"Yes, I know, but success we did have."

"We've paid that price twice more over these last two months. Sir, we are running dry. Defeat Grant at a cost of twenty thousand and this army will be a burned-out shell of its former self."

"I see no reason to anticipate that price," Lee said sharply. He leaned over the table and swept his hand across the map. "Grant will come at us from one of two directions and we will know what it will be within forty-eight hours.

"If he advances en masse, along the railroad, we either go for maneuver to flank or we dig in, perhaps near Relay Station, just west of here, and let him try us in the type of battle you always seek, good defensive ground for them to bleed out on."

"His other choice?" Longstreet asked softly.

"He takes the broader strategic move. Goes down the Cumberland Valley, takes Hagerstown and Harpers Ferry, then threatens to advance into Virginia or draw us westward into a fight along the South Mountain range."

"And your thoughts, sir?"

Lee sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Too early to tell. This is, after all, only the second day of maneuver for both of us. The path down the Cumberland, to gain proper position, will take him a week or more, and he knows it will give us the time that we need. The direct advance would mean a crisis in three to five days.

"I suspect that even if Grant is operating on his own initiative, Lincoln will still put his finger into his plans. After the humiliation with the Army of the Potomac, I believe Lincoln desperately needs some kind of victory as quickly as possible. He'll push for the direct assault."

"But will Grant agree to that, sir?"

"If Lincoln orders it, he has to, the same as I would have to if directly ordered by the president," Lee replied.

"One more sharp battle, another day like Union Mills, where we lured him into a fight on our ground, and we have him, and this nightmare is finished."

"One more day, sir?"

"Yes, that should do it."

Longstreet nodded.

'Then you agree with my position, Pete?" Lee asked. Longstreet forced a smile. "Sir, you command this army, and I follow orders." "But do you agree?"

"Sir, I've voiced my opinion," Longstreet replied. "But if you are confident of victory, then it is my job to help you in any way possible to achieve that."

"I will continue to weigh your suggestions, Pete," Lee replied, again using the more familiar first name. "Thank you. As I have said publicly many times these last seven weeks, your suggestion at Gettysburg that we abandon that field and go for a flanking march was the crucial element in. creating our victory at Union Mills."

"Thank you, sir. May I offer one further suggestion?"

"Certainly."

"Either way, the B and O line will be important to us. May I suggest we contract with them now to get it fully operational as far as Frederick and position some supplies, perhaps some troops and artillery there."

"It will be the first time this army has relied upon such means for direct movement on a tactical level."

"Actually, sir, it was crucial at First Manassas, and Beauregard is familiar with its uses at Corinth and also the transfer of his troops up here. It is something I believe we should have paid attention to earlier."

Lee nodded in agreement.

"You're right. We should have looked into the use of the B and O earlier. I'll ask Secretary Benjamin if he would be willing to go over to their offices."

"And one other thing, sir."

"Go on."

"Get the pontoon bridges ready. We have enough captured bridging to run a span across the Potomac. I think they should be loaded on to flatcars and perhaps moved, prepositioned, over toward Frederick."

"Now? Move them now?"

"Yes, sir."

"General Longstreet, there is a chance that a sound-enough defeat of General Grant might afford us the opportunity to think aggressively, very aggressively, indeed. Perhaps even to span the Susquehanna in pursuit. We would need that bridging material shifted north instead of west."

"Sir, if we move the bridging material west to Frederick by rail, and Grant is indeed smashed, it will take but hours for us to return it to Baltimore."

"Why this insistence, General Longstreet?"

"Call it an ace up the sleeve, sir. If things should indeed go wrong, right now we are reliant on but several fords to disengage our army and pull back into Virginia. The pontoon bridges give us greater flexibility, and frankly, sir, I'd like us to have that extra ace."

Lee was silent for a moment.

"Sending them west, might that not give the wrong message to some, that we are preparing to evacuate?"

"If it does, so what, sir? Perhaps it might embolden Grant to move rashly and make a mistake. Either way, those pontoons are a nightmare to move. We all know that. It took Burnside weeks just to bring them up fifty miles last November and cost him the opportunity to get across the Rappahannock before we were into position. I urge you, sir, move them now."

Lee finally nodded in agreement.

"Who is in charge of them?"

"A Maj. Zachariah Cruickshank. He use to be in command of First Corps' supply train. After we captured the pontoons from the Yankees at Union Mills I transferred to him the responsibility for their movement." 'Transferred? Why?"

"Well, sir, he has a bit of a problem with the bottle. A profane man as well, but one of the best men for running wagons I ever saw. It's just he got a bit insubordinate with me a few times when drunk, and I felt it was best that we distanced ourselves for his good and mine."

"Insubordinate to you?"

Longstreet smiled.

"I'd rather not repeat what he said, sir. But regardless of that, like I said, he's a man who can be relied on when it comes to moving wagons." 'Tell this profane major to go down to the rail yards, find the right people there, and prepare to load for a move to Frederick."

"Yes, sir."

"But do not misinterpret this caution, General Longstreet. I want all my generals to realize and to know in their hearts that I plan to seek out General Grant, meet him in the field, and in one sharp action defeat him as we have defeated all others who have come against us."

"Of course, sir," Longstreet said quietly.

CHAPTER FIVE

Baltimore and Ohio Rail Yard Baltimore

August 23 1:00 P.M.

You mick son of a bitch, come back here!" The yard boss turned, glaring at Maj. Zachariah Cruickshank, commander of the pontoon bridge train, Army of Northern Virginia, with a dark eye. Several of his fellow workers gathered around behind their boss, one of them hoisting a sledgehammer and swinging it one-handed. Cruickshank's men, a hard-bitten lot themselves, stepped closer to their major, one of them unclipping the flap on his revolver, another beginning to uncoil a bullwhip.

"Go ahead and shoot me," the yard boss snarled, "but I'll be damned if I'll take your ordering me around like some damn slave. This is my rail yard, not yours."

Cruickshank was tempted to do just that, shoot the son of a bitch. Not kill him, just blow a hole in his foot or arm to make the point. General Longstreet had ordered him to get the pontoon train loaded up, and by damn he had to do it. Now this dumb Irish Yankee was giving him back talk.

He looked around as more of the yard crew came over. Tough-looking men every one of them. Some were grinning, expecting the start of a donnybrook, and were picking up sledges, pickaxes, pieces of ballast.

"Most of 'em are goddamn Yankees," a sergeant standing next to Cruickshank whispered. "Let's go at 'em and take this damn place. I can get your trains for you, sir."

The men around Cruickshank muttered agreement.

Kill some of those sons of bitches, Cruickshank thought, and it will be my ass hauled before Old Pete again, the threat of court-martial real this time.