Michael Shaara - The Killer Angels

”Yes, sir. But they’re on their way to Richmond.”

”Not today,” Chamberlain said. “They’ve done enough today.”

He stopped, took a deep breath, stood still, then turned a to look for Tom. Saw Morrill, of Company B, wandering toward him through thick brush.

”Hey, Colonel, glad to see you. I was beginning to wonder.”

Chamberlain stared. “You were beginning to wonder?”

”I tell you. Colonel, I keep thinking I better come back and help you, but you said stay out there and guard that flank, so I did, and I guess it come out all right, thank the Lord. Nobody came nowhere near me until just a few minutes ago. Then they come backin’ my way, which I didn’t expect. So we opened up, and they all turned around and quit, just like that. Damnedest thing you ever saw.” He shook his head, amazed. “Easiest fight I was ever in.”

Chamberlain sighed. “Captain,” he said, “next time I tell you to go out a ways, please don’t go quite so far.”

”Well, Colonel, we looked around, and there was this here stone wall, and it was comfortin’, you know?”

Tom was here, well, untouched. Chamberlain opened up into a smile. Tom had a Reb officer in tow, a weary gentleman with a face of grime and sadness, of exhausted despair.

”Hey, Lawrence, want you to meet this fella from Alabama. Cap’n Hawkins, want you to meet my brother. This here’s Colonel Chamberlain.”

Chamberlain put out a hand. “Sir,” he said. The Alabama man nodded slightly. His voice was so low Chamberlain could hardly hear it. “Do you have some water?”

”Certainly.” Chamberlain offered his own canteen. Off to the right a huge mass of prisoners: two hundred, maybe more. Most of them sitting, exhausted, heads down. Only a few men of the Regiment here, mostly Morrill’s Company.

Ironic. Chamberlain thought: well, he’s the only one with ammunition.

Firing was slacking beyond the hill. The charge of the 20th Maine had cleared the ground in front of the 83rd Pennsylvania; they were beginning to move down the hill, rounding up prisoners. As the Reb flank on this side fell apart and running men began to appear on the other side of the hill the attack there would break up. Yes, firing was less.

He heard whoops and hollers, felt a grin break out as if stepping into lovely sunshine. We did it, by God.

The Alabama man was sitting down. Chamberlain let him alone. Kilrain. Looked. Where? He moved painfully back up the rocks toward the position from which they had charged. Hip stiffening badly. Old Kilrain. Unhurtable.

He saw Kilrain from a distance. He was sitting on a rock, head back against a tree, arm black with streaked blood. But all right, all right, head bobbing bareheaded like a lively mossy white rock. Ruel Thomas was with him, and Tozier, working on the arm. Chamberlain bounded and slipped on wet rocks, forgetting his hurts, his throat stuffed. He knelt.

They had peeled back the shirt and the arm was whitely soft where they had cleaned it and there was a mess around the shoulder. Great round muscle: strong old man. Chamberlain grinned, giggled, wiped his face.

”Buster? How you doin’? You old mick.”

Kilrain peered at him vaguely cheerily. His face had a linen softness.

”They couldn’t seem hardly to miss,” he said regretfully, apologizing. “Twice, would you believe. For the love of Mary. Twicet.”

He snorted, gloomed, looked up into Chamberlain’s eyes and blinked.

”And how are you. Colonel darlin’? This fine day?”

Chamberlain nodded, grinning foolishly. There was a tight long silent moment. Chamberlain felt a thickness all through his chest. It was like coming back to your father, having done something fine, and your father knows it, and you can see the knowledge in his eyes, and you are both too proud to speak of it. But he knows. Kilrain looked away. He tried to move bloody fingers.

”In the armpit,” he gloomed forlornly. “For the love of God. He died of his wounds. In the bloody bleedin’ armpit. Ak.”

To Tozier, Chamberlain said, “How is that?”

Tozier shrugged. “It’s an arm.”

”By God,” Chamberlain said. “I think you’ll live.”

Kilrain blinked hazily. “Only an arm. Got to lose something, might’s well be an arm. Can part with that easier than the other mechanics of nature, an thass the truth.” He was blurring; he stretched his eyes. “Used to worry about that, you know? Only thing ever worried, really. Losing wrong part.” His eyes closed; his voice was plaintive. “I could do with a nip right now.”

”I’ll see what I can do.”

”You do pretty good.” Kilrain blinked, peered, looking for him.

”Colonel?”

”Right here.”

”The army was blessed…” But he ran out of breath, closed his eyes.

”You take it easy.”

”Want you to know. Just in case. That I have never served…”He paused to breathe, put out the bloody hand, looked into Chamberlain’s eyes. “Never served under a better man. Want you to know. Want to thank you, sir.”

Chamberlain nodded. Kilrain closed his eyes. His face began to relax; his skin was very pale. Chamberlain held the great cold hand. Chamberlain said, “Let me go round up something medicinal.”

”I’d be eternal grateful.”

”You rest.” Chamberlain was feeling alarm.

Tozier said, “I’ve sent off.”

”Well I’ve seen them run,” Kilrain said dreamily.

”Glory be. Thanks to you. Colonel darlin’. Lived long enough to see the Rebs run. Come the Millennium. Did you see them run. Colonel darlin’?”

”I did.”

”I got one fella. Raggedy fella. Beautiful offhand shot, if I say so mesel’.”

”I’ve got to go. Buster.”

”He was drawin’ a bead on you. Colonel. I got him with one quick shot offhand. Oh lovely.” Kilrain sighed.

”Loveliest shot I ever made.”

”You stay with him. Sergeant,” Chamberlain said.

Thomas nodded.

”Be back in a while, Buster.”

Kilrain opened his eyes, but he was drifting off toward sleep, and he nodded but did not see. Chamberlain backed away. There were some men around him from the old Second Maine and he talked to them automatically, not knowing what he was saying, thanking them for the fight, looking on strange young bloody faces. He moved back down the slope.

He went back along the low stone wall. The dead were mostly covered now with blankets and shelter halves, but some of them were still dying and there were groups of men clustered here and there. There were dead bodies and wounded bodies all down the wall and all down through the trees and blood was streaked on the trees and rocks and rich wet wood splinters were everywhere. He patted shoulders, noted faces. It was very quiet and dark down among the trees. Night was coming. He began to feel tired. He went on talking. A boy was dying. He had made a good fight and he wanted to be promoted before he died and Chamberlain promoted him. He spoke to a man who had been clubbed over the head with a musket and who could not seem to say what he wanted to say, and another man who was crying because both of the Men-ill boys were dead, both brothers, and he would be the one who would have to tell their mother. Chamberlain reached the foot of the hill and came out into the last light.

Ellis Spear came up. There were tears in the comers of his eyes. He nodded jerkily, a habit of Maine men, a greeting.

”Well,” he said. He did not know what to say. After a moment he pulled out an impressively ornamented silver flask, dented, lustrous.

”Colonel? Ah, I have a beverage here which I have been saving for an, ah, appropriate moment. I think this is- well, would the Colonel honor me by joining me in a, ah, swallow?”

Chamberlain thought: Kilrain. But he could not hurt Spear’s feelings. And his mouth was gritty and dry. Spear handed it over solemnly, gravely, with the air of a man taking part in a ceremony. Chamberlain drank. Oh, good.