'Your boys of the Thirty-fourth, are they still mounted?' 'Coming up now, sir.'
Jeb hesitated, then looked over reassuringly at Jenkins.
'We've got to try. Send them in. The Yankees will have that bridge afire in a few more minutes. Send in the Thirty-fourth. First company mounted, the rest on foot behind them. With luck your first company can rush it, then the dismounted men secure it.'
Jenkins nodded, but his features were grim, as if Jeb had just given a death order.
'There must be fords along this river. It's not that deep.'
'Send out patrols to look for them, but I want that bridge now. We fail in that, well, then try to find the fords. Get the boys of the Thirty-fourth ready. Have the rest of your men sweep the rail bridge with carbine fire. How long before some artillery comes up?'
'Jackson with the Charlottesville Battery is still an hour or more off, sir,' Jenkins said.
'Send a courier back and tell them to move it, to move it! The next hour could be the decisive hour.'
He turned on Jones.
'You have the north flank. If you think you can rush the National Road bridge, do it now! Probe for fords. Secure your left flank to Jenkins's right.'
'What kind of reinforcements can we expect?' Jones asked.
'Fitz Lee's boys are back at Sykesville. I've pulled them off shadowing the north and I'm bringing them here, but it will be midday or later before they come up. Scales's infantry division was supposedly loading up in Baltimore after midnight. They should be up any time now.'
'Artillery with them?' Jenkins asked. 'A battalion of artillery could smother those damn Yankees, and push them back.'
'A couple more batteries. Combined with the Charlottesville boys and your light battery, we can pound the hell out of them, but that is still hours away. I want that covered bridge before then, and once we take it, we flank Custer and secure the rail bridge.'
He pointed toward the distant crest of the Catoctin Range, four miles away, standing out dark blue in the morning light.
'I'm not sure when, but today most likely, Grant and his infantry will come pouring out of that pass up there. He's only got one road to traverse those mountains. We take the ridge and block the road, we got the bastard bottled, no mistake. General Lee wants us to secure that pass and then the Yankees will bleed themselves white trying to get over it. I want that ridge today, and not just the railroad. Now move it!'
Baltimore and Ohio Bail Yard
8:00 A.M.
'God damn it, McDougal, now what!' Cruickshank roared. A billowing vent of steam was blowing out from the lead locomotive of the convoy. The engineer was out of his cab, stamping his feet, cursing, looking around, bewildered.
McDougal, cursing, left Cruickshank's side and ran up to the engine, stopping at the edge of the plume of scalding steam.
'Stephens, you stupid son of a bitch!' McDougal roared. 'What happened?'
The engineer looked back at him and then simply shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were focused nervously on Cruickshank, who was up by McDougal's side.
'I don't know, sir. I started to feed in steam to get moving and a line just blew wide open.'
'Well, shut the damn thing down,' McDougal screamed, trying to be heard above the high-pitched whistling roar of the venting steam.
Stephens climbed back into the cabin, worked a valve, and the roar drifted down to a whisper. McDougal cautiously approached the locomotive, shaking his head, and then pointed toward the steam line that fed into the left-side cylinder of the locomotive.
'Busted, sir,' McDougal sighed. 'Just blown wide open. It'll have to be replaced.'
'How long?'
'Four hours at least.' 'Too many things have broken, McDougal.'
'You accusing me of somethin', sir?'
Cruickshank raised his arms, then slapped his sides in exasperation. He looked back down the line. Fifteen trains were fully loaded with an entire division of infantry, men piled so thick on the cars that many were riding on the cowcatchers of the locomotives, the wood tenders, and atop the boxcars.
The locomotive that had just broken down was the lead one in line.
'Get this wreck pushed out of the way,' Cruickshank said. 'How?'
'You idiot, the locomotive behind it.' 'Too much weight sir.'
'Then damn you, disconnect it from its own train, push this wreck to a side track, and clear the line. I need this convoy moving now. General Lee will be here any minute; I need an express for him as well.
'Just move 'em,' Cruickshank shouted.
'What about the broken-down train with the pontoon bridge on the single-track section?' McDougal asked.
Cruickshank stepped closer to McDougal. They were of the same height and build and anyone watching would have expected a brawl to break out.
'I'm raising your pay to fifty dollars a day in silver,' Cruickshank said coldly. 'Telegraph up the line, make sure those pontoon trains are clear of the single track. This division needs to move up now. But so help me, McDougal, I'll string you up myself if I think you're playing double with me.'
'Me, sir, at fifty dollars a day?' McDougal laughed. 'Like hell, sir. I'll take care of you.'
The Toll Road on Monocacy Creek
8:15 A.M.
Colonel Witcher of the Thirty-fourth Virginia nervously turned and looked back at his men. First company was mounted, guidon at the front. Behind them, the rest of his command was dismounted, carbines and pistols out, the men in a column stretching up the road for fifty yards.
He lowered his head, whispering a silent prayer, then drew his saber and pointed toward the bridge, its roof just visible through the trees. 'Bugler, sound the charge!'
Custer was just riding down to the covered bridge when he heard the high clarion notes of the charge. The west end of the bridge was beginning to smoke.
Someone had found a can of coal oil in a nearby farmhouse, cut it open with a knife, and was hurling the contents on to the shingled siding. Troopers were sprinting up, tossing loads of kindling against the side of the bridge, then dodging for cover. Three men were already down, one of them dead by the side of the bridge.
George urged his mount to a gallop, riding down the length of track, reining in where the toll road crossed the track and looked straight down the tunnel-like length of the bridge, the interior already coiling with smoke, the sides licked by flames.
He saw the head of the charging column appear at the far end.
'Someone get back to Gray,' he shouted. 'He's in reserve back in the woodlot a few hundred yards north of here. I need him here now!'
The entry to the bridge was directly ahead, and Witcher caught a glimpse of a sign WALK YOUR HORSES WHEN CROSSING.
He leaned into the neck of his mount. Once into the dark tunnel of the bridge the noise was stunning, pounding hooves, echoes doubling and redoubling off the roof, the walls, the floor of the bridge, men shouting. A Yankee trooper, hunched down by a support beam at midpoint, was out from concealment, running, the far end obscured by smoke, licks of flame. No gunfire yet.
Thirty seconds, dear God, thirty seconds and we're across and back into the open.
The charge thundered forward, men shouting, a few shots, men caught in the madness of the charge, firing pistols blindly.
Saber out, he pointed the way, leaning forward, caught in the madness of a charge across a bridge, yelling
