Henry walked down the battery line, glancing at each piece in turn. Occasionally he would pause and point one out "This one," he announced, and as he moved on, gunners would drive a spike into the breech touchhole with a mallet the rammer then slamming his tool down the bore, bending the spike inside the barrel, effectively destroying the gun. Others attacked the wheels with axes, cutting spokes until the piece collapsed.
It was almost like shooting a beloved pet an old companion.
There were not enough teams available to take out all the guns. Even if there were, the road heading north was clogged; chances were most of the guns tangled into the mess might wind up being abandoned anyhow before the day was done.
All had been silent for nearly an hour after Sedgwick's men crossed back over Pipe Creek. A few had hoped that the Confederates would impetuously countercharge, as they so often had done in the past Gunners muttered about what they would now do in turn, though all they had was roughly half a dozen rounds of canister per barrel.
Henry knew they wouldn't come. There was no need to. And the logic for their waiting finally was apparent when a growing thunder, to the west and norm, started to increase in volume, and ever so slowly shifting more and more to the north… behind their lines.
Lee was flanking yet again, this time driving to cut off the one paved and useful road out of this nightmare, the road back to the north and east The rebels in front had barred the road back to Washington, and now the line of retreat back to York and Harrisburg was being shut as well.
Word came by courier to get the guns out. The army was retreating.
From atop the ridge he could already see the exodus, columns of troops swinging onto the road, some marching in good order, others staggering from exhaustion, especially the men of the Sixth Corps, who had marched up this road on July 2nd to Gettysburg, turned around the following day to force march all that distance back, been thrown into a doomed assault, and now turned about yet again with orders to make for Gettysburg or Hanover once more. It was too much for many to bear, and in the pouring rain, before they had moved even half a mile, the straggling was massive, hundreds, and then thousands of men breaking column to just collapse or wander off to the side of the road, dejected, ignoring the threats and pleas of their officers.
As the batteries slowly began to work their way out of the bastion, Henry kept a close watch on the Confederate lines on the south side of the creek. He could sense that they were ready, just waiting, but would not be so foolish as to try and push in.
No, that would come later, this evening, when the road back to Littlestown, the turnoff to Hanover and York was packed with tens of thousands of exhausted, demoralized, and frightened men… when hundreds of ambulances and thousands of walking wounded clogged the pike. Then Longstreet would hit, and then the panic would truly begin.
Dejected, alone, Henry mounted, pulling the brim of his hat down low against the rain, and rode up the slope and over the hill, leaving Union Mills behind.