"Dig in! Get fence rails; get some men into that woodlot behind us; drag out anything that will stop a bullet Company commanders, get water details together."

He looked down at the creek and grimaced, blocking out the thought of the bodies piled into it a half mile back.

"Just find a clear spot above the dead horses and do it quick!"

The men sprang to work even as Vincent came up and dismounted.

"Hot day, Lawrence." "Damn hot"

The rare use of a profanity caused Vincent to smile. "Wish you were back at Bowdoin!’

Joshua forced a smile and shook his head.

"Nor I to my law office. Lawrence, you know your position here."

Joshua nodded. "I was at the staff meeting this morning. Sykes said that if need be we would sacrifice this corps, if by so doing we could save the Union."

"Sounds nice as a speech," Joshua offered dryly.

Vincent looked past Joshua and pointed. "You can see them stirring."

Joshua followed his gaze. The low crest ahead blocked the view, but the rising plumes of dust were evidence enough that something was coming.

"They get past you, Chamberlain, the entire corps gets rolled up."

"I know."

Vincent hesitated, and then lowered his head. 'I think this is our place today, Chamberlain. For a while I thought it would be yesterday, back up where we were at Little Round Top. Fate decided differently."

He smiled awkwardly.

"I'll see you at the end of the day, Lawrence." Joshua grasped his hand.

He could feel the nervous tremble, the clammy coolness of Vincent's grip. The man before him outwardly showed no fear, but Joshua could well imagine the turmoil within, for he felt it as well. Not so much the fear for self-he had settled that with God long ago-it was for all the others, the men of the command, the fate of the corps as Vincent now said, not to make a mistake, not to waver, not to doubt That was the thing that was frightening: not death but dishonor was the compelling fear.

"God be with you," Joshua replied. Vincent's hand slipped away. He mounted and was gone.

Joshua turned back, the swirls of dust building on the horizon.

3:00 PM, JULY 3, 1863 TANEYTOWN

'Texans! Are you Hood's Texans?"

General Lee blocked the middle of the road heading south out of Taneytown as a stream of soldiers swarmed toward him. The town was a cauldron of battle, buildings on fire, artillery fired at near point-blank range sending hot blasts of canister down the street, terrified civilians fleeing, the hospital area set up in front of his headquarters at the Antrim, now under direct fire.

The heat, as well, was oppressive, so much so that he felt dizzy, weak, after two hard days with little sleep and the endless stress of this campaign. And now the center of the line was giving way, peeling back, hundreds of exhausted troops staggering from the fight, some without weapons.

The leaderless mob pouring down the road slowed at the sight of Lee advancing toward them. 'Texans? I do not believe this!"

One of the men, a sergeant, a bloody bandage wrapped round his head, stepped in front of Traveler, reaching up to grab the horse's bridle.

"Sir, General Lee! You'll get killed!"

He was near hysteria, voice high-pitched, cracking.

Lee jerked Traveler's reins, his horse shying away from the man.

"Men, my men, you must not run from those people." "Sir, get back!"

As if to add emphasis to the sergeant's words, a corporal by his side doubled over, shot in the back, sprawling into the middle of the road. His death set off a panic, dozens of men breaking into a run.

"I am ashamed of you!" Lee cried.

Many of them slowed, looking back, lowering their heads like schoolboys caught by the local preacher in some sinful act

More troops were pouring out of the town, some in rough formation following a regimental standard, others singly, in pairs and small knots of half a dozen, many of them dragging along wounded comrades.

"Rally to me. Form line here!" Lee cried.

The men directly around him looked up, incredulous.

"We're out of ammo, water," the sergeant replied, his voice shaking.

"You must hold, men. Hold just a few minutes more. Pickett's Virginians are coming up."

"Then, General, you go to the rear," the sergeant exclaimed. "We will hold, but only if you go to the rear."

The cry was picked up.

"Lee to the rear. Lee to the rear!"

He felt his heart swell, a momentary flutter that was almost frightening, wondering if something was giving out inside. If so, not now. Please, O God, not now.

The tightness lingered, and he felt as if he just might lose control, dissolve into tears at the sight of these men, and yet there was a fury of the battle within him as well. They had been pushed far beyond what mere mortals could be expected to endure. Five hours of hell, most without ammunition, most with wounds, some of which would prove mortal or crippling: Yet now they started to gamer round, men and boys pushing in front shouting for him to retire.

He looked up. The center of town was only several hundred yards away. Surely they were noticed by now. He saw flashes in the dim smoky light, sharpshooters up in buildings. Another man nearby went down.

He looked to the west The left flank, what was left of Johnson's division, bowing back out of the town, driven from the road. Beyond them, nothing.

Where was Pickett?

A bullet snapped past He felt a cold rush of anger.

"I am with you!" Lee cried. "Now forward. Forward!"

He started to edge up the road, pushing his way toward the town. As if a flood tide had reached its crest and now fell away, so did the rout. By the hundreds men turned, some with a fire in their eyes, many with reluctance, but determined nevertheless. Their throats so parched they could no longer break forth with the eerie shriek of their battle cry, they went back in to the fight

Lee tried to force his way forward, but the sergeant and half a dozen others blocked his path.

"Out of my way."

"No, sir."

"Out of my way. That is an order, Sergeant!" The sergeant held Lee's gaze.

"You can shoot me after this is over, General Lee," the sergeant cried, his voice breaking with emotion. "But I ain't gonna see you killed this day. The boys will hold."

"Out of my way, Sergeant Do it now!"

"Sir, you're the spirit of this army. You die and we lose. I'll die making sure you live to carry on."

The men with the sergeant garnered round, hemming Traveler in, silent looking up at him.

"General Lee!"

He looked back. His staff was coming up, riding hard, obviously frightened that he had slipped from their grasp.

The few hundred who were left of Hood's old Texan Brigade were back into the town as the staff swarmed around Lee, putting themselves between him and the line of fire.

The sergeant who had so defiantly stood against Lee now seemed to shrink as one of the staff angrily shouted for the sergeant to let go of Traveler.

Lee, tears in his eyes, shook his head.

The sergeant let the reins drop and bracing his shoulders looked up at Lee. Their gaze held for a minute, and it shook Lee to the core. The man was true to his word. He expected to be shot for insubordination, an insubordination of trying to save his general from a foolish act. It was one thing to ride along a volley line wreathed in smoke, another to lead a charge into a town. If the sergeant had not intervened, Lee realized, he'd most likely be wounded or dead by now. He looked back up, and the Texans who had turned about were dropping by the dozens as they pushed back into the town.

"Your name, Sergeant?"

"Sgt Lee Robinson, sir, Third Texas "

Lee, in an uncharacteristic gesture, leaned over and extended his hand. The sergeant nervously took it, holding the grasp for just a second before stepping back as if the touch of a god might scorch his hand to the bone.