Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [116]
The men lay below him in a line below the crest, receding down into the trees, the dark. In the night they had built a stone wall, had set out pickets, had taken prisoners. They had been joined at last by the 83rd Pennsylvania and the 44th New York, but they were still the extreme end of the Union line, the highest point on the field. Chamberlain kept pickets out all night, changing them every two hours, making them report every half hour. He did not sleep. As long as he kept moving the pain in the leg did not trouble him, but the foot kept bleeding and annoying him. No one had any rations. They had left Union Mills with three days' worth, but the troops had philosophically eaten most of that first chance they got. Chamberlain searched for coffee, which he badly needed. Just before sunup he began to get very, very tired, and so he climbed the tree and rested his legs. Dawn was always the worst time. Almost impossible to keep the eyes open. Close them and he thought of her, the red robe. This morning, oddly, he thought of her and of his two children. He could see them clearly, when he closed his eyes, playing at her feet like cubs, she looking up at him smiling calmly, waiting, pouting-but they would not even be up yet. Too early for them. They will sleep two more hours, at least. And here I sit on a hill in Pennsylvania. High on a hill, perched in a tree, watching the dawn come. A year ago I was in Maine, a teacher of languages. Amazing. The ways of God. Who would have thought? Well. It will be hard to go home again after this. Yesterday was... He closed his eyes. Saw the men behind the rocks, Tozier with the flag, the smoke, white faces, a scream for bayonets. Yesterday was... a dream.
He almost dozed. Came awake. Need someone to talk to. Sky all thick and gray.
Rain? I hope so. But no, another scorcher. They don't know about this kind of weather back in Maine.
"Colonel?" At the foot of the tree: Tom. Chamberlain smiled.
"Hey, Colonel, I got you some coffee."
He held aloft a steaming cup. Chamberlain's stomach twinged in anticipation.
Tom clambered up, reaching.
Chamberlain took the hot cup, held it lovingly. "Oh, that's fine. Where did you find that?"
"Well..." Tom grinned. "Gee, you sure can see a ways from up here." He squinted. "Golly, that's the whole damn Reb army."
"Don't swear," Chamberlain said automatically. He thought of yesterday. I used him to plug a hole. My brother.
Did it automatically, as if he was expendable. Reached out and put him there, as you move a chess piece.
"We sent out a detail," Tom said cheerily, yawning, "and found some poor departed souls down there and they were carrying coffee for which they had no more use, so we took it."
Chamberlain grimaced. "Ghoul," he said. But he drank, and the coffee was sweet with brown sugar, and strength boiled into him.
"How you feel. Colonel, sir? You notice I don't say 'Lawrence.'"
"I feel fine."
"You know, I bet we're higher than anybody in the whole army. In both blame armies." Tom was pleased. "Now there's a thing to tell your children. My, what a view."
Chamberlain drank. After a moment he said, without thinking, "I miss old Buster."
"Kilrain? Yep. But he'll be all right."
The vacancy was there, a hole in the air, a special kind of loneliness. You wanted to have Buster to talk to when it was all over, to go over it, to learn, to understand, to see what you should have done.
Tom said, "You know, Lawrence? I close my eyes, I fall asleep."
"Better get down off the tree."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I don't like bayonets." He squinted at Chamberlain, shrugged foolishly, blinked and yawned. "One thing about war I just don't like. Different, you know? Not like guns and cannon. Other men feel same way. You know what I mean?"
Chamberlain nodded.
"I couldn't use mine," Tom said ashamedly. "Yesterday. Just couldn't. Ran down the hill, yelling, screamed my head off. Hit one man with the rifle barrel.
Bent the rifle