Did that ever stop his uncle? The name of Bonaparte was not made through caution.

He could see it clearly. Here was a chance to forever establish French dominance. Help the South, let them win, and that contemptible American nation divides and in short order divides yet again into internal squabblings. Within a generation, a new empire of his own creation would flourish, as that of the old empire should have flourished fifty years ago.

As for the Yankees' much vaunted ironclads, they had yet to meet a true ship of Europe. Le Gloire, the pride of the French navy, and her sister ships, ironclads as powerful as anything the Yankee tinkers might fashion, would leave nothing but wreckage in their wake. Land a few brigades of troops, engineers, artillery on the border with Texas, and there build a base to operate from. Then sweep northward.

Perhaps even Spain could be Coaxed into the coalition. Cuba could offer a fine port to help sweep the arrogant blockade from the coast of Florida and perhaps even as far as South Carolina.

He smiled as he contemplated all that was possible. A new coalition, Catholic Austria and Spain, with France in the lead, reversing all the misfortunes that had befallen the world since 1815. For the slaveholding South he cared not a whit; they were just a means to an end, a humbling of England, a realignment of the balance of power. His fleets, operating out of Vera Cruz, Brownsville, Havana, would re-establish the glory that should be France's. The other European powers, except for England, would see the rightness of this as well. Russia, which had sent its pathetic fleet to New York City the winter before, would stand back, not wishing to risk yet another humiliation like the one he had dealt it in the Crimea. Those tradesmen across the Channel, so intent on their profits, would not stir. They will not come into the fight for the South, but they most certainly will not align themselves with that damnable uncouth lawyer from the frontier. They will sit it out and by the time they realize their folly, it will be too late. Mexico will be taken, perhaps even gains in the Caribbean.

Yes, he would commit to this. It was time.

In Front of Fort Stevens

August 16, 1863 8:00 A. M.

General Lee looked around at the gathering of officers. They were camped in nearly the same spot that had been his headquarters the month before. Yet the feeling was different now. The men were rested, the weather fair, though promising an intense heat by later in the day.

Longstreet had just ridden in; Beauregard and Hood were already present. Stuart was fifty miles to the north, deployed toward the Susquehanna. He had privately given Jeb his orders the night before, the cavalier grinning as he rode off. Lee smiled as Longstreet rode up and dismounted. "Good marching weather," Pete said, coming under the awning and taking a cup of coffee. "Roads are good, weather's fine, the men know something is up." "It's hard to keep it hidden at times," Lee replied. He looked around at the gathering and began. "We're not going to attack this city again," he announced. Beauregard stirred in his seat but held back from comment.

"I know this seems like an elaborate effort for nothing, putting all but one division on the road again. At the very least, let us say it's given our army a chance to stretch its legs again, to not turn into garrison troops. But an attack on Washington is out of the question now."

"Then I hope you will inform us as to your intent, sir," Beauregard said calmly, looking straight at Lee.

"Yes. I think I should. We will demonstrate along this line today, tomorrow, and the day after, if need be. I want increased activity. I want all three of you to move cautiously when it comes to your personal safety. The Yankees have sharpshooters in their works, yet I want you to be seen, as if surveying the line for an attack. I want night probes; don't hesitate to burn off some powder; we have plenty of captured Union powder in reserve now. I want them to think that we are preparing a full-scale assault across the entire front."

"Sir, if we should see some promise of success, I'd counsel going in," Beauregard offered. "Perhaps another night attack; my boys are up to it."

Lee emphatically shook his head.

"General Beauregard. We have no more reserves. I will not venture the horrific casualties it will take to storm this city."

"Even if we did take it now," Longstreet interjected, looking at Beauregard, "we couldn't hold it for long."

Lee nodded his thanks. The relationship with Beauregard had been stiff ever since the man's arrival. Though Davis had made it clear that Lee was in command of this campaign, Beauregard was already chafing at being subordinate to a man he had outranked little more than a year ago. Twice he had requested independent command since his arrival, and each time Lee had reined him in, the first time with soft diplomacy, the second time more sharply, with a clear statement of who was in command. It would be like Beauregard to let a probe or reconnaissance turn into a full-pitched bat-tie, and Lee looked straight at him.

"My orders are clear. Absolutely no general engagement is to be initiated. Demonstrations only. I don't want some hot-headed brigadier or division commander getting carried away, and, gentlemen, I will hold the three of you directly responsible if such a situation does develop. Do I make myself clear on this?"

Again the harsh tone that since Union Mills and the firing of Dick Ewell had become more and more his way of managing this army. He looked straight into the eyes of each man and waited until they nodded in agreement. Beauregard nodded and lowered his head.

"Then why?" Beauregard finally asked.

"I'll discuss the details in due time, gentlemen," Lee replied.

Longstreet, ever the poker player, revealed nothing. Hood simply smiled, used to how Lee preferred to run things.

"For the moment, gentlemen, demonstration only. You are not to discuss anything with your subordinates other than the orders just given.

‘I want all of you to be ready to move at a moment's notice, to move fast and light."

"I think I know what's coming," Hood finally ventured.

"In due time, General. We all learned our lesson last fall at Sharpsburg when it came to the security of our operations. This next effort might entail a serious risk. Do not think my reticence is out of mistrust; rather it is simply out of concern for our safety and ultimate success."

"I wish we had thirty thousand more men," Hood said quietly.

"We don't," Lee snapped. "All we will ever have is what now marches in our ranks. There is no sense in wishing for more. We have a preponderance of artillery now, and I plan to see that used." He looked around at the gathering.

"Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Fine then, gentlemen. Let us see to our duty. The moment I feel that all is ready I will pass to each of you detailed orders, which are to be followed to the letter. Remember though, when it starts, it must be done with speed."

He stood up, indicating that the meeting was over.

The generals walked off, all except Longstreet, who lingered by the table.

"I think you ruffled up Beauregard," Pete said.

"Perhaps, but all it takes is for one loose-mouthed staff officer to spread the word; it leaks into Washington, and then an order goes out forbidding Sickles to move. I'm hoping now that the exact opposite will happen, that Sickles might very well get the order to move, and when he does, we are ready. Walter and Jed have done a magnificent job of drawing up routes of march, deployment of supplies, even possible positions for the bulk of our artillery so they can move quickly to where they are needed. This one is well planned, General Longstreet; all I have to do is give the word to go. I'm confident on this one."