Lying back, he stared at the ceiling of the tent On the outside of the canvas several fireflies had alighted, their soft golden green glow winking on and off. Katydids and crickets chirped outside, mingling with the sound of whispered talking, a horse snickering, a banjo in the distance, and surprisingly, some laughter.

Tomorrow, tomorrow is the Fourth of July, he thought. I hope that is not a bad omen. We break the Union on the birthday of its founding. God grant us strength.

A moment later there was a gentle knock on the tent pole.

"Sir. General, sir?" It was the black cook, bearing a plate with dinner.

Lee was asleep, and the old man quietly withdrew.

It had been a very long day. Henry slowly dismounted, letting me reins of his horse drop, one of the staff taking the horse and leading it away. Headquarters had been pitched off the pike a mile or so north of Union Mills, half a dozen tents with sides rolled up, coal-oil lamps gleaming. The scent of rain was in the air, a brief shower having dampened the field minutes before.

They were gathered here, Meade, Hancock, Sickles, Slocum, Sedgwick, along with dozens of staff, orderlies, cooks, cavalry guards, provost guards, reporters, even Sullivan the photographer.

Henry was barely noticed as he stepped into the largest tent where the generals were gathered around a table, maps spread out, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey, sweat, and unwashed bodies.

Meade looked up and nodded a recognition. His eyes were deep set, hollow, obviously half-closed with exhaustion.

"Your report, Hunt," Meade snapped.

"Sir, nearly all the guns will be in place by six A.M. Four batteries, however, will definitely not arrive from Gettysburg until later in the morning. The road is a shambles, and it looks like rain, which will make it worse getting them through."

"What can we count on?"

"I'll have nearly forty batteries in place, including those batteries nominally under corps command. A grand battery of a hundred and twenty guns on the heights just above Union Mills, a secondary battery of sixty Napoleons downslope a third of a mile to the right, and then other batteries positioned farther down the line.

"We have an average of two hundred rounds per gun; that's everything, solid shot, case and shrapnel, canister. We have no real reserve anymore."

"I know that," Meade snapped.

"Sir, it means I can offer, at best, two hours of sustained fire, at which point we will be getting dangerously close to depletion, except for canister."

"Can you put enough fire into the point of attack to support a breakthrough?*'

Henry did not reply for a moment.

"Can you?"

"Sir, I can't promise."

"Damn it, Hunt, just give me a straight answer."

"Sir, there are too many variables. I plan to put upward of twenty thousand rounds of fire into a front less than a mile wide. I think that will have a serious impact That's all I can promise, sir."

Meade grunted. He sat back, striking a match on the table leg, and puffing a half-smoked cigar back to life. "Then that's it" Meade said. "Any questions?'

Henry looked around at the four corps commanders standing about the table. Hancock seemed to have recovered from his shock of earlier and was sitting quietly, eyes intent on the map, sipping whiskey from a tin cup. Slocum and Sedgwick were whispering softly to each other to one side, while Sickles stood alone.

Henry could sense the disquiet, a terrible sense that this was not what any of them had dreamed possible only four days ago.

"Hunt, is it possible to get more guns on my flank?" Sickles asked.

"I want everything massed," Meade said, before Henry could reply.

Sickles was uncharacteristically quiet and simply nodded.

The gathering was silent, and Henry looked back at Meade. "Sir, if there is nothing else, to be honest I'd like to get a little sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"Yes, Hunt, a very long day. You're dismissed."

Henry stepped out of the tent, glad to be back in the open. He looked around, trying to spot where his own staff had gathered, and then saw them alongside a house adjoining the field where headquarters was pitched. He started toward them.

"Hunt"

He almost wanted to ignore the summons. It was Sickles.

"Hunt, a moment of your time."

Henry turned slowly, offering a salute as Dan approached out of the shadow, tip of his cigar glowing.

"What do you think of this?" Sickles asked.

"Sir, my job is to follow orders. I was to position my guns to support a grand assault come dawn, and that is what I've done."

Sickles, hands in his pockets, looked down. "Hancock's badly shaken. It will be his corps that starts the assault. Meade has already given him a direct order that he can't go forward with them. The man is heartsick."

Henry was surprised by the note of sympathy in Sickles's voice.

"Hunt, it's going to be bloody, very bloody. Second and Twelfth Corps advancing side by side, then Sixth Corps coining in behind as the breakthrough force, with First Corps arriving before dawn as additional support We both know that the old Second and the Twelfth are decimated."

Henry said nothing. He had heard the plan earlier, the argument by Sickles to strike to the right if need be to slice down toward Frederick, Maryland, the suggestion sent down by Howard to retreat back to Harrisburg. He had heard all the arguments, the endless damn arguments. And now they had settled on this, a full-out frontal assault come dawn.

If there was a hope, any hope, it was that Lee's men were just as exhausted from their grueling march, the two days of running battles, and the casualties inflicted on them. Combine that with a massive bombardment at dawn, the greatest of the war from the way things were developing, and maybe, just maybe they would break through.

"Hunt it will be a frontal assault across twelve hundred yards of open ground. As bad as Fredericksburg."

"Burnside fed it in piecemeal there. Meade at least knows to do it all at once," Henry replied.

Sickles shook his head. "Goddamn. I looked at the land around Gettysburg. Maybe this is it I thought Maybe just for once it is us on the high ground and them coming at us. I could see it from atop Rocky Hill, imagine them coming across those open fields with our guns bellowing in their faces. Now, yet again, it's us."

Henry nodded.

"Meade can't do anything else," Henry finally offered.

"I know! There's been no word yet from Washington, but we both know what those damn politicians will scream for."

Henry couldn't help but smile. Sickles, a politician, denouncing his own.

"But it doesn't have to be tomorrow," Sickles said softly.

"That will give them another day to dig in."

"And maybe another day for us to think, to think and then try and maneuver."

"What about Washington?" Henry asked.

"As I said before, the hell with Washington. Lee can't take it; anyone with a brain knows that We slide to the west and break off the action. Lee can't get across the Susquehanna; all the bridges are down, and Couch has twenty thousand men up in Harrisburg."

"They're militia, not worth a damn in a real fight" Henry said.

"Enough, though, to keep Lee from trying to force a crossing. Let him take Baltimore, if he wants the damn place. We slide around to the west cross the Potomac, and start marching on Richmond if need be. Do that and in the end Lee will have to bow to the same pressures that are on Meade right now. He'll have to break off and come after us."