"I know, I just passed my nephew while coming here."

"Sir, we could use infantry and artillery.".

"Scales is bringing his division across the ford just north of here and is halfway up to the town, but it will still take time to deploy and get them into action."

If only we had held this bridge, Lee thought. We could have brought the trains in, run them right up the siding to Frederick, and Scales would already be in action.

"What's up there?"

"What's left of Custer. I'd say two of his regiments got out."

"Surely we can gain the heights from them with what we have?"

"Sir, my boys rode all night." "So did Custer's."

"Sir. That's a steep slope fighting dismounted. It'll take some doing to get up it."

Lee reluctantly found he had to agree. "Any word of their infantry?"

"Nothing, sir. With luck we just might've stolen the march on them. We gain those heights with Scales and my boys, and Grant is bottled up in the next valley over. He'll bang his head against us all day along. That ridge makes our ground at Fredericksburg look like a billiard table in comparison."

Lee looked about at the ground, hay and winter wheat trampled down by the passing of both armies, smoke cloaking the river valley. Even as he watched, a thirty-foot section of the bridge gave way with a creaking groan and dropped into the river.

His engineering training allowed him to work a quick calculation. He'd have to find good timber, shore up at least one side of the bridge for a single track, get men to find rail, best bet being to tear some up from the spur line. It'd take a day, at least, maybe two. Bottle Grant up at the same time and force him to attack, filling him with the anxiety that he could very well escape back into Virginia once his pontoon train moved down to Point of Rocks. That would force Grant to come on.

"I want those heights, at least for the moment. I want to see what is going on over on the other side," Lee said. "Either we'll see all of Grant's army coming on, or nothing. If it's nothing, then we'll know that Grant is heading toward Virginia, or just perhaps moving behind the screen of militia to the north. We need to confirm that right now.

"Round up every extra man you have and send them up there. I'll set up headquarters back at the National Road bridge."

Stuart saluted and galloped off.

Though caught off balance for the moment, Lee found himself sensing that he was recapturing that balance, that with luck Grant was indeed coming in from the west. If so, he could now choose the ground and force Grant to come at him, the same as at Union Mills.

Braddock Heights-Catoctin Ridge 1:45 P.M.

Here it comes," McPherson announced, but no one needed to be told. The few hundred cavalry troopers with him, joined by his headquarters staff, were played out; barely a man had half a dozen cartridges left.

On the road below, a column of infantry was advancing with impunity. At such range, artillery would have torn them apart, but there was no artillery up here.

McPherson turned and rode but a few dozen yards to the west. Below him he could see his own column, dark blue, like a long coiling serpent moving across the valley between the Catoctin Range and South Mountains, the head of his column still a half hour away.

He had sent back several couriers, urging the column to press forward, but the race would apparently be lost by not more than a few minutes.

"They're deploying, sir!" someone shouted. Colonel Mann, one of Custer's men, who was dismounted, his horse dead, was pointing.

He didn't need to go back to look. They were most likely down to two hundred yards, lead regiments shaking out from column to line for the final sweep up to the ridge.

A scattering of shots echoed, and a dozen troopers, still mounted, came over the crest of the road, slowing at the sight of McPherson.

"Sorry, sir, we ain't got a round left, and don't ask us to draw sabers and charge,"

McPherson smiled and shook his head.

"You did good, boys, the best I've ever seen cavalry fight. Get yourselves out of here."

The sergeant leading the group saluted and led his men down the road to the west.

One of McPherson's staff came up, leading his horse.

"They'll be on the crest in a minute, sir."

McPherson sighed, mounting, watching as Mann rallied what was left of Custer's men, pointing to the rear.

"Sir." One of McPherson's staff was pointing down the road. A knot of officers, riding hard, was coming up the slope. Behind the officers he could see that the head of the column was double-timing, men running, sunlight glinting off of rifles. With field glasses raised he could see as well that with every yard gained a man was staggering out of the column and collapsing from exhaustion. Men were shedding blanket rolls, haversacks, but still pressing on.

The officer in front… it was Grant, of course.

As a volley rang out behind him, he turned and looked back and saw the first of the rebel infantry, mingled in with dismounted reb cavalry, reaching the crest.

Suicide was not a gesture he cared for today. He spurred his mount, starting down the slope, staff about him, Custer's men, most on foot, some mounted, staggering along.

Grant spotted him, leaned into his mount and, with his usual display of brilliant horsemanship, came up the slope at a gallop. McPherson rode down to meet him.

"What is happening here?" Grant shouted, reining in hard by McPherson's side.

"Infantry just on the other side." "How many?"

"Full division. It stretches all the way back to Frederick. Lead regiments deploying into line."

Grant looked up to the crest of the road and then back to their own troops, still coming on at the double, several hundred yards away.

A few shots whistled past them but Grant ignored the threat.

"Can we take 'em with your men?"

Grant pointed back to the great blue serpent weaving across the valley.

"Hell, yes," McPherson replied.

"Lead them in. I'll head back down and urge them on."

He leaned over and shook McPherson's hand.

"Stay healthy, James. And you did a good job, moving your men forward. Half an hour later and Lee would have had this ridge for good."

Grant turned and rode off, McPherson grinning. That man already assumed they were going to sweep the rebs off the crest.

By heavens, if he believes it, then I'm the man to do it, McPherson thought, even as he rode down to the head of his column, shouting for the boys to keep moving but to shake out into line of battle.

Braddock Heights 2:00 P.M.

Come on, South Carolina, form up here!"

Sergeant Major Hazner, following the lead of Colonel Brown, urged his men on at the double. Men were doubled over, panting, some peeling off blanket rolls and dropping them even as they ran up the steep grade of the road. Then they broke to the right, climbing over a post and rail fence, and then into a tangle of second-growth trees, low branches whipping back into men's faces, the column turning into a pushing, shoving, cursing crowd.

To their left a volley rang out and Hazner could see the smoke swirling up from the road. Cavalry troopers were mingled in with the infantry, firing with carbines; some had pistols out, waiting for the range to close. Shouts ahead; a staff officer, hat oft and sword drawn, was waving to Brown.

"Fall in here. Fall in here!"

The ground began to slope away, dropping down. They were over the crest and Hazner felt as if his legs were about to buckle and give way.

"What the hell is going on?" Brown shouted to the staff officer.

"We got the crest, but by God, they've got infantry, thousands of 'em, coming up the road. Get ready, they'll hit any minute. Scales says we got to hold this ridge!"

The staff officer saluted and, turning, ran northward, shouting for the next regiment behind the Fourteenth South Carolina to fall into line.