They most likely would have given the same cheer for us, Pete thought

Drums rolled, calling the men to the ranks, forming up along the length of the trench. From out in the field, the men of Wofford's command who had feigned retreat now came about, running at the double, piling back into their trench, while from a mile back ten batteries, the replacements for Cabell and Poague, came forward at the gallop.

The trap had been sprung. Now, now it was simply a question of holding on against what he knew would be the most vicious assault of the war. Meade might have gotten it all wrong these last four days, but at least in this he was getting it right No hesitation. If it was necessary to go in frontally, throw every man in at the same time and come on relentlessly, regardless of loss.

"It's General Lee, sir."

Longstreet saw Lee coming up, several staff following, one bearing the guidon of the headquarters of the Army of Northern Virginia.

Longstreet saluted as Lee reined in. He could see that his general was awed as well. Lee was silent for a moment eyes bright as he scanned the distant lines now sweeping down the slope.

" 'As terrible as an army with banners,'" Lee whispered.

The first shots came from the skirmishers who had watched the barrage in relative safety, crouched down in the marsh grass lining the banks of Pipe Creek. They had gone out shortly after midnight, sent to act as an alarm if the Union should attempt a night assault or come in through the fog at first light

More than one man, once the barrage started, had laid back, watching the shells arc overhead. An informal truce was declared between them and the Union skirmishers deployed in the pastures on the north side of the creek, men on both sides standing up, leaning on muskets, watching the grand fireworks show.

Now that the infantry battle was on again, the logic that had stilled the slaughter down along the banks of Pipe Creek was null and void. Some of the men, unable to resist the sheer size of the target coming toward them, raised their rear sights to four hundred yards, aimed even higher, and lobbed a scattering of rifle balls into the lines. This triggered a quick response from the Union skirmishers, who were far closer, and men began to fall on both sides. The Confederate skirmish line retreated, men running low through the high grass, stumbling, ducking down for a moment coming back up again, zigzagging across die field and then clambering over the sides of the earthen embankment that was dug in just above the flood plain.

The forward line of the advance-the brigades of Kelly, Cross, Zook, and Brooke on the left; men of the old solid Second Corps, including McDougall; and Ruger of the Twelfth Corps on the right-were halfway down the slope. A hundred yards behind them came the Third Division of the Second Corps on the left and the Second Division of the Twelfth Corps on the right, with Lockwood's brigade as the third wave. The Second Division of the Second Corps, which had borne the brunt of the previous day's fighting, was the third wave coming in on the left as well.

Porter's Confederate reserve guns were still bouncing across the fields, moving to replace Cabell and Poague, so the first artillery to fire was the next battalion down, Posey's battalion, dug in behind Anderson's division.

The guns were well placed to drive their shot in enfilade across the front of Second Corps, and the gunners opened with a will, cutting their fuses to five seconds, and then to four seconds, and then down to three seconds. In a sense they were getting even for the battering they had taken from the Union artillery three days earlier at Gettysburg. Farther on the line to the left the battalions supporting Pender and Pettigrew were joining in as well, though the range was long, at nearly a mile, for batteries positioned with Pettigrew's to reach, and most of them turned their weapons onto the batteries deployed along the front of Third Corps, which was not yet committed to the fight. Joining them were the gunners covering the front of Early's division, which was on the far left of the Confederate line.

Onward the battle lines came, the men moving fast on the steep, downward slope, jumping over torn-down walls of split-rail fencing, which had been knocked apart in the previous day's assault. The far left of the column swept through the edge of the town, the ground to their left opening out, leading toward the still-smoldering mill and miller's house. Alignment was kept, a grim professional pride taking hold in these, the elite troops of an elite army that had only known disappointment and defeat

If there was a hope, and nearly every officer had spoken of this, the hope was that they, the veterans of the Army of the Potomac, would sweep onward, regardless of loss.

Keep closing on the flags, men. Let that be your guide this day, your flag. Don't stop, don't slow down for anything, keep pushing forward. Forty thousand of us will be in this together; never has a charge been done like this by our army. Meade is sending us in together; Hunt and his boys will pound a way clear. Just go for the heights, and we will win.

These were not green recruits so innocent that they would believe anything said, as they themselves had once believed in a long-ago time. Many had attempted to cross this same field in the boiling heat only yesterday; they knew its slope; they knew what would happen; and yet they were going forward now without hesitation.

Those who would hesitate were gone from the ranks; they had run away or found a way to skulk off. Those going knew what was at stake and what would happen to many of them in the minutes ahead.

Just stay with the colors. Keep an eye on that flag and, by God, if it goes forward, you go forward. If it falls, every man of you should move to pick it up and keep it going. Do not let the flag touch the ground.

They were stripped down. Blanket rolls were stacked to the rear, the cowards, or those truly too sick to advance, staying as a guard. Canteens at least were full; that had been an order passed straight down from the top. Drink your fill and runners to refill all canteens two hours before the assault goes in. Haversacks were mostly empty of rations; they had been consumed on the march south from Gettysburg; now an extra forty rounds were in most of them.

Enduring the morning showers, most of the men were wet, but it was at least comfortable for the moment, cooling after the heat of the previous three days. The shoes and wool socks, however, were heavy with moisture, walking made more difficult by the wet, tangled grass on the downslope.

By order of the commanding general, brigade and division commanders were not to advance ahead of the line, but several ignored it; Kelly, of course, for what self-respecting

Irishman would not be in the lead at a moment like this; Gibbon, a professional who should have known better, was out front as well, sword held high.

As they marched down the slope, the great amphitheater of this drama was spread out before them, the open valley ahead, the meandering stream, millpond to the left, the raw slash of earth across the base of the opposite slope, the second line of tom-up earth along the crest above. Their professional eyes judged it and they knew with a terrible certainty what would come down upon them in just a few more minutes.

And yet, for a brief moment, they saw beyond it, the awe-inspiring sight of the long battle lines rolling down out of the hills, flags of over thirty regiments held high, the dark waves of blue moving on like a relentless tide.

Maybe, just maybe, we'll do it this time.