"Thank you, General Stuart, you've fulfilled your orders handsomely."

"Sir, I must tell you this will be one hard nut to crack. It makes our works around Richmond pale in comparison."

"The difference is," Hood interjected, "it is us doing the attacking, not McClellan. We'll put in the best infantry in the world against third-rate garrison troops."

"Still, sir, when you get a look at those fortifications," Stuart replied, "well, it will be a hard nut, as I said."

"Do you suggest we not attack then?" Hood asked.

Stuart looked at Lee.

Lee took his glasses off again and rubbed his eyes. The hour was late, he was tired. Without asking, Walter put a fresh cup of coffee on the table beside him, and Lee sipped from it meditatively for several minutes.

"Gentlemen, the hour is late," Lee finally said. "We've had another hard day of marching. The rain and mud are exhausting all of us. I think we should get our rest Tomorrow, General Hood, Major Hotchkiss, and I will go forward to survey the lines ourselves. General Stuart, I would like for you to join us. General Longstreet, I ask that you stay here to oversee the movement of the army."

"One final thing, sir," Stuart said, and, fishing into his breast pocket, he pulled out a soggy, folded up newspaper and spread it out on the table.

"A Washington newspaper, sir, this morning." Stuart pointed to a column on the front page.

Adjusting his glasses, Lee leaned over to read it

"Halleck has been removed from all command positions and is retiring; Gen. Ulysses Grant is in command and is reported to already be in Cairo, Illinois, with his troops following."

Lee scanned the rest of the front page for a moment Reports on rioting in northern cities, a rumor that Stanton was to be fired, a report that thirty thousand reinforcements were rushing to the aid of Washington, that four batteries of guns surrounded the Capitol and two more guarded the White House. He sifted through the densely packed columns, some of it hard to read, the ink smeared, and then took his glasses off.

"I don't know this Grant," Lee said, looking around at his staff, "but his reputation is known."

"Sir, I don't think fighting against Pemberton, or even General Johnston, is indicative of his ability against us," Hood interjected.

"Still, I wish I knew more of him."

"It'll be weeks before he can mount anything effective," Longstreet said, leaning over the table to scan the newspaper.

"That is why we must act quickly, decisively, without hesitation," Lee replied.

He drained the rest of his coffee and put the cup down. He did not need to say another word. There was something in his gesture that indicated dismissal, and one by one the three generals bid good night and left, the sound of rain drumming down, echoing in the room as the door swung open. A humid breeze filled the room. As the door closed, the room regained a warm feel as the fireplace drove out the humidity.

Taylor and Hotchkiss hesitated and Lee smiled.

"Walter, I have a comfortable spot right here." Lee nodded to where a blanket had been spread on a sofa. Even though the house had been abandoned by Union sympathizers, he would not take the bed without the express permission of the owner. It bothered him, as well, that outside, most of his army was bedding down in the pouring rain, their dinner cold rations. To sleep in a comfortable bed, under a dry roof, struck him as the wrong example this night, the compromise of a sofa as far as he was willing to go.

Taylor and Hotchkiss saluted, bid Lee good night, and retired to the kitchen, where the rest of his staff were already fast asleep on the floor.

Standing, Lee removed his jacket and unbuttoned his vest. His boots were already off and he stretched, back cracking. He looked down at the map, his gaze following the traces in pencil of the route taken by his army down from Westminster, skirting to the west of Baltimore and now down to here, with Longstreet's men concentrating toward Rockville, and Hood on the road to Claysville and Beltsville.

He looked out the window, a lantern set on the road to mark headquarters barely visible as a sheet of rain lashed down, rattling against the panes.

The miserable weather, which ultimately had played such a crucial role in the entrapment of the Army of the Potomac, now was hampering his own movement. Even the macadamized pikes were becoming difficult to move on, the road surface not designed for the pounding of hundreds of artillery limbers, a thousand supply wagons, over forty thousand men, and ten thousand cavalry. The very rain that had made his decisive victory possible was now making the exploitation of that victory very slow and very exhausting, robbing him of precious time when swift and decisive movement was essential to achieve the final victory.

He let the curtain drop and returned to the table, sitting down, half glancing at the newspaper. Opening it up and spreading the single sheet out since it was uncut, he turned the paper around, pausing for a moment to look at the casualty lists for the Washington, D.C., area posted from Union Mills.

Familiar names, old comrades from Mexico, Texas, and East Coast garrisons, cadets from his days as superintendent of West Point, were there in soggy ink.

Three weeks ago they were still alive. How much all has changed, he thought. Dispatches, three days old, had come up this day from Richmond, and there was the Richmond Enquirer heralding Gettysburg and Union Mills as the greatest victory in the annals of war, rival to Waterloo, Yorktown, and Saratoga.

Maybe so, but still it continues, the war still continues. One of the dispatches, in a sealed leather pouch, was from President Davis, congratulating him for a victory unparalleled in the history of the Southern republic, and informing him that he would come north to review the victorious army and to offer, as well, a conference with Lincoln to discuss an ending of hostilities.

The implication behind President Davis's letter was clear enough, Lee mused as he picked up the coffeepot and poured half a cup. The president expects this war to be over within the month, but that means the taking of Washington, the collapse of the Union's will to fight, the draft and anti-war riots in northern cities spreading. Then Lincoln will have no choice but to seek an end to it.

It was obvious now, however, that the near destruction of the Army of the Potomac had not swerved Lincoln from his path. Lincoln had endured the frustrating repulse of McClellan in front of Richmond, the destruction of Pope at Second Manassas, the bloodbath of Union soldiers in front of Fredericksburg, and now the crushing defeat of the Army of the Potomac along the Pipe Creek line between Westminster and Gettysburg.

Somehow Lincoln had this ability to focus on the positive and to endure no matter what pain was inflicted on the Union forces. Now he was clearly pointing to Vicksburg as proof that the Union could win despite the failures in the East. He was a hard man and forcing him to negotiate was going to take extraordinary effort

In the last fight, it was the mind and spirit of General Meade and of his generals that I had to probe, to analyze, to defeat. The opponent is different now. Grant? Not for at least two weeks or more, most likely a month before he will become a factor. No, my opponent now is Abraham Lincoln, it is he I must break.

That meant Washington. If the city fell and Lincoln was forced to abandon the city, where would he go? New York? Out of the question, with that city ripped by anarchy. Philadelphia? Yes, most likely there, a symbolic move to the birthplace of the United States. But according to the paper before him, rioting had broken out in the City of Brotherly Love as in its bigger cousin to the north. A president fleeing to a city that would need to be placed under martial law would be a crippling political blow, one he could not recover from.