The Last Full Measure by Jack Campbell Page B

Then the mounted officer drew his sword with a dramatic gesture, raising it high as he called out loudly. “Company, advance!”
    Armistead’s voice came again. “Steady on the left! Steady on the right!”
    Chamberlain, his eyes on the officer whose horse was now trotting forward, drew his pistol and echoed Armistead. “Steady!”
    “Ready!” Armistead called. Behind the officer, the column of regular soldiers hurried forward, still in tight formation, but slowing as they tackled the slope of the road leading up the hill. “Fire!”
    The stone wall before Chamberlain erupted in a blaze of fire and gouts of smoke that momentarily obscured his view of the pike. Amid the chaos of smoke and noise Sergeant Maines kept walking along the wall, ordering the men to continue shooting while Maines himself reloaded his carbine, pausing each time he aimed and fired. Remembering Armistead’s orders, Chamberlain forced himself to walk at a steady pace despite legs which threatened to shake uncontrollably, walk to the tiny bastion near the road, where a half-dozen men were firing as fast as they could load.
    “Cease fire!” Armistead’s command came across the pike, and once again Chamberlain repeated it as the defenders’ fire tapered off into a final few shots.
    As the smoke blew clear Chamberlain saw that the pike was choked with bodies, blood covering the surface of the road in a dark pool. He wondered what had become of the officer, then saw his horse galloping toward the rear, the regular officer slumped in the saddle. In the officer’s wake, the surviving soldiers from the company were running back, but as they encountered the rest of the regiment they were stopped.
    Armistead came walking through the smoke, his face impassive. “They will not make that mistake again. Colonel Lee now knows he must fight here, and Major Sickles appears badly enough wounded that he will not be urging any more heedless attacks.”
    As Armistead had predicted, the next advance revealed a more serious attitude by the regulars toward the defenders. In clear view of the defenders on the hill, but well out of range of any of their weapons, two other companies in the regular regiment marched even with the farm house, then shifted their formations into lines facing the hill. Behind them, the two cannon unlimbered, then began hurling shots toward the defending volunteers. Chamberlain felt an urge to seek cover as the cannon shells began exploding, then realized that the artillery fire was all overshooting, falling behind the defenders’ positions. “Them toy guns ain’t a problem for us,” Sergeant Maines assured the other men behind the wall. “Hitting the top of a hill is hard work even for the best artillerymen. They’ll keep dropping rounds on the civilians in the town behind us. You just keep your heads down and aim well when the next attack comes.”
    Chamberlain got his feet into motion again, walking up and down his short line, trying to act confident as the lines of regular infantry came marching steadily toward the hill. Behind him he could hear sporadic bursts of gunfire and bugle calls where Buford was still tying down Stuart in the streets of the town. If silence fell it would mean Buford had been defeated. It was a surprise to realize that the sounds of combat could be comforting.
    The two companies of regular troops had formed up in a straight line, each company’s line formation separated from the next by a small gap. Each company line of about one hundred men stood about fifty men long in two ranks, the second close behind the first, each man’s shoulders almost touching those of his companions on either side. Officers stood out before their companies, then another officer rode out in front of them all, called a command, and the entire force of regulars began moving up the hill. “How can we miss?” Chamberlain wondered as he looked at them coming steadily closer.
    “Not easily,” Sergeant Maines observed.
    “Why are