Tom moved off into the smoke. Chamberlain lost him. He stood. Whine of bullets, whisking murder. Leaves were falling around him. Face in the smoke. Chamberlain stepped forward.

Jim Nichols, K Company: “Colonel, something goin’ on in our front. Better come see.”

Nichols a good man. Chamberlain hopped forward, slipped on a rock, nearly fell, hopped to another boulder, felt an explosion under his right foot, blow knocked his leg away, twirled, fell, caught by Nicholas. Damned undignified. Hurt? Damn!

How are you, sir?

Looked at his foot. Hole in the boot? Blood? No. Numb.

Oh my, begins to hurt now. But no hole, thank God. He stood up.

Nichols pointed. Chamberlain clambered up on a high boulder. Going to get killed, give ‘em a good high target.

Saw: they were coming in groups, from rock to rock, tree to tree, not charging wildly as before, firing as they came, going down, killing us. But there, back there: masses of men, flags, two flags, flanking, moving down the line.

They’re going to turn us. They’re going to that hole in the left…

He was knocked clean off the rock. Blow in the side like lightning bolt. Must be what it feels like. Dirt and leaves in his mouth. Rolling over. This is ridiculous. Hands pulled him up. He looked down. His scabbard rippled like a spider’s leg, stuck out at a ridiculous angle. Blood? No. But the hip, oh my. Damn, damn. He stood up. Becoming quite a target. What was that now? He steadied his mind.

Remembered: they’re flanking us.

He moved back behind the boulder from which he had just been knocked. His hands were skinned; he was licking blood out of his mouth. His mind, temporarily sidetracked, oiled itself and ticked and turned and woke up, functioning.

To Nichols: “Find my brother. Send all company commanders. Hold your positions.”

Extend the line? No.

He brooded. Stood up. Stared to the left, then mounted the rock again, aware of pain but concentrating. To the left the Regiment ended, a high boulder there. Chamberlain thought: What was the phrase in the manual? Muddled brain. Oh yes: refuse the line.

The commanders were arriving. Chamberlain, for the first time, raised his voice. “You men! MOVE!”

The other commanders came in a hurry. Chamberlain said, “We’re about to be flanked. Now here’s what we do. Keep up a good hot masking fire, you understand? Now let’s just make sure the Rebs keep their heads down. And let’s keep a tight hold on the Eighty-third, on old Pennsylvania over there. I want no breaks in the line. That’s you. Captain Clark, understand? No breaks.”

Clark nodded. Bullets chipped the tree above him.

”Now here’s the move. Keeping up the fire, and keeping a tight hold on the Eighty-third, we refuse the line. Men will sidestep to the left, thinning out to twice the present distance. See that boulder? When we reach that point we’ll refuse the line, form a new line at right angles. That boulder will be the salient. Let’s place the colors there, right? Five.

Now you go on back and move your men in sidestep and form a new line to the boulder, and then back from the boulder like a swinging door. I assume that, ah, F Company will take the point. Clear? Any questions?”

They moved. It was very well done. Chamberlain limped to the boulder, to stand at the colors with Tozier. He grinned at Tozier.

”How are you, Andrew?”

”Fine, sir. And you?”

”Worn.” Chamberlain grinned. “A bit worn.”

”I tell you this. Colonel. The boys are making a hell of a fight.”

”They are indeed.”

The fire increased. The Rebs moved up close and began aimed fire, trying to mask their own movement. In a few moments several men died near where Chamberlain was standing. One boy was hit in the head and the wound seemed so bloody it had to be fatal, but the boy sat up and shook hi amp; head and bound up the wound himself with a handkerchief and went back to firing. Chamberlain noted: most of our wounds are in the head or hands, bodies protected. Bless the stone wall. Pleasure to be behind it.

Pity the men out there. Very good men. Here they come. Whose?

The next charge struck the angle at the boulder, at the colors, lapped around it, ran into the new line, was enfiladed, collapsed. Chamberlain saw Tom come up, whirling through smoke, saw a rip in his coat, thought: no good to have a brother here. Weakens a man. He sent to the 83rd to tell them of his move to the left, asking if perhaps they couldn’t come a little this way and help him out. He sent Ruel Thomas back up the hill to find out how things were going there, to find Vincent to tell him that life was getting difficult and we need a little help.

He looked for Kilrain. The old Buster was sitting among some rocks, aiming the carbine, looking chipper. Hat was off. An old man, really. No business here. Kilrain said, “I’m not much good to you. Colonel.”

There was a momentary calm. Chamberlain sat.

”Buster, how are you?”

Grin. Stained crooked teeth. All the pores remarkably clear, red bulbous nose. Eyes of an old man. How old? I’ve never asked.

”How’s the ammunition?” Kilrain asked.

”I’ve sent back.”

”They’re in a mess on the other side.” He frowned, grinned, wiped his mouth with the good hand, the right arm folded across his chest, a bloody rag tucked in his armpit. “Half expect Rebs comin’ right over the top of the hill. Nothing much to do then. Be Jesus. Fight makes a thirst. And I’ve brought nothin’ a-tall, would you believe that? Not even my emergency ration against snakebite and bad dreams. Not even a spoonful of Save the Baby.”

Aimed fire now. He heard a man crying with pain. He looked down the hill. Darker down there. He saw a boy behind a thick tree, tears running down his face, ramming home a ball, crying, whimpering, aiming fire, Jolted shoulders, ball of smoke, then turning back, crying aloud, sobbing, biting the paper cartridge, tears all over his face, wiping his nose with a wet sleeve, ramming home another ball.

Kilrain said, “I can stand now, I think.”

Darker down the hill. Sunset soon. How long had this been going on? Longer pause then usual. But… the Rebel yell. A rush on the left. He stood up. Pain in the right foot; unmistakable squish of blood in the boot. Didn’t know it was bleeding. See them come, bounding up the rocks, hitting the left flank. Kilrain moved by him on the right, knelt, fired. Chamberlain pulled out the pistol. No damn good expect at very close range. You couldn’t hit anything.

He moved to the left flank. Much smoke. Smoke changing now, blowing this way, blinding. He was caught m it, a smothering shroud, hot, white, the bitter smell of burned powder. It broke. He saw a man swinging a black rifle, grunts and yells and weird thick sounds unlike anything he had ever heard before. A Reb came over a rock, bayonet fixed, black thin point forward and poised, face seemed blinded, head twitched. Chamberlain aimed the pistol, fired, hit the man dead center, down he went, folding; smoke swallowed him. Chamberlain moved forward He expected them to be everywhere, flood of brown bodies, gray bodies. But the smoke cleared and the line was firm.

Only a few Rebs had come up, a few come over the stones all were down. He ran forward to a boulder, ducked, looked out: dead men, ten, fifteen, lumps of gray blood spattering everywhere, dirty white skin, a claw-like hand, black sightless eyes. Burst of white smoke, again, again. Tom at his shoulder: “Lawrence?”

Chamberlain turned. All right? Boyish face. He smiled.

”They can’t send us no help from the Eighty-third. Woodward said they have got their troubles, but they can extend the line a little and help us out.”

”Good. Go tell Clarke to shift a bit, strengthen the center.”

Kilrain, on hands and knees, squinting: “They keep coming in on the flank.”

Chamberlain, grateful for the presence: “What do you think?”