"I could have told you three hours ago we were facing the head of their army," the lieutenant offered and this time there was a bitterness to his voice. "Just like yesterday, bur we didn't have Reynolds this time to come in as support Damn, if we'd had the ammunition, a brigade of infantry, and a couple of batteries, we could have held that bridge till hell froze over."

The skirmishing was picking up. A ball slapped dangerously close, passing between Henry and Warren.

Warren turned his horse.

"The line we surveyed yesterday, Henry. Do you think they know about it?"

"If not Longstreet will figure it out real quick. He has a damn good eye for ground."

"I'm figuring the same."

"Lieutenant pull back slowly, keep an eye on things. You've got a division of infantry coming up. They should be approaching in another hour or so. I'll tell them to deploy on the far side of the creek, but there isn't anything they can do tonight. You help them get a feel for things. General Hunt and I are going back to headquarters."

"I got maybe a hundred rounds left for the men with me," the lieutenant replied.

"Then use them wisely" Warren replied.

The two started off, moving at not much more than a steady trot

"Do you think Meade's already moving?" Henry asked. "By God, if they're advancing on Westminster, we've got to get troops in there by dawn."

"Sedgwick just marched his entire corps up from there, thirty miles straight. If he pulled the rest of Fifth off the line while we were coming down here, he just might make it by dawn."

"Do you think he did that?" Warren said nothing.

As they crossed back over the stream, Henry looked again at the dead trooper lying in the shadows. He wondered if someone would finally get around to burying him. Behind them, the lieutenant, with a dozen men and a hundred rounds, slowly gave ground in the opening shots of the battle for Taneytown.

11:00 PM, JULY 2,1863 WESTMINSTER

"Are you certain about this, Major?"

Gen. Herman Haupt commander of the U.S. Military Railroads, looked up at the begrimed officer standing before him. The flickering of the coal oil lamp hanging from the ceiling of the tavern made the cavalryman look deathly pale.

"I'm certain of it, sir. There's Confederate infantry on the road not five miles from here. I saw them with my own eyes. Column of infantry, moving slow but moving, skirmishers deployed forward. I was up in a barn about a hundred yards off the road. We'd pulled in mere to look for some fodder for our horses and rest a bit Next thing I know, the road is swarming with Rebs."

"A brigade, a division, a corps?" "I didn't stay around to count them, sir. I took my men and we got the hell out of there."

Haupt nodded, looking back down at the map traced on a scrap a paper spread out on the bar.

The first word that trouble was brewing had come in just before six, a lone trooper, absolutely panic-stricken, riding down the main street shouting that the Rebs were coming. He had the man arrested, given a drink to calm him down, and the shaken boy claimed that there had been a vicious fight west of Taneytown. Buford was dead, Gamble dead, and the entire division routed.

By eight, more troopers were coming in; enough information forming that Haupt had finally sent a dispatch rider back to Baltimore bearing a report that there had been an action of at least division-level strength. He then called an officers' meeting, which had proven to be chaotic. There was no real system of unified command here, with units from seven different corps assigned to guard duty. He had over ten thousand men here, including the heavy artillery units sent up from Washington, but each of them answered to a different commander, and they were not all that enthusiastic about taking orders from him, an unknown. Several of the regimental commanders openly called for an immediate evacuation. The meeting ended with him ordering them to get their troops ready for a fight and deploy to the west side of town.

Now more and more defeated cavalry troopers were coming in, singly, in small bands, and this major with a hundred or so men.

He looked out the window and could feel the beginnings of panic. Civilians were again out in the street; men were gathered in small knots talking, obviously agitated. It wasn't looking good..

Until this hit, everything had been going according to plan. The third convoy of trains had come up early in the evening, been unloaded, and sent back. Another convoy was due at two in the morning. So far he had unloaded over fifty carloads of rations, rifle and artillery ammunition, shoes, medical supplies, including dozens of oversized hospital tents. Wood was stockpiled, the bucket brigade to water die engines was working, and several hundred laborers had built a fairly adequate platform for unloading and half a dozen roughshod, open-sided sheds to store ammunition and rations.

Now what?

I have no orders to evacuate. In fact, I can't If I do that it will leave the army dangling twenty-five miles away at Gettysburg, cut off, with only the supplies in their haversacks and the field ammunition trains.to support them. I've got nearly five thousand wagons here, waiting to start the convoying of supplies up to the front once the order is given. Try to pull those out now in the middle of the night and it will trigger a panic.

He looked back down at the map. Lose this and the army is cut off. He looked back up at the major. "Get some rest, but report back to me at dawn."

"Where, sir?"

"Why, here of course."

"Didn't you hear me, sir? You got Rebs, thousands of them, not three hours' march away." "I know that I believe your report." "And what's to stop them?"

"You, Major, for one. The troops I have here in town. Besides, Meade will have a corps down here by morning." "Really?" "Of course."

He fixed the major with his best poker gaze. He had sent two dispatches up to Meade this evening, the last one going out an hour ago with the report that Westminster was threatened. All that had come back so far were reports dated from late in the afternoon, reporting back to the War Department routine dispatches that said precious little other than, that Lee seemed to be skirmishing but not yet fully attacking at Gettysburg.

He could only hope that by now Meade had stirred himself and was sending something down this way by force march. But to say anything different… not now.

The major nodded and wearily left the tavern. Herman watched him go, then called for an orderly to go back out and round up all the unit commanders yet again. Troops had to be deployed, dug in, streets barricaded, supply wagons moved to the east side of town.

Even as he started to give orders, the cavalry major was back out on the street, getting on his mount A sergeant holding the bridle, looked up. "So what did he say, Major?"

"Darn, fool plans to defend the town rather than evacuate."

"Our orders, sir?"

"Find a place to camp. We report to him at dawn."

"Shit sir. The whole Reb army will be here by morning."

"I know, Sergeant Let's get the men rested, then find some ammunition. There's gonna be one hell of a battle here come dawn."

"For what? So we can get killed come dawn? Goddamn generals have done it to us again." "Enough, Sergeant. Enough." The two rode off.

Dick Hansen, a mule driver with Third Corps, his wagon loaded with thirty boxes of.58-cal. rifle cartridges, was leaning against the side of the tavern soaking up every word. He had slipped into town after dark, dodging around the provost guards and laborers, looking for a drink, just a single damn drink. It had been three long days since he had tasted a drop. The tavern, of course, had been a draw, even though such places were always lousy with officers. And now this.