someone would shrink back and in so doing ten thousand would die for yet another hollow victory, or worse, a bitter defeat
'Then we understand each other, General?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Fine then.' Lee slowly stood up, indicating that the interview was finishing.
'Ewell will command the left wing of Pickett, Johnson, and Hood. Johnson's division is fought out; Hood took a rough beating as well. Therefore, Pickett will be the vanguard of maneuvers when the time comes.'
'Your intentions with him, sir?'
Lee smiled. 'I'll decide that in due course, and I may go with him when the time comes. The left is the element of maneuver, and you are the base of maneuver. You must hold and defeat the vast bulk of the Union army when it attacks. After that, we will flank it and force its collapse. Then Stuart will round up the remnants as they flee from us.
'They must not be allowed to reform,' Lee said, with a sharp emphasis.
He said no more. He had learned something from Jackson, who was infamous for his sense of security. Ever since the lost orders before Sharpsburg, dropped by either a courier, or perhaps even a general, and recovered by a Union soldier, he was learning to be more cautious. An overheard word, a staff officer boasting in front of a civilian, upon such things battles often turned, as it had, indeed, at Sharpsburg.
'Come tomorrow,' Lee said. 'Now, General, a suggestion for both of us that I know my young Colonel Taylor would approve of, and that is sleep. We both need our strength for tomorrow.'
Longstreet nodded in agreement
'I'll leave Alexander and Venable here to review the map with Taylor,' Longstreet announced. 'My headquarters will be on the lines above Union Mills.'
'God be with you, General,' Lee said.
The two saluted and Longstreet disappeared into the shadows.
Walter came up and Lee quickly reviewed what needed to be done. 'I'm sorry, Walter; I know you are even more weary man I.'
Walter smiled. 'Sir, to be frank, and no disrespect intended, but I am half your age. All of us wish that you would just get some sleep.'
Lee nodded; again the weariness.
Without comment he retired to the privacy of his tent His cot was already set up within. He removed his jacket and hat and sat down on the cot with a muffled groan. He tried to struggle with his boots but then gave up, not wishing to call for someone to help. Slipping off the cot he knelt offering his evening prayer, thinking of his boy in a Union prison, his wife in Richmond, his daughter lost and in the warm clay of North Carolina, and all the boys he had seen fall this day, July 3,1863.
Did I do the right thing today? he thought Dear God, I hope so. It could have been more, far more, but then I must know it could have been different, an ending of dreams rather than a hope that it might soon end in victory.
Lying back, he stared at the ceiling of the tent On the outside of the canvas several fireflies had alighted, their soft golden green glow winking on and off. Katydids and crickets chirped outside, mingling with the sound of whispered talking, a horse snickering, a banjo in the distance, and surprisingly, some laughter.
Tomorrow, tomorrow is the Fourth of July, he thought. I hope that is not a bad omen. We break the Union on the birthday of its founding. God grant us strength.
A moment later there was a gentle knock on the tent pole.
'Sir. General, sir?' It was the black cook, bearing a plate with dinner.
Lee was asleep, and the old man quietly withdrew.
8:45 PM, JULY 3,1863
HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF THE POTOMAC, NEAR UNION MILLS
It had been a very long day. Henry slowly dismounted, letting me reins of his horse drop, one of the staff taking the horse and leading it away. Headquarters had been pitched off the pike a mile or so north of Union Mills, half a dozen tents with sides rolled up, coal-oil lamps gleaming. The scent of rain was in the air, a brief shower having dampened the field minutes before.
They were gathered here, Meade, Hancock, Sickles, Slocum, Sedgwick, along with dozens of staff, orderlies, cooks, cavalry guards, provost guards, reporters, even Sullivan the photographer.
Henry was barely noticed as he stepped into the largest tent where the generals were gathered around a table, maps spread out, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of whiskey, sweat, and unwashed bodies.
Meade looked up and nodded a recognition. His eyes were deep set, hollow, obviously half-closed with exhaustion.
'Your report, Hunt,' Meade snapped.
'Sir, nearly all the guns will be in place by six A.M. Four batteries, however, will definitely not arrive from Gettysburg until later in the morning. The road is a shambles, and it looks like rain, which will make it worse getting them through.'
'What can we count on?'
'I'll have nearly forty batteries in place, including those batteries nominally under corps command. A grand battery of a hundred and twenty guns on the heights just above Union Mills, a secondary battery of sixty Napoleons downslope a third of a mile to the right, and then other batteries positioned farther down the line.
'We have an average of two hundred rounds per gun; that's everything, solid shot, case and shrapnel, canister. We have no real reserve anymore.'
'I know that,' Meade snapped.
'Sir, it means I can offer, at best, two hours of sustained fire, at which point we will be getting dangerously close to depletion, except for canister.'
'Can you put enough fire into the point of attack to support a breakthrough?*'
Henry did not reply for a moment.
'Can you?'
'Sir, I can't promise.'
'Damn it, Hunt, just give me a straight answer.'
'Sir, there are too many variables. I plan to put upward of twenty thousand rounds of fire into a front less than a mile wide. I think that will have a serious impact That's all I can promise, sir.'
Meade grunted. He sat back, striking a match on the table leg, and puffing a half-smoked cigar back to life. 'Then that's it' Meade said. 'Any questions?'
Henry looked around at the four corps commanders standing about the table. Hancock seemed to have recovered from his shock of earlier and was sitting quietly, eyes intent on the map, sipping whiskey from a tin cup. Slocum and Sedgwick were whispering softly to each other to one side, while Sickles stood alone.
Henry could sense the disquiet, a terrible sense that this was not what any of them had dreamed possible only four days ago.
'Hunt, is it possible to get more guns on my flank?' Sickles asked.
'I want everything massed,' Meade said, before Henry could reply.
Sickles was uncharacteristically quiet and simply nodded.
The gathering was silent, and Henry looked back at Meade. 'Sir, if there is nothing else, to be honest I'd like to get a little sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow.'
'Yes, Hunt, a very long day. You're dismissed.'
Henry stepped out of the tent, glad to be back in the open. He looked around, trying to spot where his own staff had gathered, and then saw them alongside a house adjoining the field where headquarters was pitched. He started toward them.
'Hunt'
He almost wanted to ignore the summons. It was Sickles.
'Hunt, a moment of your time.'
Henry turned slowly, offering a salute as Dan approached out of the shadow, tip of his cigar glowing.
