Read Online The Battle of the Crater: A Novel by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich, Albert S. Hanser - Free Book Online Page B
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Stan’s grasp.
“See him,” Michael hissed, shifting slightly; a little more than a second later his rifle recoiled with a sharp crack. He pulled the gun back out of the firing slit and flung himself down. A few seconds later, two minié balls slapped through the firing slit he had just vacated.
“Get him?” Johann asked.
“Think so,” was all Michael replied, breathing hard, slumped against the wall of the trench.
“Good shooting, Yank!”
The taunting cry echoed in the hot midday air.
Johann stood up halfway, cupping his hand around his mouth.
“We get ’em?”
“He wet his britches, he did,” came a reply. “But nope. Ya missed. What about your man?”
“You missed me, you sons of bitches!” Michael shouted.
“Now that ain’t polite, you bastard sons of bitches, calling us that. We was born here, you wasn’t.”
“You started this sharpshooting,” Johann retorted. “And I’m as good a man as you are, born here or not, by God.”
“You started it, shooting poor Jimmy in the ass when all the lad wanted to do was shit outside the trench, him with the bloody flux.”
“Sorry about that, Rebs!” Johann shouted. “It weren’t us. We’re the 48th Pennsylvania, it was them Connecticut boys that done that.”
“We’ll stop it if you stop it, Yank, even if you are some damn bohunk or Polack from the sounds of it.”
Johann laughed.
“I’m Irish, damn ya,” Michael shouted.
“Well, a son of the sod,” came the retort. “Heard you gonna get darkies in the ranks next, once we kilt off all you white boys.”
The men looked at each other in confusion.
“Ain’t heard that,” Johann finally replied. “No colored here with this corps.”
“Well, we shoot to kill if they show up, Yank, and you, too, if you got the same corps badge as them.”
“Ain’t none of ’em here. So we got a deal, Reb?”
There was a momentary pause, echoes of voices debating and finally a reply.
“Deal, Yank. Nighttime no shootin’, but during the daytime if one of you boys gotta drop his britches outside the trench, you gotta wave a white flag first.”
“Hell, no,” Johann replied. “No white flag. Our officers would hang us for sure for that. How about wave a cap back and forth three times.”
Again a discussion on the far side.
“Deal, Yank, but there be a problem.”
“And what’s that?’
“We ’uns are the 25th North Carolina, but we can’t speak for the boys to either flank.”
“Ah, shit, Reb!” Michael shouted. “What good is a truce if we get shot in the ass sideways from farther down the line?”
There was a rancorous laugh from the Rebel fort above them.
“Well, we can be all democratic like and send delegations up and down the line, if that’s what you want to negotiate out, fair and proper like. But that will be a heap of talkin’ and a lot of delegations given how many different regiments stuck out here in this godforsaken place.”
Johann shook his head and laughed sadly.
“We did that, I think we’d vote to end this damn war today and just go home, and the hell with this Petersburg.”
“That we would, Yank, that we would,” the Reb shouted back.
“All right, Reb. At least this: We don’t shoot anymore straight at you; you don’t shoot straight at us. If we go off the line, we’ll tell you. You do the same for us, so there’s no mistakes. Fair enough?”
“Deal, Yank.”
“Does that mean we can stand up now?” Stan asked, and even as he spoke the new recruit actually did stand up to take his first look, in daylight, at the massive Rebel fort, poised on the brow of the ridge, 130 yards away.
“My God, Stan!” Johann shouted as he leaped forward, tackling his brother around the knees and knocking him down; as he did so a bullet zipped across the lip of the trench.
“You stupid ass! Don’t you ever stand up like that. Never!” He then lapsed into Polish as he slapped his brother several more times before hugging him.
“But the Reb
“See him,” Michael hissed, shifting slightly; a little more than a second later his rifle recoiled with a sharp crack. He pulled the gun back out of the firing slit and flung himself down. A few seconds later, two minié balls slapped through the firing slit he had just vacated.
“Get him?” Johann asked.
“Think so,” was all Michael replied, breathing hard, slumped against the wall of the trench.
“Good shooting, Yank!”
The taunting cry echoed in the hot midday air.
Johann stood up halfway, cupping his hand around his mouth.
“We get ’em?”
“He wet his britches, he did,” came a reply. “But nope. Ya missed. What about your man?”
“You missed me, you sons of bitches!” Michael shouted.
“Now that ain’t polite, you bastard sons of bitches, calling us that. We was born here, you wasn’t.”
“You started this sharpshooting,” Johann retorted. “And I’m as good a man as you are, born here or not, by God.”
“You started it, shooting poor Jimmy in the ass when all the lad wanted to do was shit outside the trench, him with the bloody flux.”
“Sorry about that, Rebs!” Johann shouted. “It weren’t us. We’re the 48th Pennsylvania, it was them Connecticut boys that done that.”
“We’ll stop it if you stop it, Yank, even if you are some damn bohunk or Polack from the sounds of it.”
Johann laughed.
“I’m Irish, damn ya,” Michael shouted.
“Well, a son of the sod,” came the retort. “Heard you gonna get darkies in the ranks next, once we kilt off all you white boys.”
The men looked at each other in confusion.
“Ain’t heard that,” Johann finally replied. “No colored here with this corps.”
“Well, we shoot to kill if they show up, Yank, and you, too, if you got the same corps badge as them.”
“Ain’t none of ’em here. So we got a deal, Reb?”
There was a momentary pause, echoes of voices debating and finally a reply.
“Deal, Yank. Nighttime no shootin’, but during the daytime if one of you boys gotta drop his britches outside the trench, you gotta wave a white flag first.”
“Hell, no,” Johann replied. “No white flag. Our officers would hang us for sure for that. How about wave a cap back and forth three times.”
Again a discussion on the far side.
“Deal, Yank, but there be a problem.”
“And what’s that?’
“We ’uns are the 25th North Carolina, but we can’t speak for the boys to either flank.”
“Ah, shit, Reb!” Michael shouted. “What good is a truce if we get shot in the ass sideways from farther down the line?”
There was a rancorous laugh from the Rebel fort above them.
“Well, we can be all democratic like and send delegations up and down the line, if that’s what you want to negotiate out, fair and proper like. But that will be a heap of talkin’ and a lot of delegations given how many different regiments stuck out here in this godforsaken place.”
Johann shook his head and laughed sadly.
“We did that, I think we’d vote to end this damn war today and just go home, and the hell with this Petersburg.”
“That we would, Yank, that we would,” the Reb shouted back.
“All right, Reb. At least this: We don’t shoot anymore straight at you; you don’t shoot straight at us. If we go off the line, we’ll tell you. You do the same for us, so there’s no mistakes. Fair enough?”
“Deal, Yank.”
“Does that mean we can stand up now?” Stan asked, and even as he spoke the new recruit actually did stand up to take his first look, in daylight, at the massive Rebel fort, poised on the brow of the ridge, 130 yards away.
“My God, Stan!” Johann shouted as he leaped forward, tackling his brother around the knees and knocking him down; as he did so a bullet zipped across the lip of the trench.
“You stupid ass! Don’t you ever stand up like that. Never!” He then lapsed into Polish as he slapped his brother several more times before hugging him.
“But the Reb
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