The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara [46]
But he did not know how many Federals were ahead. Rodes might be attacking half the Union Army. Another Sharpsburg. And yet, and yet, I cannot call him back; he is already committed. Lee said, “Nothing for now. Wait here.”
He turned to Taylor. “I want all possible knowledge of the enemy strength. Ride forward yourself and observe. And be careful.”
Taylor saluted formally and rode off, the grin breaking across his face just as he turned. Lee turned and began heading back toward the road. Now Heth was back.
“Sir, Rodes is heavily engaged. Shall I attack?”
Lee shook his head, then said loudly, “No.” He rode on, then he said over his shoulder, “We are not yet prepared for a full engagement. Longstreet is not up.”
Heth said, “There aren’t that many of the enemy, sir.”
“What are your casualties?”
“Moderate, sir. There’s been some fighting. But Pender is in position. Together, sir, we could sweep them.”
Lee waited. It did not feel right. There was something heavy and dark and tight about the day, riding stiffly in the broad barren field, in harsh sunlight. The firing in the north was mounting. Batteries of artillery had opened up.
“Who is commanding there?” Lee pointed to the hills beyond the town.
Heth blinked, suddenly remembering. “Sir, I’d forgotten. We have word that General Reynolds was killed.”
Lee turned. “John Reynolds?”
“Yes, sir. Prisoners state he was killed this morning. I believe Doubleday has succeeded him.”
“Are you sure?”
“The news seems reliable.”
“I’m sorry,” Lee said. His mind flashed a vision of Reynolds. A neat trim man. A gentleman, a friend. Lee shook his head. It was queer to be so strange and tight in the mind. He seemed unable to think clearly. Reynolds dead. Gone. Doubleday behind him. Doubleday an unknown quantity, but certainly nothing spectacular. But Reynolds’ First Corps was solid. What to do?
“I can support Rodes, sir,” Heth said.
Lee looked at him. He knows he has brought this on; he wants to fight now to retrieve it. His answer is to fight, not to think; to fight, pure and simple. Lee rode slowly forward, nearing the trees ahead alongside the road. You can depend on the troops, but can you count on the generals? Why has Rodes attacked? Will Hill fight well, or Rodes either? What I need is Longstreet and he is not here. A mistake to bring him up last.
Another courier. “General Early has arrived, begs to report that he is attacking to the north of General Rodes.”
Lee stopped, looked north. It was working almost like a plan. It was possible to see Intention in it. The Union formed to face him and fought well and now was being flanked from the north, simply because Lee’s men had orders to come to Gettysburg, and they were coming in almost behind the Union defenses. Lee felt a sharpness in the air. His blood was rising. He had tried to be discreet, but it was all happening without him, without one decision; it was all in God’s hands. And yet he could leave it alone himself no longer. Rodes and Early were attacking; Heth and Pender were waiting here in front of him. Lee’s instinct sensed opportunity. Let us all go in together, as God has decreed a fight here.
He swung to Heth. “General, you may attack.”
To Pender he said the same. He gave no further directions. The generals would know what to do now. With that word it was out of his hands. It had never really been in his hands at all. And yet his was the responsibility.
He rode forward to the rise ahead, across the small creek. Now he had a clearer view. Pender’s division was on the move; he heard the great scream of the massed Rebel yells. Now batteries were in position behind him, beginning to open up on the woods near the cupola. Lee ducked his head as the shot whickered over him. He did not like to stand in front of artillery. Some of the artillery was moving forward. Rifle fire was breaking out. The wind shifted; he was enveloped in smoke. Marshall’s face appeared, an incoherent message. Lee tried to find