Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [207]
Couch was looking through field glasses, watching the emerging lines of blue. Hancock saw Sykes riding up toward the crest, back from the advance lines of his troops.
Sykes saluted, said, “General Couch, welcome to the field, sir. We have won the day . . . we have prevailed! The rebels have been pushed back to the edge of the open ground, and I am ordering my guns up to this hill. Have you heard from General Meade, sir? I must report to him.”
Couch shook his head, pointed toward the north. “He’s still up there, as far as I know. If he’s had as good a day as you have, he may be sitting at Bank’s Ford.”
Sykes looked toward the rear of his lines, saw horses bringing up the first of his field guns. There was an officer leading, and Sykes yelled, “Here, over here, there’s a small clearing. . . .” The horses moved that way, a clatter of wheels, and Sykes said, “General Couch, do you have any orders, sir? Should we press the attack?”
Couch turned, looked back at Hancock’s troops, who had filled the road behind them, down along the hill. Hancock looked with him, thought, Yes, we cannot be stopped. We are too many.
In the distance there was a man on a horse, moving awkwardly along the side of the road, pressing hard up the hill toward them. Couch said, “That’s Loveless . . . from Hooker.” They waited, and the man made his way up the hill, waving a piece of paper.
“Sir . . . your orders, sir!”
The man had called out with unusual energy, was looking now to the front, cautiously, where a few bursts of musket fire still echoed through the woods.
Couch took the paper, read quietly, and Hancock watched his face, tried to see. Couch’s expression did not change. Suddenly, he gripped the paper hard, crushing it, stared ahead at nothing. “We have been ordered to withdraw.”
Hancock waited for more, said, “You mean, my division?”
Couch looked at him, grim and hard, said, “No, General. Both divisions. The army. General Hooker is recalling all units back to Chancellorsville. We are to form a defensive line, back where we began this morning.”
Sykes stared at Couch, his mouth open slightly, and he turned to the east, pointed. “Sir, we have pushed the enemy back! The field is ours, we must advance . . . General Meade . . . I must find out if General Meade knows—”
“No, General. The order clearly names your division as well. There is no mention of General Meade. I would assume he has received an order just like this one.”
Hancock looked to the south, toward the far clearing where Slocum’s troops could be seen. “They’re leaving. Slocum is withdrawing already.”
Couch followed Hancock’s gaze, said, “Of course, he follows orders. We all follow orders.”
Sykes was shaking his head, waved an arm wildly, said, “No! If Slocum pulls back we are exposed! Our flank is open!”
Hancock was still looking toward the south and the small sounds of distant muskets. He looked to the clearing beside the road, to Sykes’s cannon, the men unhooking and turning the guns, pointing toward the east. He looked back at Couch, who was listening to Sykes still protesting, his voice getting louder.
Men were beginning to gather, men who knew their commander to be a solid leader, a soldier who led a tough division, mostly regulars, veterans of many bad and costly fights. Now the men were beginning to understand, heard Sykes say, “We cannot withdraw! General, we simply cannot!”
The soldiers began to close in around the men on the horses, and Hooker’s courier was glancing sharply around, nervous. A man yelled out, “We ain’t turnin’ back! We got the rebs on the run!”
There were more calls now, and men began to shout at Couch, at Hancock, knew their own commander would not back away, not from a fight they were winning.
Couch looked out at the faces, said nothing, then looked at Hancock, and Hancock now understood. The order was clear and direct, and they would obey. Couch turned to Sykes, who was silent now, in wide-eyed disbelief.
Couch said, “General Sykes, you will form your division and march