The Smoke at Dawn: A Novel of the Civil War (67 page)

As they climbed higher, the cannon fire had slowed, the rebel gunners forced to seek targets they could actually reach, farther down the hill. Some targeted the wounded men who lay spread out across the open slope, or those who still sought the protection in the rebel rifle pits at the base of the hill. Closer to the crest, the men around Bauer had suffered only the impact of the musket fire that came from those few rebels who dared to step out closer to the slope. But those men didn’t survive long. The soldiers around Bauer took advantage of the pause in their climb, resting weary legs, regaining their wind, and with their composure came marksmanship. It was the first time today Bauer had fired at any target, and he was accurate now as he had been so many times before. The men around him barely noticed, too tired, struggling to hug the good cover. But Willis had watched him, and Bauer caught that crack in Willis’s sternness, a brief smile as Bauer took down a rebel from two hundred yards, the instinct for reloading automatic, and then a new target, even farther away.

No matter the safety from the steep ledges above them, the orders began to flow up the hill, senior officers making the climb, joining
their men, the men who should never have been there at all. There was little word about that now, no one talking about orders or a demonstration. If the men didn’t really know what they had accomplished, their officers did, the entire chain of command realizing that what their men had done was far more effective and far less costly than anyone on Orchard Knob had predicted.

Willis passed the word, as it was passed to him, that the men hunkered down so close to the crest could not simply stay there. They all knew the next order, the next piece of the attack, and so, with fresher legs, they surged up and over the rocks, up through the narrow defiles, feet digging into the steepest slopes. Just behind them, the officers could not avoid the dread, that their senior commanders might still be right, that allowing these men to climb the slope had simply been part of a rebel plan. Colonel Moore had passed through his men, other officers as well, cautioning them to expect a counterattack, that surely, the rebels were waiting, that massed musket fire could greet their surge over the top. With Moore giving the order, the first few pushed up, Willis leading them, as he always led them, and Bauer had hesitated for a long second, the inevitable struggle brief and angry. But climb he did, pushing himself up the last few yards of the slope only a few feet behind Willis.

Once they had climbed over the last of the rocks, the first wave of men had bolted quickly forward, no real resistance in front of them. Bauer had been as surprised as the officers who held back, peering over the rocks, that the rebels had seemed to pull away almost immediately. On the flatter ground, Bauer pushed forward through his exhaustion, fought the cramping in his legs, the sharp pains in his rib cage finally dropping him down to his knees. But the men around him kept moving, and very quickly, Bauer was up with them. Almost immediately, he could see what remained of the rebel works along the crest of the ridge, logs scattered in haphazard patterns, shallow ditches, the occasional shovel lying among the scattered muskets, backpacks, and every other piece of clothing and equipment the rebels had abandoned. The artillery fire from far behind him had done little damage on the crest itself, and what seemed to be broken-down defenses were in fact works that had never been completed. But damage was everywhere, most of it human, coming from the muskets of
the men who rolled up across the crest of the hill, the pursuit of the rebels they had driven away. The dead and wounded lay spread out over much of the crest, men from both sides.

In short minutes, the men had driven up onto the tallest peak of the crest, had sought out cover in the trench works, the next safe place that presented itself. Once more, the rebels had dug the holes and laid the logs. And as had happened down below, the snakelike trenches were now filled with the men in blue.

They walked in time to a silent drummer, the same kind of formation that had crossed the wide plain now out behind them. Bauer heard the musket balls fly past, but the enemy had mostly pulled away, few men still up on the ridge itself. The rebels he could see had gathered to face the Federal troops in small bunches, pulled together by those officers who still kept control, and Bauer saw Willis point the sword, the young lieutenant there to pass along the instructions. There were more Federal units to both sides, advancing as Willis’s men advanced, slow, deliberate, still the expectation that the deadly reception would greet them at any time. Bauer stared ahead to the far slope, memories of Shiloh coming to him again, the sudden rise of a vast rebel horde, coming up from hidden places in the low ground, as though rising from the earth itself. But the slope on the backside of the ridge was mostly empty, a swath of ground that showed only debris and destruction, and the bodies left behind.

Behind him, he heard Colonel Moore, on foot, pushing them onward, still the hint of caution.

“Watch for it, boys! They’re up here! Route step!”

It was an unnecessary order, Bauer as cautious as every man in the line, even Willis jerking his head to the side, then back again, waiting for the inevitable surprise.

“Halt here!”

Bauer was surprised, but he obeyed the order, saw Willis staring back at the colonel, a silent protest, waiting for something more. Bauer turned slightly, could see Moore speaking to another officer, more officers gathering. Far out to the left, Bauer heard a burst of
musket fire, saw the smoke blowing over the next rise, much more beyond. The sounds of a spreading fight were reaching them now and for the first time since they had made the crest, there was artillery fire. Bauer kept his eyes that way, felt the jittery stirring in his gut, men around him with low comments, Willis now moving across in front of them, moving up close to the gathering of officers. Bauer knew the look, Willis with little patience for discussion.

Moore shouted to them now, “Halt here! Rest on your muskets! We’re awaiting orders!”

Bauer watched Willis, saw clenched fists, a crisp, obedient spin back toward his men. Willis repeated the colonel’s order, the men responding quickly, gratefully, most just dropping down where they stood. Bauer sat heavily, matted grass beneath him, a rebel canteen lying close, one of the men reaching for it, and Bauer suddenly realized how thirsty he was. The man sampled the contents, too much of a sample, others protesting, the growling voice of Owens, “Give me that damn thing! You ain’t alone up here, boy. Pass it along.”

The man grudgingly agreed, handed the canteen to the next man beside him, small swigs of whatever it held, the canteen passed down the line. Bauer looked at Owens, the permanently dirty face, the frightening stare, and Bauer thought, Smart man, that fellow. Owens wants anything I got, he can have it.

The canteen was emptied quickly, Bauer still without, and he tapped his own, knew it had been empty since he had been pinned down on the slope. He looked at the musket, saw the bayonet still affixed, most of the others the same. Willis was talking to Moore now, another officer there, the hat with the insignia of the 15th. Bauer saw more of those men pulled into formation down to the right. For the first time, he noticed the far right of the ridge, saw it drop away, a wide green valley beyond. But the sounds from the left grabbed his attention, a new burst of fire, a volley from more men than Bauer had around him now. The sound seemed to trigger a response from the colonel, and Moore shouted to them, “Eighteenth! Up, to arms! Right wheel! Fall in beside the Fifteenth! Fix bayonets!”

Willis moved with deliberate steps, took his place to Bauer’s right, and the order came, the lieutenant in front raising his sword, the high childlike shout that inspired jokes at the young man’s expense.

“Let’s go, boys! Somebody needs our help!”

The line formed quickly, few gripes, some men repeating the lieutenant’s order in low mocking voices. But Bauer watched the fight, smoke in a thin cloud masking the view, the sounds still rolling toward them, echoing through the uneven ground. Bauer felt the cold in his chest, could never escape that, moved in rhythm with the men beside him. They marched past another row of rebel works, more debris, shovels, muskets, some of the men searching discreetly for canteens. The hill sloped downward slightly, and Bauer looked out to the left, realized they were marching straight along the ridge. To his left was the amazing panorama of Chattanooga, the wide ground they had crossed, the thickets and bald knobs where Willis said the brass had been, where Grant himself had no doubt watched the assault.

Bauer felt a surge of excitement, said aloud, “We’re up here! All these weeks, and now, we’re up on top!”

Beside him, a man responded, “Pretty place. No wonder they liked it up here. You can see all the way to home.”

“Eyes front! The enemy is just over the hill!”

The voice belonged to Willis, and Bauer stared ahead, saw only smoke on the next rise, the men moving farther downhill, pants legs snagged by low thickets of briars. Willis called out again, “Make ready! Climb together, no straggling!”

Bauer could smell the smoke now, a thick haze passing overhead, no gazing out to the open ground. The talk began now, the nervous chatter, men swearing, praying, eagerness, terror, the slow march up the hill taking them straight into the smoke.

Men were coming toward them now, their own, an officer, a color bearer, the man holding a pistol, a handful of soldiers, walking wounded. There were more wounded now, scattered beneath the brush, some lying flat, stretcher bearers bringing more off the hill. Bauer tried not to look, wouldn’t see the wounds, not yet, not with the fight so close. The lines were halted now, the young lieutenant obeying a command Bauer didn’t hear, the boyish face showing fear of his own, holding the sword up above his head, facing them, looking back toward the officers. Bauer stopped, felt the energy of the men beside him, behind him, the halt only delaying what they knew
was coming. He strained to hear their talk, but the roar of firing swept away the voices, the officer pointing back up the hill, animated, Moore listening, nodding, looking now to his men. The other company commanders had moved up close, Willis as well, and Bauer saw Moore still listening, thought, That fellow’s brass, for sure. Outranks the colonel. Telling us what to do. I guess … somebody has to. Moore spoke to the company commanders now, and Bauer saw Willis give a short, quick nod. Willis looked back at his own men, seemed to count them, measuring what was left of his company. More companies had moved in beside them, behind them, and Bauer felt a wave of relief at the added strength, saw several hundred men pushing forward, crowding along the crest. Willis was still scanning the men, his eyes catching Bauer’s, no emotion, no acknowledgment, and Willis turned, pointed his sword to the front, and once more, they began to walk.

He coughed through the smoke, felt the burning in his eyes, saw flashes of fire to one side, screams of the wounded coming from every direction. The first man he had seen was a rebel, part of a dozen men kneeling, an officer standing beside them, but that man went down with the first volley, most of the rebels down as well. But across from them, the bald hill showed more men in blue, the rebels between them, and the volleys grew quiet, the fight closing up between men who used the bayonet, who grappled and clubbed and struck out with fists. The line had come apart, the men not following Willis or anyone else now. The rebels came at them, men alone, men in pairs, in small bands. The fight seemed to explode in front of Bauer in waves of shouting, the only other sounds the cracking of bone, the thump and smack of muskets across skulls. Bauer held back, had never fought hand to hand, was engulfed by terror, a quick desperate glance at the cap on the musket, still loaded. But the weapon seemed useless, too many men in blue, the best tool the bayonet, training few took seriously. He kept pushing forward with the men close beside him, sharing the fear, the horrific sight, a man’s head split open by a sword, another punched down by a pistol shot to his face. He stood in silence, felt very alone, a spectator, heard
men shouting every kind of word. The fight spread closer to him, men wrestling, falling to the ground, a rebel with an enormous knife. To one side, a flash of blue, and Bauer saw the man leap into the fight, the bayonet into the rebel’s back, the knife tucked into a belt, ghastly souvenir, or a weapon still to be used. The man swung around, as though searching for another target, and Bauer saw the face now, the raw animal madness, the big man, black eyes. It was Owens. Owens caught his eye, yelled something to him, waved to him, threatening him with the bloody bayonet, and Bauer felt more afraid of Owens now than anyone around him. He stepped forward, others doing the same, a line of rebels suddenly coming out of the smoke, moving at them from the side. Bauer heard the first terrifying scream, saw the man’s mouth open, the single voice, others with him joining the chorus. The man pushed a bayonet in front of him, pointed at another man close beside Bauer, and Bauer felt the iciness again, cold and frozen. The rebel lunged forward, the bayonet knocked away, the men locking together, a hard fist finding jaw, the soldier collapsing, the rebel down on him, more fists, and now the other rebels were there, choosing their targets, a sword flashing, the fire from a pistol. Bauer saw one man come straight toward him, looking at him, cold hate, their eyes locked, as though no one else was there. The man slowed, and Bauer saw a smile now, the man holding a musket back like a club, a step closer, and now the high-pitched shout. Bauer tried to step aside, stumbled, nowhere to go, too many men pushing back at him, and he held the bayonet out straight, waited for the blow, his musket firing, magnificent surprise, a blast of smoke and fire into the man’s chest, the rebel collapsing at Bauer’s feet. But there were more now, all around him, another man in front of him, the glaze of hate in the man’s eyes, a bayonet, pointed at Bauer’s face, the man jumping forward, and Bauer slapped at the man’s musket with his own, both weapons knocked away, the man still coming, fists up, and Bauer raised his hands, felt a crushing blow to his jaw, another, the man on top of him, hands at Bauer’s throat. He grabbed the man’s arms, pulled in a desperate struggle, the rebel’s fingers digging into his neck, crushing strength. Bauer fought to breathe, raw panic, and now the man jerked to one side, rolling off him, the hands gone. Bauer fought to get air, gasping, felt men tumbling across his legs, another
fight, but he saw the face now, his savior, looking down at him, a bloody sword in the man’s hand.