Brown staggered and tripped, cursing as he hit the ground. Hazner pulled him up, the colonel's hands badly skinned from the tumble.

"Come on, sir," Hazner cried, "but by damn, there better be a good reason for this."

Braddock Heights 3:50 P.M.

McPherson!"

James was atop the crest, glasses raised, studying the ground ahead. A half mile downslope he could see where the rebels were swarming along the road and fields, heading back toward Frederick. Beyond the river he could already spot another column coming up.

Grant came to his side, grinning.

"Good work, McPherson."

"Cost us," James said quietly. "We fought entire battles out west and lost fewer men than I just did taking this ridge."

"It's only started," Grant replied coolly. "Are you pressing them?"

"My boys are exhausted, sir. I've double-timed them for miles, threw them into this fight. They need a few minutes at least. We got the good ground now. Isn't that what we wanted?"

Grant was silent for a moment, field glasses raised, studying the terrain ahead.

'That bridge is out of artillery range from up here. We give Lee time, he just might get it back up again. Besides, if we sit up here, he will not come at us."

McPherson looked over at him.

"We just had a meeting engagement up here, both sides equally tired. If we dig in here tonight, what will Lee do tomorrow? Attack?"

McPherson found he had to agree.

"No, sir, of course not."

"I want him to fight us. We've got to grab hold of him and stay in contact. I don't want him to have time to think, to maneuver, to repair that bridge, to think about the Potomac River at all. We give him good bait, though, and he'll bite it and then hang on to us the way I want."

"And that means my corps, sir, doesn't it?"

Grant grabbed him by the forearm.

"You know what to do. But you, personally, don't go doing anything foolish. Push down there and grab hold of Lee. I'm setting up here for the moment. Give your boys twenty minutes to catch their breath, try and find some water, then send them in. I want that town and the river beyond."

McPherson knew without even having to ask what Grant was ordering him to do. To stick his corps out forward and let Lee bite into them. He thought of all the quiet afternoons he had spent with Lee at West Point, the admiration he had always held for him. He wondered if Lee knew whose corps this was that was about to come down to meet him. It was going to be one hell of a bloody mess this day.

McPherson saluted and rode off.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frederick, MD 4:15 P.M.

Good heavens, sir, they're coming down." Lee said nothing, sitting astride Traveler at the edge of the city, looking up at the Catoctin Heights. Yes, indeed, McPherson was coming down, battle lines deployed out a quarter mile to either side of the National Road. Flags flying, regiments came down the steep slope, skirmishers to the fore. It was a grand sight. All about him stopped to look. The battle line was studded with national flags and state flags, and he found a swelling of admiration within himself. His star student from the West Point days was doing a remarkable job. Despite himself, he was proud of him as a mentor might be of a cherished younger person.

A half-mile front, late afternoon sun behind them, bayonets flashing, disciplined in their advance even on such difficult ground.

"Half a league, half a league, half a league onward," Walter whispered.

Lee nodded in agreement. These were brave men indeed. Brave and foolish. They had taken the bait. McPherson has courage but he is going to give us an opportunity to defeat him in isolation before Grant can arrive.

"Walter, tell Robertson he must come up. Scales is to hold the town as we talked about. We'll fight them street by street if need be. I want their entire corps pulled into this fight."

"Yes, sir!" Walter galloped off.

Lee turned about and rode into the center of town, General Scales by his side. Regiments were still forming up after their retreat off of the ridge; men gathered around wells, filling canteens; wounded being carried into churches and homes; citizens standing silent, watching, looking up at the heights, worrying that their homes would be destroyed if Frederick became a battlefield.

"General Scales, get your provost guards out and order these civilians into their basements. There's going to be a fight here, and I wish to avoid injury to them."

"Yes, sir. So we hold the town, sir?"

"I want to pull McPherson in here. Yes, you will hold the town. Grant has done what I hoped. If he had sat up on those heights, he could have waited for days, concentrated, or perhaps even shielded us from a maneuver down into the northern Shenandoah. Now he will be forced to come on in support of McPherson. We have an opportunity to defeat his army in detail, one corps at a time."

Lee looked to the east.

"Robertson should be up in a few hours by train and will roll in from the north and smash, McPherson. If Grant is so impetuous, he'll then funnel more men in and we will smash them in turn. By this time tomorrow the rest of our army will be concentrated here, but we will have taken out a quarter, perhaps a half of his army. Then he shall dance to our tune. He will learn that the East is a more dangerous place than his Western campaigns prepared him for."

Two Miles East of Monocacy function

4.25pm

Cursing soundly at the engineer of his train General Robertson rode past the hissing engine. It had taken them six hours to come up from Baltimore, rather than the two promised to them back in the rail yard. Two locomotives had broken down, one of them obviously sabotaged with a hole punched into a cylinder and then plugged with tallow and hemp that had finally blown out. It had forced his entire convoy to shift tracks, then shift back again, to get around the stalled engine, leaving two regiments behind. The scene just east of the river was chaos. Dozens of trains were backed up, the ones that had brought up Scales waiting to begin a backward shuttle all the way to Relay Junction before being able to turn around. The pontoon bridges were parked to one side, blocking the westbound track, and straight ahead was the wreck that he had heard almost killed General Lee.

On the way up they had passed Longstreet's Corps, marching on the National Road, fifteen miles out of Baltimore but still a good day and a half away from the spreading battle at Frederick.

He turned and looked back. His men were piling off the boxcars, passenger cars, flatcars, and even coal hoppers pressed into service for this troop movement. The men were forming up into columns of march, beginning to surge forward on either side of the tracks.

"Keep 'em moving!" Robertson shouted. "Boys, General Lee needs us. Now keep moving!"

Braddock Heights 4:30 P.M.

General McPherson spared a final glance back at the South Mountain range, five miles away. The valley between him and the distant ridge was empty. No troops were coming up.

Where in heavens name was Ninth Corps? They should already be over the crest, flooding in to support him.

But orders were orders and he knew what Grant wanted-to hold Lee in place here' while he cast his net wide. If only the rebs had come on again. Holding this ridge he could have pounded away at them all day. His reserve ammunition trains were coming up the slope, along with a battery of three-inch rifles, the only battery Grant had allotted to him. But he understood his orders, the mission Grant wanted, and that he was now a pawn, or perhaps a knight, ventured out into the middle of the board.

Downslope, a mile away, skirmish fire was erupting, reb infantry and cavalry falling back into the town. He looked around at his staff.