Just then it hit him as he had known it would since they had picked up the decoys.
Three strikes is out, he thought, and they gave me four. I’ve always been a lucky son of a bitch.
It hit him again, badly.
“Jackson,” he said. “Do you know what General Thomas J. Jackson said on one occasion? On the occasion of his unfortunate death. I memorized it once. I can’t respond for its accuracy of course. But this is how it was reported: ‘Order A. P. Hill to prepare for action.’ Then some more delirious crap. Then he said, ‘No, no, let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.’ ”
“That’s very interesting, sir,” Jackson said. “That must have been Stonewall Jackson, sir.”
The Colonel started to speak but he stopped while it hit him the third time and gripped him so he knew he could not live.
“Jackson,” the Colonel said. “Pull up at the side of the road and cut to your parking lights. Do you know the way to Trieste from here?”
“Yes, sir, I have my map.”
“Good. I’m now going to get into the large back seat of this god-damned, over-sized luxurious automobile.”
That was the last thing the Colonel ever said. But he made the back seat all right and he shut the door. He shut it carefully and well.
After a while Jackson drove the car down the ditch and willow lined road with the car’s big lights on, looking for a place to turn. He found one, finally, and turned carefully.
