Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [92]
Hancock stayed on foot, led the column through the woods, Custer his guide. The battle sounds were solid now, no wavering, no gaps. If it goes badly, Hancock thought, if they push the rest of Smith’s division back, if Hooker doesn’t hold his ground, we are out here by ourselves, cut off.
The woods began to thin, and he saw an opening, the trees spreading far apart now. The woods ended suddenly, giving way to a wide-open plain more than a mile long. He put his glasses to his eyes, heard Custer say, “There it is,” then saw their objective across the long, undulating field: the small dam. Behind him the regimental commanders had been assembled, and Hancock turned, saw the troops stretched out in ragged lines, disappearing back through the thick trees.
“Gentlemen, we have to cross this field and reach that dam. I don’t see any sign of the enemy, but the field has some elevation, some depressions, they could be waiting for us anywhere. Once we reach the dam, it’s a tight line over the top, only a few feet wide, and from what Lieutenant Custer tells me, the enemy’s entrenchments are on the other side. We will form battle lines here at the edge of the woods, then move across the field as quickly as we can. Keep the noise to a minimum, and no firing.”
He scanned the faces, saw an aide, Hughes, with small round glasses on a long point of a nose. “Lieutenant, send word to Colonel Wheeler: I want his batteries brought forward to the edge of these trees, focused on that dam. If we can’t get across it, we’ll blow it to hell, maybe drive ’em out with a flood of water. Any questions?”
There were no questions. He looked at the faces, the commanders he had trained, knew they were ready. He focused the field glasses out across the open field, and the men went back to their units, began moving them up.
Custer stepped out of the trees, walked out into the open, then turned and said, “Give me a squad, General, a picket line maybe. Let me ease across and draw their fire. I can’t see anybody, but those far trees could be full of artillery.”
Hancock thought, Yes, good, it could work. Tempt some nervous gunner, a sweating hand holding a tight lanyard, and they could start a reckless fire that would reveal the entire position of the enemy. He nodded, waved back to another aide, said “Give Lieutenant Custer fifty men, tell them to keep low, move fast, cross that field.”
The man ran back, and men quickly came forward, men who had not yet seen the enemy, who would be the first.
They moved out into the open. Custer spread them into a thin line, spaced a few feet apart. Then, with a quiet wave of his arm, they were moving away through the field. Behind them the regiments poured neatly out of the trees, began to form in lines three deep, then moved forward, made room for the units behind. Hancock climbed on his horse, rode out to Custer, watching, looking ahead for the small puff of smoke coming well before the sound, the first telltale sign of an impatient gunner, the high screech of the shell that would rip the air as it tumbled toward them. But there was nothing.
“Proceed, Lieutenant. With speed.”
Custer saluted, waved to the line of men, and they began to move in a quicker step, jogging through the thick green grass, moving up a slight incline. Hancock braced, waited for the volley, but it did not come. The men were now out of sight and he was watching an empty field, then they came up again on a far rise, still in line, still with the quick step. Now the regiments began to move, the slow, steady march, and Hancock rode along the front, watched the officers spread the formations. He prodded the horse, moved quickly down the lines, and the men waved hats. There were some careless cheers, quickly silenced by the officers.
He rode out now to the top of the first rise, could not see Custer’s men, and so rode farther, dropped down, then climbed the gentle slope to the next rise, and then they were there, very close to the dam now, a small dirt ridge blocking