'But…' and before he could get another word out, Meade exploded. 'Goddamn it, Sickles, it is our line of supply and communications that's the issue now! They are between us and Washington.'
'To hell with Washington,' Sickles muttered. 'They've got enough men behind the fortifications to hold. We're dancing to Lee's tune; let's make him dance to ours for once.'
'To hell with Washington?' Meade gasped. 'Good God, man, they are bound to be in a panic down there. If Stanton can find a way, he'll get a message to me and it will be one word, just one word… 'Attack!''
Meade looked back at the map and shook his head. 'They're running around down there like headless chickens. Every newspaper will be screaming panic. Where's the army, Washington surrounded, Meade lost. You're a Goddamn politician, Sickles. You know it even better than I do how they'll react'
'I'm a general now,' Sickles said coldly.
'For the moment,' Meade snapped.
'Are you threatening my command?' Sickles retorted.
Meade looked up at him a dark fire in his eyes.
'I warned you about this yesterday,' Sickles pressed, and Henry turned away. Goddamn, now was not the time to bring that up.
'Do you want me to put it in writing?' Meade shouted. 'General Sickles guessed right. Then when you run for president you can claim you could have won the battle at Gettysburg? Is that what you want?'
'I want us to win,' Henry said, his voice pitched even, leaning over the table, wondering if his interruption would bring the wrath of both generals down on him. Damn all, now was not the time to argue; it was a time to make decisions and carry them through.
The two looked over at him. There was a flicker of a smile on Butterfield's face.
Meade exhaled noisily and nodded.
Sickles, still fuming, leaned back against the pew across from Meade.
'General Sickles, by the time your corps marched from here down to Taneytown, it will be mid to late afternoon,' Henry said. 'If your assumption is correct, that Ewell is on the road, it won't matter by then; they'll have moved down to here.'
He looked up at Sickles as he spoke, but there was no response. Yet again, the irony of it Henry thought Sickles was right yesterday morning, even yesterday afternoon when he pressed to move straight down on Emmitsburg or support Sykes toward Taneytown. But that was too late now. Meade wanted the concentration on Westminster, a natural instinct, hoping to get the bulk of his troops there before Lee. It was obvious, though, that Meade had just lost the race, maybe by not more than an hour or two, but lost it all the same. That would haunt him. Sickles was positioning himself to be the ghost who did the haunting.
The question now, however, was what to do. By the end of the day, Meade could bring four corps into position across from Union Mills. If First Corps came down from Gettysburg, it'd be up to five corps. Then what?
Meade, as if reading Henry's mind, looked back down at the map. 'Hunt, you're the only one here who's seen the entire line along Pipe Creek.'
'It's a natural defensive position,' Henry said, tracing the position out on the map.
'The area around Union Mills has an open ridge rising up a hundred and fifty feet or more from the flat, open land flanking the stream. Our side is slightly higher, which could give us a small advantage with artillery.
'Their right flank is guarded by a millpond and a very steep slope, which turns to the south, offering a natural anchor point'
'What about their left flank at Union Mills?' Butterfield asked. 'Maybe we can go around them?' Meade shook his head.
'We shift to the right toward Fifth Corps, that takes us even farther away from Washington. It's Washington, damn it. We must reestablish contact with it'
'Then shifting to the left?' Butterfield offered.
'The roads just don't work for us,' Henry replied. 'There's a high ridge they can deploy along for half a dozen miles to the east. It'll take another day to even try to reposition to the left. In turn, that will draw the rebel army straight into Baltimore, which will cut Washington off by rail and telegraph from the North.'
'It might already be cut' Butterfield said.
Meade shook his head.
'Not yet. Lee is concentrating. He knows he can't turn and move on Washington or Baltimore with us at his back.'
The room was silent for a moment
'What about waiting him out?' Butterfield offered.
'We can't' Meade replied bitterly. 'They have the supplies now, and we don't. In three to five days, we'll be near starving. The only reserve ammunition we have is what we brought up with us to Gettysburg; Lee now has the rest. We can't disperse with Lee there and with that damn Stuart wandering around behind us. Lee has the line, and he's begging us to attack.
'And Washington, they'll all be screaming bloody murder. I have to attack; I have to! Once we bring the four corps on this road into line we go in. That will be nearly fifty thousand men, supported by all of Hunt's guns, two hundred pieces. One hard assault and I think we can batter our way through. We take Westminster back, re- establish contact with Washington, and Lee will be forced then to either attack us or withdraw.'
Henry was silent looking at the map. A momentum was developing, like a train that had lost its breaks and was rolling downhill. The army was moving south; Lee was in the way. There was no way to turn it around yet again, to perhaps fall back on Harrisburg. Do that and every anti-administration paper in the country would be screaming about cowardice and defeat Stanton would hang Meade. Then who would get the army? Sedgwick, who was notorious for being slow, maybe even Sickles as a compromise to his Democratic party cronies?
Meade looked up wearily at Henry. 'Go down to Union Mills. You already know the ground. Start picking out your positions. I want the artillery concentrated the way you keep talking about'
Henry nodded and tried to suppress the slight flicker of a smile.
'Knowing Hancock, he's most likely trying to force the position even now. Perhaps we'll get lucky, but if Longstreet is there already, I doubt if one corps can do the job.'
'Pick your spot well, Hunt I want every gun you've got on the line. Tomorrow morning we punch a way through. I'll come along shortly.'
Henry saluted and left the church, yet again ignoring the reporters shouting questions as he mounted up, motioning for his staff to follow.
The troops in the street were moving again, wearily shuffling along; the morning heat was already trapped in the street by the buildings, everything and everybody coated in a choking cloud of dust.
Off to the right he could hear the thunder building. Fifth Corps was going in.
10:30 AM, JULY 3,1863
THE ANTRIM, TANEYTOWN
Leaning against the railing of the 'widow's walk,' of the Antrim mansion, four stories above the surrounding countryside, Robert E. Lee trained his field glasses on the roiling clouds of smoke billowing up just to the north of town. The battlefront was spreading out the sound growing wider, the high crackling of musketry punctuated by the deeper thump of massed artillery.
Another courier came galloping down the street from the north, and a minute later he heard the heavy clump of boots racing up the stairs. The young lieutenant stopped beneath the ladder up to the widow's walk and Lee nodded, motioning for him to come up.
The boy saluted and handed the dispatch over.
10 AM. July 3 North of Taneytown
Sir,
I believe that I am now facing the entire Fifth Corps of the Union army. My ability to hold the forward position assigned is rapidly being compromised by flanking forces both to the east and west. Prisoners indicate that the entire Union army is moving in this direction. I request additional support.
J. B.Hood
