Another melee, the harsh sound of wood striking wood and wood striking flesh and bone. Screams, men falling, staggering past, cursing, huzzahs, rebel yells, all commingled together into a terrifying roar that seemed to be trapped within the confines of the fort.

A flash of butternut-clad feet this one wearing only one shoe. More swarms of men were coming over the fortress wall, shouting, screaming. A field piece in the middle of the parade ground erupted, canister cutting down dozens. Still the charge pressed in, survivors climbing over bodies.

The carnage that ensued was beyond Hazner's worst nightmares. Driven to madness by the slaughter, the men of three divisions, who had endured hell since before dawn, exploded in rage. The sally port at the rear of the fort was clogged with Union soldiers trying to escape. In the close confines of the fight no one had time to ask or give quarter, nor was anyone capable of it anymore. Hazner stood up, in shock, watching as the garrison was slaughtered, many of the men of the First Maine and First New York Heavy Artillery fighting to the end, many bayoneted in the back, more than a few bayoneted or clubbed even as they tried to surrender.

Sickened, exhausted, Hazner collapsed back to the ground and sat unable to move or speak.

A flag bearer came up to his side and stopped.

"First Texas, rally to me! Rally to me!"

Hazner looked up at the man and caught his eye.

"You got water?" Hazner croaked.

The flag bearer nodded, unslung his canteen, and tossed it down.

He uncorked it, leaned his head back, half the water cascading down his jacket as he greedily gulped it. There was a bit of a taste to the water, whiskey, just what he needed. He emptied half of it, and then fought down the sudden urge to vomit.

He passed it back up.

"Thanks."

The First Texan grinned.

"I saw you. By God, I saw you go over the wall, the men following you! Hell of a thing, took the fire off of us. Got us in here."

Hazner couldn't speak.

"You hurt?"

Hazner looked up at him dumbly, and then at the tangle of bodies, many of them writhing in agony, which completely carpeted the parade ground of the fort

He shook his head. No, compared to them I'm not hurt, he thought

The sergeant from the Texan regiment took his canteen and slung it over his shoulder even as he continued to scream for his regiment to rally on the colors.

The Texan suddenly extended his hand.

"Lee Robinson, First Texas. Look me up after this is over, I'll give you a drink in the White House."

"Sergeant Major Hazner, Fourteenth South Carolina, and thank you."

A knot of men were gathering around the Texan, and with a wild cry he urged them forward, to continue the fight.

Hazner stood up, watching as the Texans reformed, groups of a few dozen here and there, and then pressed forward, little organization left but still game.

He turned and walked back to the parapet that they had just stormed, the tangle of bodies so thick he could barely find ground to step on.

"Sergeant Hazner!"

It was Brown, walking like a drunk, coming toward him.

'Sir.'

"Re-form the regiment, we're going in."

Hazner looked at the parade ground, at the gun emplacement for the thirty-pounder, the crew dead. He actually felt regret at the sight of that. The gunner who had been taunting him, he'd have liked to find him and offer a drink, but they were all dead. – "Re-form?"

"Yes, Hazner, we can't let the glory of the taking of Washington slip past us. We can't let Texas have this moment. Now re-form the regiment."

"Sir, what regiment?" Hazner asked woodenly.

In Front of Fort Stevens 8:30 A.M.

'T'hat's it," Lee cried. "Go, Texas, go!"

He had come forward from the grove, standing where he had first seen the fort the day before.

It was as if a vision was unfolding, a recurring dream that one forgets upon awakening, that yet hovers at the edge of memory throughout the day, only to return again in sleep. For two years he had dreamt of this moment, the final door unlocked, the end now within sight. Washington was there for the taking; it was the end.

"General Longstreet Now, bring your men up now!"

Longstreet was silent and there were tears in his eyes.

"General Longstreet?"

"Sir, it will be another half hour before I can even hope to commit McLaws."

"Then send in what you have!" "A brigade, maybe two, sir." 'Then send them in!" "Yes, sir."

He turned and rode back and Lee watched him leave. His gaze shifted to the east, to the sun.

"Oh, God, freeze it in the heavens as You did for Joshua before Jericho. I beg You please let it freeze, for time to stop, to give me but one more precious hour."

The smoke swirled, obscuring the sun for a moment, and then it came clear again… and to the southeast, he could see the dome of the Capitol.

To the Rear of Fort Stevens

9.15am

I can't let you go any farther, sir!" The captain of his cavalry escort reined around, blocking the middle of the road. Lincoln said nothing for a moment. He had always felt uncomfortable on horseback, and this mount was no exception… a mare, far too small for his long, bony frame, stirrups pulled up too high, so that he was crouching in the saddle rather man sitting.

He had left the White House shortly after dawn in a carriage, but the tangle of troops heading into battle, and the civilians fleeing it, clogged all the roads, making passage impossible. After a difficult argument with the commander of his escort, a trooper had offered a horse, but there had been no time to adjust the stirrups before setting out again.

They were north of the city, close enough to the battle now that the air overhead hummed with shot and spent bullets. A trooper riding at the front of the column had been knocked unconscious by a spent bullet, which had struck him in the forehead. After that the cavalry escort had ringed him in even tighter, using their bodies as shields. The gesture had both touched and annoyed him.

Battered soldiers were coming back, many wounded, all of them panicked, spreading the word that Fort Stevens had fallen.

He could hear the roar of battle just ahead, the sound shocking, a continual thunder, so close now that the rebel yell was clearly heard.

"Sir, we must go back!" the captain shouted.

"No, Captain, we stay here for the moment."

"Mr. President. I am responsible for your safety. I urge you, sir, let's retire to the naval yard; I will send a courier to fetch your family."

He thought of the servant Jim, at this moment most likely rounding up the other servants, telling them to get guns and prepare.

Lincoln looked over at the captain.

"My family will not be fetched," Lincoln said coldly.

"Sony, sir. I didn't mean it as an insult. They will be escorted with all dignity."

"No, Captain. They will not be escorted, nor will I. They stay where they are, as I plan to stay right here."

The captain started to open his mouth. Lincoln forced a smile, leaned over, and touched the captain on the sleeve; the young officer startled, looking at him wide-eyed.

"Son, if I run now, what will my soldiers say?"

The captain looked at him, unable to reply.

"I'm the commander of this army, am I not?"

"Ah, yes, sir."

"Fine then, son. Let's just calm down, stay here, and do our duty. At the moment my duty is to be calm, as is yours. We can't go running about like headless chickens, can we?"

The captain actually forced a smile.

"No, sir," he responded with an emphasis on the "sir."

Lincoln patted him on the arm.

"Fine, son. Let's just stay here for the moment and see what we can do to make sure this wrestling match turns out a victory for the Union."