Lee looked across at the bay. A heavy line of his infantry were sweeping down toward the docks. Rifle fire snapped and rolled as last-ditch survivors from the Union side turned and continued to fight. A battery of artillery clattered past the plantation, moving at a swift canter, horses panting, lathered in sweat, deploying out into a field a hundred yards away, preparing to shell the harbor. The killing was still going on. Even in its death agony the Army of the Potomac was still kicking back; a shell winged in to detonate over the heads of the deploying battery; several gunners dropped.

Lee shook his head.

"No, General Longstreet. He will move. But it will take him time to absorb the shock of this defeat. His plans now are in disarray but Lincoln cannot afford a stalemate into next spring. For that matter, nor can we. If Grant does not move, we will eventually turn back to Washington, tighten the noose, and then try to starve it out through the winter. Lincoln and Grant both know that would be my next step now that the Army of the Potomac is gone.

"No, sir, he will move, but it will take him time to absorb what happened. I'll give him a week, two weeks, perhaps, but I do want it to come.

"We'll move up toward the Susquehanna tomorrow; there is still their old Fifth Corps to bag. Once there, we'll see what develops. If he does move, we'll try to catch him in mid-crossing; if not, we turn back on Washington yet again."

The battery in the yard below opened up, solid shot arcing up, plummeting down, geysers of water soaring up around the docks swarming with men. It had to be done, but still it was sickening to him. Why couldn't they just lay down their arms? He'd take their paroles without question and then send them safely home, as long as they pledged to no longer fight. But no, this was his old rival, the valiant Army of the Potomac, so badly led on so many fields, yet its men still willing to fight to the bitter end.

He had yet to face Grant, to see a single soldier of the much-heralded western armies, but he sensed now that they were of the same stern stuff as the Army of the Potomac and, for that matter, his own men. Yes, perhaps more like his own for they were not tainted by defeat; they would be eager to match wits and fire against him, general against general, regiment against regiment, man against man.

"We have been blessed with two stunning victories, General Longstreet; we must make it a third to finish this once and for all."

He turned and slowly made his way back to the porch to sit under the shade, his body trembling with exhaustion.

As he gained the porch he saw a knot of Union soldiers kneeling by the side of the major he had spoken to only minutes before. The man's face was gray, eyes closed.

He was dead.

The major's head was cradled in the sergeant's lap. He could sense the bond between the two. The fair young officer, the old tough regular who had nursed him along and now held him in death.

The sergeant looked up at Lee.

"How many more like this, General Lee?" the sergeant asked.

"I am sorry," Lee whispered. "I pray no more."

The sergeant shook his head.

"No, sir, there will be more."

"I know," Lee admitted sadly and turned away.

He looked back down toward the bay. His advancing infantry were almost to the docks. He could catch glimpses of Union flags still held aloft, knots of men refusing to quit gathered around them, fighting to the end. More batteries were unlimbering just below the plantation, firing down into the harbor.

If only it was Grant down there, and this was the final battle. Then he could find solace in knowing that this, indeed, was the last day.

That was what he must now seek. Lure Grant across the river in a week or two, once his men had been well rested, refitted, and reorganized after this grueling fight. Seek out Grant… and end it

Chapter Twenty-one

The South Bank of the Susquehanna

August 22,1863 6:00 AM.

It was a beautiful early morning, the intense storm front of the night before having wiped the air clean of the stench of battle, dropping the temperature so low that it almost felt like the opening of an early autumn day in mid to late September.

General Lee watched as his men, filled with swagger in spite of the night march, approached the high bluffs looking out over the river.

They were a victorious army yet again. They had driven Sykes back, taking thousands of prisoners; the last huddled remnants of his force were down in the harbor at Perryville, loading aboard the ferries. Lee would bring up artillery to shell them at long range, but he would advance no farther. The gunboats, which had fought to cover the withdrawal of the survivors of the Third and Sixth Corps, had steamed through the night to cover as well these last few units still in retreat.

He had shattered, once and for all, the Army of the Potomac. Reports were that nearly fifteen thousand had fallen in the two-day fight, another twenty thousand taken prisoner. The old foe was finished forever, and yet Lee felt no joy in it this morning.

The butcher bill, as Longstreet put it, had been tragic for his own army as well. Over ten thousand dead and wounded in the two-day fight along Gunpowder River, thousands more collapsed from heat exhaustion. Yet again a bitter price. Over twenty per cent of his men under arms out of action. And this time there would be no replacements.

In his hand he held a dispatch that had come in during the night.

Wade Hampton was dead. His entire force had been cornered up in Pennsylvania and wiped out. A lone courier and one released prisoner had brought back word of the disaster.

Stuart was almost beyond consoling. When he had broken the news, his young cavalier had, at first, demanded permission for a vengeance raid, to take his entire force across the river. That would have been a mad impulse, and Lee had refused him emphatically and sternly.

They were on the banks of the Susquehanna, much farther north than he had wanted to be. The task of capturing prisoners and equipment had drawn them far beyond his desired position. Grant still awaited him. Lee's next step, the step needed to end this war, wasn't certain. It would depend on whether Grant would come down the river. His thought now was to demonstrate, to threaten a crossing en masse, for surely that would bring Grant into play. He would need Stuart here, on this side of the river, to watch for the site of Grant's attempted crossing.

"Good morning, General Lee."

Lee looked up and smiled. It was Judah Benjamin, trailed by an escort of Virginia cavalry. Lee smiled with genuine affection.

"Sir, you gave us a bit of a scare there two days ago." Judah smiled good-naturedly.

'1 heard that you said war is the sport of young men. Sir, I agree. That heat, how your boys marched and fought in it, it is beyond me."

"They did their duty, sir."

"I fear I did not do mine. Sorry I collapsed like that."

Lee smiled, feeling a bit self-conscious, remembering his own collapse, which had put him into bed for half a day.

"Perhaps it is best that secretaries of state do not go gallivanting around following armies," Lee said.

"Couldn't resist it, sir."

Judah came up by his side and looked out over the river, to the swarming river traffic taking off the last of the Fifth Corps.

'Too bad you couldn't have pinned them down there," he said.

"We could have, but to what final purpose? I'd have lost another thousand from their gunboats; we'd have harmed two, maybe three thousand, taken some prisoners. But to what avail now? They are out of the war. They're good soldiers; let them go in peace."

"You are learning to conserve men," Judah replied.

"Sir?"