"What's left of it?" Sherman asked, the slightest hint of disdain in his voice.

Haupt could not help but bristle. The prejudice held by the western armies for the East was well-known. The Army of the Potomac was, however, his army, the one he had supported for nearly two years, and though he would not say it out loud, neither of these men had yet to face up to Bobbie Lee.

"Approximately thirty-five thousand men," Haupt replied, "counting those men that General Sickles took to New York. The bulk of them come from Sickles's Third Corps, Sykes's Fifth, and Howard's Eleventh."

"Point of concentration?" Grant asked.

"Still scattered, sir, from Harrisburg, which Sickles was holding clear down to the Chesapeake; some men are still drifting in. Every bridge over the Susquehanna from Harrisburg to the Chesapeake has been dropped, and the river is in flood; so, scattered or not, once on the north side of the river, they're safe from Lee."

"An army isn't supposed to be safe," Sherman sniffed. "It's supposed to be out there fighting."

"Sir," Haupt said quietly, forcing control, "they put up one hell of a fight. I know, I saw some of it. They lost, to be certain, but they most certainly chewed a hole into Lee as well."

Sherman bristled but Grant extended a calming hand.

"Gentlemen, we are all on the same side. Bill, we got whipped more than once ourselves, so let's not judge yet"

Sherman said nothing, shifting his unlit cigar in his mouth.

Grant looked back at Haupt.

"So you can move my corps to Harrisburg in how long?"

'Thirty days tops, for everything. I can prioritize the infantry, have all of them there within fifteen days, but it will take at least fifteen days, realistically more likely thirty to forty-five additional days, to bring up the necessary support to wage offensive operations."

"I want this done right."

Grant looked back at the map.

"There will be more, Haupt, a lot more."

"Sir, combined with the Army of the Potomac, that should give you the numerical edge."

"I don't just want the numerical edge," Grant replied, and for the first time his voice was sharp, a touch of anger to it.

"Bill, you said it two years ago, that it would take a quarter of a million men, just in the West, to crush this rebellion. That General Haupt is the edge we've always had but have never used, our numbers and our industry. By God, from day one we could have crushed this thing, at a fraction of the cost in blood, if only we had concentrated.

"General Lee is a brilliant tactician, but it seems that we have all become focused on what Lee is doing, and not on what we should be doing."

He placed a sharp emphasis on the word we, a note of anger and rebuke. Elihu, who had been sitting quiet while tactics and logistics were discussed, looked up at Grant and smiled.

"I have but one goal before me," Grant continued, "and that is the task set for me by the president of the United States."

He looked back down at the map of the Union. 'To defeat General Lee and to end this war, and with God's help we will get this job done once and for all."

Chapter Two

Headquarters Army of Northern Virginia, Rockville, MD

July 16,1863

Gen. Jeb Stuart pulled off his poncho, water streaming on to the floor. Mud was clinging to his boots as he stomped them on the entry way rug.

"God, what a mess out there," he sighed. Looking up he saw the disapproving glance of his commander at his choice of words. "Sorry, sir."

Gen. Robert E. Lee motioned for Stuart to come to the table. Gen. James "Pete" Longstreet was by Lee's side, sipping from a cup of coffee; on the other side of Lee stood Gen. John Bell Hood, newly promoted to command of the reorganized Second Corps. The room was dimly lit-half a dozen candles around the table-the small house at the edge of Rockville abandoned at the approach of Confederate forces and now serving as Lee's headquarters. Jed Hotchkiss, chief cartographer for the Army of Northern Virginia, stood behind Lee, his map of the area spread out on the table.

Lee, sighing, rubbed his eyes. He was tired, having been up all day riding slowly, weaving his way through the bogged-down ranks of his exhausted army, which had been slogging for six weary days to mate less than sixty miles. His uniform was soaked clean through, change of clothes lost somewhere back on the road, the headquarters wagon stuck in the mud.

Col. Walter Taylor, Lee's aide, offered Stuart a cup of coffee, which the general took eagerly, blowing on the edge of the tin cup and then sipping.

"Your report, General Stuart," Lee asked, putting his glasses back on to look up at his young cavalier.

"As ordered, sir, I rode a circuit of their outer fortifications and started back here as soon as it got dark. It was a difficult ride, sir. The Yankees have destroyed every bridge, mill dams are blown, one of my men drowned trying to ford a stream. Dozens of horses are crippled-broken legs, mostly-had to destroy them."

"Did you get any prisoners?" Lee asked.

"Yes, sir. Six men. Three from the First Maine Heavy Artillery, two from the First New York, and one officer, a captain, shoulder straps indicate staff, but he's as tight as a clam, won't say a word. The enlisted men were well fed, arrogant, said they hope we attack."

"Their strength?"

"Still not sure, sir. It was impossible to try and develop the situation, to trigger an open skirmish outside their fortifications. No regimental flags were shown."

"Smart on their part," Lee said, "keep us guessing."

"We did pick up a lot of newspapers in a post office at Beltsville, Washington papers mostly, printed this morning, a Harper's Weekly reporting on our victory at Union Mills and a New York Tribune from four days ago. One of the Washington papers said there's nearly thirty thousand Yankees garrisoning the city."

"Sounds about right," Longstreet said quietly.

"It also said that Lincoln's ordering up reinforcements from as far away as Charleston."

He has to, Lee thought to himself. He knows I have to come here, and now all other fronts are secondary.

"The fortifications?" Hotchkiss asked.

Stuart nodded to the army cartographer.

"Your maps are excellent sir. Just as you indicated. They're damn…, excuse me, sir, they are massive. Ditching ten feet deep, abatis, earthen walls twenty feet high in places. The fortresses are all within mutual support of each other, and connected by communication trenches. One of the heavy-artillery prisoners said they've got thirty-pounders, even some eight-inch guns, Columbiads, heavy mortars, and hundred-pound rifled Parrott guns in them. It was hard to see through the rain. Fields of fire are well laid out, each fortress covered on flanks by its neighbors. There are no weaknesses anywhere along that line, sir. They most likely have good interior roads as well and can shift to meet any threat."

As he spoke, Stuart traced out on Hotchkiss's map the perimeter of fortifications guarding the landward approach to Washington.

"Well manned?" Lee asked.

"Again, sir, hard to tell in the rain. I pushed skirmishers forward at three points and they were met with brisk firing, no lack of ammunition; they were firing heavy guns at my skirmish line from half a mile out."

Lee nodded. Of course they would. The stockpile of equipment in the capital would be unaffected by what happened to the Army of the Potomac, and their gunners would be eager to get some shots in, their first chance for real shooting since the war started.

"I placed a brigade to cover the Rockville Road, another on the Seventh Street Road, and ordered two more brigades down to cut the Blandenburg Road, the railroad to Baltimore, and anchor our line down to Uniontown. By tomorrow morning the city will be completely cut off."