Unless Bragg could somehow turn the tables on Sherman, Atlanta might be threatened in another month.

But if Lee could indeed destroy Grant, then take Washington as ordered, what Sherman did in the West would be moot. Lincoln's coalition would fall apart, and whether it was Lincoln or there was a coup and a new president was in place, the North would agree to peace terms. Word had yet to come back from France as well, but after the recent great victories in Maryland, he fully expected the French now to be in the fight within a month, putting yet more pressure on Lincoln.

The problem still remained, though: There were no more reserves. Governor Vance of North Carolina was supposedly holding back ten thousand militia, claiming they were state-controlled and needed for coastal defense. Other governors were doing the same. There were simply no more reinforcements to send to Lee.

He sat back down, picked up the copy of the Examiner, and again read the supposed details of the victory at Gunpowder River. For the moment, that was all that he could do.

The White House Noon

General Hancock, sir."

Lincoln stood up from behind his desk and came to the door to greet the general, who leaned shakily on a cane while trying to offer a salute.

Lincoln reached out, took him by the arm, and led him over to the sofa in his office. Hancock smiled, moving slowly, and sat down.

His features were pale. He was obviously in pain and had lost weight, a bit of a grayish hue to his complexion. At first look, Lincoln regretted the decision to order him down here. It was clearly evident the man had come straight from his bed in Philadelphia to be here.

"Your wound, sir?" Lincoln asked. "How is it?"

"Mr. President, if you are asking if it prevents me from doing my duty, then the answer is, I am doing fine."

Lincoln smiled at that reply, his first doubt receding a bit.

"Personally though, sir, and forgive the language, it hurts like hell."

"I can imagine," the president responded sympathetically. Curiosity got the better of him. "Is it true they pulled a ten-penny nail out of you?"

Winfield smiled weakly.

"Have it as a keepsake back home. That and a few other things pulled out of me, but the wound is healing, sir."

Lincoln looked down at the man's lap and noticed a bulge where a pad and bandage were wrapped around Hancock's upper thigh underneath his trousers. The wound was most likely still open and not yet properly healed.

"Either the rebs are getting short of standard canister ammunition or the nail came from the saddle," Hancock said.

"General, forgive me, but I must be blunt with you, sir," Lincoln replied, leaning over and gently patting Hancock on the knee. "Do you feel fit to take field command?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Lincoln looked straight into his eyes.

"How will you ride a horse, sir?"

Hancock hesitated.

"Well, sir, old Dick Ewell used a carriage. Both Grant and Lee did, too, after taking bad spills from their mounts. If that is the only constraint regarding your concerns, please dismiss them, sir. I want a command, and if given it, I will command." Hancock's voice deepened as he said "will."

He paused for a few seconds, looking off, past Lincoln.

"Especially after what they did to my boys of the Second Corps. I owe it to them to do everything possible to make sure our cause succeeds."

There was a cold edge to his voice. This man carried an anger, a bitterness, for what had happened to a command that all knew he loved.

Hancock looked back at Lincoln.

"Sir, at Union Mills, my corps was destroyed in a futile charge. I could have accepted that, even those who died, God rest them"-his voice came near to breaking-"could have accepted that if we had won. Sir, we could have won. I could see it just before I got hit. If all of Sixth Corps and Third Corps had gone in after my boys, we'd have taken that ridge and shattered Lee."

Hancock lowered his head, saying no more, as if lost in a nightmare.

Lincoln still wasn't sure, though, as he watched Hancock. The man could barely walk, even though he sensed his soul was afire to get back.

"Sir, it's been nearly eight weeks since I was wounded,"

Hancock whispered. "I survived it, I'm healing. I have to get back into this fight."

"The pain, though?"

"Yes, sir, there's some."

"Are you taking anything for that?" Lincoln asked, again being blunt.

"I did, sir. Morphine. I remember hearing how Jackson once said he didn't drink because he found he liked it too much."

Hancock chuckled softly.

"Well, sir, it was the same for me. I stopped it a month ago, right after the doctor finally probed and found the nail, draining the wound. No, sir, no concern there. My mind is clear, and I want back into this fight."

There was a knock at the door and Lincoln turned, a bit surprised. He had just come back to the White House, arriving in a shuttered carriage from the Naval Yard. The carriage had to force its way through a huge crowd gathered at the gate, and when he got out, the reaction was mixed: some cheered, others openly booed.

When he heard that Hancock was already at the White House, waiting to see him, he had left word they were not to be interrupted. After spending a few brief minutes with Mary and Tad, he had come to his office and asked for Hancock to be escorted in.

The door opened, it was Elihu Washburne, and Lincoln relaxed.

"Mr. President, thank God you are back."

"Just returned an hour ago," Lincoln said, standing up. "I was going to come over to your office immediately, but our good General Hancock was waiting to see me."

Hancock, as if to show his strength, stood up smoothly, a slight grimace wrinkling his face as he came to attention and saluted Elihu, who came over and shook the general's hand.

"You are well, sir?" Elihu asked.

Hancock chuckled softly. "The president and I were just discussing that, sir. Well enough to command is the right answer, I think."

"How were things with Grant?" Elihu asked, looking over at Lincoln.

– "Splendid," and he briefly described his journey there, what he had observed, and his return.

"Not so good here," Elihu said after listening patiently.

"How so?"

"Stanton for one. It will come out in the papers this evening that he is calling for Congress to reconvene and begin impeachment proceedings. Says that his removal was illegal. He's already filed charges about my orders not to let him into his old office, claims we've illegally seized personal property of his."

Elihu shook his head.

"I fired Halleck from his staff position, a couple of dozen others. All of them are howling for blood, and the papers are picking it up. They're arguing I have no authority to do so since I've yet to be officially confirmed by Congress as secretary of war."

"To be expected," Lincoln said. "I can stand the heat if you can, Elihu. You did what I hoped you would do."

"There's worse, sir."

"Go on."

"There are rumors floating that one or two others in the cabinet might side with Stanton, saying that you have lost the war and repeatedly exceeded your constitutional authority. Your authorizing me to act with the authority of the secretary of war without proper confirmation by Congress being an example."

"Who?"

Elihu looked over at Hancock.

"Gentlemen, if you wish me to withdraw." Hancock said. Lincoln shook his head.

"What Secretary Washburne is now talking about, General, will take weeks before anything happens," Lincoln said coldly. "Long before the Congress can do anything, the war will have been decided. That is why your being here is so important. We need your help to ensure the war is decided in our favor."

He walked away from the two for a moment, then turned back.