by Jeff Shaara
“Bah! I see Yankees twenty paces below those far rocks. They must be pressed back, driven away!”
“By whom, sir? The artillery cannot make that shot. I have instructed Captain Dent’s battery to direct his fire as close as possible to the hill, but there is no means to provide cover for his men. His crews are being shot down before they can fire.”
“Then send your men over those rocks and drive the enemy away with the bayonet! Must you be told?”
Bragg spurred the horse again, had no patience for hesitation, for men with excuses. He saw more officers, screaming efforts at pulling their men together, driving a line directly along the ridge. He saw Patton Anderson, Manigault’s division commander, and he moved that way, felt the aching need for a bullwhip, thought, I would whip them right here, show their men how to stand tall!
Anderson saw him coming, pointed down the hill, a hard shout, “Sir! The enemy is in cover down below these rocks. This is not a safe place for you!”
“Then why are you not advancing on their position, if they are so close? I will have your command!”
Anderson seemed to fight for control, holding his temper, and Bragg felt his own heat rising, would welcome an outright act of insubordination, reached for his sword, would slice this man from his saddle. A courier arrived now, riding hard with one of Bragg’s staff officers, the courier reining the horse, in full panic, screaming at him, “Sir! The enemy has broken over the crest near your headquarters!”
Bragg looked that way, too much smoke, men running, some forming up a line far across the next rise, facing south. Anderson pointed that way, toward the far end of Breckinridge’s position, said, “Sir! We must turn the lines to the flank. We must advance where the enemy has broken through!”
Bragg felt a wave of confusion, the smoke obliterating any sign of organization. “Then do what you must to protect your flanks!”
“Sir, there are no flanks. The enemy is already on the crest to the north. We are fighting in three directions!”
Bragg spun the horse, saw a ragged group of Yankees suddenly rising up along the far side of the ridge, men aiming muskets, seeking targets. Bragg ignored Anderson, pushed the horse once more, rode hard to the rear of the ridge, the crest there barely a hundred yards wide. There Manigault’s men were forming up into a new line, and Bragg rode through them, heard the volley behind him, muskets fighting muskets. The smoke was still in thick, stinking clouds, and he drove the horse farther, down an incline, large rocks to his right, saw blue on the rocks, men struggling to climb over, musket fire to his left, the men driven back. He jerked his head around, fought to see whose men they were, thought, Yes, now we shall see! There is one warrior up here, one man among us who understands his duty!
He saw his officers now, some on foot, moving their men into line, turning them to face down the ridge, and Bragg pointed toward the larger rocks, swarming now with Yankees, a hard shout, “Here! Bring them here!”
“Sir! This way! The enemy has broken through!”
Bragg saw it now, another cluster of blue surging up over the ridgeline, pushing straight for the freshly dug trenches, a burst of musket fire blowing into them, cutting them down, halting their advance. Bragg felt a jolt of excitement. Yes! That’s it, boys! Now, the bayonet! He rode that way, would see it up close, would watch his men destroy the enemy, would see the terror on the faces of the men in blue.
“Fire again! Another volley!”
His voice was drowned out by the echoing artillery fire, the thunderous blasts thrown out across the crest, the shells coming in from far out in the plain. He heard it again, the same infuriating plea, “Sir! This is no place for you! The enemy has broken through on both sides of us!”
He turned, saw his own staff officers, fear in their faces, would not hear their cowardice. “Do we know where General Breckinridge is? His men are giving way! There shall be punishment for this! Find him, bring him to me!”
He saw a helplessness on the officer’s face, ignored that, faced the nearest breakthrough, more men in blue rolling up toward him. Manigault was there again, directing artillery to swing about, firing straight along the ridgeline. Bragg spurred again, rode to the east side of the ridge, the ground falling away, saw men running down the hill, his men, making their escape from the enemy. More men were running past him, and he waved his sword in the air, called out to them, “Stop! Fight here! Form a line! Prepare to fire!”
The men ignored him, some pushing into his horse with blind panic as they ran past. He felt a sickening weakness, utter impotence, saw Manigault again, would exact punishment, and Manigault shouted toward him, “Sir! We are making a stand! Colonel Pressley is holding his men together!”
“Pressley? Who is that?”
“Tenth South Carolina, sir! The Twenty-eighth, Colonel Butler, is doing well down the hill there!”
Bragg felt his anger blunted, could not find fault with Manigault now, searched for another bit of fury, pointed back down the hill to the east.
“Who are those men? They are running away!”
“Deas’s brigade, sir. They have broken.”
“I will find Deas, then. I will have his command. This is not excusable, not at all!”
Manigault stared at him silently, turned his horse, moved again to his men. Another volley of musket fire erupted, Manigault’s men staggering back, more Yankees rolling up the hill toward them. Bragg jerked the horse’s head to one side, dug his spurs in, the animal lurching forward, and Bragg kept the name in his head, Deas. I will have Breckinridge remove him, once I settle these matters. I will not have such officers in my command. Never.
He rode back toward his headquarters now, remembered the courier’s panic, saw a gathering of blue moving around the house, more of them far down the ridge. In every direction, there were more of his officers, vain attempts to rally fleeing troops, more of his men running from their protection, straight toward him, toward the backside of the ridge. They must see me, he thought, they will obey my orders!
He dismounted, stood tall with his sword high, waved the blade above his head. “Rally with me here! We shall drive them off!”
Men looked at him as they passed, and he was shocked to see smiles, one man laughing out loud, others with the unstoppable fear, tears and raw panic. He tried the call again, “Hold with me here! Do not disgrace yourselves. Do not disgrace your country! I am your general! Fight with me!”
His voice left him, the energy draining away. More men were watching him as they passed, an officer, calling out to him, “Leave here, sir! The enemy is close to both sides! You must withdraw!”
“We must fight! Do not disgrace your families!”
But the energy was gone, and he lowered the sword, felt a sudden jerk around his waist, was picked up off the ground, a booming voice in his ear, “And here’s your mule! Yessir, Old Bragg, he’s hell on retreat!”
The man dropped him now, Bragg falling to one knee, pulled himself up, saw others laughing out loud, still moving away from him. The Yankees were closer now, their lines coming together, more organized, spreading out through the batteries, some of them swinging the guns around, others firing muskets into the backs of his men.
“Sir! This way!”
Bragg saw the horse, another officer, one of his own, saw his colors, the color bearer staying close. Bragg started to speak, caught the look on the young man’s face, had never noticed him before, clean-shaven, terrified eyes, another aide there now, with Bragg’s horse.
“Sir! We must leave this place!”
Bragg stared out to the front again, the rocky ledge, the ground falling away, a swarm of blue still climbing up, moving his way, scattered firing, a hard thump of artillery, more horsemen, officers, pulling their men back. He still held the sword, pointed it slowly out, toward the gathering lines of the enemy, felt a single spark of defiance. I will not allow this. I will fight you myself. But there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him, the horse’s reins put into his hand, the voices of the ai
des reaching him.
“Sir! We must go! Now!”
He struggled to climb the horse, swung his leg over, searched out to both flanks, expected to see lines of his men advancing, the counterattack, driving the bluebellies off the ridge. More smoke drifted past, hiding the fight, but even the clearings were darkening, and he looked upward, the daylight nearly gone. He slid the sword back into its scabbard, looked again along the ridge, the good high ground, the strong perfect lines of his army, broken, shattered by … what? He ran names through his mind, would have them charged, thought, There will be inquiries. There will be consequences!
He ignored the hand pulling his horse, looked out to the west, saw silhouettes along the rocks, more of the Yankees crawling, rising up, rushing forward, blue-coated officers calling out, bringing their men together. Bragg ignored the movement of the horse, the helping hands from his aides, his mind drifting away, absorbing the terrible dream. He tried to focus his eyes, looked past the enemy troops, stared now at the last glow of sunlight settling down onto the hills far to the west, out beyond Chattanooga.
MISSIONARY RIDGE—NOVEMBER 25, 1863—5:30 P.M.
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!”
