Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [91]
May 4, 1862
HE HAD met General Sumner several times, had served under him briefly in St. Louis, had even seen him in California, but he did not expect the man to have aged so badly.
“General Hancock, do come in, thank you.” Sumner was an old man, and Hancock saw now that he might be too old. His headquarters was a large tent, and he sat alone at a small table. Behind him was a map, hung between two thin sticks, small trees that had been cut and pushed into the soft ground. General Smith stood beside Hancock, nervous, clasping and unclasping his hands. He greeted Hancock only with a small nod.
Sumner turned in his chair, motioned to an aide, who handed him a pointer, and he held it up to the map, waved it unsteadily.
“Gentlemen, this map is all wrong. It’s the only map we have, but it’s all wrong. Turns out, the roads we’ve been using don’t go where they’re supposed to go. Damned nuisance.” He stopped, coughed, turned back to the men in front of him.
“We’ve got the enemy in front of us, dug in, ready for a fight. General McClellan is not here. He is . . . God knows . . . back there, somewhere, trading complaints with Washington. So, I am in command of the field. This is not my choice, but it is the circumstance. General Smith?”
“Yes, sir.”
“General, you must deploy your division across the roads in front of you. Then push out through the woods to the right. General Hancock, I would like that to be your job. Take five regiments, yours and some from . . . from whoever General Smith designates. Move north, out on our right flank. There’s supposed to be some fortifications out there, part of what they call Fort Magruder. You know John Magruder? Artillery man, hell of a fighter. Did some fine work in Mexico.”
Hancock nodded, said, “Yes, sir. I am familiar with him.”
“Well, that place could be a threat to our position. The enemy is dug in heavily around their so-called fort. General Hooker is in contact with the direct center of the fortifications. He probably has his hands full. General Hancock, I want you to take this man here.”
He raised a thin arm, and Hancock looked toward a cavalry officer, standing to one side, who stepped forward.
“I’d like him to go with you, be my observer. He has scouted the woods already, may be of some help.”
Hancock looked at the young man, saw blond hair falling in loose curls, a red scarf tied loosely around the man’s neck, a long feather sprouting from the band in the man’s hat. The man saluted, said, “It will be an honor to serve with you, General.”
Sumner coughed again, and Hancock stared at the strange cavalry officer a moment longer. Then Sumner said, “General Smith, are you yet engaged?”
“Sir, we have forces in our front, and . . . well, yes, we have been moving against them. Not fully, though. Shall I give the order to advance, sir?”
Sumner stared up at Smith, leaned back in his small chair, paused for a long moment and said, “General, have you heard fighting on your left?”
“Yes, sir. About an hour ago. Seems to be somewhat heavy.”
“Well, General, that fighting involves two divisions, Hooker and Couch. I imagine they are expecting you to move up in support. Does that seem like a reasonable plan to you?”
Smith felt the sarcasm, glanced at Hancock self-consciously, said, “Yes, sir. Right away. If you will excuse me, sir. I will move my units up in support and engage the enemy.”
Smith hurried out of the tent, and Hancock saluted Sumner, followed Smith outside. Smith climbed up on his horse, turned around unsteadily, said, “General . . . best of luck. This day may make heroes of us all.”
Hancock wondered if he was serious, said nothing. He looked over to the young cavalryman, who pulled his horse up beside Hancock’s. “Do you have a name, soldier?” he asked.
“Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer, at your service, sir.”
“Well, Lieutenant Custer, shall we get started?”
FOR OVER a mile they slid between huge live oaks, pushed through the thickets of scrub pine. Behind them, off to their left, they could hear the sounds of