"Everything set Johnson? Enough wood and water to get you back down the line?"

"I think so, sir, but I tell you, this line is a hell of a mess. Not like the B and O, that's for certain."

"Make sure these get handed off," Herman said, folding up his plans and orders, jotting down addresses on the back of each.

"You staying here, sir?"

"Someone's got to get things organized around here." Johnson grinned. "Have fun, sir. It looks like a hell of a mess around here." "Not for long."

"Just don't get in any trouble like you did at Manassas. I like serving with you, sir."

Herman smiled. That had been a close shave, when the Rebs poured in behind General Pope and cut the rail line back to Washington. He had pushed a train down the line to try and find out what was going wrong and wound up getting chased by Confederate cavalry and nearly killed.

Giving Johnson his orders, Herman jumped down from the cab. Johnson eased the throttle in, bursts of smoke thumped from the stack, and with a gasping hiss the engine started to back up, pushing the two empty boxcars and wood tender behind it Someone had finally untangled the overturned wagon and mules behind the train, clearing the track. The shriek of the whistle set thousands of the noisy animals to braying, their cries echoing across the town.

Five thousand wagons, all those damn mules. Have to get that organized and quick, Haupt thought If a panic ever sets them off, it could turn into the biggest stampede in history.

The train eased around the sharp curve behind the depot and started back toward Baltimore.

Herman turned, looking around at the pile of boxes littering the side of the track, the hundreds of wagons parked in the fields and along the streets, the milling civilians, the infantry starting to drift back off into the dark.

He caught the eye of the colonel and motioned him over.

"In eight hours, trains are going to pour into this place. I need a thousand men ready to work in relays off-loading the cars. The whole timetable depends on getting the supplies off the cars as quickly as possible.

"I want a loading platform built; I'll sketch it out for you shortly. Next we need several hundred men to form a bucket brigade down to the creek. All locomotives will be topped off with water before heading back; that will be done at the same time we're unloading. The first two trains up will be loaded with firewood. They're to be unloaded and set up in piles along the side of the track. Teams of thirty men will then be assigned to each pile to load the wood on to each engine as it comes in.

"Next I'd like to get some kind of shedding up. It can be open sided, roofed with canvas, but I want the rations and ammunition properly stored. The far side of the shed should have a clear approach for wagons, which will then be loaded up. Traffic has to be sorted out and wagons cleared from the streets. They'll come in from one direction, load up, then head back out

"Finally, details to the churches, any large buildings. Hospital supplies can go in there for now. You have that?"

The colonel looked at him, obviously overwhelmed. "I'll write it all down," Herman said wearily, pulling his notepad back out

"And one final order, Colonel." "Sir?"

"A cup of coffee; in fact a whole pot if you can get it"

11:55pm July 1st 1863 GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Riding into the town square, Lee edged Traveler around a line of ambulances clogging the Hanover Road. Torches and lanterns hanging from porches cast a flickering glare on the chaos of vehicles, artillery limbers, dead horses, and a column of troops trying to snake their way through the confusion, heading to the skirmish line on the south side of town.

Dozens of civilians were out in the street many of them women. He remembered an old saying that when one became a parent all boys become your children. He paused for a second, looking down at an elderly woman reading a Bible to a tattered barefoot soldier, shirt gone, bloody, bandages wrapped around his stomach. The boy was in shock, trembling like a leaf, head resting on her lap. She paused, looking up. There was no hatred or anger, only an infinite sadness in her eyes, and he wondered if her own son was at this moment digging in on that hill south of town. He saluted and rode on.

A smattering of musket fire rippled from the crest of the hill, followed seconds later by the flash of artillery. A shell fluttered over the square, men pausing, looking up. A wounded soldier, eyes bandaged, started to scream hysterically until his comrades quieted him down.

"Walter?'

"Here, sir."

"Flag of trace. Send someone up to that hill. Offer my compliments to General Hancock and please tell him that this town is a hospital area. There are civilians here, and many of their own wounded as well. Also, we wish to remove our wounded from the front of the hill. Ask for a ceasefire till dawn." "Sir?"

Lee looked over at him.

"Sir, that is a concession to them, an admission of defeat."

"Just do it I'll not have these people suffer anymore over a foolish point of military protocol."

Walter saluted, turning back, shouting for an aide.

Was it a defeat? Lee asked himself.

Experience had long ago taught him that in the rear of a battle defeat and victory often looked the same. In the center of the square he paused, looking again to the hill, illuminated by the moon, which shown brightly overhead.

Defeat? Not possible, not with this army. They've checked us for the moment but in the morning we shall play a different tune.

He opened his jacket and pulled out his watch. It was time for the staff meeting, nearly midnight

He turned north, riding the short distance to the railroad station that had been designated as headquarters for the army, passing through the line of dismounted cavalry who formed a cordon around the low, single-story brick building. Dozens of horses were tethered or held by orderlies, nearly blocking the entry. The low buzz of conversation stilled at his approach, heads bobbing up, young fresh-faced privates dressed in homespun, staff lieutenants, some of them still sporting finely tailored uniforms of gray, battle-stained brigade commanders, all of them stood silent

He could sense the mood. They were exhausted. It had, after all, been a very long day, and the night was now half-gone. It had been a day that had exploded with high hopes and triumph and closed with bitterness.

His gaze swept them, each of the men stiffening slightly when they sensed that his eyes were upon them.

I could order them in now, right now, he realized… and they would do it I order men to die and they do not hesitate;

they go forth gladly, eager to be the first to fling themselves into the dark mist If they trust all in me, my God, I must not fail them. I must not

Slowly he dismounted, someone taking Traveler's bridle. He patted Traveler affectionately. "See that he has water and something to eat" Lee whispered. "A pleasure, sir."

Lee caught the boy's eyes, smiled. Again the reverent look. He wanted to pause, to ask the boy who he was, where he came from, what regiment he served with. No time for that now. I know what has to be done, and it's time to get to it

He stepped up onto the siding platform, past the sentries flanking the open doors, and into the waiting room of the station.

A table, a fine dining room table, most likely dragged over from the hotel across the street filled the center of the room, maps spread out upon it

The men hunched over the maps looked up as one and came to attention.

They were all here, Longstreet Ewell, Hill, Jed Hotchkiss, the chief cartographer for Jackson before his death, and finally, standing to one side, the errant Jeb Stuart His gaze held on Stuart, who stiffened and formally saluted.