“Excellent,” said Scott.

“Along with the forces in the Shenandoah and other commands moving towards here, I should command at least one hundred and fifty thousand men.”

The numbers were staggering. Should they all meet in combat, it would be one of the largest battles of all time. Perhaps the largest ever. Nathan made a mental note to look up the size of the forces involved at Waterloo and elsewhere. Then he realized that the numbers were irrelevant trivia. Many tens of thousands of young men would be killed or maimed, and that was what was important.

“As we shall have the larger forces,” Grant continued, “I will divide them.” “Why?” asked Stanton.

“I discussed it with Mr. Lincoln. I have no idea what will be the main thrust of Lee's advance. Perhaps Lee doesn't know himself. I rather think his strategy will be based on what my moves will be. Will he move directly on Washington? Or will his targets be Baltimore or Philadelphia? Even Harrisburg is a possibility, and he is capable of striking towards Pittsburgh before withdrawing back to the south. Regardless, Mr. Lincoln is adamant that no major American cities should fall to the rebels, as even their temporary capture would give the South an enormous moral victory. Therefore, those places I just mentioned will be heavily garrisoned and fortified as best we can on such short notice. However, we cannot hope to make them as secure as Washington is now. When General Lee decides which place is his target, then we will converge on him while the garrison of the city attacked holds him at bay. If he chooses neither and simply seeks to raid through Maryland and Pennsylvania, then we will attack him where he goes.”

Grant exhaled a cloud of noxious smoke. “In order to succeed, Lee must stay on the move. Should he stop, it will be to our advantage. Then and only then will we be able to bring our superior numbers to bear; otherwise we will be chasing him. My strategy is to cast a net for General Lee. Then, when he is ensnared, take him.”

Nathan listened and again wondered just when and how the shy and taciturn young officer of years past had become a war leader.

Grant gestured towards Colonel Haupt. “My ability to move these separated forces to a place of gathering in a timely manner depends entirely on Colonel Haupt's railroads.”

Haupt's eyes gleamed. The challenge was accepted. “We will not fail you, General Grant.”

Halleck was unconvinced, and doubt was evident in his expression. “Why not meet Lee as far south as possible? Why let him lay waste to our lands?”

Grant eyed him coldly. There was no love lost between the two men. Grant's star was on the ascendant while Halleck was being forced to the background. Already he'd been told that his task was to support Grant, not to direct him. Once, Grant had been Halleck's subordinate, and the jealous Halleck did not like the current turn of events at all.

“Because every step he takes northward,” said Grant,

“takes him farther away from his base and draws him closer to ours. Simply feeding such a large army is a vast undertaking, and I don't think they have the capability of doing so for any length of time. Whichever way they turn, they will use up food, ammunition, fodder, horses, and manpower that they cannot replace.”

“Like Napoleon in Russia,” Scott whispered.

Grant smiled. “Only Pennsylvania in the fall is not quite as cold as a Russian winter. But yes, I wish to fight the rebels when they are tired, wet, cold, and hungry, and not before. Most crops have already been harvested, which means they will have only what they bring to devour.”

“And you will see to it that pickings are slim, won't you. General?” asked Stanton.

“I will burn or kill anything they can use.”

Halleck appeared shocked. “You would destroy American property?”

Grant glared at him. “I would burn the very earth itself if I thought I could.”

The train contained but one passenger car, and that car carried but one passenger. General Patrick Cleburne stepped off and was greeted by a small semblance of a band playing something that might have been “Brian Boru's March,” or even “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye.” Whichever it was, it was played at a much faster tempo than he was used to, and not particularly well.

Attila Flynn stepped forward and grasped Cleburne's hand. “Welcome to the Republic of New Ireland, General. Are you here to take me up on my offer?”

Cleburne looked about in mild amusement. Several dozen men armed with a miscellany of weapons stood in uneven ranks before him. A green flag with a white cloth harp sewn in the middle waved from a pole. “Funny, but I thought I was in London, Canada, and not Ireland.”

Flynn smiled. “A detail only, General, and one you can help rectify. Bring the Legion over to us and the Americans will never return Canada to England when a treaty is finally signed. We can use New Ireland ourselves to bargain for Irish independence, or as a refuge for Irish immigrants.”

Cleburne sighed. “Flynn, you are such a damned fool. First, I have said repeatedly that I will never again betray my country, and my country is the United States. Second, Britain will never give Ireland her independence, at least not in our time, and third, Irishmen already have a refuge, and that is the previously mentioned United States.”

Flynn was puzzled. “Then why have you bothered to come here at all?”

“We are leaving, Flynn. The Legion is already headed south and back to the United States. It's no secret, but the Confederates will be attacking northward, and we will help defend the Union.”

“But what of your promise to fight only England?” Cleburne grinned. “It will be kept. The British have landed an army in Virginia. 'Tis them we will fight, and the men are all for it. If a few rebels get in the way, then so be it, but we are headed south to fight the redcoats.”

So the rumors were true, Flynn thought. The focus of the war was shifting away from Canada.

Cleburne made a cursory inspection of the ranked men. “A villainous lot and Fenians all, I presume?” he asked when he finished and returned to where Flynn stood by the train.

“Of course,” Flynn replied.

“My real reason for visiting you is to let you know where you and this foolishness stand. As I said, I am leaving and my men are going with me. General Smith and a full corps of Union veterans will remain and will continue to put pressure on those British who haven't gone to Virginia. General Smith is of the thought that he will leave you alone here in London as long as you do not destroy property, or do any killing, or try to enlarge your so-called nation. Break the peace, and he will come down on you like the worst plague that never got into the Bible and hang every scurvy one of you. Accept deserters from the Union army and he will hang them twice, with the first time being by their balls. In short, Mr. Flynn, General Smith is not a nice man and you shouldn't fuck with him.”

Flynn understood and both men tried not to smile. Despite the apparent tongue-lashing, the message was clear. As long as he did nothing to antagonize General Smith, his Republic of New Ireland could remain on English soil. The United States of America would let the Republic of New Ireland be a public thorn in the side of England, and bloody Palmerston wouldn't know whether it was being condoned or not. At worst, it would give old Palmerston something else to worry about. Perhaps it would cause the old fart to croak. Flynn was impressed. Abraham Lincoln looked like an ignorant farmer, but he might just be far more devious than anyone thought.

“Don't you or General Smith worry, General dear, my people will all be perfect angels.”

“Will you be going to Harrisburg with Grant?” Rebecca asked. She tried to keep the anxiety from her voice but was afraid she failed.

“I offered,” Nathan replied with a small shrug, “but he feels more comfortable with the staff he already has, even though Rawlins is far from the most efficient manager in the world. I also think he wants me to watch over General Scott and keep General Halleck out of Meade's hair. Meade's excitable enough without anyone provoking him.”