He saw Anderson, leaning against the fence, doubled over. The man vomited. It wasn't fear, it was just the exhaustion after a tough fight Pete waited until the brigade commander, spitting and coughing, stood back up, features pale.

"You had two regiments that didn't engage?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want them on the road in fifteen minutes." Anderson hesitated, then saluted and walked off, his legs rubbery.

Pete drew out his pocket watch. It was nearly four in the afternoon. Too long. Too damn long.

He looked back at John Buford's body.

Maybe you did buy enough time, Pete thought but God I hope not

Remounting, he turned east and continued on toward Taneytown as the roof of the burning farmhouse collapsed, sending up a pillar of flame and smoke.

It was hard to conceal his delight as the light battery of horse artillery galloped into position, guns bouncing and careening behind their caissons, mounted gunners yelling with delight

Stuart snapped off a salute as the unit raced past him, deploying out into an open field to the northeast of the wooded hill flanking the cemetery held by the Army of the Potomac. The range was extreme. The fire would be nothing more than a nuisance, but that was not the main intent.

For the last hour he had "been running the brigade of infantry ragged. They had marched five miles, swinging far north of the town, cutting across fields and down lanes beyond the sight of the Yankees, finally to emerge into view along a stretch of the road leading back to York. After marching in plain sight for several hundred yards, the column dipped out of view, heading to the east then countermarched back around by a concealed lane, only to re-emerge and do the march in sight yet again.

Farther afield small troops of cavalry simply galloped back and forth along roads and farm lanes, dragging brush, kicking up dust while the bulk of his command concentrated east of town skirmished with the Union cavalry that was beginning to come up and probed down around the right flank of the Union lines.

It reminded him of the stories of Magruder down on the Peninsula the year before. A passionate devotee of amateur theater, Magruder had hoodwinked McClellan into believing that two thousand men before Yorktown were actually twenty to thirty thousand.

Though still smarting from the rebuke and the clear threat from Lee, he had to admit that this afternoon he was beginning to enjoy his work.

Hunt saw the courier galloping up the Taneytown Road. He was astride a magnificent stallion, the animal stretching out, running hard, as its rider guided the horse around the clutter of ammunition wagons slowly moving along the road.

Henry stepped down from the porch of the small house below Cemetery Hill that was now the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac. Staff officers, who had been clustered about, nervously looking to the northeast, where the sound of gunfire was rapidly increasing, barely noticed the arrival of a courier storming up the road from Taneytown.

The courier was a cavalryman, hat gone, uniform so coated with dust that he almost looked like a rebel in dark butternut The man reined in hard, swinging down from his saddle.

"General Meade!"

Several of the staff moved toward the rider, one of them extending his hand, asking for any dispatches.

"My orders from General Buford are to present this directly to General Meade!" the courier shouted, obviously agitated.

Henry felt a cold chill. Buford was supposed to be on his way to Westminster. He moved into the group. "I'll take you to him."

Leading the way, Henry stepped into the small parlor, where Meade stood at a table hunched over a map, while Warren was tracing out a position.

"Based on the Confederate movements against our right flank, I think we have to extend to the right," Warren said, looking around die room,

"General, a dispatch rider," Henry announced. "He says the message must be given to you personally."

Meade looked up, slightly annoyed at the cavalryman standing in the doorway. "Who are you?" Meade snapped.

"Sergeant Malady, Eighth New York Cavalry, Buford's division, sir."

Meade came erect, extending his hand, while the trooper fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the note.

Meade unfolded it, started to read, and Henry could instantly tell that the news was bad. Meade finished reading and then seemed to go over the note a second time. All in the room were silent Meade finally passed it to Dan Butterfield, his chief of staff, and turned away for a moment

"What the hell is it?"

General Hancock, who had been standing on the front porch as the courier came in, was now behind the trooper, pushing his way into the room.

"General Buford reports that he is engaged with Hood's division on Monocacy Creek along the Emmitsburg to Taneytown Road," Butterfield announced.

"Jesus Christ Almighty," Hancock cried, stepping up to a map pinned to the wall and after several seconds stabbing his finger at a spot on the lower left corner.

Meade turned, looking back at the trooper. "Did you see this?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, sir. We were in Taneytown. It was around one. I remember that because one of the church clocks struck as we rode in. A scout came in from the west and we were ordered to horse. It was a hard ride; a lot of the horses were about ready to drop."

"Yours looks pretty good," Hancock interjected.

'Well, sir, I sort of arranged a swap with a civilian when we got to Taneytown," and the trooper dropped his eyes as he spoke.

"Go on," Meade snapped.

"By the time we got up to the bridge, Gamble's brigade was really into it A lot of heavy fire. I could see rebel troops on the far side; columns of them just beginning to deploy. My regiment was ordered in on the right to cover a ford; at least that's what I heard. It was then that General Gamble came up, spotted me, and ordered me to report to General Buford to carry that dispatch."

"And you took it personally from General Buford."

"Yes, sir."

"And he said he believed all of Longstreet's corp was behind the attack?" "Yes, sir."

"Did you see that? Other divisions?" ' "No sir, not exactly. But I tell you, sir, we were getting hit as hard as we were over by the seminary yesterday. They had three batteries up. There was a hell of a lot of shooting. When I got back to Taneytown, I could still hear the gunfire."

"The condition of your men going in?" Hancock interjected.

"Well, sir, to be honest not so good. The horses were pretty worn; a lot of us were short on ammunition. I heard the troopers who had Spencer repeaters were all but empty. But we'll make a good fight of it"

Hancock looked over at Meade, who stood silent arms folded, eyes fixed on the map.

"We'd better get people down there now," Hancock said.

"That will take four hours or more," Meade replied, eyes still fixed on the map.

Warren stepped up to the map.

"That report from the Round Top signal station that came in a half hour ago of smoke being seen to the south. It fits. Also, losing contact with Emmitsburg. Sir, this doesn't look good."

Meade Was still silent

"Maybe Sickles was right," Butterfield interjected, and Meade turned, fixing him with his sharp gaze.

Henry said nothing for the moment Butterfield had been the previous commander's chief of staff. Meade had kept him on simply because the man clearly knew the routine. No one in this inner circle had any real love for Sickles, but Henry knew that Butterfield's comment showed remarkably bad timing since Meade was still fuming about the incident earlier in the day.