George Custer sat behind the blockhouse just west of the depot, feeling light-headed, his anxious staff gathered round.

Mann was still holding the National Road bridge but had just reported that a second rebel battery was deploying on the far side, and could expect to engage at any moment. Also, it appeared that more rebs were coming up and already across the ford between him and the railroad bridge. Word had just come back from Town that several companies of rebs were across the river to the south as well, at a place called McCausland's Ford. Town already had a picket line out and, for the moment, was holding them, but more troopers, a regiment or more, could be seen on the opposite bank, heading in that direction.

"Gray, you detach half your men, send them to back up to Town," George said.

Gray nodded to one of his staff, who galloped off. Seconds later a shell nicked the side of the blockhouse, bounded off, then exploded on the far side of the track, the group hunkering down.

"Sir, maybe it's time we get out of here," Gray offered. "We're being flanked on both sides. They got two batteries. I just had a rider come down from Frederick. He was up in a church steeple and said he saw plumes of smoke, from trains approaching. My God, if they have infantry on those trains, they'll force the bridge regardless of loss. By then we'll be cut off from retreat as well."

"We hold," Custer said coolly.

"Sir, we did our best," Gray countered. We can still get out, pull back to the top of the Catoctins behind us."

He pointed to the mountain range now standing out boldly under a late morning sun. "There's only one road. We can block it all day. We get cut off and wiped out here, the rebs will have the bridge and the pass, too."

"What good is holding the pass if Lee keeps this bridge, gets his pontoons across, and then escapes?"

"Escape, sir? It's time we thought about escaping. Besides, the men are damn near out of ammunition. If infantry are coming up, what are we supposed to do, throw rocks at them?"

Custer shook his head, feeling so weak he couldn't respond. He looked up at Gray.

"May I suggest, sir, you're seriously injured, perhaps you should get back to the surgeon."

"And have you take command and order a withdrawal?" Custer snapped angrily.

Another shell slammed into the blockhouse, the building shaking from the impact, the men still inside cursing.

Their argument was cut short by the distant cry of a steam whistle and Custer looked up expectantly. For a few seconds he wasn't sure of the direction the sound came from. Could the rebel reinforcements already be coming up? A second whistle sounded and he struggled to his feet.

"We are going to blow this bridge, then we'll get out," Custer announced. "Get my horse!" ' eb Stuart shifted his field glasses. It was hard to see with the smoke that billowed up in the still summer air, but then he saw it, two trains, coming out of Frederick. What is going on? He watched them intently, and then the realization hit. "Tell Captain Jackson with the battery, I want his guns to hit those trains before they reach the bridge. Order the Fourteenth onto the bridge now."

His staff looked at him, confused by the suicidal order. Only minutes before, Jeb had been exuberant, the river had been forded at two locations, he was funneling men across even now, and in another hour they'd have the depot.

'Those trains!" Jeb shouted. "They'll blow them on the bridge. Move it!"

Every step of his horse was agony to him, but George kept his saddle, galloping up the length of track toward Frederick. There was a sharp curve ahead, a small white clapboard schoolhouse to one side. He saw the smoke of the lead locomotive; it wasn't moving fast but it was coming on, rounding the curve, the locomotive not pulling anything other than its tender.

George slowed. He saw Lieutenant Schultz on the cowcatcher, the excited lieutenant leaping off as the train skidded to a stop.

The smoke of the second locomotive was several hundred yards back.

"We got a plan, sir!" Schultz cried. "Where's the cars loaded with coal oil?" "That's the second train, sir." "Where's Tyler?"

"He's piloting the second train. He sent me ahead, but we got to talk quick, sir." "The third train?"

"Another ten minutes or so before its steam is up." "I don't understand," Custer said, again feeling lightheaded.

Schultz quickly outlined the details, the idea registering with George, who in spite of his pain grinned. "Do it!"

Schultz ran up to the cab of the locomotive waving his arms.

The venting of steam stopped, pressure built up, smoke billowed from the smokestack, and, finally, the engine began to inch forward. As it slipped past Custer the engineer and two firemen on board leapt out.

The locomotive continued, unpiloted, down the track, and for a second George was hit with a deep fear. He had never thought to pass the order to make sure the switches had been set properly. He could only pray that someone down at the burning depot knew what to do.

He turned about and started to ride back down the track. To his left he saw puffs of smoke. Men, his men, on horseback, pulling back along a road, reb skirmishers pressing them.

The next engine came around the bend, pulling a passenger car and boxcar. It was picking up speed as it thundered past him. Sergeant-hopefully soon-to-be lieutenant-Tyler leaned out and waved.

George loosened his reins, spurring his mount. The pain forgotten for the moment, he galloped down the track toward the depot, riding just behind the train.

Phil Duvall looked around anxiously at his men. Over half his command was down after five long hours of fighting. Men were tearing open the cartridge boxes of the dead and wounded, trying to load back up. Wide-eyed, he gazed over at the colonel of the Fourteenth, who was breathing hard, gulping.

The man was scared. Hell, who wouldn't be? "Alright boys," the colonel cried. "Let's go!" The colonel stood up and then stepped out right to the middle of the bridge, standing between the two tracks, saber out, pointing.

There was a hesitation and he looked back. "Come on, you bastards!" he shouted. "Don't let it be said that the Fourteenth is filled with cowards!"

Men stood up and began to run forward, hunched low, hugging the sides of the bridge, dashing from one support beam to the next.

Phil looked around at his own small command that the colonel of the Fourteenth had "volunteered" into this mad charge. He caught Sergeant Lucas's eyes, the man looking at him as if to say, "Do we really have to do this?"

"Come on, boys," Phil said, swallowing hard. "Let's go."

He stood up and ran forward. There was no rebel yell this time. The situation was too grim for that. It would be a mad dash into a blaze of fire erupting from the other side.

They reached the middle of the bridge, several men already down, one tumbling off the side of the bridge into the stream. Others were dropping, crumpling; some were slowing, returning fire.

There was the discordant hum of an artillery shell, followed by three more soaring overhead, but he could not see where they landed.

And then he heard it coming. Looking up, he saw a locomotive, near to derailing it seemed, coming through the switch from the spur line to Frederick and on to the main track. It was thundering straight toward him on the east-bound side.

He jumped back, flattening himself against a trestle beam, the engine roaring by. He caught a quick glimpse of the cab. No one was on board.

What the hell is going on?

The engine raced across the bridge, the temporary structure shaking and rattling with its passage. All the men in the charge stopped for a second, looking back as the train cleared the bridge and then disappeared around the bend.

"Here comes another!" someone shouted.