came up to help out.'
'You're in charge then, Tyler, and I'm promoting you to sergeant. Will make you a lieutenant if you pull this off. Now why is it taking so damn long?'
'It's a cold start, sir. Got to get into the firebox, build a fire from scratch, start shoveling wood in. Then heat the water to a boil, build up steam pressure. It ain't healthy, but I'm throwing some coal oil in to get it going faster.'
'Coal oil?'
'We're in luck, sir. Found five hundred gallons or more of it, sir, in that warehouse over there. We're going to put it all in the passenger cars pulled by the trains. Also found some turpentine, barrels of grease as well. That will really let go.'
'Any blasting powder?'
'None to be found, sir. We've been asking around, but folks here say it was all cleaned out by the armies passing through. Also, sir, found a third locomotive in that engine shed over there. It's an old teakettle, twenty years old at least, but we're firing that one up as well.'
'At least an hour, then?' Custer asked, and even as he spoke he fought down the light-headedness overtaking him.
'Sir, to be honest, two hours, but I'll push it. We need a damn good head of steam if you want to do it right.'
'Why's that?'
'Well, sir. Figure once we get the train on the bridge I can smash down the safety valves. The fire in the passenger cars, they'll burn, but it will burn up, sir, not down. It might damage the bridge but they can still fix it. I seen that happen once with a string of boxcars just outside of Detroit that caught fire on a bridge. The bridge was back in service the next day. We get the boiler to explode, though, and, well, sir, that'll be a helluva show.'
'Good work,' Custer said softly.
'General?'
He looked over to Schultz, a regimental surgeon from the Fifth who was by his side. 'Let me look at that arm.' 'Not now.'
'Sir, looks like you are about to keel over,'- the surgeon replied. 'Just give me five minutes, sir.'
Custer nodded reluctantly, and with a grimace dismounted, sitting down on a bench under the awning of the station. Schultz helped Custer take his uniform jacket off, Custer cursing softly. The doctor bent over, examining the entry wound a couple of inches below his left elbow, an assistant by his side handing him scissors, which he used to cut the shirt back.
'This is gonna hurt, General,' the doctor whispered, and then there was a flood of pain as the doctor slipped his finger into the wound.
He thought he was about to faint. The doctor drew his finger out.
'Got some bad news for you, sir. The bone's broken. Sir, I think you're going to lose that arm.' 'Like hell I am,' Custer hissed.
'Sir, I can have you under in five minutes; it'll be over in ten. From the way you're bleeding I think an artery is severed in there. You'll bleed out if I don't take it off now.'
'I've got a battle to run, damn you.'
'Not today, sir. You'll be back in action in a month, sir, but today is finished for you,' the doctor said gently.
'Tie it off.'
'What do you mean, sir?'
'Just that,' Custer snapped. 'Get a tourniquet on it. That will stop the bleeding, won't it?' 'For a while, but why?'
'Because I've got to get back to my command.'
'Sir, I put a tourniquet on that arm, it'll be above the elbow, and you'll lose that, too, if it stays on too long.'
'Just do it, goddamn you. Get a tourniquet on it. You can hack at me once this is over.'
The doctor stared at him intently for a moment, then reluctantly nodded, actually patting him lightly on the shoulder. He motioned to his assistant, who set to work, taking a tourniquet out of the doctor's medical bag, wrapping it around the general's arm just above the elbow, then clamping it down so tight that Custer struggled not to cry out.
The flow of blood slowed and then nearly stopped.
The assistant rigged up an arm sling, helped put it on the general, who sat back, pallid.
'Promise, once this is over, you'll come straight back to me,' the doctor said.
'Sure,' Custer said, forcing a weak smile, looking up at him.
'I can give you a little morphine for the pain.'
'Addle my mind. Just a good shot of whiskey will do.'
Several of the troopers who had gathered round to watch reached into pockets and haversacks, pulling out bottles. Custer grinned, took one of the bottles, knocked down a good long drink, and then rose shakily to his feet.
He had not commanded these men long, and he knew some resented him and his meteoric rise to command. But by God this was his day now. It was almost worth losing an arm for. A week from now the illustrated papers would be plastered with images of him, arm in sling, leading a charge, bridge blowing up in the background. It could very well mean a second star.
'Help me up.'
Again more eager hands reached out, helping him slip his jacket on, then up into the saddle.
'Get a report down to me, Tyler, once you're ready to roll. Until then I am going to keep Stuart and his rebs off the bridges.'
'Yes, sir.'
He turned and galloped off.
'You know I used to hate that son of a bitch,' one of the troopers said, 'too much glory seeking, but, damn me, he sure has the stomach for a good fight.'
One Mile North of Boonsborough, Maryland
9:45 A.M.
Riding as he always did at the head of his column Gen. James McPherson, commander of Seventeenth Corps, Army of the Susquehanna, saw the swirl of dust ahead, two troopers riding hard as they came out of the village. They had slowed for an instant as they approached his advance line of mounted skirmishers, several of the skirmishers then falling in by their side to lead them in.
McPherson urged his own mount to a quick trot and forged ahead to meet them at the edge of town. The troopers, their mounts snorting, lathered with sweat, reined in, saluting, the men gasping for breath. 'General McPherson?' 'You have him.'
'Thank God, sir,' one of the troopers gasped. 'Afraid we'd kill our mounts if we pushed them much farther.' 'What's your report?'
'Sir, we're with General Custer's Brigade. He's in one hell of a fight just east of Frederick, facing two or more brigades of rebel cavalry.' — 'What is Custer doing there?' McPherson asked. Though he had no details of what was supposed to be happening east of the Catoctins, his information was that the cavalry was to slowly push south, acting as a deceptive screen to keep Lee's attention focused north until his corps gained the pass and were into Frederick.
'Sir, yesterday,' a trooper gasped, 'the general got word the rebs were moving a pontoon train through Frederick. He decided to get there first and block the bridge over Monoc-acy Creek. We got there just minutes ahead of a whole swarm of rebs. Sir, he's asking for infantry support.'
'The railroad bridge there-what is it made of?'
'Wood, sir. But the creek's only a hundred yards wide or so. Doubt if we can get a fire burning on it; anybody steps out on it is bound to get shot.'
