But if I don't reinforce Longstreet, and Meade is driving not here, but to Westminster, I lose that; they slip around my right, slide into the defenses around Washington, and this madness continues.

Washington, just what is Meade getting from Washington right now? That was easy to surmise, remembering the panic of only a year ago when it looked as if McClellan would indeed gain Richmond. Few politicians can see beyond the moment, to the broader strategies that can win a war, tying the hands of those who, in the next breath, they berate for having followed their orders and then lose as a result

Stanton, Lincoln, and every politician in that town will pressure the Army of the Potomac to attack. And the quickest path to attack is Westminster. That is where he'll concentrate and drive for.

Lee looked back to the courier.

'Tell General Hood that I appreciate his concern, but at this moment can spare no reserves; I must push every available man toward Westminster. I know General Hood will do his utmost to hold the line assigned. Tell him I expect that he shall be careful of his own well-being and to keep me appraised."

The courier nodded, obviously disappointed by the orders. He repeated them dutifully then descended the ladder.

Walter looked at Lee, who smiled. "Our nerve, Walter. We must keep our nerve. Hood must hold, and we must shift the army to the right If we get tangled up in a fight here, we could lose everywhere. Hood must hold."

11:45 AM, JULY 3,1863 UNION MILLS

"He's going to do it" Porter Alexander, Longstreet's corps artillery commander, shouted, pointing across the valley to the north side of Pipe Creek.

Longstreet intent on watching as the men of Barksdale's brigade furiously dug in, looked up.

Along the crest of the ridge, twelve hundred yards to the north, a line of skirmishers was in view, followed a moment later by a battle line of Union troops, a quarter of a mile wide.

He raised his glasses, scanning the advancing troops.

"A division at least," he remarked to Alexander.

Some of Barksdale's men stopped in their backbreaking labor and looked up. "Keep at it!" Longstreet shouted. "They won't be here for fifteen minutes. Keep at it!"

The men reluctantly stooped back over. Across the crest of the hill looking down on the mill, Barksdale's boys were digging in. Dirt was flying as men dug away with bayonets, canteens split in half, and the few precious shovels that someone had thrown into an ammunition wagon.

Saplings and low brush down along the slope, which flattened out into the bottomland of the creek, were being cut back to deny cover, and several hundred men were swarming over the mill, tearing off planks, clearing out the stacked-up lumber alongside the mill, and dragging the loot uphill to reinforce the trench.

The artillery batteries were better equipped for this kind of work, the crews laboring to build up lunettes, crescent-shaped earthworks around each gun, which Alexander had personally set in place.

The few scattered trees were going down as well, dropped by men who had an ax or hatchet with them. Sharpened stakes were being cut to drive into the ground, branches dragged into place and then tied to the stakes to act as a barrier to slow down a charge.

But his men, arriving exhausted, had only been at work a couple of hours. A day here, with fresh troops, Longstreet thought wistfully, even twelve hours, and I could turn this into a fortress that could stop ten times their numbers. The earthwork was barely knee-high in places, the ground hard and flinty.

Wofford's brigade had fallen in on the left of Barksdale only an hour ago, their line barely traced out The four batteries assigned to McLaws were up, positioned between the two brigades, but short of ammunition after the action in front of Westminster. The Confederate army might have stumbled onto the biggest bonanza of the war in Westminster, but the town was still burning, reports indicating that it was utter chaos, McLaws's remaining two brigades struggling to round up prisoners, sort out some supplies to send up to Union Mills, and fight the fire sweeping the town.

Barksdale came up to Longstreet, white hair hanging limp, covered in sweat from the heat "Should I get the boys formed?"

"Five more minutes."

The minutes slowly ticked by.

Longstreet finally turned and nodded. "Order your men to arms."

Barksdale let out a whoop and took off at a gallop, shouting for his men to form. Bugles echoed, drummers picking up the long roll, and the men of his command eagerly scrambled out of the dusty trench to where weapons and uniform jackets were stacked twenty yards to the rear.

The Yankee line was less than a thousand yards off, and now a second battle line emerged, this one moving on the oblique to the right

Alexander waited quietly by Longstreet's side. The young artilleryman was calm, not begging for orders, knowing that he had to go with what little ammunition he had.

A Union battery crested the hill, six pieces, moving fast, guns skidding around as they swung into line abreast. A second battery came up and then a third. The infantry advance slowed and then halted, standing roughly eight hundred yards off, left flank into the edge of the small village on the other side.

Longstreet nodded to himself. Hancock knew he had to take this place, that he was most likely only facing two brigades. He wasn't going to make the mistake of feeding his men in piecemeal, the way it had been done too often by the Yankees. He would bring up every man and gun he had and then throw it all in at once.

The first gun on the other side fired; six seconds later the shot roared in, plowing up a furrow of earth in front of the First North Carolina Artillery. The gunners from Carolina hooted derisively. Seconds later the other guns of the battery opened, and a minute later another battery joined in.

The Tarheel gunners were soon down on the ground, hugging the earth behind the lunettes, as solid shot plowed in and case shot began to detonate around them.

Barksdale's men, now armed, were back into their shallow trench, some standing to watch the show, others hunkered down to wait out the storm, a few continuing to dig away.

The Yankees soon had five batteries up on the crest, thirty guns banging away, and Longstreet could tell that Alexander was getting edgy, especially when a solid shot hit one of the guns from North Carolina, smashing a wheel, the piece collapsing, a wounded gunner staggering out from behind the lunette, screaming, a jagged splinter the length of his arm transfixing him through the stomach. Several of his comrades came out, ducking low, grabbing the man, who, seconds later, collapsed dead.

The bombardment continued, and off to the left Longstreet saw a third line emerging, this one clearly overlapping Wofford's position.

He reined his mount around and trotted down the line, ignoring the shells winging in. An airburst detonated over the trench to his right, dropping several men. He pushed on, reaching Wofford's line. Looking back over the Union forces, he saw they were preparing to overlap him by at least a quarter mile or more.

There was only one thing to do, and he passed the order for Wofford to extend to the left, doubling the width of front covered by the unit, and sent Alexander galloping back to the North Carolina battery with orders to pull out of then-position and move down to the left flank.

Minutes later the five surviving guns of the battery thundered by at the gallop, dismounted gunners running to keep up.

The Union artillery fire shifted, now dropping down on

Wofford's men, who were spread out along the crest, exposed, lying down in the high grass of the pasture.

Longstreet, ignoring the shot humming in, slowly rode the line, letting the men see him.