killing heat, and stragglers were now falling out by the thousands. Pickett should be giving ground now, slowly falling back onto Hood.
Grim as it was, hard as the casualties would be, it would suck Sickles in, give him more confidence, play to his arrogance.
He passed the orders for McLaws to move forward to the left and prepare for battle.
Though only a colonel in the presence of a major general, Ely Parker found it nearly impossible to conceal his rage. He knew without doubt that his so-called guides had been leading him on a wild-goose chase throughout the morning and into the early afternoon as they weaved back and forth on the two main roads leading south from the river crossing. Over the last hour the thunder of battle had continued to swell and finally, ignoring the shouts and threats of the staff sent to fetch him along, he had ridden off, heading for the center of the battle, knowing that the man he sought would be there.
A mile back from the battle line he rode past dense columns of troops, swinging out from the road, tramping cross-country on the double, heading down across a shallow ravine to ford a stream and then back up the opposite slope. Seeing one of their command flags, he recognized it as the Second Division of Third Corps and fell in with them, riding as fast as his exhausted mount would carry him. Coming up over the crest he reined in for a moment Several hundred yards to his front a long volley line was dimly visible in the smoke, blazing away, wounded by the hundreds limping back, ambulances already up, stretcher-bearers at work, loading the men in.
He had to admit it was a magnificent sight. The volley line seemed solid, no faltering in their work, flags waving back and forth. Puffs of dirt kicked up around him as spent rounds smacked into the ground and ricocheted off, his horse dancing nervously as one nicked its leg.
He pushed on, carefully watching the line, looking behind it and then he spotted the flag of the army commander. Spurring his mount for one last effort before his quarry rode off, Ely Parker of General Grant's staff galloped up and reined in hard. Sickles was surrounded by staff, giving orders, pointing to various details of the fight, one of his men holding up a rough sketch map that Sickles was examining. Without observing protocol, Ely pushed his way in.
'General Sickles, I am Colonel Parker, adjutant to General Grant.'
Sickles looked over at him and actually smiled.
'In a moment, Colonel, I am busy now.'
'Sir, I have been led back and forth by your staff to no avail for the last eight hours looking for you. We need to speak now, sir.'
'In a moment,' Sickles barked and turned away.
'Brewster, keep extending your line to the right, push it out; I want to get enfilade into their left. Now move!'
Brewster saluted and galloped off, and Dan turned to yet another officer.
'Get back to Warren, tell him to push his first division up at the double to reinforce Birney. Those men have fired sixty or more rounds; their rifles are fouled; they need to be pulled back to clean weapons, reload, get water and a few minutes' rest I want that fresh division on the line within the half hour!'
More staff galloped off. Dan snapped his fingers to yet another staff officer, who pulled out a flask and handed it over. Dan briefly hesitated, then took a drink, turning slightly as he eyed Parker. He screwed the lid back on the flask and then finally spoke.
'Well, Colonel?'
Ely glared at him coldly.
'Sir, I've been sent by General Grant. I have written orders for you to withdraw back to the north side of the river and then to report to his headquarters in Harrisburg.'
Dan threw back his head and laughed.
'Should I do this right now, Colonel? This very instant?'
'Those were the orders I was to convey to you.'
Dan edged his horse closer.
'Goddamn it, man, do you know how stupid you sound at this moment?'
'Sir, I am carrying orders from the commander of all Union forces in the field.'
'Again, do you know how stupid, how idiotic you sound?'
'Are you calling General Grant idiotic, sir?' Ely snarled, features turning dark red.
'You're an Indian, aren't you?' Dan asked.
'What the hell does that have to do with it, sir?'
'I would think that one with your blood would enjoy a good fight. Well, my brave, you got one right here,' and Dan pointed to the volley line.
'I am in the middle of an all-out fight at this moment That's Pickett over there, Stuart a couple of miles to the northwest. We are holding and we are savaging them and we will beat them. Now do you honestly expect me to order a general retreat?'
Ely said nothing. Tragically, he knew Sickles was right. The fight was on; there was no way to disengage without the threat of a rout. The long hours of delay thrown in his path had given this man enough time to get into a tangle he could not get out of, short of victory.
'General Sickles, you acted without authority; in fact you acted in direct contradiction to the plan that General Grant had laid out to you at your last conference with him. I know, sir, for I was there, if you will recall.'
To his amazement, Sickles actually shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
'War changes all plans, Parker. If your Grant was here, he'd agree and order me to push in everything I had. The old plan is off and the Army of the Potomac is back in the fight and we will win this day. Now if you will excuse me, I have a battle to fight'
'General Sickles, I believe that once this affair is over, you will face an inquiry from General Grant as to the arbitrary and irresponsible nature of your actions.'
'Let him. Just tell him, though, to first check with the secretary of war.'
Stunned, Ely could say nothing.
'Now stay out of my way, Chief Parker. Though if you want to fight, be my guest If you want to see how the Army of the Potomac can win battles when properly led and not held back on a leash, stay and watch.'
Laughing, Dan spurred his mount and rode off. Ely remained behind, oblivious to the constant whine of bullets passing overhead. There was nothing he could do now to stop this, and considering the respective skills of Lee and Sickles, he feared what was to come.
Chapter Nineteen
Voice long since gone, Lo Armistead staggered up and down the line, limping slightly from the rifle ball or shell fragment that had creased his left leg just above the knee.
His brigade, his precious brigade, was bleeding out. A half hour ago he had committed his two reserve regiments, pushing them into the volley line, pulling his already committed regiments back one at a time to give the men ten minutes to clean their rifles, replenish ammunition, gulp down some water..and still it continued, the most sustained fire-fight he had seen across two years of war.
The smoke was a dark blanket hovering over the battlefield. The air was so thick from the humid heat combined with the smoke of battle that he was beginning to lose as many men from physical collapse as from enemy fire. Few were now standing; most of the men were hunkered down, kneeling, lying; some had stopped shooting and, with bayonets, were frantically digging in. The dead lay in almost orderly rows, most where the brigade had first engaged two hours ago; yet more were sprawled out now where the brigade had pulled back a hundred yards, back to a low crest and a fence row.
