"Then we march through the night and into the next day," Lee said quietly, looking over at Pete.

"General Longstreet, do you think you have another Union Mills in you?"

Longstreet grinned.

Chapter Sixteen

In Front of Washington, D.C.

August 14,1863 7:30 A.M.

“I they're coming, I tell you!" Sergeant Hazner wearily looked up at the excited young private and fixed him with a cool gaze.

"So what if they are?" he growled, shifting a wad of tobacco in his cheek and spitting.

"It means we'll finally take that damn city," the boy answered enthusiastically.

He pointed south, where, on the horizon, the unfinished dome of the Capitol was in clear view.

The others around the campfire were reacting in mixed ways to this tidbit of information, which a young headquarters cook had brought to them.

Rumors had been rampant for more than a week that something was about to happen. Ever since the bulk of the Army of Northern Virginia had marched off, what was left of Pettigrew's and Perrin's old divisions-now combined under the command of General Scales-had hovered at the edge of Washington. It had taken time to sort the battered regiments out, reorganize them into four effective brigades, and there had been much grumbling and arguing when a number of old glorious regiments had been disbanded, the men placed into other units from their home states. They had been allowed to keep their flags, but it had been a tough blow to many, for in this army, like all others in this war, regimental identity was a powerful force.

Even after the reorganization, the division was a light one, not much more than five thousand men under arms. Although lightly wounded men had been coming back into the ranks, there was still the daily toll from disease and from the incessant skirmishing along the fortification lines. Scales had taken to his job of "demonstrating" with a will, moving his men back and forth between the Seventh Street road and the Bladensburg road, probing, making feints at night, detailing experienced riflemen to harass the Union forces. The Yankees had refused to budge from their fortifications, a response that had become a source of derision with wags sneaking out at night and putting up signs made out of bed-sheets, taunting the Yankees to come out and fight. But then again, none of them could blame the defenders of Washington; they were behind heavy fortifications, well fed and housed, and if they had advanced, Scales's division and his two brigades of cavalry would have of course pulled back on the double. Their job was simply to shadow and harass, not seek an engagement where they would be outnumbered six or seven to one.

Morale in the new division was down for more reasons than simply the recombination of units. They had taken a brutal pounding in the campaign from Gettysburg to Union Mills, and finally the debacle in front of Fort Stevens. The graveyard established back behind the lines on the Seventh Street road now had over a thousand crosses and more were being added daily. In the last two weeks some of the Yankees apparently had been issued heavy Sharps rifles, others the deadly, hexagonal-bore Whitworths, which could kill at a thousand yards. More than one incautious Confederate was dead, with a hole drilled into his head when he peeked up over a ditch. One poor soul, hunkered down next to Hazner, died when he had kicked up a nest of yellow jackets, stood up shouting, jumping, and dancing about as he tried to knock off the stinging insects, and seconds later collapsed back into the ditch, a bullet through his chest. That had set up a howl of protests, since it seemed so damn unfair, but then how were the Yankees to know that the poor boy was getting stung and that was why he was dancing around?

The men with Scales had also missed out on the glory of taking Baltimore. Rumors came back of the feasting, the girls, the easy duty, and though the tales were most likely exaggerated, at least the men hoped they were, still it set them to grumbling against the high command for leaving them out here all alone, missing all the fun.

And now it seemed the Army of Northern Virginia was coming back to gather its lost souls back into the fold.

There was a commotion on the road back toward the cemetery, and Hazner casually stood up to take a look. Men were coming out from their encampments under the trees to watch the approach, and those who had been gathered around the campfire with Hazner went off, with the excited young private leading the way.

Though curious, Hazner waited a minute or two, feigning disinterest That of course was part of his job, never to let the men see him getting excited. Finally he could bear it no longer, and he casually made his way up the slope and into the crowd.

Around the bend of the road he saw a team of mules, a long train of them, over twenty at least, straining at their load. Strapped to a heavy wagon behind them was a monstrous gun-from the looks of it, a heavy, eight-inch Columbiad. Behind the first gun was another team of ten mules pulling its carriage, which was resting atop a second wagon, and then yet more mules pulling limber chests, most likely filled with ammunition.

"It took 'em a week to get them down here," the private said proudly, behaving like so many who were the first to announce news, acting as if they were somehow the agents of the event.

"There's six of 'em, six big monsters to knock a hole right through Fort Stevens," the private continued. "Mortars as well, some thirty-pounders; a regular show it's gonna be."

Hazner spat and walked away.

A regular show all right It meant that there would be another throw of the dice, another attack, this one most likely as bloody as the last. And their target would be stronger than last time as well. The fortifications had been all but impossible last time. Now that the defenders of Washington were literally staring the Confederate army right in the face, the Yankees had set to work with a will to make their positions even stronger. Night after night, when the wind was right, you could hear them digging out there, each morning revealing more abatis, deeper ditching, higher walls, and reserve lines going up behind the main one.

Hazner went back to his camp, which was all but empty, looking out through the trees toward the distant dome of the Capitol.

Didn't Lee see this? Surely he understood it. If there was a chance to take this city, it was in the days right after Union Mills and even then the chance was slim. In fact it had turned out to be no chance at all. Now an attack on these reinforced fortifications could be nothing but a suicidal gesture.

He leaned against a tree, studying the Capitol dome, the distant line of fortifications. Up at the front line, a half mile away, there were occasional puffs of smoke, the distant crack of a rifle. A mortar round arched up, sputtered, and plummeted down, exploding without effect. He heard a derisive hoot. It was almost a game, though every day a dozen or so soldiers paid the ultimate price for that game. But overall, nothing was happening. Nothing had happened here for the last three weeks.

Surely Lee would not throw them against those now-impregnable fortifications in yet another frontal assault. The Columbiads might excite the fervor of amateurs, but against heavy fortifications they would have little if any effect. Nothing more than a lot of flash and noise.

Though the generals might not realize it, after two years of war there was many a sergeant or corporal who knew how to read a map, could surmise much from little, and figure out what the bigwigs were thinking far better than the reporters, the armchair generals back home, and even some of the generals themselves.

"Hazner."

He looked up and smiled. It was Colonel Brown coming up to join him.