Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [221]
The man saluted, began to move along the crest of the ridge.
“Go on back to your line, Colonel,” Hancock said. “I’m sending you some Irishmen this time.”
Miles raised a dirty hand, saluted, and Hancock turned his horse and rode to the south, toward the sounds of the last assault. He could see the turnpike now, saw a long, deep line of blue, the trenches of the Twelfth Corps, and riding up the ridge toward him, a flag, a small parade. It was Slocum.
“General Hancock, greetings. How are things up this way?”
It was a rhetorical question. Hancock had not known Slocum long, had never received a good impression, but Slocum had impressed someone in Washington enough to secure command of a corps, and seemed to enjoy the show of it, the long trail of staff under the flutter of flags. He was a small, wiry man, with a short clump of beard perched below a long, thin face, and he smiled pleasantly, waiting for Hancock’s rhetorical answer.
“We’re looking at the same thing you are, General. They’re just bumping into us every so often.”
Slocum still smiled, waved an arm slowly, toward the east. “Ah, but it would have been glorious. It could have happened right here, right on this spot. We could have ended it all.”
Hancock watched him, sat quietly. Did Slocum really believe Lee would throw himself against this position? he wondered.
“So now, tomorrow, we have to start chasing them . . . all the way to Richmond, I imagine.”
Hancock said, “What? What do you mean?”
Slocum looked at him, smiled again, said, “Why, they’re gone, in full retreat. Have you not heard?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been attending to this fight in front of me.”
“General, I’m surprised. I received word from General Hooker’s headquarters hours ago. The Confederate Army is in full retreat, toward Gordonsville. They’ve been marching west all day. I thought you knew.”
“No, I have not heard that. Is this . . . certain?”
“Definitely, General, I heard from my own lookouts early this morning, and Sickles moved some units down to harass their supply trains, and ended up capturing an entire regiment of Georgians. He was too late to disrupt the retreat further, they were already by him. My latest orders are to prepare to pursue in the morning. As I said, General, it’s a shame we couldn’t fight them right here, from this wonderful position.”
Hancock looked to the east, down toward the woods where Miles was strengthening his lines.
“General, if Lee is in retreat, who is it that keeps charging my lines?”
Slocum rubbed his chin, said, “Well, to tell you the truth, that question had occurred to me. Not like Lee to leave anybody behind.”
Hancock thought, Lee has never had to leave anybody behind. “Excuse me, General, I must return to my division. And it seems clear that I must find General Couch.”
Slocum watched him go, still smiled, and down below, in the trees, there was another high yell, and the trees came alive again with the rattle of the muskets and the sounds of a new charge.
COUCH HAD ridden along the lines earlier, shortly after the tour by Hooker. Hancock thought, It’s not like him to keep me in the dark. Why had he not sent word?
Hancock rode toward the orange glow of the sun, lowered the brim of his hat, let the horse keep herself in the road. Behind him there were more shells bursting, a new artillery barrage, and he thought, If Lee is gone . . . would he leave his guns behind? He began to feel a small rumble in his gut, a small clench, thought of Slocum’s words, then suddenly reined up the horse, stopping in the middle of the road. He looked down, toward the south, recalled the map, the roads that led away, then ran parallel, far out to the west. There were more shells falling now, all along the ridge where his troops waited, a steady roar from a heavier assault, heavier than he had heard all day, and he thought, This could be it, I should go back. He rode hard back to the crest of the hill, pulled up, listened, and the shells slowed, stopped, and now the sounds of the skirmish came