"Walter Jon Williams - No Spot of Ground" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

"Still, for several days we had two brigades against two entire corps. Two corps, sir!" Indignation flared
in Poe. His fists knotted in his lap.

"The glory of your victory was all the greater." The Georgian's tone was cautious, his eyes alert.

Condescending, Poe thought. A black anger settled on him like a shroud. These southern gentlemen
were always condescending. Poe knew what Sorrel was thinking. It's just Poe, hysterical Code-breaker
Poe. Poe always thinks he's fighting the whole Yankee army by himself. Poe is always sending off
messages screaming for help and telling other people what to do. What? Another message from Poe? It's

file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Walter%20Jon%20Williams%20-%20No%20Spot%20of%20Ground.html (11 of 55)22-12-2006 21:55:25
 No Spot of Ground

just the fellow's nerves again. Ignore it.

"I've always been proved right!" Poe snapped. "I was right during the Seven Days when I said Porter
was dug in behind Boatswain Swamp! I was right about the Yankee signal codes, I was right about the
charge at Gettysburg, and I was right again when I said Butler had come ashore at Bermuda Hundred
with two whole Yankee corps! If my superiors would have given me a little credit--"

"Your advice has always been appreciated," said Sorrel.

"My God!" Poe said. "Poor General Pickett is broken down because of this! It may be months before his
nerves recover! Pickett--if he could stand what Lee did to the Division at Gettysburg, one might think he
could stand anything! But this--this broke him! Great heavens, if Butler had committed more than a
fraction of the forces available to him, he would have lost Petersburg, and with Petersburg, Richmond!"

"I do not think this is the place--" Sorrel began.

Too late. Poe's mind filled with the memory of the Yankees coming at the Ravens at Port Walthall
Junction, four brigades against Pickett's two, and those four only the advance of Butler's entire army. He
remembered the horror of it, the regimental flags of the Federals breaking out of the cover of the trees,
brass and bayonets shining in the wind; shellfire bursting like obscene overripe blossoms; the whistling
noise made by the tumbling bullet that had carried away Poe's hat; the sight of George Pickett with his
face streaked by powder smoke, his long hair wild in the wind, as he realized his flanks where caving in
and he was facing another military disaster"┬ж

"Screaming for reinforcements!" Poe shouted. "We were screaming for reinforcements! And what does
Richmond send? Harvey Hill! Hah! Major General interfering Harvey Hill!"

Sorrel looked at him stonily. The old fight between Poe and Hill was ancient history.

"Hill is a madman, sir!" Poe knew he was talking too much, gushing like a chain pump, but he couldn't
stop himself. Let at least one person know what he thought. "He is a fighter, I will grant him that, but he
is quarrelsome, tempestuous--impossible to reason with. He is not a rational man, Colonel. He hasn't an
ounce of rationality or system in him. No more brains than a nigger."

Sorrel finished his cider, and raised a hand to let Sextus know not to pour him more. "We may thank
God that the movement was made by Butler," he said.