rocky Hill beyond. Motioning for Oates to continue to file on, he waited as his other regiments came up.

"General Chamberlain, sir."

Joshua looked up to see a sweat-soaked officer, weaving his horse through the trees, ducking low as a shell slapped overhead, bursting in the top of an elm, shearing off branches.

"Here!"

The orderly came up and saluted.

"General Robertson's compliments, sir. He is going in and requests that your left flank support his attack."

"In which direction?"

"Why straight ahead, sir," and the orderly pointed towards the valley and the open west-facing slope of the Rocky Hill.

Joshua studied the ground for a brief instant, watching as the attack pouring out of the Devil's Den started to go to ground as plunging fire rained down from the heights above. The hill might have been empty when they had started but it wasn't now. There was infantry up there, perhaps a brigade.
By heavens, if I had that hill I'd pack it with artillery and hold it till doomsday. Any attack up the open west face of the hill would be suicidal now. It had to come from the south, or better yet the eastern flank.

He tried to study the ground.
Stuart, where was Stuart when needed?
Rumor was sweeping through the army that the Old Man was building into a rare rage over the absence of the plumed cavalier.
There should be cavalry on our flanks, probing the way, providing recon, rather than launching this attack into thin air.
He cocked his ear, listening to the battle, carefully studying the heights, ignoring the hissing hum of bullets that were plucking through the trees.
Only a brigade? A brigade was enough to hold that place. Robertson and my brigade could storm it all the day long and get nowhere. No, it had to be the flank if there was any hope.

Fate of the nation.
Well Joshua, looks like you are the judge of that fate with what you do here.

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Sir?"

"Tell General Robertson to please hold his assault and extend his line to the right," Joshua said. "Give me time to get into position. I'm moving to hit them in the rear."

"Sir, General Robertson's orders were quite clear to me," the young major announced. "Though I do not wish to do so, sir, I am forced to remind
you
that General Robertson's date of command supersedes yours, sir, and he is therefore the senior in the field."

A bullet smacked into the tree between them, showering the major with splinters and sap. Joshua remained still, watching the major's eyes as the boy flinched.

"Sir!"

Joshua's attention was turned by a freckle-faced corporal by his side, eyes wide with excitement.

"Go on, son."

"Colonel Oates' compliments, sir. He said he's a-movin' into position and begs to report that a spring has been located. He said, the Colonel said that it's a fair piece away, sir, and he reckons it'll take ten to fifteen minutes to get some of the boys there and back with water."

"Tell the Colonel to hold until I join him and to detail off men to fill canteens before we go in. Have someone pass the word to the other regiments as well."

The boy saluted and ran off.

"I don't think this is the time to wait for water," Robertson's orderly announced coolly.

"I think it is," Joshua snapped, raising his voice loud enough for the men around him to hear. "Jackson took time to see that his men were fed and watered before sending them in to die for their country and by God I'll do the same."

He hesitated for an instant. "Some folks think that I'm a Yankee and can't stand the heat. And you know something, Major, they're right, but on this day I think many a Southern-born boy is feeling it as well. So I want them to have water before they go in. The additional ten minutes might decide this day, Major. Please inform General Robertson that I beg to decline his"—he paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words—"request to use my regiments. We shall assault the Rocky Hill from the south and east on the flank."

He could see that the major was about to offer an objection.
Southerners
, Joshua thought.
Lord how I do love them but at times they can be so damned argumentative.

"That is all, Major," Joshua snapped. "Now if you will be so kind as to excuse me," he added working in a flourish of Virginian drawl, "I have a battle to fight."

Joshua turned and moving quickly he darted back down the line. As he passed each of his regiments he called for the unit commander to follow him.

It'll take the boy ten, maybe fifteen minutes to find Robertson
, Joshua thought.
If Robertson comes over personally that will be another fifteen to twenty minutes, time enough for me to get in and make it an accomplished fact before he can countermand me.

I should be playing it safe. Follow the letter of my orders, bow to Robertson's request. Fight my brigade well and I'll come through proven in my first command as a general. Secure then.

Joshua shook his head angrily, surprised as a mild curse escaped him. No, that was not Old Tom's way. He wanted brigadiers who fought using their brains and seizing the moment. Any fool can charge, too much of that in this army, in that respect Longstreet was right. He thought of an argument he had had with one of Pete's division commanders, Pickett. The fool dreamed of a grand frontal assault, big Napoleonic charge and the Yankees would run for certain. Something personal in the insult there, that northern-born boys were cowards.
It had almost come to an out and out fight when I defended the mettle of the typical Union soldier. No, up here, defending their home ground, they'll dig in and fight like hell.

Drifting through the woods, he passed down his line, nodding encouragement, always checking his left, judging the curve of the hill ahead. Seemed to have a spur extending southward then curving a bit to the east. At least he reached the end of his line, the standard of the 44th Alabama hanging limp in the heavy humid air, Oates and his staff gathered beneath it. The other regimental commanders, having followed Joshua down to the end of the line, gathered around expectantly.

"Water?" Joshua asked.

"Detail coming in with it now, sir," Oates announced. Joshua looked over his shoulder and saw a couple of dozen men, burdened down with canteens, coming in from the hill behind them. Eager hands reached out to snatch the precious liquid. He saw squads of men dashing through the woods behind them to resupply his other regiments.

"Right. Now listen carefully. We don't know what's up there. Wish we had time to properly look around, we don't. We can hope their attention is fixed to the front but they'd be fools not to cover this side. We start off with the 4th Alabama on the left of our line."

He looked over at the unit commander, Lieutenant Colonel Scruggs. "Hit straight in on the south. Next the 48th on their flank, then the 47th. Try and break around to the southeast. Forty-fourth and 15th will hold in reserve. Understand?"

The men nodded.

"Get back to your commands. Colonel Scruggs, no need to wait. As soon as you get back to your men, go in."

"Sir, what about Robertson on my left flank? It's already stretched too thin."

"Let them follow you."

"A hole might open."

"Colonel, do you honestly think they'll counterattack? They'd be fools to come down off that hill. Let your flank take care of itself. Now go!"

Scruggs grinned, saluted and, with a whoop of delight, raced back down the line, the other commanders following after him. Joshua looked over at Oates.

"Bit unorthodox, sir," Oates announced dryly. "
En echelon
means coming in after Robertson and hugging his flank."

Joshua knew that Oates was not happy with his new brigadier. Law was an old friend and Joshua was an interloper from another corps.

"Well, Oates, if it fails, you'll have your friend back in command."

Oates was silent for a moment.

"Thanks for waiting for the water, sir. My men were suffering, I hate that."

Joshua nodded, hands clasped behind his back, waiting nervously.

A high quavering scream erupted on the left. Scruggs was going in. Unable to contain himself Joshua stepped forward, motioning for Oates to wait.