The evening was hot, oppressive. Henry Hunt looked to the west, shading his eyes against the blood red sun. Thunderheads were building to the southwest, die clouds of heaven mingled in with the haze of smoke from over toward Taneytown.
Word was filtering in of a brutal fight, most of Fifth Corps annihilated, tangling with three divisions of the Army of Northern Virginia. Strange, though, two of the divisions were Longstreet's corps, yet Hancock had sworn that old Pete was directly across from them.
Raising his field glasses, he scanned the Confederate line under construction along the south bank of Pipe Creek. It was a chilling sight, watching an enemy army dig in, thousands of puffs of dirt popping up, then falling, as troops labored away using bayonets, canteen halves, shovels if they could find them, even their bare hands.
The entrenchment rimmed the crest of the hill, the new fortification line a raw slash of earth across pastures, corn and wheat fields, following the contour of the hills and ridges facing Pipe Creek.
A second line was beginning to form farther down the slope, an advance position that would protect troops firing straight across the open ground over which the Army of the Potomac would have to advance before hitting the base of the opposite slope. The only disadvantage, it was a hundred feet or more lower than where he'd planned to place his guns. He could fire down into it, and perhaps break it apart, if they did not dig in deep enough during the night
The lumber mill, blacksmith shop, outbuildings, and the miller's house alongside the main road to Westminster were still burning. The compound had been hotly contested ever since Hancock's midday assault the issue finally being resolved when a rebel battery put a couple of dozen shells into them. The civilities, of course, were first observed, with a flag of truce offered to get the miller and his family evacuated. They chose to come across the creek and into the Union lines. The irony was that one of their kin across the road, whose house had been torn apart for lumber by the Confederates, had supposedly acted as a guide for Longstreet
"How are you, Henry?"
Henry turned and offered a weary salute as Hancock rode up, trailed by several staff. With a groan, Hancock dismounted. Henry noted that for once the dapper general's shirt was stained and dirty, his blue jacket open, vest gone. The heat, the exhaustion of the day, were obviously getting to Hancock as well as his men.
"General, how are you?" Henry asked, offering a salute.
"A bad day, Henry," Hancock sighed. His chipper attitude was gone. He had fought a hard fight and didn't like to lose. He knew, as well, there'd be an even grimmer fight come tomorrow.
Union infantry directly in front of where the two stood were half-heartedly digging in, their officers not pressing them too hard. They had, after all, marched nearly twenty miles, gone into a failed assault, and were suffering now in the early evening heat. They knew, as well, that short of some insane miracle, the Rebs would not be so courteous as to attack, so the digging in struck many as busy work without purpose or profit
Hancock, without waiting for permission from Meade, had asked for a truce an hour ago in order to clear the wounded and dead from the field. The truce would end at sunset and the last of the ambulances that had lined the road were coming back through the lines, bearing their grisly cargo to the hospital area set up on the far side of the ridge behind them.
Henry looked again at Hancock and saw that what he had first taken to be dirt on Hancock's shirt was, in fact dried blood, as if someone had grabbed hold of him and then let go.
Hancock, noticing Henry's gaze, looked down. "One of my brigade commanders-Webb. Held him as he died." Hancock's voice trailed off.
Henry looked over his shoulder to one of his staff and motioned. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, tossing it over. Henry handed it to Winfield, who took a long drink.
"Thanks, Henry."
"Losses?" Henry asked.
"Fifteen hundred dead and wounded," Hancock sighed.
"I wonder now if I should have pressed it. We might have been able to flank them."
His voice was edged, pitched a little too high. Exhaustion and shock were hitting him, Henry realized.
"It was at least an hour after I called it off before we saw more of their troops come up. If I'd had another division in reserve to exploit the break, I think I'd've continued the assault regardless of loss. It was just that I had no reserves. I needed all three divisions to try and turn the flank."
He lowered his head.
"Damn. Fifteen hundred men. Goddamn, what a waste." "You didn't know that then."
"I do now, Henry. I do now. Looking at them over there now, digging in like that, it puts a knot in my gut when I think my boys will have to go in against that tomorrow."
Henry did not reply. Whoever was directing the build-up on the other side of the creek knew his business. Henry had been surveying the position for over two hours, and nowhere could he see a weak spot, a fault, some uncovered defilade for advancing troops to exploit Across two miles, it was a covered front. Throughout the night they'd most likely extend it farther in both directions. This line was beginning to look just as tough as he thought several days earlier when he had surveyed it from the other side. Except now it was Confederate troops digging in on the good ground, and Union soldiers who would be going down into that wet valley and climbing the hill. Exactly the opposite of what he had envisioned when first he had surveyed this valley for Meade. "How many guns you bringing up?" Hancock asked.
"Every one. I plan to have two hundred and fifty pieces in place by tomorrow morning. A massed battery here with a hundred and twenty rifled pieces, the Napoleons farther down the slope, and to the right a quarter mile for close-in support Meade's authorized me to have control of corps artillery as well in terms of initial placement."
Hancock shook his head.
"Sickles for certain won't like that"
Henry wanted to say the hell with him, but knew better.
"Once it gets dark I'll start moving my pieces into place. Some of them are still halfway back to Gettysburg though and might not be up here till dawn."
Hancock nodded wearily, gaze still locked on the opposite slope. "Goddamn, they're digging in hard," he whispered.
Henry left him to his thoughts, mounting up to ride on, carefully picking the spot for tomorrow's fight