Union infantry directly in front of where the two stood were half-heartedly digging in, their officers not pressing them too hard. They had, after all, marched nearly twenty miles, gone into a failed assault, and were suffering now in the early evening heat. They knew, as well, that short of some insane miracle, the Rebs would not be so courteous as to attack, so the digging in struck many as busy work without purpose or profit

Hancock, without waiting for permission from Meade, had asked for a truce an hour ago in order to clear the wounded and dead from the field. The truce would end at sunset and the last of the ambulances that had lined the road were coming back through the lines, bearing their grisly cargo to the hospital area set up on the far side of the ridge behind them.

Henry looked again at Hancock and saw that what he had first taken to be dirt on Hancock's shirt was, in fact dried blood, as if someone had grabbed hold of him and then let go.

Hancock, noticing Henry's gaze, looked down. "One of my brigade commanders-Webb. Held him as he died." Hancock's voice trailed off.

Henry looked over his shoulder to one of his staff and motioned. The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, tossing it over. Henry handed it to Winfield, who took a long drink.

"Thanks, Henry."

"Losses?" Henry asked.

"Fifteen hundred dead and wounded," Hancock sighed.

"I wonder now if I should have pressed it. We might have been able to flank them."

His voice was edged, pitched a little too high. Exhaustion and shock were hitting him, Henry realized.

"It was at least an hour after I called it off before we saw more of their troops come up. If I'd had another division in reserve to exploit the break, I think I'd've continued the assault regardless of loss. It was just that I had no reserves. I needed all three divisions to try and turn the flank."

He lowered his head.

"Damn. Fifteen hundred men. Goddamn, what a waste." "You didn't know that then."

"I do now, Henry. I do now. Looking at them over there now, digging in like that, it puts a knot in my gut when I think my boys will have to go in against that tomorrow."

Henry did not reply. Whoever was directing the build-up on the other side of the creek knew his business. Henry had been surveying the position for over two hours, and nowhere could he see a weak spot, a fault, some uncovered defilade for advancing troops to exploit Across two miles, it was a covered front. Throughout the night they'd most likely extend it farther in both directions. This line was beginning to look just as tough as he thought several days earlier when he had surveyed it from the other side. Except now it was Confederate troops digging in on the good ground, and Union soldiers who would be going down into that wet valley and climbing the hill. Exactly the opposite of what he had envisioned when first he had surveyed this valley for Meade. "How many guns you bringing up?" Hancock asked.

"Every one. I plan to have two hundred and fifty pieces in place by tomorrow morning. A massed battery here with a hundred and twenty rifled pieces, the Napoleons farther down the slope, and to the right a quarter mile for close-in support Meade's authorized me to have control of corps artillery as well in terms of initial placement."

Hancock shook his head.

"Sickles for certain won't like that"

Henry wanted to say the hell with him, but knew better.

"Once it gets dark I'll start moving my pieces into place. Some of them are still halfway back to Gettysburg though and might not be up here till dawn."

Hancock nodded wearily, gaze still locked on the opposite slope. "Goddamn, they're digging in hard," he whispered.

Henry left him to his thoughts, mounting up to ride on, carefully picking the spot for tomorrow's fight

'Sir? General, sir, we're here."

Startled by the gentle touch on his shoulder, General Lee sat up, momentarily confused. He saw Walter Taylor, silhouetted by the twilight to the west, leaning over him. "Where?"

"I think it's called Frizzelburg, sir," and Walter chuckled softly. "If someone tries to pin that name on this battle, sir… well, I hope you call it something else."

Lee smiled and stifled a yawn. The canvas sides of the ambulance had been pulled down in order to give him some privacy on the ride down from Taneytown. He barely remembered leaving the burning town after sending a swift courier ahead to arrange a meeting with Longstreet.

"Are you feeling all right sir?" Walter asked.

'Tine, Walter, just fine."

It was a lie of course. What happened after the Texans had rallied and then, moments later, Pickett had come crashing in on the flank was a blur. He remembered Walter riding up, triumphal, exclaiming that hundreds of prisoners had been taken and the Union troops were falling back in disorder.

Shortly after that he passed out He remembered awaking on the broad veranda of the Antrim, anxious staff gathered round, a doctor leaning over him, listening to his heart through a hollow wooden tube. For a moment there had been a sense of panic, that the attack he had suffered during the winter had come back.

"Heat and exhaustion," was the doctor's prognosis, along with an order for a day of bed rest in a cool room.

Absurd.

He agreed to two hours of rest, a sofa being dragged out of the Antrim and set up on the porch so that he might have a cooling breeze. A drink of cool lemonade made him nauseous, but he managed to keep it down, and then reluctantly took a glass of Madeira on the doctor's orders to settle his nerves.

The battle was turned over to Ewell, who pressed the enemy back onto the road to Littlestown before the fight simply gave out, both sides equally exhausted after a six-hour struggle in the boiling heat

Yet another half victory, he thought. We should have completely enveloped the Fifth; now they will have the night to dig in, perhaps be reinforced. Yet again he sensed that Ewell had not pushed when he should have.

The doctor and Walter had strongly objected to his desire to come down to Westminster-to meet with Longstreet, but it had to be done, though he was glad for the compromise of riding in an ambulance and the suggestion that Longstreet come part of the way to meet him here.

Walter unlatched the back gate of the ambulance and offered a helping hand, which Lee refused. He must not let the men think he was weak. Before sliding out, he buttoned his uniform, wiped the sweat from his brow, and put on his hat, a straw flattop with a broad brim, the one concession he had publicly made to the heat

As he stood up, the vertigo returned and he swayed for a few seconds, reaching out to rest a hand on the wheel of the ambulance and then withdrawing it Too many were watching. The men must not have the slightest doubt the slightest fear as to his well-being. Too many men had died back at Taneytown to protect him, and too much now depended on the men believing in him. They drew their strength from his strength, and there could be no doubts in a battle like this.

Staff and some cavalry were setting up a large wall tent on the front lawn of a small church. Several pews had been brought out and set in a horseshoe around the front of the tent. Smoke was curling up from a blacksmith shop alongside the church, a team of artillerymen working to reset the rim on a wheel. At the sight of Lee, they stopped their work and stood in respectful silence.

Lee recognized Porter Alexander, Longstreet's chief of artillery, and Porter saluted.

"I came on ahead, sir," Porter said. "General Longstreet is coming here as fast as he can."