Grant looked back to his three corps commanders and the various staff and division commanders gathered around the table.

"I want this army ready to move within a month," he announced.

There were nods of agreement, though he could see that Ord, if given the order to jump into the Susquehanna today, would do so.

"We are constrained, as are all armies, by our supplies. General Haupt is doing his best to see us through."

"And additional men?" Bumside asked. "I am still one division short of a standard corps. I would have liked to have brought along the Twenty-third Corps from my old command in Kentucky."

"I understand, Burnside. I would have preferred it as well, but we have to maintain some kind of force in Kentucky. You will receive an additional division by the end of the month."

"From where, sir?"

Grant hesitated for a brief instant.

"Eight colored regiments, currently being recruited in Ohio, New York, and Pennsylvania, are to report here. They'll be at nearly full strength. That should be six thousand additional men. Do you object?"

He watched Burnside carefully. More than one general would flatly refuse such an offer, even if it meant his command remained under-strength.

"No problem with that at all, sir," Burnside said and then he actually smiled. "Freemen or slaves?"

"Mostly freemen from the North, though we might have a regiment or two of untrained refugees from Maryland. Why?"

"Slaves are used to the toughest work; army life is a picnic in comparison."

"Until the minie balls start whistling," McPherson interjected.

"Still, I think the black man will prove to be a tough soldier. I'll take 'em."

"Fine then, they're yours. You appoint the division and brigade commanders. Make sure they are of like mind and can inspire these men. I suspect the president will be watching this closely. I don't want these men held back, nor do I want them thrown away as a sacrifice, but they will be expected to fight when the time comes."

As he spoke, he looked over at Elihu, who nodded in agreement

"What about the Nineteenth Corps?" Ord asked.

The men around Ord nodded in agreement and anticipation. Nineteenth Corps was a familiar command to all of them. Though unfortunate to be under General Banks, they had campaigned well farther south on the Mississippi, misused at times by their leader, but good fighting men, nearly all from New England and New York. It was ironic that they, rather than western troops, had wound up on the lower Mississippi, a fate decided by the ability to ship them from northern ports to support Farrugat's naval assault up the river. The men had suffered terribly. For every battle loss, half a dozen were felled by ague or yellow fever. The men were ecstatic to be coming back north again, and would be eager for a fight on familiar terrain rather than the muddy swamps and bayous, which had bedeviled them for over a year.

Even now the convoy bearing them was coming from New Orleans, supposedly to begin docking at Philadelphia in a matter of days. The original command had close to thirty thousand in their ranks; a brigade of infantry, the locally recruited Corps d'Afrique, and some other militia to be left behind to garrison New Orleans. The famed Grierson, commander of their cavalry, a match for Stuart's men, was coming with his brigade as well, to be remounted in Philadelphia once they arrived.

Their arrival would increase his army by over thirty per cent, giving him four solid corps of combat-experienced troops, all of them used to victory.

'The Nineteenth will fall in on Harrisburg within the week. We have to be careful with all these forces coming from the western theater. I don't want any slacking off over this next month," Grant said, and now his voice was sharp. "I've seen a bit of it already, some of the men swaggering around, lording it over the militia and the ninety-day regiments."

As he spoke, he turned and looked straight at old General Couch, who had come to him repeatedly with the complaint. There were still twenty thousand militia with him in Harrisburg, and the old general wanted to take them into the field, to convince as many as possible to reenlist for the duration of the campaign, or "the current emergency," as he was calling it. A number of fistfights had already broken out between the western veterans and the green recruits from the East. The camp of one Pennsylvania militia regiment had been raided only the night before, the men actually stripped of their uniforms, shoes, rifles, tentage, and choice rations, with the culprits running off into the night, hooting and laughing. The hospital was filled this morning with several dozen cases of broken bones and one man lingering near death with a fractured skull.

"Well," Ord interjected, "the boys have a right to be proud."

Grant glared at Ord. Damn! Ord knew it was his boys and was trying to cover up for them.

"I want an army that is united," Grant snapped. "It's why I left the name Army of the Tennessee behind when we got off the boat at Cairo. This is a new army. Do you understand that, a new army, the Army of the Susquehanna."

Everyone was silent

"Do we understand each other? Any more thievery, any more brawls like last night, and I'll have the culprits bucked and gagged, then drummed out of the army, their regimental commander stripped of rank, and right up to corps someone will pay for it."

No one spoke, even Ord lowered his head, though Couch did smile, but his grin disappeared when Grant caught his eye.

"And by heavens, General Couch, if you can convince your men to sign on for the duration, enough to field another corps, they will march and they will fight like soldiers. I rode past your camp yesterday, and a pig wouldn't live in it. As for your men, if that is how they plan to look and fight, I'll ship every last one of them across to the rebels and have them sign up with Lee. With men like that in his command, it will only help us to win."

Now it was Couch's turn to look crestfallen.

"You have commanded a corps in the field, General Couch. I understand your reasons for resigning because of General Hooker. Given your experience, I expect you to whip your men into shape; militia, ninety-day regiments, I don't care. They are to be turned into soldiers ready to face Hood, Pickett Scales, and Early. You've faced them before, Couch, and I'm asking you now, will your men be able to stand on the volley line a month from now? I know the mettle of the rest of my men, but yours I am not sure of, and by God if they break and we lose this war, I will hold you responsible."

Couch nervously looked around the room, the other three corps commanders all glaring at him. "I will do my best, sir."

"You haven't answered my question, General." Couch hesitated, cleared his throat, then finally nodded. "I will have them ready, sir." Grant turned away from him.

"Remember, we are one army now, all of us. There will be no room for mistakes either on your part," and he paused for a moment, "or mine."

He caught Elihu's eye, the congressman sitting intent, soaking up every detail.

"Our republic cannot sustain another Gettysburg or Union Mills. If this army is destroyed, our cause is finished. We are stripping every available soldier from our other fronts for this action. We might very well lose some of the gains made in the past year, perhaps a length of the Mississippi, maybe even New Orleans. But that, at this moment, is not of consequence to us. I have for us one goal and one goal only, to destroy General Lee's army in the field and to take Richmond."

No one muttered an approbation, or, worse yet, gave some sort of foolish patriotic reply. All were silent.

"Gentlemen, when we cross that river and move, I do not ever want to hear again someone worrying about what Lee is doing. I want Lee to worry about what we are doing. I do not want anyone worrying that an action taken might lose a battle, and thus the war. I want everyone focused on one thought, that the actions we take will win the battle and win the war. Do I make myself clear?"