Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [95]
“Sir, the general is not in agreement with General Sumner’s order, and wishes you to know that. But General Sumner is in command of the field.”
Hancock nodded, knew Smith was playing it as carefully as a good politician can.
“Please return to General Smith and thank him for his intentions. You may tell the general that I will remain here until such time as General Sumner’s orders are clarified. I did not completely understand them the first time. His courier was . . . vague.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The man ducked low again, moved back across the earthworks.
Sumner’s man stood with Hancock’s remaining aides, and stepped forward, prepared with a mild protest.
“Sir, General Sumner’s orders—”
“You may return to General Sumner. Relay to the general that our position here continues to be strong. We are in a position to carry the field. Request General Sumner to repeat his order. You were vague.”
The man swallowed his protest, mounted his horse and was quickly gone.
Hancock went back to the front wall, continued to glass the far positions. The shooting began again, a fresh volley, then slowed, and now there was silence. From behind him, he heard another horse, turned and saw Crane. The look on the young man’s face told him what he did not want to hear.
“Sir, General Sumner has ordered you again to withdraw from your position. He is insistent, sir.”
Hancock turned away from the man, felt a heavy fist inside his chest, pressing down hard on his own disgust, forcing it down deep inside him. You do not criticize generals, you obey them, he thought. But this is pure stupidity. We are losing our opportunity. A glorious piece of good luck has been erased by the hesitation of a cautious old man.
He looked at his watch, five o’clock. Now there was not much time, and it was clear that no more troops were coming from General Smith.
Men began to call out, pointing, and Custer suddenly appeared, climbing over the far end of the earthworks, plucking at briars on his hat.
“I hope you, for one, have enjoyed this day, Lieutenant. Gone for a walk in the woods?”
“General, sir, I have been doing a bit of reconnaissance. The enemy is beginning to move this way. At least two regiments, maybe more, are forming behind those woods to the right. They appear to be units of Early’s brigade, sir.”
Hancock thought, We can hold out here for a while, but this fortification is too small, we are too tightly bunched. If they should bring up artillery . . .
“Good work, Lieutenant.” He motioned to Crane, sent him to the commanders, gave the word to begin pulling back, out of the fortifications, back toward the dam.
The orders were called out, and men began to climb out, going back the way they had come, and he saw the looks, the disappointment. They didn’t understand either, he thought. Even the troops knew they should have kept going.
He followed the last of the companies through the winding trench works, then climbed up and over the dirt embankment, and now the earthworks were empty, except for the neat row of Confederate dead, which his men had arranged respectfully. They moved quickly back through the thick grass, reached the first fortification, filled it, and Hancock climbed up on the wall, watching his men. He looked out past the works, back across the dam to the great open field, the plain of green grass that they had first crossed, saw a rider suddenly appear on one of the low crests that ran across the field. It was Smith’s man again, and he knew there would be nothing he wanted to hear. But he watched the man disappear again, between the crests, completely out of sight. Then the man topped the second crest, came down across the flat plain toward the dam.
Hancock turned, suddenly, shouted, “Regimental commanders . . . I need the commanders here . . . now!”
The word went out, and through the trenches below him he saw the officers approach, snaking their way through the troops. Behind him Custer was glassing the fortification they had abandoned.
“General, the rebels have returned.”
Hancock