Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [165]
“We are anchored on the north by Anderson’s division, up on the bend in the river, then General Ransom’s division is in several lines along and below the ridge of Marye’s Heights, with Cobb’s brigade dug in down on the road, behind that stone wall. To their right is General McLaws, and farther down, in the woods to the right, are Pickett and Hood. General Hood is my right flank, and is connected in those heavy trees with General Jackson’s left. Up here, on the heights, are the Washington Artillery, with Colonel Alexander’s batteries in support. It is a very strong line, General.”
“Very well, General. General Jackson, would you please extend the line for us?”
Jackson took off the hat again, leaned forward slightly, said, “General Hill . . . A. P. Hill is on the left, adjoining General Hood. His position is supported . . . here . . . by General Taliaferro and General Early. To the right flank and behind is Daniel Hill. General Lee . . .” He paused, ran his finger along the map. “We have completed construction of a road, running behind the lines for our entire length. We can move troops as is necessary. If the enemy penetrates our line at any point, the reserves—Taliaferro and Early—can change their position rapidly. If the enemy makes an attempt to cut our center, or if General Pickett is pressed, we can move to his aid. Our right flank is anchored here.” He pointed to a straight line, a road that led away from the river, out to the west. “General Stuart has advised that the enemy has placed his flank on this road, and does not threaten farther southward. Daniel Hill is positioned to move farther down if the enemy changes his direction.”
Lee stared at Jackson, and there was a brief silence. Jackson had not built his reputation by defensive tactics, and even Longstreet nodded, impressed, said quietly, “Good, very good.”
Stuart was moving impatiently, and Lee said, “General Stuart, are you protecting General Jackson’s flank?”
“Yes, sir. We are covering the enemy’s position from the river, as far out as General Daniel Hill’s position. If the enemy begins to threaten downriver, to turn General Jackson’s line, we can block his advance until the line is moved.”
“Very well.” Lee leaned over the map, studied the positions, the ground. “General Jackson, there is a large area of trees extending out toward the enemy from the center of your line. That area could be vulnerable. There could be good cover there for the enemy’s advance.”
Jackson leaned forward, squinted, said, “A. P. Hill is dug in along that position, sir. I will confirm that he is aware of that possibility.”
Lee nodded. “Very well. I have confidence in General Hill. He will not leave himself at a disadvantage.”
Behind the men, out toward the open field that stretched toward the town, the batteries of the Washington Artillery were set into shallow pits. The men were manning the guns, watching the fog slowly drifting in the growing breeze, a fine, cold mist. The sun was higher now, and across the river the far heights could be seen, the flags of the Federal headquarters, the closely spaced guns of the enemy. Now, the fog had settled downward, into the town, and rising above the dense gray were church spires, the only sign that there was a town there at all. The meeting was concluded and the four men walked out toward the guns, walked behind the crews, who stood stiffly, quietly, reverent respect for the four generals.
Lee moved closer to one of the guns, placed his sore hand on a spoked wheel, said aloud, “How odd. The fog is lower. . . .”
Now other pieces of the town began to appear, the rooftops of the taller buildings, and he began to see some of the destruction, the black skeletons of burnt-out houses. A breeze blew sharply up the hill, and below, the fog was moving, breaking into smaller layers. Thick puffs of white began to move past the town, clearing the plain, and suddenly they could see far below, down the river.
Stuart said, “My God. They’re coming.”
On the wide plain in front of Jackson’s woods, a vast checkerboard