Behind him pillars of smoke filled the morning sky. Following the tracks of the railroad that led toward Reading, the boys had been having a grand time of it, burning bridges, destroying supplies they could not bring along, knocking over water towers, and smashing switches. The evening before they had staged a grand spectacle as a parting show in Lancaster. Two trains, one hauling tank cars filled with coal oil, had been deployed a mile apart, their engines stoked up, brakes released, and throttles set to full. The amateur engineers then jumped off, and with hundreds of troopers whooping and hollering like small boys bent on devilish mischief, they watched as the trains built up speed and collided head-on, the tank cars loaded with thousands of gallons of coal oil bursting into flames. Even the civilians had watched the show with awe, children running about excitedly, laughing and clapping at this orgy of destruction.

The local farmers, many of them of the strange Amish and Mennonite sects, had proven to be a dour lot, but so far there had been no problems. His boys had acted, as always, as proper sons of the South, respectful of women, especially the young ladies and the elderly. And more than one had actually coaxed a smile with his charming drawl and courtly manners, even as they handed out vouchers left and right for horses and food. They had noticed, as well, just how many healthy young men were standing about as if there were no war being fought but fifty miles away, or now galloping past their own farms. It was troubling. He could understand these strange Amish who had taken a vow of peace, like the Quakers, but many were not of the religious dissenters. There was barely a town in South Carolina where a healthy man between sixteen and forty-five could be found. There were enough here in just this one county to raise an entire brigade.

His men had ridden out of Lancaster in high spirits. The farms of the Amish and Mennonites had proven to be a virtual bonanza of food-slabs of hickory-smoked ham, tubs of something they called scrapple, links of fat sausages, beefsteaks, chickens, geese hung from nearly every saddle. To get fresh, roasting ears of corn or apples all one had to do was turn off the road for a moment and lean over a fence to gather in all he might desire. Loaves of fresh bread stuck out of haversacks, and a ruckus ensued when a trooper just ahead of him rode past one of his comrades and slapped the man's hat, which he had been cradling in his lap. A couple of dozen eggs were ruptured and a gooey fight broke out as broken eggs were thrown back and forth, the boys laughing.

Long before dawn, just north of Lancaster, the brigade had split up, two regiments turning to the northwest to probe toward Harrisburg, one regiment east, along the track of the Philadelphia and Columbia railroad toward Downington and West Chester, the rest of his command in the middle, moving toward Reading. The regiment going east, the Jeff Davis Regiment, was at this point nothing more than a light raid and probe with the intent of spreading panic in Philadelphia and engaging in some bridge-burning and train-wrecking.

But now, as he watched the courier's approach, he felt a tightening in his stomach. Something was up. The three of them came on fast, at the gallop, and reined in, saluting.

"Sir, we got Yankee cavalry, ten miles off."

Wade forced a smile. He had hoped they'd have another day of it before the Yankees finally reacted in their typical slow and leisurely fashion.

"Well, it's about time. We've been here a day and a half without a sight of one of them."

One of the couriers shook his head.

"Sir. It's not just a patrol. Looks to be damn near a brigade. Colonel Baker says he's going to have to pull back before them."

"How far?"

"When we were told to find you, it was about ten miles to the west of here. We were moving toward Harrisburg, as ordered. The civilians were damn closed-mouthed, wouldn't give us a word of information, though one old codger just grinned and said we were gonna wind up like rabbits in a snare, that the whole area is crawling with Yankees. The main road we were on, you could see where one hell of a lot of troopers had been marching a day or two earlier, a couple of orchards just stripped of apples, one big hay field trampled down. The farmer that owned the orchard and field was boiling mad, said that ten thousand or more Yankees had marched through two days ago from Harrisburg, then turned around and marched back, cleaning him out"

He took that in. Why? That was before he crossed the river. Drilling perhaps? Keeping the men in shape?

"Just around sunup we seen them coming," the messenger continued. "The country "was open, Colonel Baker had a good vantage point, you could just make out the church spires of what we figure might be Harrisburg, and then they just came storming out on to the fields a couple miles away, filling every lane. A couple thousand at least."

Wade opened up his map case and pulled out the sketches of the region that Jed Hotchkiss had prepared for him. His forces were spread thin, and now he wondered. There had been absolutely no resistance so far. To spread out was routine at this point cast the net wide until they hit something.

If he drew an oblong box set on one point, he was in the middle. The bottom point was their river crossing twenty-five miles away, the left point Harrisburg, the north point Reading, the east point toward West Chester.

"Any identification? Who are they?"

"Sir, we picked up a couple of deserters from the Nineteenth Corps; they were hiding in a barn not five miles from here. Said they were fed up and going home. Seems like they were the ones out on that march and these two snuck off."

"Nineteenth?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did they say where they came from?"

"Harrisburg."

Damn.

So he had one piece of the puzzle that Lee had sent him for, if the deserters were to be believed. "Did you take them prisoner?" "No sir, we let them go." "Why?"

"One was so damn sick, sir, he was near dead; the other was just a scared boy, the sick man's young brother. We took their parole and left them. Colonel Baker, though, felt we should believe them."

Then the Nineteenth was in Harrisburg. And that spoke volumes.

"Anything else?"

"No sir, nothing we saw. Like I said, a few farmers said that Yankees have been marching up and down the roads the last few weeks. Carrying all equipment, the men said they were drilling. We found a farm boy wearing a Yankee cap with the corps insignia for the Thirteenth, said he found it after some troops marched by, heading back toward Harrisburg. One woman we met just before seeing the Yankees said she was born in South Carolina and she did sound like it Married a Yankee, God save her. She said that no civilians are allowed anywhere near Harrisburg, all the roads are closed off with military guards, and you need a pass to get in or out."

That was to be expected. The Northern newspapers had openly reported that bit of information and complained bitterly about it and about the imposition of martial law on not just the city but the entire surrounding county.

"Sir, Colonel Baker says he's pulling back and he'd like some support."

Wade nodded. The Second South Carolina was less than a half hour up the road, heading toward Reading behind the First North Carolina. He'd turn the Second around now. But the First? If they could at least get to Sinking Springs and destroy some track and telegraph lines there on the main route between Harrisburg and Reading, it would be a major accomplishment. He had hoped that Baker could actually close on the outskirts of Harrisburg while he held the center here and moved on Reading. Now that was in doubt.

He hesitated. Concentrate? Suppose Baker was overreacting? Perhaps this cavalry force was nothing more than second-rate militia that would scatter when faced with a real charge?