Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [154]
Sumner stared out across the river, and Hancock looked at the old face, the heavy eyes.
“General, we can go inside if you like. No need to stand out here in the cold . . .”
Sumner looked at him, shook his head. “Makes no difference, General. Sometimes, I feel the cold worse inside than I do out here. Old bones . . . this old coat . . .” He raised an arm, and Hancock saw the dull brass buttons on the sleeve, an old army design he had not seen before. “Had this old coat since . . . hell, I don’t know, since the beginning. No West Point back then, no place for a soldier to get any training except out here, the field. It was better . . . smaller . . . simpler. A general gave commands and the army carried them out, and the job was done. You in Mexico, General?”
Hancock nodded. “Sixth Infantry.”
“Oh, so you were with Scott. Winfield Scott . . . now, there was a commander.” Sumner paused, looked again at Hancock. “Your name . . . you were named after him.”
Hancock smiled. “Yes, sir. My father had a great admiration for him. I even met him once. He came to West Point. He asked for me, for me in particular, saw my name on the list of cadets. He told me we had a responsibility to each other . . . said he’d promise not to disgrace my name if I didn’t disgrace his. He scared me to death.”
Sumner laughed, a rough cough, and Hancock realized he’d never seen him smile before. But the smile did not last, and Sumner shook his head, said, “It is a different army. General Scott didn’t have to hold meetings to find out what he should do, to tell him what people thought . . . he didn’t give a damn what people thought. He was the commander, and everyone understood that, even the President. Hell . . . several Presidents. But he made a great mistake—he got too old, and now they replace him with this damned Halleck, a politician. Runs the army like a puppetmaster, pulling strings. If he thinks you’re in his corner, he supports you. If he doesn’t, you don’t get your damned pontoons when you’re supposed to. Scott would never have done that . . . that foolishness.” He turned sharply to Hancock, leaned closer. “This bother you, General? You think maybe I’m talking out of turn?”
Hancock shook his head. “You’re saying what a lot of the men have been saying, General. Even the foot soldiers seem to feel the same way, seem to understand what a mess we’re in.”
“You think we’re in a mess . . . here?”
Hancock paused, told himself to be careful. He knew he had better choose his words. “We might have a difficult time taking those hills, General.”
“General Hancock, last week I showed General Burnside a map, given to me by one of the engineers. It showed a deep canal, cutting across that open field behind the town, the field we will have to cross. I pointed out the location of the canal, that it will present a difficult obstacle in the face of artillery fire. General Burnside looked at the map, then looked at me, and said there is no canal in that location, that the map was wrong. I thought, well, he could be right, I suppose he has access to better information than I do. So I came out here, stood on this spot with field glasses, and looked across the tops of those church steeples, and pretty plain I could see it, right where the engineer said it was. Now, General, what am I supposed to do? I have spent over forty years in this army accepting the word of my commander as gospel, carrying out my duty.” He paused, wiped at his nose with a handkerchief. “The commanding general says we are to cross this river and take those heights. So, that is what we will do.”
Hancock nodded, said, “It’s possible. Down to the left, we could push through, maybe turn Jackson’s lines, push him back, trap Longstreet on top of the hill, surround him. It’s possible.”
Sumner cocked an eyebrow, chuckled again, said, “You trying to be a politician too? Turn Jackson’s lines? No, General, we will meet him head-on and it will be a bloody mess. And we will