Killer Angels, The - Michael Shaara [81]
You can hold nothing back when you attack. You must commit yourself totally.
And yet, if they all die, a man must ask himself, will it have been worth it?"
Longstreet felt a coldness down his spine. He had never heard Lee speak this way. He had not known Lee thought of this kind of thing. He said, "You think I feel too much for the men."
"Oh no," Lee shook his head quickly. "Not too much. I did not say 'too much'."
But I... was just speaking."
Longstreet thought: Possibly? But his mind said: No. It is not that. That's the trap all right, but it's not my trap. Not yet. But he thinks I love the men too much. He thinks that's where all the talk of defense comes from. My God... But there's no time.
Lee said, "General, you know, I've not been well lately."
That was so unlike him that Longstreet turned to stare. But the face was calm, composed, watchful. Longstreet felt a rumble of unexpected affection. Lee said, "I hope my illness has not affected my judgment. I rely on you always to tell me the truth as you see it."
"Of course."
"No matter how much I disagree."
Longstreet shrugged.
"I want this to be the last battle," Lee said. He took a deep breath. He leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, as if to confide something terribly important. "You know, General, under this beard I'm not a young man."
Longstreet chuckled, grumbled, rubbed his nose.
A courier came toiling down the dusty lane, pushing his horse through the crowded troops. The man rode to Lee. In this army Lee was always easy to find.
The courier, whom Longstreet did not recognize, saluted, then for some unaccountable reason took off his hat, stood bareheaded in the sun, yellow hair plastered wetly all over his scalp.
"Message from General Hood, sir."
"Yes." Politely, Lee waited.
"The General says to tell you that the Yankees are moving troops up on the high Rocky Hill, the one to the right. And there's a signal team up there."*
Lee nodded, gave his compliments.
"That was to be expected. Tell General Hood that General Meade might have saved himself the trouble. We'll have that hill before night."
The courier put his hat back on and rode off. They rode on for a while in silence. Then Lee halted abruptly in the center of the road. He said, "I suppose I should be getting back. I'll only be in your way."
"Not at all," Longstreet said. But it was Lee's practice to back off, once the fight had begun, and let the commanders handle it. He could see that Lee was reluctant to go. Gradually it dawned on him that Lee was worried for him.
"You know," Lee said slowly, looking eastward again, toward the heights, "when I awoke this morning I half thought he'd be gone, General Meade, that he would not want to fight here. When I woke up I thought, yes, Meade will be gone, and Longstreet will be happy, and then I can please Old Pete, my war-horse."
"We'll make him sorry he stayed." Longstreet grinned.
"They fought well yesterday. Meredith's brigade put up a fine fight. They will fight well again today."
Longstreet smiled. "We'll see," he said.
Lee put out a hand. Longstreet took it. The grip no longer quite so firm, the hand no longer quite so large.
"God go with you," Lee said. It was like a blessing from a minister.
Longstreet nodded. Lee rode off.
Now Longstreet was alone. And now he felt a cold depression. He did not know why. He chewed another cigar.
The army ahead halted. He rode past waiting men, gradually began to become annoyed. He looked up and saw Captain Johnston riding back, his face flushed and worried.
"General," Johnston said, "I'm sorry, but if we go on down this road the enemy will view us."
Longstreet swore. He began to ride ahead, saw Joe