The Warriors [antikvár]

MAJOR GIDEON KENT was worn out. Worn out and plagued by a famUiar edginess he only permitted himself to call fear in the silence of his mind. The feeling always came on him during a battle. About six o'clock that afternoon, he'd witnessed more than the beginning of a battle. He'd seen the start of a slaughter. Thousands upon thousands of his Confederate comrades had gone charging out of the second-growth timber called the Wilderness, bugles blaring, bayonets shining. Noisy blizzards of wild turkeys fled before the howling men and theh streaming battle flags. The surprise attack had caught the Dutchmen—the German regiments in Von Gilsa's brigade—taking their evening meal in Dowdall's Clearing, most of their arms stacked. The Germans were manning the end of General Howard's exposed flank. The Southerners tore into them. Stabbing. Screaming. Blowing heads and Ihnbs away at point-blank range. On horseback, the commander of the n Corps, Army of Northern Virginia, had closely followed his charging lines, his eyes blazing with an almost religious light. Now and then the commander's hands rose to the thickening smoke in the gold sky as though thanking his God for the carnage. The general's outrageously risky attack had succeeded. That much had been evident while Gideon observed the first few minutes of the engagement. Then he 15