Robertson repeated the orders, and Pete nodded approvingly.

He looked around again. To the west of the north-south road, it was good ground, perfect for a defensive fight; on the other side, however, the land gave way to gently rolling farmland. If this plan worked, the entire Army of Northern Virginia would funnel through here across the next two days. If the Army of the Potomac should react by coming back down the main road to Gettysburg, they could possibly cut his corps off, strung out all the way past Taneytown.

Then it was going to get dicey. We stretch out If we grab Taneytown and start to move toward Westminster, then we have them. But if they react now, coming south on this road, it will be us who are scrambling.

He looked back to the north.

"If there is cavalry coming up from the south, we can handle it I'm more worried about a damn corps of infantry coming back down this road from the north. Before you push on, get up this road a bit scout it out find a good defensive line to slow them down."

"Yes, sir."

He hesitated for a moment Perhaps I should stay here, at least till I get a full division forward. He looked back toward the town of Emmitsburg. The torrent of troops continued to pour down the main street reached the intersection with the Gettysburg Road, and pressed on eastward. The pace was quick. Hood was doing a good job. The men were moving along sharply. Now that they were out of the pass above Emmitsburg and into open country, we should be able to make close to three miles an hour to the Monocacy Bridge. The road was a good one, a pike surfaced with crushed limestone.

Should I stay here to keep an eye on things?

No. That's what I would have done yesterday. Not today. I can't think that way today. Trust Lee's instincts. It was I who first put this scheme forward; I have to keep it moving. The old man was right Jackson is dead. I have to take his place now. To hell with the myth about Jackson's foot cavalry. Let them see what my corps can do for a change.

He looked over at his staff. The boys were tired. Most had not slept since yesterday morning, and he could see more than one who had that wistful, dogged look in his eyes, hoping he'd declare that here was headquarters and they could grab a few minutes of sleep in the shade.

We do that and it sends a signal to every soldier marching past. Headquarters is here; this is the center; we can begin to slacken the pace.

"Come on," Pete said, "we got some more riding."

None of them said anything. A few were obviously a bit surprised at his determination to go to the front of the march.

Swinging out into the open fields beside the road, Pete urged his mount up to a near gallop, weaving through open pastures, rich land of wheat corn, apples, and fat milk cows. It was getting decidedly hot even as he rode, and he took his hat off for a moment letting the breeze cool his sweat-soaked brow.

Troops marching on the road saw him pass, a few offering a cheer. He wasn't the type that most of the men cheered, no Jackson, but damn it he would show Jackson a thing or two this day. He passed a battery of three-inch rifles, moving at a sharp pace, the road ahead darkened by the swaying column of infantry, the men moving briskly, some of the shorter men pushing along at a slow trot Something must be up, he realized, an order from forward to come along on the double.

And then directly ahead, he heard it, the patter of musketry, puffs of smoke rippling along the far ridge, a low stretch of ground, the crest, open pasture and fields. Whoever was shooting was down in the wheat and com. He slowed for a moment, not sure if they had, in fact, run into Union troops contesting their approach, then saw some men in butternut sprinting from the road, deploying out along the base of the ridge and moving up, arms still at the shoulder.

Coming down from the ridge ahead was a knot of mounted men, one of them John Hood, and Pete angled over toward him, coming on fast, his mount laboring hard, exhaling noisily. John was heading for the road but then swerved at Pete's approach and came straight toward him.

"What's happening, John?" Pete shouted, even as he reined in hard.

"Damn Yankee cavalry, that's what gives. The bridge over Monocacy is just on the other side of that ridge. We were just about on it, and then from the other side, out of Taneytown, we saw them coming up, riding hard, a regiment at least and more on the way."

"Can you force it?"

"I'm doing that right now."

Even as he spoke, the volume of fire was increasing. A regiment of troops down on the road was moving forward on the double in columns of four, heading up toward the low rise. As the head of the regiment crested the rise, the racket swelled, and he could see several men tumble out of the ranks. The column slowed and then began to deploy into a battle line.

"We're trying to find a ford so we can flank it, but I think they've beaten us to the bridge." "Who is it?" "Buford."

"Damn!" Pete sighed. It would have to be him. A year ago, at Second Manassas, John Buford had put up a hell of a fight and almost delayed Pete's march through the Bull Run

Mountains. Reports were he had done it again yesterday before Gettysburg. Why the hell was he here now?

11:45 AM GETTYSBURG

"Sir, maybe you should get up." Henry Hunt groaned, raising his hat off his face, squinting up at his orderly, who was looking down anxiously.

He wanted to curse the young lieutenant and tell him to go away. The orderly was holding a tin cup of coffee as a peace offering, and Henry gingerly took it by the rim, swearing softly as it burnt his fingers before he could finally take the handle. He blew on the thick brew.

"What's going on?"

"Some real upset, sir."

He stood up, bones creaking from the effort, rubbing his eyes with his free hand and looking around. All was quiet along the brow of the cemetery. There were occasional distant pops from skirmishers off beyond the wooded hill to the northeast As he faced that way, the thump of distant cannon fire washed over him. The volume picked up even as he stood there.

Are things opening on our right? he wondered. Is Lee trying to flank us there? Around the headquarters, back behind the slope, there was a flurry of activity: staff officers riding back and forth, knots of men talking.

Strange how it worked, so many self-important men around a headquarters, all of them acting as if the fate of the war rested on their ponderings and swapping of rumors. It was like a hive of bees getting riled up whenever something happened.

"What's the upset?"

"Sickles has moved."

"What?"

"You can see for yourself, sir. Apparently he did so without telling General Meade."

The orderly motioned to the west, and Henry followed him, coming out from under the shade of an elm, squinting from the harsh noonday light. Slowly walking up the slope of the cemetery, he sipped the coffee. He hated the feeling when awakening from a midday nap, especially after an exhausting night of work. It was hard to think clearly. You felt sticky, aware of just how long it has been since you had a decent bath, a change of clothes, and a proper meal.

A gun crew was directly ahead, the men standing, pointing off to the south, intent on whatever it was they were watching. As he came up alongside the three-inch gun, he finally saw what they were looking at a mile away… an entire corps of Union troops, flags flying, moving as on parade, sweeping out across the fields toward the Emmitsburg Road. Though long ago cynical about the grandeur of war, he had to inwardly admit that it was a powerful sight

"General Meade galloped out of here a few minutes back, swearing a blue streak," Henry's orderly said. "Everybody saw it"