"Sir, if you have come this far to talk, now is the time to talk about it. I did not want to trust the core of my plan to dispatches. That is also the answer to why I did not promptly inform you of my change of plans. I simply could not at that moment. Too many dispatches have been lost in the past, or leaked to the newspapers before the ink on them was barely dry."

"Nor did you want Stanton to interfere," Lincoln said, a cagey smile lighting his features.

Grant said nothing.

"That's over with. You will answer to Elihu Washburne. The two of you know and trust each other. General Grant, you still must answer to the civilian government, but I agree with your keeping your cards close in this opening stage. It was a sound move, and I would have done the same if in your shoes."

"Thank you, sir. I did not want to hold information back from you, but at the moment I felt the risk was too great. It was utter chaos at the Port Deposit transfer, and things could have gone awry there. General Sickles was doing everything possible to intercept any information I would pass along. Also, I cannot trust a civilian telegraph network with such sensitive information. That is why I am glad you are here. In the future, sir, knowing our lines of communication are secured, I will keep you posted on all issues and follow your orders. I have some plans I'd like to share with you to insure a speedy transfer of information in the days to come."

Lincoln nodded, liking what he heard. In contrast, he remembered his visit to McClellan after Antietam. The general was obviously disturbed by his presence, giving him the runaround, in subtle ways actually moving to insult him to the point of giving him a horse far too small for his stature during a review of the troops. In contrast he and Grant were now sitting alone, talking. Grant, though a bit nervous at first, was now obviously relaxing and being open. He was impressed as well by Ely Parker, who had held nothing back during their long journey together.

"General, I do not want you to wait for orders from Washington or worry about any day-to-day interference. Lord knows we had too many generals in the East looking over their shoulder for political manipulation and strict instructions. Stanton is gone, and Washburne will support your every effort. You will issue orders both here and to the armies throughout the country. I want you to keep your eye on Lee, and Sherman to keep his eye on Bragg. I will keep my eye on Washington and the politicians.

"As commander in chief I have to know what you intend to do. That is my duty. However, as long as I give you the command, you must give the orders. All I ask is that you keep me informed so I know what your plans are both here and throughout the country, then I can support them and get reinforcements where needed. That also enables me to answer the newspapers and the politicians." He paused.

"That is why I came here to see you. And, General Grant, I think we see eye to eye on these issues." "Thank you, sir," Grant replied.

"Now, how do you propose we end this terrible conflict?"

Grant stood up, and taking several puffs on his cigar, he began to explain his plan, Lincoln sitting quiet, hands folded in his lap as he leaned back in his camp chair.

"You are asking a lot, sir," Lincoln finally said, when, after fifteen minutes, and a tracing of a map with the toe of his boot on the ground, Grant at last fell silent.

"I know that, sir."

"It means a trust in your decisions, sir, that I've given to no other before. Washington would be stripped bare, something I've never allowed in the past."

"Sir, if I might be so bold. To quote you, you once said, 'The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present.'"

Lincoln could not help but smile.

"Did you ever consider politics, General Grant"

"Heaven spare me that," Grant said with a weary chuckle.

"You are asking for a winner-take-all shake of the dice. You are talking about some very hard fighting within a week, perhaps the hardest of the war. The losses might very well be appalling, and Washington itself could fall if things turn against you."

"Something like that, sir. The loss of Sickles means having to draw on every reserve in this theater of operations. I no longer have a reserve as was originally planned. But I will tell you my greatest fear."

"Go on."

"That General Lee does indeed flee south. That he abandons Maryland, crosses the Potomac, fortifies the river crossings, and then drags this war into another year. Sir, I do not want to imagine another year of this contemptible war. We'll have to fight him to gain that river. From there into northern Virginia, cross the Rappahannock, and most likely into where Hooker fought at Chancellorsville. From there across the North Anna, and then crawling and fighting every inch of the way to Richmond. No, sir, I want him to stay here, in Maryland, or better yet even in Pennsylvania. His victories here, sir, I want them to be a trap that will enable us to destroy him in the end."

"But suppose, General Grant-dare I say it-suppose it is Lee who wishes the same thing, who seeks that same battle with you and in the end we lose both you and Washington."

"Then, sir, we have lost the war," Grant said quietly.

"And do you believe that can happen?"

Grant smiled.

"No, sir, we are going to win this one."

CHAPTER SIX

Near Hanover, Pennsylvania

August 24, 1863 4:00 A.M.

'General, sir, I hate to wake you, but this could be important.'

Gen. George Armstrong Custer groaned and sat up, confused for a second as to where he was. A staffer stood in the doorway holding a lantern.

Custer sat up, holding his head. He realized now he had indeed taken a little too much Madeira with dinner. "What the hell is it?"

"Sir, a civilian just came in. I think you should talk to him."

"Couldn't it bloody well wait? What time is it?"

"Four in the morning, sir, and frankly, no, sir, I think you need to hear this man's story."

"Go on then, bring him in, but it had better be good."

The staff lieutenant disappeared for a moment. There was muffled conversation out in the corridor of the house he had requisitioned as headquarters, and then the lantern reappeared.

A strongly built man, with massive shoulders, stood behind the lieutenant.

"Who the hell are you?" Custer asked.

"James Donlevy, I work in the B and O rail yards down in Baltimore." "So?"Well, if you don't want to hear it, General, the hell with it."

Custer sat back down on the edge of his bed. "Lieutenant, get me some damn coffee. Now, Donlevy, tell me why you're here." "I was sent up by my boss." "Who's that?" "Mr. McDougal." "Never heard of him."

"Frankly, sir, he's most likely never heard of you."

Custer took a deep breath and exhaled. This wasn't getting off to a good start at all. Wasting time being irritated with civilians was not going to get the job done. Patience, George, he told himself.

"All right, James. Just tell me why it was so important this Mr. McDougal thought I should be woken up at four in the morning."

"Well, Genera], he had a little information about the rebs and their movements he thought you should be aware of. Or at least General Grant should be."

"And that is."

"Something about pontoon bridges being moved about on the railroad."

This finally caught Custer's attention, and he looked up. The lieutenant came back in, bearing a cup of coffee. "You want some, Donlevy?"

"Wouldn't mind if I do."

Custer motioned for him to take the cup and sent the lieutenant out for another. "Go on, then."

"Yesterday afternoon a damn surly rebel officer came to the rail yard for the B and O, looking for engines and flatcars to pull what he called pontoon boats to Frederick."