Brig. Gen. Herman Haupt, Commander, U.S. Military Railroads, stepped off the engine cab before the train had skidded to a stop. Exhausted, he stretched, his back popping as he shifted from side to side. At forty-six he was beginning to show the first signs of middle-age portliness. His flowing brown beard was increasingly flecked with gray, and as was so typical of the army, he was wearing a uniform rumpled and stained from too many days of not changing. The uniform was pockmarked with cinder burns, his face streaked with grease and dirt.

The ride up from Baltimore had been a bone-jarring, five-hour ordeal, just to cover thirty miles of track. The track laying of the Western Maryland Railroad was typical of such lines: Slap the rails down as quickly as possible, and the hell with grading and curve radius. Just get the damn thing up and running, then worry later about smoothing things out.

There were no telegraph, no sidings, no fuel or water for the locomotives. He looked around at the small depot of Westminster and the utter chaos that confronted him. Meade had ordered all supply wagons for the Army of the Potomac to concentrate at this point, and it was his job to open up the rail line and organize a depot

Several miles outside the town, the train had started to pass open fields packed with wagons… thousands of them.

They were jammed into pastures, wheat fields, cornfields and here in the town the main street was jammed solid. Five thousand wagons, ambulances, reserve artillery limbers, and tens of thousands of mules. Their braying was a maddening cacophony that most likely could be heard clear back to Baltimore.

The sight of it all, the noise, were a shock; and if it wasn't for his innate sense of duty, he would have succumbed to the temptation to simply get back on the train and let someone else try to sort all of this out

A scattering of infantry was standing about, obviously bored with their duty, though at the sight of a general getting off the train they started to stiffen up a bit in a vain attempt to look soldierly. Civilians milled about gawking at the jam of wagons, and at the sight of him a delegation swooped down.

He turned and tried to get away, but they were upon him.

"General, are you in charge here?" a portly gentleman wearing a scarlet vest shouted, following after him.

He tried to continue on, walking back along the train, as if inspecting the wheels.

"General!"

Exasperated, he turned. It was always the same: Self-important civilians, who on one hand were damn grateful that the army was there to protect them, but in a heartbeat were ready to switch their song and start complaining.

"I'm in command of the military railroads supporting the army," Herman replied wearily.

"This, sir, is the property of the Western Maryland Railroad," the loudmouthed civilian replied sharply.

"The army has seized this line," Herman replied coolly. "It will be returned to civilian control once this campaign is concluded."

"Well, General, there are a few things we need to discuss. No one seems to be in control here. We had a terrible fight here two days ago, several men killed on both sides."

Terrible fight? This pompous ass should have been at Second Manassas and seen trainloads of the wounded, blood dripping through the floorboards, as they rolled back to Alexandria; his crews vomiting as they scrubbed the cars down afterward; then sending them back to Manassas to pick up another thousand.

"The streets are clogged with your wagons," the civilian continued. "There are soldiers and mule drivers who are drunk wandering about scaring the ladies of the town, and now there's word that the rebels have whipped the Army of the Potomac up at Gettysburg and are coming this way."

Herman looked around at the self-appointed delegation and sensed that more than one of them might very well be delighted with the last statement.

"And you want me to…?" Herman asked softly.

"Straighten out this mess, General. Straighten it out"

"Precisely my intent Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do, though I would appreciate some volunteers to. help unload the supplies I've brought up with me," Herman snapped, and without waiting for a reply he stalked off.

Of course they didn't follow, but he- could hear their raised voices as they began to argue with each other.

A small knot of officers was under the awning of the depot, nervously looking toward Herman as he approached.

"Who is in command here?" Herman asked.

"Ah sir, honestly we're not sure," one of them, a colonel, replied.

That was a bad sign, Herman realized. When things were going well, there would have been an instant argument as to who was, indeed, in command; when they were going wrong, no one wanted that responsibility.

"Well then, I am in command," Herman offered, and there were no objections.

"What's the situation?" he asked.

"Sir, you've got the supply wagons of seven corps in this town. Meade passed the order this morning for the army to abandon its supply train and have them concentrate here, while the troops moved north toward Gettysburg."

'Troops here in town?"

"Hard to say. Each corps commander detailed off a couple of regiments to accompany their trains. There're a couple of companies of cavalry here, and a heavy artillery regiment out of Washington came in as well. They're hauling those big four-and-a-half-inch guns."

Herman digested the information. Troops from seven different corps. Regiments assigned were usually units that were either burned out or not of the best quality. No corps commander would detail off his best when there was a fight brewing. Six, maybe eight thousand troops wandering around here, not sure what to do next No central command at all.

"Your name?"

"Colonel Benson, One Hundred and Third New York, Twelfth Corps."

Herman studied the man for a moment He seemed alright no liquor on his breath, unlike a couple of the other men gathered about

"Fine then, Benson. You're in command of the infantry for this supply depot"

"On whose authority, General?"

"My authority and the hell with what anyone else says. I run the military railroads for the army, and you are now under my command."

"And if my corps commander recalls my unit General? Damn it all. There's a fight brewing, and we're stuck down here staring at a bunch of goddamn mules."

As if to add weight to his argument a team of mules, frightened by a blast of steam from the locomotive, took off, braying madly, dragging a wagon up onto the tracks behind the train, the wagon tipping over, mules still tied to their harnesses kicking and screaming.

"You're with me, Colonel. I want the regiments from the various corps rounded up. I'm going to need men here, a couple of thousand at least to off-load trains that will be coming up shortly. I want a defense established around this town. I was up at Hanover earlier today and damn hear became a guest of General Stuart"

At the mention of Stuart's name, the other officers started to whisper excitedly.

"That's it exactly. If the Rebs figure out what we have down here, we'll have company soon enough; and as it looks right now an old lady could shoo us out of here with a broom. So get to work. Your men can start by off-loading the hospital supplies I just brought up."

He turned away without waiting for a reply and spied more supplicants, complainers, and the annoyingly curious closing in. Swinging around the back end of the train he had just ridden up from Baltimore, he headed toward a row of parked wagons half-filled with rations and climbed up into the nearest one, drawing the back cover closed.