Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [176]
“Hold up the line, halt!” They were looking at him, would do what he told them to do, and he thought of that, of being in command, felt a strength, a new rush of energy.
He held them back, moved out by himself, closer to the canal, looked at the small fragile planks, the last of the Second Brigade crossing, forming again on the far side. He turned back, raised his sword, looked along the line, then saw, off to his left, toward the right flank of the regiment, beyond, saw . . . nothing. There had been other units on the right flank, two more regiments, and they were not there. He suddenly felt a cold panic, moved over that way, looking back, then saw the lines, lagging a hundred yards behind, and he saw Ames with them, in front of them, yelling angrily, bringing them on, and he felt a sudden rage, impatience. This is no time for mistakes, for stupidity.
He yelled aloud, over the heads of his men, “Get up here, on the right flank! Step it up!” and his men were turning, looking back with him, and now he saw: Ames was moving them up. Other officers, their own officers, were yelling and moving quickly along the lines, closing up the brigade.
He turned back toward the canal, felt his hands shaking, the rhythm broken now. He walked forward, stepped onto the small bridge. He waved the sword forward, and they began to form a line, began to move across on the planks. To the other side, the left flank, he saw the other regiments, saw there were no bridges, and the men began to move along the canal toward him, to the one dry crossing. No, he thought, it won’t work, and he saw other officers waving swords, and now the men began to jump into the water, moving across where there was no bridge. He looked down into the canal, thick masses of blue, like piles of rock, but the men were walking around them, careful, and he saw the rocks had arms, the bottom of the canal was deep in the bodies of blue-coated men. Suddenly his stomach turned, and he shook, held it in, looked up, away, fought for control.
There was a loud rush of sound, a sudden splash, and he was sprayed with cold water. He looked down again, and there were more bodies, fresh bodies. At the far end of the canal he saw a bright flash, a rebel battery firing straight down the canal. Another great splash of water blew over the small bridge and men below him were suddenly swept away. His men began to cross with more speed, and the men now down in the canal pushed across, climbing out quickly, knowing this was not a place to wait, this was not cover. Now he was caught up in the heavy flow of men, pushed through, moved out in front waving his sword. They began to spread out again, forming the lines, and again they marched forward.
There was no rhythm now, each step was deliberate. He tried to see, to find the men in front, and there was nothing, a field of thick gray smoke. Then a hand was on his arm. It was Ames.
“You have command of the regiment! I must take charge of the right side of the line. The commanders are down. . . . God help us!” and he was gone.
Chamberlain suddenly felt awake. He climbed out of his thoughts, saw the faces looking at him, waiting for him to lead them. He pointed the sword toward the thick unknown, yelled, “Men! Forward! Keep it up!”
The sounds came by him one at a time now, the single terrible whiz of the musket ball, the hot whoosh of streaking shrapnel, the air hitting him in short, hot bursts. He still could not see, moved forward through the thick smoke, did not look at the bodies as he passed, the red and blue poured out into great heaps over the white snow. He looked back to his men again. They were still with him, and he gripped the sword hard,