Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [144]
Couch nodded, said, “Very good, Major. You anticipate any problems?”
“Not at all, sir. The river is calm, and there appears to be little if any opposition on the other side. All we need are your pontoons, sir.”
Couch looked at Hancock, puzzled, and said, “What pontoons, Major?”
Spaulding laughed, tried to be part of the joke, said, “Why, General, we can’t send this army across the river without your pontoons.”
Couch did not laugh, and Hancock saw the face of the engineer slowly change, the smile fading. “General, we have been waiting . . . we have orders from General Burnside to lay the pontoon bridges as soon as your corps arrives. I assumed, sir . . . you have them.”
“Major, you had better look elsewhere. There are no pontoons with this column.”
Spaulding’s red face, bitten by the cold air of the fast ride, now drained of color. “General, we have already checked. . . . General Burnside requested the pontoons be delivered over from Harper’s Ferry. The request went straight to Washington, to General Halleck. I heard him discussing it myself, sir. The pontoons were to be . . . were to arrive at the same time as your column. General Burnside was very plain on this, sir. I have my orders. I have to build a bridge.”
Couch looked at Hancock, said, “General, you see any pontoons? Anybody in your division hiding any pontoons?” His voice began to rise, angry and without humor, and Hancock now understood. They would sit still again, the great power of this army would be held up one more time because something went wrong.
Spaulding abruptly saluted, said, “General, if you please, I have to return to Falmouth.”
“Of course, Major, go about your business. We will arrive shortly.”
The man turned, sent mud spraying over them as his horse kicked away, and Hancock said, “So, we have no way to cross the river.”
“No, General, of course not. The plan was a good one too.”
“They may find them yet, sir. Hard to lose something as big as a pontoon train.”
“Oh, we’ll find them, General. They’ll make their way to Falmouth eventually. They might even get us across the river in time to do some good. But I have a feeling, General . . . surely, you share it. You’ve been with this army long enough.” Couch stared ahead with dark eyes, and Hancock said nothing, now could see the small town, buildings, a church steeple, small neat houses, and to the right, down a long, steep embankment, the wide river, and across it, Fredericksburg.
IT SNOWED throughout the night, slow and steady, and early in the morning when he left his tent, the ground was covered with a thin white blanket. He walked through the camp, felt the cold, knew winter had yet to really show itself, that this army was preparing to move in what might be the worst conditions imaginable.
It had been two weeks, and the pontoons had still not come. The word came from Burnside to just sit and wait. Couch had gone to headquarters every day, meetings and informal gatherings of the higher ranks, but Burnside was adamant: They would cross the river at this place. The missing pontoons were simply an inconvenience.
Hancock walked downhill now, toward the river. He saw a thin glaze on the water, the first signs of ice, thought, If we wait long enough, we can walk across. He felt the ground soften, slippery mud under the thin layer of snow, and he backed away, thinking, Don’t fall into that mess this morning. Mighty damned uncomfortable. He eased along the bank, looked across to the larger town of Fredericksburg, saw a long hill behind, stretching down to the left. The hill had the same layer of snow, and he stopped, admired it as he would a painting, a beautiful scene. Church spires rose sharply above the town, and the riverfront buildings were packed together in a neat row. He guessed at the distance, three hundred yards, maybe less.
Above him, upriver, there was some rough water, a few rocks breaking the smooth flow. He stopped, saw something moving among the rocks, waited, and now he could see. It was a cow.
Several more cows moved into the water on the far side,