Brown took off his hat and wiped his brow on the back of a sleeve.

"We're in front of Washington," he began. "The outer line of fortifications is less than two miles ahead on this road."

"I knew it," one of the men said, a touch of glee in his voice.

"We go in two hours before dawn." The group fell silent.

"We're the second wave. Pettigrew's division is in the lead, they're already filing into position ahead of us. At one in the morning," he hesitated, opening his watch and holding the lantern up to check, "three hours from now, we move to the forward position in a streambed, six hundred yards short of the enemy lines."

"A night attack, sir?" someone whispered, the surprise in his voice evident.

"General Scales said that General Lee decided it this morning. He wishes to spare us unnecessary losses."

"We don't know this ground at all, sir," the questioner replied.

"Damn it, Jones, I know that. Now shut the hell up and listen to orders." No one spoke.

"Each regiment will have a guide from the cavalry. They've been occupying this ground since yesterday and know their way around. The men are to move in absolute silence. I want every man checked to make sure his musket is not capped. Canteens to be kept full and secured with straps under the belt. Tin cups and anything else that might rattle to be left behind. Again, we must have absolute silence."

He looked around and the men nodded.

"If some damn fool drops a musket and it goes off, I'll run him through and come looking for you later. General

Scales made that clear to me. No talking, not even a whisper. Absolute silence.

"As I said, Pettigrew will be in the lead. They will move out at exactly three and storm the enemy line. We are to be in reserve to follow up, or lend support Once the line is broken, Hood's division will follow through and expand the break. Longstreet's entire corps is behind us and will be up by early morning. They will exploit the break and then move into the city."

He hesitated.

"Pettigrew's division will face an open field of nearly six hundred yards. There are several rows of abatis, then a moat, which is believed to be at least twenty feet wide and ten feet deep. The fort dominating the position has earth walls ten to fifteen feet high above the moat and is believed to hold a battery of heavy thirty-pounders, mortars, a regiment of at least a thousand infantry, and most likely additional artillery support. It covers an acre of ground. Enfilading fire will hit from forts of similar dimensions to either flank.

"Beyond the fort is a well-paved road from the city and a military road that runs inside the enemy lines. We must assume the line will be heavily manned. The attack will go in silently, without any bombardment All is dependent on stealth and gaining the wall of the fort before the enemy is alerted."

There was a long silence. Hazner looked around. By the glow of the single lantern he saw that some men, especially the younger officers, were eager, whispering among themselves, but the older men were silent

"Gentlemen, I will tell you my honest opinion. Darkness or not Pettigrew's boys will get torn apart It will be our job then to follow through, take the fort and open the road up to the city.

"I know we've never done a night attack before, gentlemen. It's unheard of. Let's trust in General Lee's leadership as we always have and all will be well. Gentlemen, I promise you that by the end of tomorrow the war will be over. We will march down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House and throw that slave-loving bastard out and hang him from the nearest tree."

The men knew better than to give a cheer but there was a bit of bracing, a few backslaps and nods.

"Now go back to your men. Brief them on what's coming, then get them to settle down and try to get a little sleep. That's all."

The group broke up and headed back to their companies. Brown turned away, setting the lantern on the ground. It was a praying army and Hazner was not surprised when Brown went down on his knees and lowered his head.

He stepped back respectfully and looked at the color-bearer, who had returned to his comrades, the men gathering around him to hear the news.

All was shadows and rising mist, lending a ghostlike quality to the world around him. He heard muffled talk, some laughter, but not much. These men, even at eighteen, were no longer boys. They had charged at Gettysburg little more than two weeks ago, and held the line through the long, bitter day at Union Mills. They were tired, they had seen far too much, and now they would see more. They knew that they were being called upon once more, for but one more effort, a supreme effort

One more effort But one more and it is over. The Yankee capital just one battle away and then the war would be over.

Reaching into his haversack, Sergeant Hazner touched the journal of his old friend, dead at Union Mills. He sat down on the damp, muddy ground, leaned back, and tried to get a few minutes' sleep… but sleep came hard that night

July 18 1863

2.00am

Mr. President, General Heintzelman is here." From his desk piled high with papers, Lincoln looked up to his secretary, Hay, who stood in the doorway. The exhaustion on Hay's face was obvious; in the glare of gaslight he looked more like a ghost than a young man, his tie and collar off, a clear sign that he was about ready to collapse.

"Thank you, Mr. Hay. Now listen to your president, go in the next room and get some sleep."

Hay, who normally would have protested, actually nodded in agreement and closed the door behind the general.

Heintzelman, who was older than the president, stood to attention. His hat was off, under his arm, wisps of gray hair plastered to his skull with sweat His eyes were dark, almost hollow; the man was breathing heavy and, like everyone else, obviously exhausted as well.

Lincoln stood up and motioned the general to take a seat and Heintzelman gladly complied, letting out an audible sigh as he settled into the high-backed leather chair.

"Your report sir," Lincoln prompted, and Heintzelman fumbled to his breast pocket for his spectacles and then started to open a sheaf of papers.

"In your own words, General," Lincoln said patiently. Heintzelman cleared his throat nervously and, though he wasn't reading, adjusted his spectacles yet again.

"Will they attack?" Lincoln finally prompted, his own tiredness causing his patience to wear thin with Heintzelman's fumbling nature.

"Oh, most assuredly, sir," Heintzelman replied. "There is no doubt of that now. We have enough reports of Lee's army coming straight at us. It is confirmed without a doubt that Lee was indeed scouting our lines personally this morning. A prisoner and a deserter corroborated that information. We know that there are at least four brigades of rebel cavalry encircling our northern front, and we had sure sightings of infantry as well. A civilian of good quality, a Union man who was vouched for by his congressman, managed to get through to our lines and reported that the roads coming down from the north are simply packed with infantry. He reported crossing through a column of Hood's corps on the Seventh Street Road, about five miles outside the District of Columbia. They should be forming up to attack shortly after dawn."

"How did he get through?"

"He acted feebleminded."

Lincoln actually smiled at that one. So we are dependent on reports from civilians acting feebleminded. What next?

"The question confronting us then is when and where? Can you answer that for me? Did our feebleminded friend find that out, too?"

Heintzelman cleared his throat.

"I would judge it to be Fort Stevens, sometime later today."

"You're certain?"