Warren shook his head and smiled. "Mind if I stick around."

Sykes forced a smile in return. "Thank you. I'll need you, the corps will need you, before the day is done."

Gen. Winfield Scott Hancock reined in, glaring coldly at the cavalry lieutenant who had cut in front of him, and then skidded his horse to a stop.

"Damn it sir, I'm asking you to stop!" the lieutenant cried.

"Out of my way, lieutenant"

"Sir, I am responsible for you. That's the job of the cavalry company assigned to your headquarters. At least let me scout down to that mill below before you proceed."

"There is no time for that now."

"Sir, if you get yourself killed, then I guess I'm going to have to get killed, too. Because if I don't, my captain will most assuredly kill me if I come back without you."

The young lieutenant tried to meet Hancock's wrathful gaze, but couldn't hold it. He started to blush and lowered his eyes.

"Please, sir," the lieutenant asked, and there was a bit of a quaking to his voice. "We're six miles, maybe more, away from the head of your corps. It's just you, me, ten of my men, and your aides out here alone."

Hancock spared a quick glance back over his shoulder. The rest of the men, not as well mounted, were just rounding the bend of the road at a full gallop.

Hancock nodded, and the lieutenant sighed with relief.

"Hear that?" Hancock asked, turning slightly.

The lieutenant nodded. It was artillery… distant, maybe two miles, maybe four or five. Hard to tell.

The valley below was lush, covered in a heavy mist; the treetops on the opposite slope a half mile away were poking up out of the fog, illuminated by the long, slanting light of the morning sun. The air was rich with the heady scent of a summer meadow at dawn, a mixture of wildflowers, grass, warm water.

It was quiet, peaceful, except for that distant thunder.

The staff finally caught up, reining in, the lieutenant shouting for his troopers to head down to the mill, its roof a sharp, dark line standing out in the morning mists.

The men set off at a trot, the lieutenant in the lead.

Hancock smiled. The boy had guts to stand up to him like that And he was right Get cut off by some Reb cavalry out here, my corps still miles away. Goddamn stupid way to get oneself killed or captured.

If I'm going to die in this, let it be with my men, out in front leading a charge, damn it! And as he looked out across the valley below, he wondered for a moment Might this be the ground where we finally decide it?

This had to be Union Mills and Pipe Creek. Warren had described it to him just before he left. High ground on both sides. Mill on the east side of the road with a good bridge beside it Stream dammed to the east; ground marshy to the west. Hills nearly bare except for occasional woodlots, the wood having all been harvested off long ago for lumber to be cut by the mill and as charcoal for the smithy. Farmhouse about a half mile to the west down by the creek!

He looked carefully, and in the mists could just see it, a coil of smoke rising from the chimney.

Good fields of fire, Henry had said. Damn, this had to be it

"Sir, we're getting the all clear."

Hancock looked up. A shadowy figure was up on the opposite slope, just above the slowly undulating wisps of fog coiling up from the damp bottomland, waving his hat back and forth.

Hancock spurred his mount and started down the road, which curved across the face of the slope and then leveled out They clattered over the bridge, mill on their left All was still. No one was working this morning.

The road pitched up sharply, and Hancock eased back on his horse, letting it slow to a trot. No sense in winding him out now.

The lieutenant and his men were at the crest of the hill, reined in, one of the men pointing. Hancock came up to their side.

Thick columns of smoke filled the sky to the southwest The thumping was louder. Half a dozen civilians were out, standing by the side of the road, and-Winfield rode up to them. "Is that Westminster?" he asked.

'It was burning during the night; you could see the flames!" a young boy shouted.

"Is that Westminster?" and this time he was a bit more insistent focused on a middle-aged woman wearing a plain dress of dark gray.

"Yes, sir. It's Westminster."

"The sound of gunfire, how long has that been going on?" "All night long. A couple of big explosions and then the fire. Just about an hour ago, it started getting louder." "How far is it to the town?"

"About four miles, maybe five." Winfield looked over at the lieutenant 'Think you can get through?"

"Well, sir, that does depend on whether the Rebs are to the north side of the town or not"

"Supposedly General Haupt is down there in command. I want him to know we're coming up."

"Look! Is them Rebs?" the boy shouted, pointing off to the west

The lieutenant turned in his saddle. Hancock looked to where the boy was pointing.

A small troop was cutting across a field about half a mile away.

"That's Grandpa on the white horse!" the boy cried.

Hancock looked back over at the woman. She said nothing, but lowered her eyes.

"Your granddaddy with the rebel army, son?" Hancock asked.

"Sure is! My pa and all my uncles joined the army a year ago. My grandpa went out to warn them last night. He said you Yankees were going to get whipped. General Stuart himself visited our house, and Grandpa went to fetch him back along with the whole rebel army."

The woman looked back up, eyes cold, her arms going protectively around her grandson, pulling him in tight against her side.

"Madam, you and your boy have nothing to fear from me," Winfield said coolly, almost insulted by her reaction.

"It's Rebs, sir," the lieutenant announced. "Looks like some staff, a few troopers."

The approaching group had obviously spotted them, slowed, and were spreading out He caught a glint of reflected sunlight someone with field glasses raised.

Winfield took out his own field glasses and raised them, focusing.

The rebel officer with field glasses raised slowly lowered them.

"Longstreet" Winfield whispered. 'It's Pete Longstreet"

"Want to try for them, sir?" the lieutenant asked "We've got about the same numbers."

He stayed focused on Pete. Several of the troopers with him had revolvers and carbines drawn.

Now that would be something, wouldn't it? Hancock thought. Two generals charge each other and have it out, like princes of old jousting in front of their armies. Certainly would make the cover of Harpers' Weekly. The thought almost had a romantic appeal.

He chuckled sadly and shook his head

"Those days are gone forever, Lieutenant They'd drop half of us before we got across that field. Your dreams of a cavalry charge and dueling knights are long finished."

He lowered his glasses for a moment and looked over at the lieutenant who was obviously upset by the put-down of the cavalry.

"No offense, son. Several of them boys have carbines. If I was Pete, I'd just pull back and lead us into them woods. For all we know, a whole brigade of Reb infantry is in there. Then where would we be? Dead or on our way to Libby Prison."

"Yes, sir."

He raised his glasses again. Pete's glasses were up as well. Unable to resist the impulse, Hancock waved and a second later Pete responded with a wave.

"Damn war," Hancock sighed and he lowered his glasses, putting them back in their case.

"You're right about the infantry in the woods, General," the lieutenant announced in a whisper and pointed

A hill beyond where Longstreet was, a mile or so farther back, a dark smudge was moving, a column of infantry.