Crouched over, Sebastian began to run along the face of the redoubt, shouting over his shoulder, "Rest of you men back to the rifle pit."
Billy had voiced his objection out of prudence, not cowardice, but he knew Sebastian thought otherwise. He leaped up and raced after the sergeant.
As he ran, some Union picket, spooked by the shelling, fired a round. "Hey, damn you, Billy Yank, what you doin'?" an unseen reb called angrily. The last three words were barely audible as Confederate sharpshooters showed what they thought about the truce violation.
Balls buzzed and thunked into the redoubt inches above Billy; he was on all fours, crawling. Another shell landed six feet behind him, hurling wood and clods of dirt in all directions. Some pelted Billy. Ahead of him, Sebastian caught some, too; Billy heard him groan. Where there had been only heat and silence, now there were pulses of light, reverberating explosions, outcries from wounded pickets, and smoke so thick Billy choked.
"Pass him down, Larkin." Sebastian was on his feet, straining to reach to the crumbling parapet where the black officer lay. Crouching and moving forward again, Billy couldn't quite tell what was happening, but there was some difficulty. He heard Sebastian grunting.
Billy called, "Can you reach him, Sergeant?"
"No."
"I can't hear you. Have you got him?"
"I said no," Sebastian yelled, causing some marksman on the other side to aim for the sound and shoot. Sebastian jerked and exclaimed softly, clawing the dirt of the redoubt's unrepaired face. A shell landed fifty yards to the east. Men in the rifle pits took the burst, started screaming. In the glare, Billy saw Sebastian on his knees, blood running from his shoulder.
Sebastian hooked his fingers into the dirt in front of him. Pain contorting his face, he pulled himself back to a standing position. A bullet nicked a timber on the ground; the splinter hit Billy's neck like a flying nail.
Dry-mouthed with fear, he stepped up beside the sergeant. "Corporal Larkin?"
"Here, sir."
"Where's the lieutenant hit?"
"Chest."
"Let's try again. Lower him feet first. I know you're wounded, Sebastian. You go back right now."
"You can't carry him alone. I'm fine." He didn't sound like it.
"All right. I'll grab his boots. You're taller — you reach over my head and take him under the arms. We mustn't drop him."
"Larkin?" Sebastian gasped. "You hear that?"
"I hear," the scared soldier answered. "Here he comes."
Slowly, they maneuvered the wounded lieutenant down and into a horizontal position, then started to carry him toward the rifle pits. Billy took the lead, facing forward, holding one of Buck's boot heels in each hand. The enemy fire grew heavier. He hunched slightly, which struck him as hilariously futile in view of the number of shells and bullets landing all around. Sweat dripped off his chin. His heart beat hard; the fear persisted. He was ashamed when he thought of the sergeant carrying the wounded man along with a reb ball in his shoulder. Sebastian uttered a short, guttural sound each time he took a step.
"Here we are," Billy whispered at the timbered rim of the rifle pit. "You men down there, take the lieutenant. Gently — gently! That's it — Oh, goddamn it —" He felt Buck's upper body drop as Sebastian let go, fainting on his feet.
Other black soldiers were taking hold of the lieutenant's legs, so Billy pivoted and tried to check Sebastian's fall. But the sergeant slipped sideways, just out of reach, then tumbled into the rifle pit.
Two of Sebastian's men tried to catch him and failed. He landed hard. Billy heard the thump seconds before three more shells exploded. He jumped into the rifle pit, the impact scraping his teeth together. Tears flowed down his cheeks because of the smoke. The bombardment had become steady and thunderous.
He picked one of the black soldiers. "Climb out to the rear and find two litter bearers. Quick, dammit!"
Half the effort was wasted. Surgeons successfully extracted a Minié ball from Lieutenant Buck's chest and patched him up, but Sebastian died at daybreak while the smoke from the final rounds of the bombardment drifted away above the fortifications. Corporal Larkin had stayed flattened on the ledge during the shelling and returned without a scratch.
In his journal that afternoon, Billy put down some thoughts prompted by the sergeant's death.
The colored troops faced peril as bravely as any white men I have led. During the bombardment — so senseless in a way, and so typical of what this war has become — Sebastian exhibited immaculate courage. How wrong I have been to judge soldiers of his race my inferiors. It does no good to explain that my opinions and behavior have been the same as those of most in this army. It is possible, I suppose, for great numbers of people to be wrong about something — for error to be epidemic. The death of the "brass ankle" has plunged me into a fury of doubt about all I previously believed.
The supply train chugged southwestward. George rode in the open on a flatcar, huddled in his overcoat. It was a gray Saturday; Monday would be the first of November. There was a smell of snow in the air, a sinister look to the barren trees, a sense that the siege would settle back into lulling quiet after last Thursday's failed advance. A thrust on the left, its objective the interdiction of the Southside Railroad, had been repulsed by Heth, Mahone, and some of Wade Hampton's horse. Hampton had been promoted to full command of the rebel cavalry in August. Was Charles still scouting for him? Was Orry still in Richmond?
Memories of the fire, of the burned bodies that night in April of '61 came back again; they were with him often. Another house had risen to replace the one destroyed, but the new one bore little resemblance to the old. The war had been long and devastating. When it was over, could past relationships be restored? Did they even exist any more? He was not confident.
Among the change rattling in his pocket were some of the new two-cent pieces authorized by Chase before his resignation and minted for the first time this year. Each bronze piece bore the words In God We Trust, a motto which had never before appeared on American coinage. George wondered whether that affirmation was also an unvoiced cry against the dark times; a declaration of lack of faith in human ability to find a way through the war's maze of misery and cupidity and blind chance. In God We Trust — but not in generals, contractors, even Presidents.
Nevertheless, it did appear that Lincoln would win a second term. The Republican radicals had decided a splinter candidate couldn't win and had patched together a sullen truce with the President. Sherman's capture of Atlanta and Phil Sheridan's trouncing of Jubal Early at Cedar Creek had completely reversed the political tide. October elections in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana resulted in strong National Union party majorities. George had voted in camp and, according to the note that had at last arranged a reunion between the brothers, so had Billy. Both cast their ballots for Lincoln and Johnson.
With other states yet to vote, governmental departments, particularly Stanley's, were doing everything possible to influence the outcome. George noticed that officers known to support McClellan were slow to receive promotions to which they were entitled. Each day steamers left City Point packed with men conveniently furloughed home to districts where a Republican victory might-be in doubt. George hoped for that victory and believed in the need for it, but he disliked the less than pristine methods being used to achieve it. He had visions of Stanley gleefully inking Dem. on promotion authorization and flinging each so labeled into a crackling fireplace.
A few white flakes flurried around George as an artillery colonel clambered aboard to share the edge of the car. They struck up a conversation and were soon discussing a notorious farmer from Dinwiddie County who called himself the Deacon and led a band of mounted partisans — the kind of band the rebel Congress publicly disavowed and secretly praised. The preceding week, Deacon Follywell's men had captured three Union pickets near the left of the siege line and hanged them.