"Damn all," Jeb hissed, turned away, slapping his thigh angrily.

Looking down the track he saw the headlight of the following train, hauling ten more cars loaded with the pontoon bridging. One of the brakemen was already running down the track, waving a lantern.

"How long?"

"In the dark like this?" the engineer said. "An hour or two to check all the boxes. Better check the ones on the following trains as well. Sorry, sir, but we're stopped for now."

Exasperated, Stuart looked around at his staff, who had climbed off the cattle car to witness the show.

"Mount our horses up. How far to Frederick?" he asked.

"Follow the track, another twenty miles or so to Frederick, sir."

"You wait to dawn, sir, we'll have things ready." "I have no time, Custer isn't waiting for some train to get fixed," Stuart snapped. "Mount up. We ride to Frederick."

Two Miles North of Frederick, Maryland

August 25

5.30am

Morning mist clung to the fields flanking the road. To his right George Armstrong Custer could catch occasional glimpses of the Catoctin range, rising up nearly a thousand feet, the ridge-line golden with the glow of dawn.

It was a beautiful morning after an exhausting night. Turning in his saddle, he looked back, the column of his troopers, led by the First Michigan, were quiet, many slumped over in their saddles, nodding. Ever since they gained the pike at Emmitsburg the ride had been an easy one, a broad, open, well-paved road, and not a rebel in sight as they swept southward through the night, taking four hours for men and horses to rest before remounting two hours ago.

He could see the church spires of Frederick just ahead, rising up out of the mist, which was starting to burn off the fields, but still clung thick to the winding course of the Monocacy on his left. ^ A scout, a young lieutenant, came out of the mist, riding fast, reining up and grinning.

"Was just in the center of the town, sir. Not a reb in sight. Talked with some civilians. They said a reb patrol rode through about an hour or so ahead of us and turned east to head down to the Monocacy."

"How many, Schultz?"

"About a hundred or so. There was some commotion at the telegraph station there. The rebs had that occupied, and then all of them pulled out heading east."

Most likely Phil, he thought with a grin. The wounded prisoner taken at Carlisle had told him who he was facing: his old roommate from the Point. Usually I could beat Phil in a race and that's what it is now. He had hoped to spring on him during the night but Phil had always stayed a jump ahead.

Well, my friend, now I got you against the river. Will you turn and fight?

And part of him hoped he would not. That he would just get the hell out of the way.

"You know the way to the bridge?" Custer asked Schultz.

"Easy enough, sir. Get to the center of town and turn east. Few blocks, you'll be at the depot for the town. We can follow the track for the spur line that runs up to the center of town. If you just keep heading south through town it turns into a toll road that heads straight down to the river, a covered bridge crossing the Monocacy just south of the railroad bridge. I think that'd be the quicker path. Civilians said that's the route the rebs took."

Custer nodded, trying to picture it. He had come through here the year before with McClellan.

"I'll take the lead with the First. You go back up the line, tell Colonel Alger to take his Fifth. Once he's in the center of town, he's to pick up the tracks and come down that way to the river. Tell Colonel Gray. I remember the National Road crosses the Monocacy via a stone bridge. Have Gray send a company down to take that bridge, rest of his command to stay in reserve. Mann with the Seventh to stay in town as reserve also. I can be found at the railroad bridge."

Lieutenant Schultz set off at a gallop.

"Let's move it!" Custer shouted.

He set the pace at a quick trot, buglers passing the signal back up the column.

Out front, as always, he thrilled to the thunder behind him as his troopers picked up the pace. Guidons were fluttering as he looked back. Colonel Town, commander of the First, spurred his mount to come up by Custer's side.

"George, bit impetuous just riding straight in like this, ain't it?" Town shouted.

"No time to feel things out, Charles. Schultz is a good scout. His boys have the center of town already. But it's the bridge we want."

Cresting a low rise, they passed the last farm flanking the pike. The town was directly ahead. It was so typical of this region, the houses built close together, facing right onto the street. A scattering of civilians were out, a few were unfurling Union flags from their windows.

He thought of the story of Barbara Frietchie. Most said it was all made up, others said it was the truth, how she had hung a Union flag out the year before, when the rebels marched through on their way to Antietam. Some troops threatened to fire on the old lady and her flag until Stonewall himself came up and supposedly exclaimed, "Who touches a hair of your gray head, dies like a dog, march or…" He'd have to look her up afterward and find out if the old lady really did confront Stonewall.

As they approached the center of town the thunder of their arrival echoed in the canyonlike street, more and more civilians leaning out of windows, some cheering and waving, others staring in silence.

He saw Schultz's boys at the main crossroads, still mounted, carbines drawn. He slowed and shouted for the toll road. The men pointed south.

"The Fifth will follow the railroad track! I'm taking the First in on this road!"

"The rebs are down at the main junction," a sergeant shouted. "Saw them not ten minutes ago."

"Guide the Fifth, Sergeant, and Seventh. Tell them to set up at that columned building that looks like a school and await my orders."

He knew that, according to the book, he should stop here with his reserve and let his lead regiments go forward and, as his professors would say, "develop the situation." Only then should he go forward.

To hell with the book! He was in the lead and would always be in the lead.

The men of the First, coming on fast, were almost up to him. He spurred his mount hard and took off, heading straight through the town. Several blocks farther south and he was again back into open fields, the road just ahead forking, and for a second he slowed.

Schultz hadn't told him about this. Which was the main pike?

The road to the left was broader, partially macadamized, and not waiting, he followed it Less than a minute later he saw the toll station, a small shack, the gate up. The ground ahead started to slope down. It was obviously the way to the river, which was still cloaked with morning mist.

Hills on the far side were clear of fog. They were less than a mile away. Broad open fields greeted him, the usual patchwork of ripening corn, rich green shoots of winter wheat coming up, orchards, pastures, and squared-off woodlots.

No cattle or cows were out grazing. This area had been well picked over last fall and again two months ago as the armies recrossed this ground heading toward Gettysburg. Here and there.fences were missing, passing troops from the previous two campaigns using them as firewood. He reined in, coming to a stop. He turned, pointing toward a farm lane to the west, shouting for the men to form into line. Troopers turned, urging their mounts on, chickens scattering and squawking as the boys galloped to either side of a farmhouse and barn.

The owner of the farm was out on the porch, red-faced and shouting something, but Custer ignored him.

"Colonel Town, you command the right flank. I'll be in the middle. Have four of your companies follow me."