Gettysburg

Meade nodded toward the half-open tent flap and the crowd standing back at a respectful distance. 'Nearly all of them are Joe Hooker's old staff.'

Henry grunted and shook his head.

'I'm keeping them on for now. There'll be time enough later to switch things around.'

'Where are you planning to concentrate?' Henry asked, trying to read the map that was spread out on Meade's desk.

Meade pointed to a penciled-in line he had traced just south of the Maryland-Pennsylvania border.

'I'm ordering the army to concentrate just east and norm of here, on a line from Westminster to Taneytown.

'John Reynolds is on the left here at Frederick with his First Corps, supported by Howard and the Eleventh Corps. Tomorrow they'll push up toward Emmitsburg, while I move headquarters to Taneytown,' and as he spoke Meade traced out the movement on the map with a dirty forefinger.

'Reynolds is a good man,' Henry interjected. 'He'll find them if they're there.'

Henry didn't feel it was in any way proper to add that everyone knew that when Joe Hooker had been relieved of command of the army just yesterday morning, word was that Lincoln had wanted Reynolds to take command. Reynolds had refused, and Meade was the second choice.

Meade looked at Henry with a cool gaze, but Henry said nothing more.

'Reynolds has John Buford with a division of cavalry in front of him that has orders to cross into Pennsylvania and take a look up toward Gettysburg.'

'Gettysburg, lot of roads junction there,' Henry interjected. 'It might be worth taking and holding.'

'I have a report that some Rebs, Jubal Early's division, passed through there two days ago but then continued on toward Harrisburg.'-

'And where's our cavalry?'

Meade snorted. 'Useless as ever. No solid reports. They're trailing after Stuart, but they've had no hard contact with Lee's main body.'

Henry pointed to the mountain range that arced up through southern Pennsylvania, turning in a great curve from north to east, the Cumberland Valley beyond. Meade nodded.

'I suspect Lee is indeed on the other side of the South Mountain Range, over here at Chambersburg, moving up toward Harrisburg. Buford moving into Gettysburg just might trigger something, cause Lee to feel his rear is threatened and turn back around toward us.

'Lee must have heard by now that we are coming up. He can't leave his rear open,' Meade continued. 'We'll brush up against his flank. Perhaps I can lure him back down this way to where I want him.'

Meade continued to trace out movements on the map, Henry craning his neck to look as Meade pointed out his proposed position along the south bank of Pipe Creek.

'I think it might be good ground,' Meade announced. 'The south bank of the stream is high, open fields of fire, perfect for artillery.'

'It looks like damn good ground,' Henry offered. 'The question is, will Lee bite once he's got a look at it? Usually we wind up fighting on in places he picks.'

'Can you suggest anything better?' Meade asked testily.

'No, sir.'

Henry nodded. The position Meade had chosen was good. It covered Washington, which would keep the politicians happy, while at the same time forcing Lee to turn away from Harrisburg. But the question lingered: Would Lee accept battle on land chosen by Meade? In every action fought against the Army of Northern Virginia it had always been the Rebs who ultimately selected when or where a battle would be joined.

'We don't know each other very well, Hunt,' Meade finally announced after a long, awkward silence, 'but I know your work. Last year, at Malvern Hill, you were masterful in the way you placed your guns.'

Henry nodded his thanks.

Malvern Hill. The mere mention of those two words triggered the memory of that July 1st, a year ago this week, he realized.

Six days of bitter fighting, retreating from the gates of Richmond, crawling and stumbling through the tangle of woods and marshes, McClellan fumbling the battle every step of the way. But at last McClellan had turned and given Henry the ground of an artilleryman's dreams… open fields, a broad crest of a hill, clear fields of interlocking fire. And he had seized the moment, arraying over a hundred guns, bronze twelve-pound smoothbores, three-inch rifles, even a couple of batteries of heavy twenty-pound rifles for counterbattery work.

Lee had walked straight into it

That battle had revealed what Henry knew was perhaps the one weakness of Lee, an aggressiveness that bordered on pure recklessness if his blood was up and he smelled victory.

For a commander who normally planned his actions, Lee had allowed the battle to unfold haphazardly, throwing troops in piecemeal rather than slamming them forward all at once. But even if he had sent a full corps up that hill, rather than a brigade at a time, the result would have been the same, and just as ghastly.

Throughout that long afternoon Henry had worked his guns with finesse, sweeping the open fields, solid shot tearing through the columns as they deployed, canisters tumbling over lines of men who fell like broken toys.

The screams still haunted him; five thousand Confederate infantry, damn fine troops, had gone down in mangled, bloodied heaps. He had been awed by the Rebs' audacity, their relentless will, and the sheer madness of their charge. Though he was a professional, the sight of what his guns could do to packed lines of infantry had stunned him. It was, Henry knew, the finest and most terrifying example of the power of artillery yet seen in this war.

'It's how I want to see artillery used in the next fight,' Meade continued, interrupting Henry's memories.

Henry leaned forward slightly. He was called Chief of Artillery for the Army of the Potomac, but that was a title he had held in name only for the last six months. Hooker had always suspected that Henry was a 'McClellan man'; and in an army torn by political factionalism, such a suspicion, justified or not, had been a kiss of death when Hooker took over. Though he'd managed to hang onto his title, Hooker had relegated him to a desk-and paperwork.

Damned madness. At Chancellorsville, if he had been given a hundred guns to array around the Fairview clearing, he'd have cut the guts out of Stonewall Jackson's charge. But Hooker hadn't listened. He'd panicked and lost the battle.

It's this damn political infighting that is as much the enemy as the Rebs, Henry thought If only we could get as united as the Army of Northern Virginia was, united with a belief in a single, capable leader, with a single purpose, we could win this war in a month.

'You and Joe Hooker,' Meade said, gaze still fixed on his empty glass, 'I know what happened between the two of you when Hooker took command of this army back in January.'

He stared up at Henry for emphasis. There was no need, Henry thought, for Meade to play this point too hard. There was a lot of grumbling from some about Meade's ascension, especially at this moment. But for Henry the removal of Hooker could only mean the chance to get back his real job as artillery commander in the field, and it was obvious Meade was offering just that

'I'm putting you back in charge of the Artillery Reserve, active field command.'

Good enough. Henry nodded his thanks. But if there was any chance for what he truly wanted it was now, and he had to go for it

'Sir, am I to be retained as commander of all artillery,' he asked cautiously, 'or just the reserve artillery attached directly to army headquarters?'

Meade said nothing for a moment

'What are you pushing for, Hunt?' Meade finally asked.

'Sir, half of our artillery is assigned to the direct command of headquarters as the Artillery Reserve, which means me. But what about the other half, nearly a hundred and fifty guns divided up into small units and assigned to various corps commanders? Do I have control of those batteries as well.'

'Don't push it Hunt I was a corps commander until yesterday morning. I didn't take kindly to units being taken from me. Corps commanders like to have a couple of batteries under their direct control.'

'In a crisis you need a unified command for artillery' Henry replied. 'Allow me to put two hundred, three hundred guns into a unified command, and I'll sweep the field clean. It's concentrated artillery that will decide the