Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [36]
He paused. Hard to speak in this fashion. Longstreet was staring with cold silent eyes. Lee said sternly, "You have a very bad habit. General, of going too far forward."
Longstreet said, "You cannot lead from behind."
"Well. Let me put it plainly. I cannot spare you."
Longstreet stood silent for a moment. He bowed slightly, then he grinned.
"True," he said.
"You will oblige me?"
"My pleasure," Longstreet said.
Lee rubbed his nose, looked down at the table. "Now, let us look to the day.
Nothing will happen today. But we have an opportunity, I believe."
"Nothing from Stuart?"
Lee shook his head. Longstreet grumbled,' 'The Federals are closing in."
"I have no new information."
"When Stuart comes back, if he does come back-which he will eventually, if only just to read the Richmond newspapers-you ought to court-martial him."
"And will that make him a better soldier?"
Longstreet paused. He said, "All right. What will?"
"Reproach, I think. I must let him know how badly he has let us down."
Longstreet chuckled. He shook his head, gazing at Lee.
"Yes, by George. Maybe. Reproach from you. Yes." Longstreet grinned widely.
"Might do the job. But me... I'm not good at that."
"Different men, different methods. Docile men make very poor soldiers."
Longstreet grinned wryly. "An army of temperamentals. It isn't an army, it's a gentlemen's club. My God. Remember when old Powell Hill wanted to fight me a duel, right in the middle of the war?"
"And you ignored him. You did exactly right."
"Yep. He might have shot me."
Lee smiled. His heart rolled again, a soft sudden thump, leaving him breathless. Longstreet was grinning, staring off toward the road, did not notice. Lee said, "One new item. I have confirmed some of your man Harrison's information. The new commander is definitely George Meade, not Reynolds. The news is carried in the local newspapers."
Longstreet reached inside his coat, extracted a fat cigar.
"You can trust my man, I think. I sent him into Gettysburg last night. He said he saw two brigades of Union cavalry there."
"Last night?"
"I sent you a report."
Lee felt a tightening in his chest. He put his hand to his arm. He said slowly, "General Hill reports only militia."
"It's cavalry, I think." Longstreet chewed, spat.
Where there is cavalry there will be infantry close behind.
"Whose troops?"
"John Buford."
Longstreet meditated.
" Meade's coming fast. Looks like he's trying to get behind us."
"Yes." Lee thought: the direction does not matter. Fight him wherever he is.
Lee said, "We have an opportunity."
Longstreet chewed, nodded, grinned. "Yep. Objective was to get him out of Washington and in the open. Now he's out. Now all we have to do is swing round between him and Washington and get astride some nice thick rocks and make him come to us, and we've got him in the open."
Take the defensive. Not again. Lee shook his head. He pointed to Gettysburg.
"He has been forcing the march. The weather has been unusually hot. He will arrive strung out and tired, piece by piece. If we concentrate we can hit him as he comes up. If we min one or two corps we can even the odds."
He was again breathless, but he bent over the map.
Longstreet said nothing.
"He's new to command," Lee said. "It will take him some days to pick up the reins. His information will be poor, he will have staff problems."
"Yes, and he will have Washington on his back, urging him to throw us out of Pennsylvania. He has to fight. We don't."
Lee put his hand to his eyes. He was fuzzy-brained.
Longstreet loved the defense. But all the bright theories so rarely worked.
Instinct said: hit hard, hit quick, hit everything. But he listened. Then he said slowly, "That move will be what Meade expects."
"Yes. Because he fears it."
Lee turned away from the table. He wanted no argument now. He had been down this road before,