A courier came up on foot, crouched over, clutching a hand that had taken a bullet. "Colonel!" "Over here!" Bartlett cried.
The courier came up and at the sight of the colonel, still standing erect, he forced himself to rise up and then salute.
"General's compliments, sir. Our right has collapsed. You are ordered to pull back."
The colonel nodded, oblivious to the rebel infantry, shadowy and yet clearly visible not a hundred feet off, flashes of light winking up and down their line.
"Sir, try and get over the railroad and back toward town. But frankly, sir, I think that way is cut off by rebel troops." 'To where then?"
"Along the river and the railroad track. There's a railroad cut 'bout half a mile back-"
He collapsed, shot through the head. The colonel looked around.
"Hardest maneuver," he said trying not to bend over from the pain.
"I'll take care of it, sir." The colonel nodded.
Bartlett went up to the colors, stood up, and looked around. "Men, listen to me! We're pulling back. No panic. No panic. I'll shoot the first man that turns and runs." Men looked over at him. "Load for volley but don't fire!"
Men began to stand up and the sight of it was pitiful. He did not realize until that moment just how many men were down for good. Of the six hundred who had opened fire, barely two hundred and fifty now stood, clustering in close to their flag.
He could hear the rebel yell resounding to his right and now heading toward the rear.
John Miller was down on his knees, and Washington reached down, pulling him up, John wincing.
"Don't stay behind," Bartlett shouted.
John nodded.
"Fall back! Keep your formation, men. Don't run, fall back at the walk!"
He grabbed the colonel, who gasped and went double. "Leave me, Sergeant." "Like hell."
"I'm dying. Now leave me. If you don't, they'll get you, too!"
Washington tried to pull him along. "Damn it, soldier. An order. Leave me!" The colonel straightened up, looked at him, and then actually smiled.
"Good work, soldier," he gasped. "Just take me over to the surgeon. I'll see you later when you come back."
Tears in his eyes, Bartlett realized he could not lead these men out while burdened with a wounded man who could not walk on his own.
He picked the colonel up and carried him over to the makeshift hospital area down in a gently sloping ravine. A hundred or more were on the ground, the surgeon frantically at work. At the sight of his approach the surgeon came to his feet and ran over.
"I'll take him."
Together they helped the colonel to lie down. "Where's my son?" Bartlett asked. "I don't know."
Frightened, Washington stood and looked about. He saw several drummer boys dragging a man with a leg shot off, two more struggling with a stretcher, but his son… he could not see him.
"William!"
His voice was drowned out by the roar of battle, the rebel yell as the enemy before them, sensing the pullback, began to surge forward.
"William!"
Someone shoved him. It was Miller, his left arm dangling but his right still strong.
"They're on us!" Miller cried.
Washington looked up. The rebs were already over the position they had held but a few minutes before.
"Sergeant Major Bartlett, act your role," the colonel gasped. "I'm proud of you. Now take command like a soldier."
Washington, fighting back tears, saluted, looked once more for his son and then as the colors passed him, he fell in by their side, then got behind the men, racing back and forth, up and down the line, ordering the men to fire, reload, pull back, fire, reload, pull back.
The rebs swarmed over the hospital area.