Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [235]
Couch turned, said, “Gentlemen, let us move to a safer place. We will soon be the front lines.”
He spurred the horse, and Hancock looked east, toward his troops, could hear nothing, sounds drowned out by the fierce chorus of blasts from the clearing.
He yelled toward Couch, rode quickly to catch up, and Couch slowed, looked at him. Hancock saw the face of a man who had had enough, the anger now fading, replaced by deep sadness. Couch said, “You will protect our flanks.... We will pull back to the north, toward the river. Reynolds will cover the west flank, you will cover the south and east.”
Reynolds? he thought. “Sir, did the First Corps give way? I did not know they had engaged—”
“The First Corps did not have the chance to give way. They have not yet seen action. General Reynolds is dug in above the turnpike, and will withdraw toward the fords above him.”
Hancock stared blankly at Couch. Reynolds . . . the First Corps, maybe the best they had . . . was not even engaged.
Up the road leading toward the river, riders appeared, came through the smoke, turned, moved toward them. Hancock saw the flag of the Fifth Corps, the Maltese cross. It was Meade, and with him, John Reynolds.
The aides stayed back, and Couch moved forward. The three men began to speak, and Hancock waited, could hear nothing. Then Couch turned, motioned to him, and he pushed the horse closer. Meade was staring away, toward the sound of the guns, and Reynolds was looking at him, hard, cold.
Couch said, “General Hancock, do you understand your orders?”
“Yes, sir. I am to protect the withdrawal of the army.”
Reynolds was still staring at him, said quietly, “The withdrawal of the army . . . gentlemen, this is pure madness. General Hooker is not in control. Couch, you can override him, you are in command of the field. I can advance my men in line to the south, flank the enemy to the west. It is not too late to save this!”
Meade was still looking away, watching the lines of troops moving up the road, away from the sound of the guns. “We did not even have a fight.” He turned, stared at Couch. “We did not even have a fight! Most of them . . . my men never even saw the enemy!”
Couch nodded, spoke with slow, careful words. “Gentlemen, General Hooker’s last order was clear. The general made his decision because . . . General Sedgwick did not pursue the enemy with vigor. General Hooker feels that had Sedgwick come in behind Lee’s lines, we would not be forced to withdraw. But we have already begun the withdrawal. It is now . . . the only course left to us.”
Reynolds leaned forward, glared at Couch. “Sedgwick? So . . . that’s to be it, eh? Sedgwick is the cause? We will blame one corps?”
“Gentlemen . . .” Couch raised his hand. “You may all prepare your own reports of this battle. But we have our orders. They will be carried out. General Hancock . . .” He turned, and Hancock looked again into the sad eyes. “You may return to your division.”
THEY HELD the line until the troops behind them had passed, moving quickly now, the retreat pushed hard by the panic of defeat, the spreading disease of fear—that the enemy was coming, right behind them, that if they did not move quickly, the massive army would be crushed. On the roads the columns had little order, and the guns, from Hazel Grove, from the main roads in both directions, poured a steady stream of solid shot and exploding shells into the ranks. Many of the units lost all order. Men began running into the thick brush, away from the deadly open roads, knew that if they just kept moving north, they would find the river.
Those who did not share the panic, the corps and division commanders, were now coming to understand that this tragic and expensive defeat had not come from the weakness of the troops, but from the collapse of one