"Any trains come through here since yesterday?" "How the hell would I know. We just got here ahead of you Yankees."

George rode up to the depot, looking around. If the rebs had moved trains up here, there would have been more men defending this place than an outpost patrol he'd been dogging since yesterday. By damn, we got here ahead of 'em.

The depot itself was pockmarked with bullet holes. He studied the bridge that Phil had just ridden across, the far end obscured by smoke and fog. The bridge, a rough affair, looked like something military railroad crews would have thrown up after an earlier bridge was destroyed. He drew closer, and saw down in the river twisted lengths of cable, iron girders. Obviously the wreckage of what had been here, most likely before the Antietam campaign.

Already his mind was working. Hold it or destroy it?

His gaze swept back over the depot. Blockhouse, a turntable, the triangle of track. If the rebs get hold of this they can easily turn trains around. With a double-track system, in a matter of hours they can bring up a hundred trains or more out of Baltimore, move an entire army.

He had no idea where Grant was at this moment. Maybe ten miles off, maybe fifty. Destroy the bridge, perhaps it will get Grant's dander up, but then again, we can replace it in a day or two. No, I came here to block the rebs from moving their pontoon bridge and by God that's what I'll do.

"General, sir."

He looked over his shoulder. Lieutenant Schultz was riding up.

"Sir, Colonel Gray's compliments. His boys are deployed, but he is shifting two companies over to the stone bridge, the one for the National Road. Says that reb skirmishers are on the other side. Colonel Mann is in place as reserves."

George nodded, saying nothing.

Skirmishers on the main road heading back to Baltimore. "Infantry or cavalry?" "Sir, he didn't say."

Most likely cavalry, George thought. I've got a thousand men with me. It has to be cavalry coming up. It is surprising they're not already here.

That decided it.

"Lieutenant Schultz, do we have any ammunition reserves, raw powder?"

"Sir?"

"Just that, barrels of powder?"

He already knew the answer, but felt he had to think out loud at this moment.

"Sir, just what our men our carrying with us. We left the supply wagons behind."

"Get back up to Frederick, see if any shops have blasting powder. Check the depot here as well."

"Sir, I doubt that we'll find any. Both armies have been through here twice in the last year."

George nodded in agreement. Four or five barrels under a main trestle would do the trick, but to find that many now might take hours.

"We've got to destroy that bridge, Lieutenant."

Trying to burn it might sound easy but he knew it wouldn't be. He'd have to get at least a couple of cords of kindling wood. There was enough of that in a wood rick next to the depot, but hauling it out there, placing it under a trestle, with Phil's boys popping away from the other side at less than a hundred yards would be damn difficult.

Schultz looked over at the bridge and seemed lost in thought.

The lieutenant suddenly grinned.

"Sir, there are two locomotives in the depot up in Frederick, both with passenger cars and boxcars. Maybe we could use those."

Custer grinned, too.

"I always enjoyed the sight of a good train wreck. Get on it, Lieutenant."

East Bank, Monocacy Creek 7:00 A.M.

Jeb Stuart reined in, an exhausted, begrimed captain coming up to him on foot and saluting. "Capt. Phil Duvall, sir, Third Virginia." "What is going on here?" Stuart asked. "Sir, didn't you get the telegraph message we sent out an hour ago?"

"I've been riding up here, Captain," Jeb said, exasperated. "No, I did not get the telegraph message."

"Sir, we've been withdrawing in front of Custer's Brigade since yesterday, from Hanover down to here. We tried to hold the depot on the other side of the river, but he pushed us back about twenty minutes ago. He has at least three regiments over there."

Jeb looked toward the bridge, the far side obscured by fog.

"How many men over there?"

"Like I said, sir, a brigade. I'd guess at a thousand or so." "You couldn't hold?"

Phil pointed to the exhausted men, still mounted, who were gathered behind him.

"Sir, we put up a fight, kept them back for a half hour or so, but if we'd stayed five minutes longer, sir," he sighed, "well, we'd either be dead or prisoners now."

Jeb contained his exasperation. It was obvious that Du-vall's men had put up a fight: At least a quarter of them were nursing wounds, while a score of horses without riders was testimony to those left behind.

"Where can I maneuver here?" Jeb asked.

"Sir, down there to the south, about two hundred yards downstream you got a covered bridge, double wide. To the north about two miles or so, I'm told there's a stone bridge. I suspect there's a number of fords here as well." Stuart nodded.

"Jenkins will be up within the half hour. Jones is right behind him. Duvall, you keep your men posted here." Phil wearily nodded and saluted. "Yes, sir."

Stuart, realizing this man had done all that was possible, drew a deep breath then leaned over, offering his hand.

"You did good, Captain, real good. You did all you could. Now it's our turn. Give me an hour and we'll have that bridge back!"

CHAPTER NINE

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna Near Greencastle, Pennsylvania August 25 7:10 A.M.

"Excuse me, sir, I thought you should know. It's started."

Grant looked up at an excited Phil Sheridan standing at the entryway of his tent.

"Frederick?"

"Yes, sir. It was actually a reb dispatch, sent to Baltimore, but the line was open, and it was also transmitted up the B and O telegraph line to Harpers Ferry and also to Hager-stown. We had a Union man at the station there. He just dispatched it up to us here."

"What did it say?"

"It was a rebel outpost reporting from Frederick. Said they were abandoning their post and would attempt to hold the railroad bridge at Monocacy. Brigade-strength Union cavalry, believed to be Custer, in pursuit."

Grant sat back in his chair, rubbing his brow. The beginnings of a migraine were upon him, the tingling in the fingertips, a slight ringing in his ears. Why now?

He looked down at the map spread upon his desk.

"McPherson?"

"This morning's report, he's into Hagerstown, head of his column about five miles beyond." "Burnside?"

"Lagging a bit. McPherson pushed his men until midnight, Burnside had them fall out after dark. He's between here and Greencastle."

"I'm going up."

"Sir?"

"You have a problem with that, Sheridan?" "Well, sir. I'm sort of a fifth wheel here. I could go forward for you."

Grant studied him and yet again was glad of the decision to bring this man east. Sheridan wanted to go forward because he smelled a fight coming and wanted to be in the thick of it.

"No, Phil, you stay here for now. Dispatches and such are being routed to this position. Send a message back up the line for Ord and Banks and Hunt with the artillery to pick up the pace. I'm going forward. By the end of the day I should be into Frederick. I'm taking Ely Parker and my staff with me."

He sat back for a moment, studying the map. It was beginning to look like a meeting engagement. He had hoped to be able to secure the Catoctin Pass, perhaps even move all four of his corps down into the plains in front of Frederick, before Lee caught wind of his maneuver. If now, after the triggering of this fight by Custer, Lee came up quickly, he could block the pass and in so doing secure a defensive barrier that would allow him to maneuver as he pleased, either to retreat across the Potomac or shift the bulk of his force back on Washington. That thought was chilling, especially given the agreement he and Lincoln had arrived at only yesterday.