Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [12]
That would help. But there was no one he knew.
"Captain Brewer, sir. Ah. One-eighteen Pennsylvania."
The Captain tugged in his coat front, produced a sheaf of papers. "If you're the commanding officer, sir, then I present you with these here prisoners." He handed the papers. Chamberlain took them, glanced down, handed them back to Tom. The Captain said, "You're welcome to 'em. God knows. Had to use the bayonet to get 'em moving. You got to sign for 'em. Colonel."
Chamberlain said over his shoulder, "Sign it, Tom." To the Captain he said,
"You're relieved. Captain." The Captain nodded, pulling on the dirty gloves.
"You're authorized to use whatever force necessary. Colonel." He said that loudly, for effect. "If you have to shoot 'em, why, you go right ahead. Won't nobody say nothin'."
"You're relieved, Captain," Chamberlain said. He walked past the Captain, closer to the men, who did not move, who did not seem to notice him. One of the guards stiffened as Chamberlain approached, looked past him to his captain. Chamberlain said, "You men can leave now. We don't need any guards."
He stood in front of the men, ignoring the guards. They began to move off.
Chamberlain stood for a moment looking down. Some of the faces turned up.
There was hunger and exhaustion and occasional hatred. Chamberlain said, "My name is Chamberlain. I'm Colonel, Twentieth Maine."
Some of them did not even raise their heads. He waited another moment. Then he said, "When did you eat last?"
More heads came up. There was no answer. Then a man in the front row said huskily, in a whiskey voice, "We're hungry, Colonel."
Another man said, "They been tryin' to break us by not feedin' us."
Chamberlain looked: a scarred man, hatless, hair plastered thinly on the scalp like strands of black seaweed. The man said, "We ain't broke yet."
Chamberlain nodded. A hard case. But we'll begin with food. He said, "They just told us you were coming a little while ago. I've told the cook to butcher a steer. Hope you like it near to raw; not much time to cook." Eyes opened wide. He could begin to see the hunger on the faces, like the yellow shine of sickness. He said, "We've got a ways to go today and you'll be coming with us, so you better eat hearty. We're all set for you back in the trees." He saw Glazier Estabrook standing huge-armed and peaceful in the shade of a nearby tree. "Glazier," Chamberlain said, "you show these men where to go. You fellas eat up and then I'll come over and hear what you have to say.'' No man moved.
Chamberlain turned away. He did not know what he would do if they did not choose to move. He heard a voice: "Colonel?"
He turned. The scarred man was standing.
"Colonel, we got grievances. The men elected me to talk for 'em."
"Right." Chamberlain nodded. "You come on with me and talk. The rest of you fellas go eat." He beckoned to the scarred man and waved to Glazier Estabrook.
He turned again, not waiting for the men to move off, not sure they would go, began to walk purposefully toward the blessed dark, wondering again how big a guard detail it would take, thinking he might wind up with more men out of action than in, and also: what are you going to say? Good big boys they are.
Seen their share of action.
"Gosh, Lawrence," Tom Chamberlain said.
"Smile," Chamberlain said cheerily, "and don't call me Lawrence. Are they moving?" He stopped and glanced pleasantly backward, saw with delight that the men were up and moving toward the trees, toward food. He grinned, plucked a book from his jacket, handed it to Tom.
"Here. This is Casey's Manual of Infantry Tactics. You study it, maybe someday you'll make a soldier." He smiled at the scarred man, extended a hand. "What's your name?"
The man stopped, looked at him for a long cold second.
The hand seemed to come up against gravity, against his will. Automatic courtesy: Chamberlain was relying on it.
"I'm