next fight sir. The land up here is open, Better fields of fire than in central Virginia.'
Henry looked into Meade's eyes, saw the coldness, and fell silent He knew his enthusiasm, his near fanatical belief, had again run into the politics of command.
Meade replied, his voice cold and threatening, 'Yesterday you were nothing but a glorified inspector. Hooker wouldn't have given you a pinch of owl shit to command. I've given you back half the artillery of this army. Be satisfied with that'
'Then why the hell have an artillery commander if half his strength is frittered away?' Henry replied, and he instantly regretted his brashness. But it was exactly what was wrong with this damned army; everything was always a compromise, done in half measures, and the men they commanded suffered as a result
Meade bristled and leaned forward menacingly. 'Do you want the job or hot, General? You want it, you take it on my terms. If not, I've got fifty men outside this tent who will jump at the chance.'
Henry nodded, saying nothing.
'Do we understand each other, General? Corps artillery stays where it is. You may advise in regard to those units, but corps commanders still control their own guns. Take it or leave it'
'Yes, sir. I understand.'
'That's settled then. There's something else, though, that I want to ask you.'
Frustrated that his hopes had been dashed, Henry lowered his gaze for a moment while pouring another drink for himself. He tried to reason that he was a damn sight better off than he had been twenty-four hours ago; but if ever there had been a chance to create a true unified command it was now, and the chance had slipped away.
'It's the real reason I asked you to come here.'
'Sir?' Henry looked back at Meade, wondering what else he wanted.
'You served under Lee before the war in Mexico, didn't you?'
Surprised, Henry nodded. 'Yes, we were stationed together at Fort Hamilton in New York City.'
'I never knew him that well. I understand the two of you were close.'
Henry hesitated for a second. 'Professionally, yes.'
'Tell me about him.'
'Sir?'
'Just that, Hunt. Tell me about him.'
Henry looked down at his glass. Lee, in his fatherly way, had chided him on his drinking more than once.
What can I tell him? Henry wondered. If ever an army held an opposing general in awe, it was the Army of the Potomac and Robert E. Lee. He was an endless source of speculation, comment, damning, and grudging praise.
Lee was a hard man to get close to. He had many acquaintances but few true friends. Was I that, Henry wondered, just another acquaintance?
No, it was different, a sense in a way of being a younger brother to an elder, or a favored student to a mentor. They shared a love of the precision of engineering, the bringing of order out of chaos, and a love for gunnery, its history and practice.
Curious, for both of them saw it as an abstraction, an intellectual exercise of trajectories, rates of fire, and the beautiful ritual of drill. Neither of them wanted to think about the end result when it was done for real, the shredded human flesh blasted and burned, the way both of them would see it done a few years later at Chapultepec.
They had spent many an afternoon together on the parade ground, training new recruits. And afterward, when drill was done, the two of them leaning on a gun, admiring the beauty of the harbor and bustling traffic of hundreds of ships, talking about the army, engineering, history, but never quite about themselves. That was something Lee always kept reserved.
'I'm waiting, General,' Meade interjected, breaking into Henry's thoughts.
'I doubt if there is anything more I can add to what has already been said,' Henry finally replied, a bit selfconsciously.
'A lot of men in this army served with him,' Meade replied coolly, 'but all of them say the same thing, 'He never talked about himself.''
'Well, they're right'
'Damn it man, within the week, maybe as early as tomorrow, I'll have to face him on the battlefield. I want something, anything. He sure as hell knows how to read us. I want the same.'
Henry was startled. He could see it in Meade's eyes, hear it in his voice, a terrible loneliness, a certain desperation that made Henry uncomfortable. In a way he couldn't blame him. Everyone talked about how a general who brought victory against Lee would save the Republic. Few added the observation that losing a battle might mean the end of the Union. He would not want to be in Meade's shoes right now.
Henry nodded and took another sip of his bourbon.
'He has a gentle soul,' Henry finally offered.
'What?' and mere was an incredulous look on Meade's face.
Henry leaned back in his chair, looking out the half-opened tent flap, feeling the cool breeze that stirred, causing the canvas to softly crack and flutter. The hint of cool air after the heat of the day was refreshing.
Strange, it reminded him of the night before Chapultepec, the staff meeting with old Winfield Scott, the cool breeze that finally stirred to kill the heat of day. Maj. Robert Lee sitting in the corner throughout the meeting, taking notes. At the end of the meeting, it had been Lee who'd suggested that they all pray. Lee had led them and not once had he called for victory; in fact, he had asked for God's mercy to be shown on their foe and that the Will of the Lord be fulfilled.
'A gentle soul,' Henry continued. 'He is devout; we all know that. Yet beyond that there is a profound gentleness. I saw him chew out a teamster for lashing a mule, telling him that cursing would motivate neither man nor beast. From anyone else mere would have been derision once he'd walked away; but that teamster lowered his head, ashamed, and once Lee left the teamster patted the mule and led him by the bridle.
'I know that when he was superintendent of West Point' Henry added, 'he chided many an upperclassman for hazing a plebe. In fact personally he hated the tradition of hazing and tried to stop it'
'I heard about that' Meade replied. 'Hell, we all survived it. Hazing at the Point toughens a boy into becoming a man.'
'He didn't see it that way,' Henry replied, and even as he spoke he felt a touch of shame, remembering his own tears at the end of his first day at the Point and how only a year later he, too, had harassed new cadets without mercy.
'I'll never forget him coming out to the practice field one day and pulling a young soldier from my gun crew, taking him aside. A letter had just come in with news for the boy that his mother was dead. Lee decided to tell him personally. The boy broke down and Lee held him the way a father would hold a child. I saw the two of them kneeling side by side, Lee's arm around the boy's shoulders.'
Even as he described it, Henry fought to control the tightness in his throat
'He knew every soldier in our command by name. The boys loved it. I can't say that they were close to him the way some commanders allow those under them to be close. Rather, it was a reverent awe. A few saw him as an old granny, especially when he took to praying, but even those would not deny his courage and honesty.
'I think,' Henry continued, 'that must be paining him now. That boy who lost his mother was killed at Fredericksburg leading his regiment Lee would remember and pray for him. He remembers all those who've served under him.'
'Damn well he should,' Meade growled. 'He put enough of them in their graves.'
'I know he prays for me,' Henry added slowly. 'In fact sir, he'll even pray for you.'
Meade looked at him with his cold stare. 'If he's so holy, then why the hell didn't he become a preacher?'
'There's the other side,' Henry replied, trying not to let a touch of hostility slip into his voice. 'He's a fighter. Something comes over him in battle, a sense that it is God's Will, and he must be the instrument of that Will. That is why he is dangerous.'
'Why?'
'Because he believes he is right, There are no self-doubts once action is joined. He gives himself over and then unflinchingly flings everything he has into the fight. Only when it is done does he come out of the fog of battle,
