Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [179]
He tried to reach a better vantage point, make some reconnaissance, slid on his stomach, and a rifle ball plowed into the snow beside him. He backed down the hill, said to himself, All right, so much for that. He passed beside more bodies, pulled one down with him, lay it on the uphill side, above his head, toward the enemy, thought, He would understand, I would want them to do this with me. Then he pushed that from his mind, was not at all sure if it was the truth.
There was no reaching Tom, and he had not seen Ames. He heard some talk that orders were being issued, and it sounded like Ames was moving about, farther back, on safer ground. He realized that Ames might think he was dead. I need to get word to him somehow, he thought, find out what I should be doing. Suddenly, there was a flurry of musket fire, and he turned, looked out over one of the bodies and saw a line of gray soldiers moving beyond the crest of the hill, coming out, forward, firing into the open flank of the men in the depression. He yelled out, a warning, and others were yelling as well, and now the shots were being answered, his men firing at the new line of skirmishers. He pulled the pistol out, laid it across his chest and raised his head slightly, just to see past the body beside him. He saw a man raise a musket, spotting him, and he dropped his head down, heard the crack and the dull slap of lead against his protector. Now there were other shots, balls whizzing inches above him, and more lead hit the man beside him, thuds and thumps. He could feel the impact, the shock passing through the man’s body, and he wanted to sit up, fire the pistol, felt a new anger, wanted to yell out, “For the love of God, let him lie in peace.” There was more firing now, from below him, and he heard yelling and new sounds, and a line of his own men began to push by him, toward the rebel line. Now the volleys were slow and scattered, and he could hear his men, talking, yelling, they had pushed the rebels back.
He sat up, saw the blessed blue coats moving slowly back down the hill, spreading out just above him, and he said, “Hey! Good work . . . good work, thank you!”
A man moved down toward him, slid heavily along the ground, and he saw the round face of the Irishman, Kilrain.
“Well, Colonel, me laddie, we was a-wond’rin’ if you was still among the living.” He looked at the bodies on either side. “Got to hand it to you, Colonel, you have a talent for pickin’ your friends. This one’s . . . done his bit. . . .” He reached across, rolled the other man toward him, and Chamberlain saw the expression change, the bright smile vanish, replaced by a look of recognition and horror.
Kilrain said, “Oh, Mother of God.” He let the man go, turned away, stared down at the ground.
Chamberlain wanted to ask who it was, felt the bulk of the man still pressing against his side, thought, No, don’t, let it go.
Kilrain shook his head, looked at Chamberlain, said, “We lost many a fine man . . . a few fine boys too. Don’t seem like we can do much of anything today. Nobody coming up to help us, it appears. We’re scattered out all over this field, the whole division, more. The rebs . . . they seem pretty happy to sit tight. We run off that one bunch. A few of them didn’t make it back. . . . Don’t expect they’ll try that again.”
“Sergeant . . . I need to get back . . . to find Colonel Ames. Can you . . . is it all right to move back down the hill? You seem to have been able.