"Damn all to hell!" Hancock snapped. He looked over at the woman, realizing he was swearing in front of a female, but he didn't offer an apology.

The rumble of gunfire from the town was increasing. Suddenly there was a deep rolling boom and a second later a spreading cloud of smoke appeared beyond the hills.

"Something blew," one of the troopers whispered "and it was damn big."

"They're taking the town," Hancock sighed. "Still want me to try and get through?" the lieutenant asked.

What good would it do now? Winfield thought Tell them we're too late? Tell Washington the army was now cut off? "No, son, stay with me."

"Then I advise, sir, that we pull back to the other side of the creek. "I've got only ten men, but we could give them a fuss if they try and come over the bridge."

"He won't come over the bridge."

"Sir?"

"That's General Longstreet Lieutenant He'll dig in right here, right where we are standing. And then it will be we who will have to come back over that bridge.

"He's got the good ground now."

Winfield turned his mount and looked down at the woman and boy. "My compliments to your husband, madam. He guided General Longstreet well this day."

She said nothing, her arms still around her grandson.

"Remember this day, son. When you're an old man, you can tell your grandchildren about it Now take care of your grandmother."

He looked back at the woman. "I advise that you leave your home."

"Why? Are you going to burn us out?" she asked defiantly.

"No, madam. We don't do that at least not yet You're going to be in the middle of a battlefield though before too long, and it's going to get very hot around here."

He started back down the road and turned to the young lieutenant "Ride like hell, Lieutenant Get back up to my corps and tell them to move on the double. We are now in a race with Longstreet."

The boy galloped off. Winfield looked back one last time at Longstreet and waved. Spurring his mount General Hancock headed back across the bridge.

7:15 AM, JULY 3 UNION MILLS

Pete watched as Hancock disappeared around the bend in the road.

"My family, sir, I'd like to get to them," Shriver said, for die first time showing real fear.

"Don't rush. Let them get back across the river."

"My family is in jeopardy, sir. Do something. I've helped you; now do something."

"That was General Hancock, Mr. Shriver. And I can assure you, sir, he is a gentleman."

Pete fell silent for a moment Yes, so many over there were gentlemen. Reynolds was. So was Buford. Will I be killing Hancock now? How would Armistead, who commanded a brigade in Pickett's division, react to that Armistead talked often of Hancock, their friendship before the war when stationed together out on the coast of California.

Damn war!

Shriver was still obviously concerned.

"Sir, General Hancock would lay down his life to protect your wife and family, even knowing the invaluable service you've just given us this day. So please relax. Let's wait for our infantry support to come up, and then we'll go forward."

"Are you certain?"

Pete looked over at the man, and the civilian fell silent and lowered his head. "My apologies, General."

"None needed. You don't know the army, our old army. We trained together at West Point and we live by the code of honor taught there. We might be fighting against each other now, but we still live by that code."

"Look at that place!" Alexander exclaimed, interrupting the two.

Pete turned his attention back to the task at hand. Alexander was pointing to the north.

"Looks like those hills slope down nicely to the creek.

Ground on the far side might be a bit higher, but far enough back and not too much higher to give them an advantage if we dig in first."

"These ridges," Pete asked, looking back to Shriver. "Do they flank this creek like this in both directions?"

"Yes, sir. For miles to the west. You can't see it yet, but down where those Yankees just rode, there's a mill owned by my cousin, a fairly big pond backed up behind it. Then the stream curves a bit to the south, with a very high ridge on this side facing it.

"Natural flank," Alexander offered, "with a good physical barrier with the pond."

"Over there," one of McLaws's staff announced. "I see them."

Hancock and his small cavalcade were a mile away now, up on the distant slope on the north side of the creek.

Pete smiled. For a minute there he had half expected Winfield to do something rash, a charge. That would have been devilish to deal with. Foolish, medieval-type thinking. Stuart still had it in spades. The men around me, though, they'd expect me to respond in kind and not simply pull back, whispering I lacked stomach if I didn't draw a saber and ride out to meet him. Damn, war certainly brings out the stupidity in man.

He shaded his eyes? The morning sunlight was burning through the haze, making it hard to see.

Hancock had reined in, his small escort dismounting.

So you wait there, Winfield. Wait and watch. Now, who can get the most here first?

Pete looked back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Barksdale's brigade coming on hard, at the double. He had put the fire into them when riding past a half hour ago.

We get a brigade in here first and start digging in.

"Damn all, sir, this is good ground. Best I've seen since Fredericksburg."

"Better," Pete replied.

"How's that, sir?"

"They didn't have to attack at Fredericksburg; it was just Burnside being bullheaded. But once we take that town, cut them off from Washington, they'll have to attack."

The question now, Pete thought, looking back toward the town and then to the approaching column of his infantry who had bypassed the battle, the question is, do we get enough men here first Hancock knows it and by God he will push it We're still spread out all the way back to Emmitsburg. If they hit us hard enough in the middle, they could break our lines. Or Hancock has a corps just behind that bend in the road and could storm across it in the next hour or two.

Too many ifs. Focus on now. Get that brigade up and barricade the crest Seize the town, and get those precious supplies.

A series of explosions rumbled across the fields. Longstreet looked back toward the town and the rising columns of smoke that seemed to be spreading out

"My God," Shriver whispered, "it looks as if all of Westminster is burning."

"Most likely is." Pete sighed. I don't have the time to worry about that now, he thought coldly. "Come on, Mr. Shriver," Pete said, "let's get you home to your family."

7:15 AM, JULY 3,1863

Herman Haupt stood with arms folded, watching as a detachment of men from his railroad command began to upend cans of coal oil on the stacks of boxes piled up under the open-sided sheds that he had so laboriously built only the day before.

The main street of Westminster, which passed directly in front of his makeshift depot was still jammed with abandoned wagons. The last remnants of his command were falling back, running between the wagons, shouting that the Rebs were closing in.

He spotted several gunners, red trim on their hats and trousers, coming around from behind some wagons and then sprinting toward the trains. Herman shouted for them to come over.

"How far away are they?"

"Not a hundred yards, sir. Them cavalry troopers are dying game. Holed up in houses with their repeating rifles, but the Rebs are pouring in fast"

"Get on the trains; we're clearing out"

The men saluted and started to run down the track.