It was precisely the excuse he had been looking for, an idea that had been well placed with several congressmen and senators across the last week and Stanton, as to be expected, snapped at the bait

He dismissed the staff officer and settled back in his chair, pouring another drink, then lighting a cigar.

Yes, there was an opportunity here that could come perhaps only once in a lifetime. It was fraught with peril, but then again, what opportunity did not also pose a risk? He could steal the march and have the bulk of his forces across the river before Grant was even aware of what he was doing. He could, as well, then delay the recall, which he knew would come, doing so by the time-honored tradition of "lost" dispatches, misinterpretations, and claims that communications had been cut If cornered, he had this letter, direct from Stanton, as his defense, but by then he would already be into Baltimore, and at that point not even Grant would dare to venture a recall. Instead the general from the West would have to march to his support or appear to be the one playing politics, risking the Army of the Potomac out of a fit of pique that he had not achieved what this army of the East phoenix-like, had done on its own.

Lee would not take this lying down. If already in the city of Washington, he would most likely try and hold that position, then turn with part of his force to engage. The numbers then would be almost even, forty-five to fifty thousand on each side. Lee would have to leave at least one of his three corps behind, most likely Beauregard's, to occupy the city. Then it would be an open stand-up fight.

And if ever he had confidence in his boys, it was now. They had tasted the most bitter of defeats. The cowards, the shirkers, had all deserted, and though many a valiant lad and many a good senior officer had fallen in the last campaign, the core that was left was as tough as steel, wanting nothing more than revenge, to restore their honored name.

With that victory his own place would be assured. Grant would be forced to treat him as a co-commander, and that upstart so unfamiliar with the finer nuances of politics, would soon be left in the dust and it would become clear to the public that he, Sickles, had won this war.

He savored that thought. The chance to prove his own mettle was here at last. The life of a ward heeler, of a mere congressman, of the snickers behind his back over that ridiculous Key affair, would be finished forever. Most important the 1864 campaign for president loomed ahead.

There was, as well, within his soul, a still loftier ambition. His love of his country could not be questioned by any who truly knew him, though his vision of what that country was, and should be, might differ greatly from those of the ones born to wealth and position. He had clawed his way up, and he knew that nowhere else in this world could one such as he have reached the heights he now occupied. This country had to be saved, its brawling energy, its factories and urban power, and all that derived from that power, expanded to encompass the Western world. Too many good comrades had died for that end. He wanted their deaths to be worth something.

As he contemplated his brandy, tears came to his eyes, for despite his public bluster and bravado, he was at heart a sentimentalist, so typical of his age. The sight of the flag, shot, torn, fluttering in the wind, could still move him to tears. For his army, his Army of the Potomac, he felt a love deeper than any he had ever known. They were his boys, his men. He loved them with a passion, and they knew it, returning his love. They knew him first as a brigade commander, then division, corps, and now finally army, never afraid to stand on the volley line, a fighting general who had all but begged across two years to be unleashed and bring victory.

Victory, in a week I could bring victory.

He drained the rest of his goblet and poured out the remainder of the bottle.

Faces drifted before him, so many comrades gone, men of the old Excelsior Brigade, his first command, bled out in the Peninsula, at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Union Mills. Without hesitation they had gone forward on every field, always following the colors, the flag, always the flag going forward, God bless them.

He remembered a flag bearer from the city, the scum of the gutter before the war, ennobled by it in the end. It was at Chancellorsville, that ghastly, obscene debacle that he could have so easily reversed into a Union victory of historic proportions. They were retreating, and a flag bearer staggered to his side, looked up, and gasped, "Sir, I just want you to know, the flag never touched the ground."

The man collapsed, dying, and yet still he struggled to plant the staff in the ground, to keep the colors aloft.

A dozen of the dying man's comrades gathered around him, taking the colors from his cold hands, holding them aloft, weeping, begging to be ordered back in to restore their honor.

"My God," he whispered, "with such men, how can we fail."

He looked back down at his drink. No more, and he tossed the goblet to the ground, crushing it under his heel.

I must be clear tomorrow, the boys expect it of me. If we are to win, if we are to save our country, I must be clear.

At this moment he knew there was but one man who could achieve that victory, and the thought humbled him.

I must risk all now, act swiftly, firmly, and without hesitation.

The plan for movement was already in place, carefully devised, in secret, with his staff. Before dawn the steam-powered ferries of the Philadelphia, Wilmington, and Baltic more railroad, capable of hauling an entire train across the river in ten minutes, would swing into action, joined by the small flotilla of barges, canal boats, tugs, and ferries that had been quietly gathered on the north bank of the river over the last four weeks. By mid-afternoon he'd have a full corps across, his old glorious Third, followed then by the Fifth later in the day and the Sixth during the night. Once across, the Third would undertake a forced march on Baltimore via the main road through Abington and Gunpowder Falls, the Fifth along the road through Bel Air, the Sixth to follow as reserve. In two days they should be into Baltimore and victory. And several hours before starting the crossing, he would, as well, cut all telegraph lines to the north. Let Grant and the reporters both wait in ignorance until he could announce the victory of the Army of the Potomac.

His own ambitions were overwhelmed for the moment, and in his dreams transcended his personal desires. We can end the war here and now. He knew enough of Lee to realize that perhaps he was walking onto a field of Lee's design.

Then so be it, for once engaged he would drive forward with a determination the likes of which the Army of Northern Virginia had never before witnessed.

And the men driving forward would be his chosen band of brothers, his comrades of the Army of the Potomac. In forty-eight hours it would be decided; he would be on the path to the presidency or he would be dead, of that he was convinced. With the Army of the Potomac by his side, he could not conceive of the latter. Victory was just ahead, a vision before him, just on the other side of the river.

Near Reamstown, Pennsylvania

August 18,1863 6:00 AM.

Wade Hampton reined in his mount, raising his field glasses to scan the dust swirling up from the west, several riders coming fast.

A troop of cavalry, some of his North Carolina boys, many of them on fine, sleek horses freshly requisitioned from Pennsylvania farmers, trotted past, heading northeast, pushing toward Reading. This was a wonderful country for horses. The remounts taken in the last campaign had been vastly superior to what they had been riding only two months ago, but here, in this untouched land, could be found horses of true breeding, strength, and endurance. His brigade was for once overloaded with horses, some of the troopers leading a couple of remounts as they rode.