The Killer Angels: The Classic Novel of the Civil War (Civil War Trilogy)

The Killer Angels: The Classic Novel of the Civil War (Civil War Trilogy)

Michael Shaara

Language: English

Pages: 355

ISBN: 0345348109

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


“My favorite historical novel . . . a superb re-creation of the Battle of Gettysburg, but its real importance is its insight into what the war was about, and what it meant.”—James M. McPherson
 
In the four most bloody and courageous days of our nation’s history, two armies fought for two conflicting dreams. One dreamed of freedom, the other of a way of life. Far more than rifles and bullets were carried into battle. There were memories. There were promises. There was love. And far more than men fell on those Pennsylvania fields. Bright futures, untested innocence, and pristine beauty were also the casualties of war. Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer Prize–winning masterpiece is unique, sweeping, unforgettable—the dramatic story of the battleground for America’s destiny.

Hampton Roads 1862: Clash of the Ironclads (Campaign, Volume 103)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lee rode away. Pickett said earnestly, “Sir, how much time do we have?” Terrible question. But he did not know what he was asking. Longstreet said, “Plenty of time. The guns will fire for at least an hour.” Pickett slapped his thighs. “It’s the waiting, sir, you know? Well, sir, I think I’ll have the troops lie down. Then I’ll write to Sallie. You’ll see it’s delivered, sir?” Longstreet nodded. Pickett rode off. Nothing to do now but wait. The guns were in line, the caissons were stacking

grin. Gamble was sober sane; Devin was more the barroom type. Buford walked the horse back and forth along the rise. He said aloud, “I wonder where their cavalry is.” Devin laughed. “The way old Stuart gets around, he could be having dinner in Philadelphia.” Buford was not listening. He said abruptly, “Get your patrols out. Scout this bunch in front of us, but scout up north. They’ll be coming in that way, from Carlisle. We’ve got a bit of light yet. I want to know before sundown. I think

brother Thomas becomes his aide. Thomas too has yearned to be a soldier. The wishes of both men are to be granted on the dark rear slope of a small rocky hill called Little Round Top. John Buford, Major General, thirty-seven. A cavalry soldier, restless and caged in the tamed and political East, who loves the great plains and the memory of snow. A man with an eye for the good ground, already badly wounded and not long to live, weary of stupidity and politics and bloody military greed. At

die.” In the darkness he could not see Fremantle’s face. He talked to darkness. “Let me explain this. Try to see this. When we were all young, they fought in a simple way. They faced each other out in the open, usually across a field. One side came running. The other got one shot in, from a close distance, because the rifle wasn’t very good at a distance, because it wasn’t a rifle. Then after that one shot they hit together hand to hand, or sword to sword, and the cavalry would ride in from one

stood now upon alien ground he had once sworn to defend, sworn in honor, and he had arrived there really in the hands of God, without any choice at all; there had never been an alternative except to run away, and he could not do that. But Longstreet was right, of course: he had broken the vow. And he would pay. He knew that and accepted it. He had already paid. He closed his eyes. Dear God, let it end soon. Now he must focus his mind on the war. Alternatives? Any real choice here? Move on, to

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