His only fear, the fear of all the men standing there beneath the hot August sun, was that it might be over before they were ready. The regiment had only started to form less than two weeks ago. They had come some distance in those two weeks; uniforms had been issued, shoes, which had caused agony for many of the men until the sergeant had shown them how to break in the heavy leather "brogans," as he called them, by first soaking them in hot water and then putting them on, so that the shapeless form molded somewhat to their feet.

They had yet to receive their rifles though, and rumors were sweeping the city and the newspapers that another great battle was brewing. The horror for all of them was that Lee might be defeated and they would not be there to do their part.

The men from Baltimore were imbued with a dream, that they would march in triumph back into their city. And yet he knew as well how much of a dream that might be. In his walk from Baltimore to Port Deposit he had seen the panicked Union troops falling back, running blindly whenever there was a report that rebel cavalry was closing in. He had seen it after finally crossing the river, where to his amazement a church group was helping to provide transport for colored refugees to Wilmington or Philadelphia. What had been the Army of the Potomac was gathering there, and though they were impressive at first sight, it was evident that they were but the survivors of a beaten army.

And then there was the other talk, that Lee just might win yet again, and if so, the war would definitely be over. If that was the case, he wondered if this could even be his country, North or South.

"All right, you bastards. One more time. Company forward march!"

The ragged line stepped off yet again, the hot sun blazing down, passing dozens of similar companies parading back and forth. The steady "left-right" cadences shouted by white sergeants with Irish brogues, thick German accents, Midwestern twangs, and deep New England drawls, echoing across the held.

Near Gunpowder Falls, Maryland,

Fifteen Miles North of Baltimore

August 11,1863 6:00 P.M.

General Lee rode with Longstreet by his side, staff, including Jed Hotchkiss, and a heavy security patrol of an entire regiment of cavalry spread out before them.

The evening was turning cool, after a warm day of riding. They had set out shortly after- dawn, riding with President Davis for several miles until he had continued on to the west, this time escorted by a full regiment of Stuart's best and a section of light guns. Once the president was out of sight, he had told Pete that they would spend today riding north, to explore the land a bit. They had advanced up the road toward Bel Air, nearly halfway to the Susquehanna, then swung about, heading down toward the Chesapeake, following an open river valley with the ironic name of Gunpowder.

Reining in to rest Traveler, Lee dismounted, loosely holding his old friend's reins, Traveler cropping noisily at the tall, rich grass. Pete dismounted, stretched, and lit a cigar.

"Beautiful evening," Lee said softly.

"That it is, sir."

"We do love these moments. If other parts of our task could forever be put aside, if we could have but this, riding reconnaissance, watching our army on the march, now there would be something to enjoy."

Pete nodded.

"But there is something about the sting of battle," Pete replied, "just before you go in, that is stirring as well, when we are driving them, and the men are shouting to go forward."

"Yes," and though he felt uncomfortable admitting it, that was true for him as well, the vast battle lines deploying out, the thunder of artillery, flags held aloft, the long, long battle lines charging forward, that piercing yell reaching to the heavens. Those were good as well, except for the price that came afterward.

"I'm not given to religious philosophy as you are, sir," Pete said. "But I remember the Norse mythology. Perhaps our Heaven, our Valhalla, will be just that, a warrior's heaven, where we will march and fight forever, and at dusk the dead will rise to feast together, friend and foe, throughout the night until the coming of the next day's battle."

It was a thought Lee did not wish to pursue; he had dwelled too much on philosophy, on moral questions, these last few weeks; to debate now the nature of Heaven would reawaken those other thoughts as well, and he needed to again focus on the now.

"You realize the president expects us to end this within another month," Lee replied, changing the subject.

"I think we can do it," Pete replied forcefully. Pete had stood to one side while Davis had given his final admonition, that with the reinforcements that had just arrived, he expected Washington to be taken.

"We can win," Lee said quietly, shading his eyes to look off to the west. He said, letting go of Traveler's reins, "But not with another attempt on Washington, as the president expects."

Longstreet grinned.

"Glad to hear you say that, sir. Dare I assume that is the purpose of our ride today?" Lee smiled and nodded.

Davis, unknowingly, had at least given him some wiggle room with his closing statement that he expected the Army of Northern Virginia to force Lincoln into capitulation. He cited a pledge, printed in all the Northern newspapers, where Lincoln declared that the city was invulnerable and that he would stay there no matter what happened.

"He cannot run now," Davis said. "Storm the city, capture the scoundrel, and I will be back to deal with him."

He did not exactly say that the city was to be stormed within the next two or three days, though one would have to admit that the president fully expected that outcome.

"I can see the way you've been looking at ground today," Longstreet pressed. "It's like the old days, when we had a chance to look things over before picking our spot"

Lee smiled, his attention diverted by the approach of Taylor and the army cartographer, Jed Hotchkiss.

"Beautiful ground, sir," Jed Hotchkiss announced, a flat board balanced on the pommel of his saddle with a sketchbook pegged to the board. Throughout the day he had been feverishly sketching away, turning out one map after another.

"May I see your work, sir?" Lee asked.

Grinning, Hotchkiss handed the sketch board down.

"Just rough drafts, sir," he said, offering the classic excuse of all artists and writers. "Once back to headquarters I can run off better copies."

Lee took the board, turning slightly to orient himself toward north, Pete coming up by his side.

"We have two good roads coming north out of Baltimore," Lee said, thumbing back to one of the earlier sketches, putting on his reading glasses so he could figure out the finely written details of distances, prominent buildings, and types of terrain.

"The first road toward Bel Air," Lee said, pointing to the map, "the second, the one we are on now, down closer to the bay and parallel to the railroad, which could be used as well for infantry if the weather turns bad."

"North rather than Washington, sir?" Walter asked tentatively. It was unusual for him to venture a question, but Lee did not reproach him. The excuse of their just "going for a ride after seeing the president off" was just that, an obvious excuse after nearly ten hard hours in the saddle, crisscrossing the landscape.

Lee did not reply to Walter's query, instead concentrating on the sketches, turning the pages, pausing occasionally to ask Jed to explain some detail, comparing relative heights between the low-lying ridges.

He could sense the mounting excitement of the other three. The weeks of idleness at Baltimore, though a wonderful chance to relax, reorganize, and refit, seemed out of place for a field army during the height of the campaign season. Battle, of their own choosing, was again in the air.