Lee turned to Taylor.

"Remind General Hood in no uncertain terms that he is not to go in with the assault. I need my generals, we've already lost Pettigrew this day. Keep an eye on him till the attack goes forward."

Taylor saluted and ran after Hood.

"How goes it, sir?" Longstreet asked.

Lee wearily shook his head.

"It was not properly coordinated, General. Pettigrew went in nearly an hour late. It appears the Yankee pickets had advance warning, at least enough so that their artillery opened before the attack had even hit the abatis. Perrin's men got tangled up moving up to the start position. Now Hood's old division is starting late as well; he claims the road was all but impassable."

"It is, sir."

Lee looked over at him coldly.

"Your lead division, is it ready to exploit the breakthrough?"

"Sir, it will be an hour or more before McLaws is in position; they're filing off the road even now on the other side of the creek."

"An hour? I ordered you to have McLaws up by dawn." "Sir, we are trying to move our entire army down a single road, at night, through an ocean of mud."

"We won't win with excuses, General Longstreet"

The rebuke in his voice was obvious to everyone within hearing distance.

"We have fought two major battles in little more than a fortnight. We have destroyed one of their armies, and the capital is within our reach. We cannot lose our nerve this day, General. We must hold our nerve if we are to win. I propose to win this war today, sir, because never again will we have such a chance."

A cheer went up… the rebel yell. Hood's division

was going in.

The Moat in Front of Fort Stevens

Here they come!"

Sergeant Hazner cautiously raised his head to look back to the north. A corporal who had gone up on his elbows to look, only a minute before, was now sprawled in the bottom of the moat, the top of his head gone.

He could hear them, but the smoke was still too thick to see anything. The muzzle of the thirty-pounder ran out again, this time elevated higher, to sweep the field

"Lower, you bastards," Hazner shouted. "You're aiming too high."

"We'll get you soon enough, reb," the taunt came back from the other side, "once we kill off what's coming."

He lay back down, rolling on his back, looking down at the edge of the moat Hundreds of men were still alive, pinned along the slope of the fort and down on the inner side of the moat He held his hand up, risking that it would get shot off, and waved it in a tight circle to draw attention. Some of the men looked his way.

He pointed across the field, to the top of the fort, and then to himself. Some of the men nodded, pulled caps down tighter, clawed at bodies that they had piled up as barricades, fumbling through cartridge boxes to find a dry round and reload.

Colonel Brown, lying beside him, groaned weakly. After knocking him cold, Hazner had feared for a while the blow had been too hard, perhaps he had broken his skull, but the colonel had finally stirred. Brown had tried to get up on to his knees to vomit and he had knocked him back down, and for his troubles the vomit had splattered all over him.

"Hazner?"

"Just lie still, sir. The next wave is coming, then we'll get you back."

"No, I'm going in." "Just lie still, sir."

Hazner looked up at the sky; the sun was far higher, red through the smoke, but already hot. He hoped that one of the men coming up would have a full canteen.

He could see them now, battle flags emerging out of the smoke and mist, again the formation in columns of regiment in company front.

"Fire!"

The heavy guns inside the fort recoiled back, Hazner hugging the ground, arm over his colonel, the shock wave knocking his breath out.

Screams greeted the salvo; he looked back and saw the entire front ranks collapsing, officers, one on horseback, going down, flags dropping, one with a broken staff tumbling through the air, a hundred or more men falling.

God, that was like us, he realized, that was just like us.

The charge wavered then pressed forward, men scrambling over the fallen ranks, color guards picking up fallen flags.

"Volley fire on my command!" The cry echoed from within the fort

Hazner held his arm up, waving it again, and he prayed that someone down below saw him.

"Fire!"

The volley rippled from the top of the parapet, more men dropping across the field less than fifty yards away.

"Now!" Hazner roared. "Charge, Carolina, charge!"

He stood up, cursing himself even as he did so. His own heroics surprised him; it was an act of wild stupidity. And yet something compelled him, forced him beyond all reason or sanity to do so.

For a few seconds he stood there, naked, exposed, and no one seemed to move.

One. man, then another stood up. By his side Colonel Brown tried to come to his feet, sword held feebly up. And then a wild roar erupted from the men of Perrin's and Pettigrew's divisions, who had endured hell in front of Fort Stevens. Officers were up, waving swords. A wild rage was released and a wall of gray and butternut began to surge forward yet again, crawling, kicking, climbing their way up the blood-soaked muddy slope.

"Come on!"

It was only a few dozen feet to the top, the longest yards he had ever attempted or endured. He came up eye-level with the top of the parapet; a rifle slapped down on the top, aimed straight at his face. He grabbed it by the end of the barrel and jerked it hard, pulling it toward him. He heard a curse; the gun did not go off. He pulled harder, using it as a handhold; the owner of the gun released his grip as Hazner came over the top of the parapet. With one hand he hurled the weapon at the gun crew of the thirty-pounder and then used his own weapon to parry a bayonet thrust.

Suddenly more men were up around him, the first few jumping atop the parapet, gunned down even as they leapt up. More came and yet more. He swung his own musket around, aimed at the battery sergeant, and fired, knocking the man backward.

Yet again he rolled off the top of the wall and into the fort. The Yankees lining the firing step were stunned by the sudden onslaught; most were still fumbling to reload. Several turned and jumped off the firing step and ran across the open parade ground to join the companies still deployed in the middle of the field. This time Hazner did not hesitate. He leapt down, knowing that his only protection was to charge right on their coattails.

He looked to either side; several dozen men were with him, all driven by the same realization.

The shock of hand-to-hand battle exploded in the middle of the fort as the feeble charge slammed into the enemy formation.

He heard cannon fire behind him but did not look back as he waded in, dodging, parrying, slashing, kicking, screaming, the madness of battle upon his soul.

A boy charged straight at Mm, bayonet lowered. He blocked the blow, driving his own bayonet into the boy's chest. The young soldier gasped, staggered backward, and Hazner lost the grip on his rifle, letting go.

He caught a glimpse of a clubbed musket and dropped to the ground, the blow missing. All was confusion, feet-some barefoot, others in shoes with sky-blue trousers-and he feigned that he was down and out of the fight. More feet, all with sky-blue trousers, stormed around him. He curled up, as if hit in the stomach.

Looking back he saw scores of men gaining the top of the parapet

"On the wall, volley fire on the wall!" The feet around him stopped; a ramrod came down, stuck into the ground beside him. The men atop the wall paused, rifles dropping down to the firing position. A scathing volley erupted, the man standing within inches of Hazner's face shrieking, falling backward.

Again the rebel yell, this time louder, confident as the men atop the parapet slid down to the firing step, jumped off, and charged across the courtyard.