"If they come back, don't hesitate to shoot. Now get those wounded taken care of, find that flag and have someone clean it."

The major, a bit startled by what had just happened, could only salute.

"Remember, men," Dan shouted. "These are traitors and rebels, the same that we faced in Virginia. The difference is, at least our enemies in Virginia were soldiers like us, who fought with honor."

To his surprise a ragged cheer went up, as if his words had calmed their fears about what they had just seen and done.

He turned and rode back across the square. A bullet hummed by, striking and chipping the brick wall beside him. He looked across the square. It was impossible to see where it had come from.

Hell of a note, he thought, get shot by some drunk Irishman after surviving so many battles.

More troops were continuing to pour into the square; another volley thundered from where he had just been, he didn't bother to look back. Reaching Delmonico's, he reined in and dismounted, several staff waiting there anxiously for him.

"The governor and Mr. Tweed are inside," he was informed. "Sir, they say you're an hour late." Sickles grinned.

"Pass the word to the regimental commanders. I want a cordon around this square, – reinforced companies at each intersection deployed and ready to fight I want some of Berdan's sharpshooters to get into buildings and watch for bushwackers, one almost got me a minute ago, just make sure they don't start shooting each other in the confusion. I'll be out shortly."

Adjusting his sash and saber, Gen. Dan Sickles strode into Delmonico's, one of his favorite haunts since the early days when it had first opened farther downtown. The owner was nowhere in sight, and he chuckled, simply nodding to the maitre d', who even in all this madness was properly decked out in full formal evening wear, though the entire restaurant was deserted except for a small gathering in a darkened corner.

Dan approached, smiling, and "Boss" Tweed stood up, his ever-expanding girth making it difficult for him to get out from behind the table.

Tweed offered a perfunctory handshake as Dan looked around. Governor Seymour with a couple of his staffers half rose, nodded, and then sat back down.

Dan inwardly grinned. He knew Seymour did not want him here. Though the man was terrified, still he would want the credit if the situation was restored.

"The mayor, where is he?" Dan asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Tweed replied. "I guess either trapped down at City Hall, or hiding."

"I sent a telegram to meet me here."

"At three in the morning, Sickles?" Seymour grumbled. "Aren't we getting a little high-and-mighty? And besides, you are the one who is an hour late."

"It took time getting my men across the river and I won't have a spare moment once daylight comes.

"Just be glad that I'm here."

Dan smiled. No sense in getting important patrons upset.

"My apologies, gentlemen, we're all tired, thank you for meeting me."

"Besides, it's a good chance for a free meal."

A waiter brought over a bottle of brandy; Dan nodded. Once the bottle was open, he took it, poured his own glass, and sat down.

"The situation here?" Tweed shook his head.

"I think we've lost control of the city. Maybe if you boys had won at Gettysburg and Union Mills, it might never of happened, or it wouldn't be so bad. But between that, the casualty lists, and the draft, the city just exploded. Except for some areas around City Hall, the financial district, and where a lot of militia were posted in the wealthier neighborhoods, the city is in anarchy."

Dan drained his glass and poured a second one.

Even within the darkened confines of Delmonico's, the air was heavy with the stench of smoke from the dozens of fires raging out of control across the city. An exhausted fire crew, walking behind their hook-and-ladder wagon, limped past the doorway, several of the men bandaged, one nursing a bloody arm in a sling. One could hear a steady rumble echoing, and it quickened Dan's blood; it was the sound of men shouting, so similar to the sound of a battle from a mile or two away. An explosion thundered, loud enough that many of the men in the square stood up, pointing to the north, and Dan could see a glimpse of a fireball soaring into the early-morning sky.

"I could have won it at Gettysburg and we wouldn't now be dealing with that mess out there," Dan announced. Tweed said nothing, intent on his opening course of smoked oysters, pausing between bites to drain his glass of champagne. The governor, flanked by his two aides who actually had more the look of bodyguards, sat with hands folded across his lap.

"I'm telling you, I had Lee square in my sights that second morning at Gettysburg," Dan continued. "I knew he was beginning to flank us. Berdan, God rest him, confirmed it just before he died. They were strung out on that road for miles and I'd of cut through them like a whipsaw. Then we could have turned and destroyed each wing of his army.

"But no, damn him! Meade and all the others just stood there like wooden Indians. Damn West Point bastards. Same thing on the march down to Union Mills. I should have been allowed to move to the right flank as I told Meade, rather than march on Union Mills. But again, no! If I had, Fifth Corps would have been reinforced rather than annihilated. And that last bloody charge, my God, what idiocy, it was worse than Burnside at Fredericksburg."

"That's past and the White House and its patronage are still in the future," Tweed grumbled, looking up from his meal. "I'm worried about now," and he gestured toward the open door.

"We let this continue, we lose this city, the blame will come down square on Tammany when it's done. You know damn well the Republicans will blame us for it, say they were knifed in the back by these riots. They will seize any excuse to blame the Irish and the Democrats."

"That's why I'm here," Sickles said. "Somebody's got to restore order and if I do it we get the credit instead of the blame. I will be the man who saved the Union after our defeat at Union Mills."

"One more day and we'll have that rabble under control," Governor Seymour snapped back angrily.

Dan leaned back in his chair, raising a brandy snifter, and smiled.

"If you wish to give the order, Governor, I will withdraw my troops immediately," and he pointed to the square.

Worried looks were exchanged around the table between Seymour and Tweed, the silence of the moment disturbed by the distant echoes of shots, another fire engine racing past, the cries of those fleeing the anarchy out in the street.

"Let's not be hasty, Dan," Seymour replied.

Dan smiled.

"We have to be hasty, Governor, or we'll lose your damn city and with it the war. For or against it at this point, you don't want to be the one blamed."

"You actually think this goddamn war can be won?"

"Think it? I know it," Dan replied coldly.

"And you're the one to do it?"

"You're goddamn right I'm the one to do it"

"Lincoln will never let you take command, didn't you see Greeley's paper today? It's Grant now."

"A drunkard and yet another West Pointer," Dan announced, loud enough that his staff and the infantry guards at the door could hear.

"You honestly think he can do anything?"

"He did take Vicksburg," Tweed offered. "He's got powerful friends, Congressman Washburne for one."

Dan snorted derisively.

"Fighting against rabble out west is one thing. Let him try and tangle with Bobbie Lee. One fight and he'll be like all the others, running with his tail between his legs…" He paused for a moment, looking into his brandy glass, "or dead."

There was no response. Staring at the glass Dan felt a flicker of pain, the memory of that field at Union Mills, watching good men go in by the thousands, only to be cut down in their turn. If only they had listened, it all could have been avoided. The revelation that had just come out, that Lincoln had actually sent a dispatch advising Meade to use discretion, that he was not required to attack, was useful in his own campaign, but at the same time struck hard into that side of him that wished to see Union victory, to see an end to it all.