resume They were so brave, he thought – or foolish. They kept coming, even when thousands of them were down and dying. The cannon ripped them to pieces, wiping them out before they were even within rifle range, slaughtering them like sheep as they marched in even rows. Sometimes whole rows were dropped where they stood, so the dead lay in orderly line. And still they came on. At first it all seemed so distant, as if it was a staged tableau. Men marched, then they spun and fell, exploding red bursts into the air. But as they came closer and Charley could see what the artillery was doing to them – tearing, gutting, blowing apart – he could not believe that anyone would continue, could continue against the fire. Yet they came on and on, close enough now so those not hit could return fire, and Charley could hear their bullets hitting the rocks in front of him and he thought, so this is what it’s like to be safe, to fight from a good position. “All right – up, men.” The sergeants roused them. “Ready to fire! Shoot low, shoot low – take their legs out. Present, aim, fire!” Charley raised, aimed and fired, all in less than two seconds. He did not know if he hit, did not care. He reloaded behind the wall, rose, aimed, fired, and thought, this is the way it should be done. The bullets over his head sounded like a storm but they were all high, and he kept reloading and firing as the remaining Rebs screamed and started to run at the wall. “Up, men! Bayonets! Take them.”
Charley did not think any of the Rebs would reach the line but they came on. Torn and bleeding and many in rags, they yelled and came with bayonets, and for a moment it seemed they would carry it, win the hill, win the battle against impossible odds. But a colonel saw the danger and ordered the only unit still in relative shelter – the First Minnesota Volunteers – to make a countercharge. They rose and went as one man, Charley among them. Screaming their own yells, they tore down the hill, at the Rebel unit storming up the hill, and the two bodies of men collided in a smash of steel and powder, standing toe­to­toe, hacking and shooting at each other, neither giving, climbing over the bodies of friends to hit enemies, Charley in the middle jabbing and screaming until he was hit, and hit again, spun and knocked down, and he saw the red veil come down over his eyes and knew that at last he was right, at last he was done, at last he was dead.