Walter gently closed the door, and Lee sat back down and looked out the window, watching as the rain came down.

Headquarters, Army of the Susquehanna

August 31,1863 Dawn The storm had finally passed an hour before dawn, leaving a cooling breeze out of the west. Grant stood on the front porch of the small cabin which was now his headquarters and handed up the dispatch to a trooper who saluted and rode off, mud splashing up around him. Phil watched the trooper ride off. "Should you signal your presence thus?" Phil asked. "Yes, I think I should," Grant replied. "How's the headache?" Phil asked.

Grant looked over at him coldly and felt it had to be discussed.

"General Sheridan, if you wish to serve with me, there are a couple of rules." "Sir?"

"No drinking in my presence, and never a mention of my headaches, do we understand each other?" "Yes, sir."

Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia Troops were forming up, skirmishers deploying out, heading north on the road to Frederick. This would be his final gamble. If he could catch Grant in column on the road and push him aside, there would be nothing behind him. It would then be a renewed race. Gain Frederick, take the Catoctin Pass, which was most likely unguarded, hold there while the rest of the army crossed over the South Mountain range, and then seek passage over the ford at Sharpsburg.

It was a desperate move, but if done with enough push, it could still work. His only wish now was that his men had found at least some sleep during the night, for today they would be expected to fight and march nearly thirty miles.

"White flag!" someone shouted.

Lee saw coming toward him a Union officer, about a quarter mile off, holding a white flag aloft, waving it back and forth.

"Maybe they wish to surrender," someone quipped, but there was no laughter.

Lee mounted and rode toward him, Longstreet and Walter at his side.

Skirmishers surrounded the trooper. One of Jeb's men went up to the Yankee, there was a quick exchange of words, and the trooper escorted the Yankee up to Lee. As he approached, the Union captain stiffened and saluted.

"Sir, I am Capt. Daniel Struble, on the staff of General Grant. He asked that I personally present this letter to you and await your reply."

"Captain Struble," Walter said, "you understand that under the rules of war you cannot report back on anything you see while within our lines."

"Of course, sir."

Walter nodded his thanks and returned Struble's salute.

Lee opened the letter even as his skirmishers pressed forward, in line of battle, some of them Armistead's men, who had shown up miraculously during the night.

To Gen. Robert E. Lee

Commander, Army of Northern Virginia

Sir,

I believe that the situation now warrants that we meet to discuss terms for the surrender of your forces. You are surrounded on all sides and your line of retreat across the Potomac has been severed. Further resistance can only result in the tragic loss of more lives.

I await your reply. (Signed) U. S. Grant Lee folded the letter and stuck it into his breast pocket.

"My compliments to General Grant for his thoughtfulness, Captain Struble, but please tell him that I disagree with his assessment of the situation. That will be all."

Struble hesitated, saluted, and then started to turn away, then looked back.

"Sir, I doubt that you remember me. I was at the Point while you were superintendent You left the end of my plebe year."

"I am sorry, Captain," Lee said politely, "but I do not recall you."

"Sir, a personal appeal. You taught us at the Point to always deal with our fellow officers as comrades and with honor."

He hesitated.

"Go on, Captain."

"Sir, on my word of honor to a fellow officer, you cannot win this day. I have seen both sides now. Honor binds me from saying or revealing more to you, but I do appeal to you to reconsider."

"Thank you, Captain Struble, but my decision is final."

"I am sorry, sir."

Struble turned and, with his Confederate escort, raced back down the road, mud flying up as he passed, a few of the skirmishers offering catcalls once Struble was clear of their lines.

Lee looked over at Pete.

"I think we should press forward and see what Grant has prepared," Lee said.

Struble appeared out of the distant woods, riding hard. Grant raised his field glasses and could tell the answer already. Struble drew up and saluted. "He didn't accept it." "No, sir. He refused."

"I'd have done the same," Grant said softly. "How many are coming?" Sheridan asked. Struble looked stiffly down at Sheridan. "Sir, I cannot tell you."

"Nor should you," Grant interjected. "Captain, please stand by."

The crackle of skirmish fire erupted ahead, and some mounted skirmishers came out of the woods, pulling back. Tragically, two men down the road dropped from their saddles.

The field was nearly six hundred yards wide, open pasture land, grass waist high. At the center of the field was a crossroads, a lane coming down from the right leading back up toward Hauling Ferry. Troops from that position had been coming down it during the night and were concealed in the woods to his flank, led by Hancock, who had turned over command of the rear guard to Sykes and was now commanding troops covering the western flank of the net. At the crossroads was a small chapel, apparently abandoned.

Grant looked behind him. It was not the best of tactical arrangements, but he prayed that what he had deployed would, have the desired effect.

His skirmishers reached the edge of the woods, this morning seeming to advance with a bit of their old spirit, or was their elan just a final, mad desperation? During the night scouts had reported some campfires just on the other side of the woods. Grant had to be there, the courier had proven that. The question to be answered in the next few minutes was simple enough. Was Grant's army beaten down and worn? Had the pursuit been one of troops exhausted and strung out on the roads, or had he managed to bring up sufficient strength?

If he is off balance, then we push through and roll him up. Every man had been spoken to by their officers just before daybreak, told of the task ahead. Dry ammunition from the few remaining wagons had been distributed to the advancing lines of Armistead.

As they advanced, Lee rode just behind the main battle line, his staff around him. He would not let them hold him back this morning, he had already made that clear. Somehow Walter had managed, during the night, to clean his other uniform and presented it to him when he arose. Stains had been sponged out, the brass polished. He felt strange dressed thus, for all his men were ragged, filthy, hollow-eyed from lack of sleep.

Moving cautiously, the skirmishers advanced a hundred yards out of the woods and into the field. There they halted, officers calling for the men to dress ranks.

Then he could see them. A heavy line of cavalry on the far side of the field, men mounted, perhaps two or three regiments.

For a moment his heart swelled. Cavalry, we can push them back.

"Bring up the guns," Lee said.

Walter looked back and raised a fist, then pointed forward. A battalion of guns that had been waiting on the far side of the woods turned into the road and started to struggle forward, mud splattering, the first of them reaching the edge of the woods then turning left and right to deploy out.

In another few minutes it would begin.

And then the Yankee cavalry men turned about, some riding off to either flank, into the adjoining woods, others heading toward the rear.

Behind them was a solid line of guns arrayed hub to hub, more than fifty, covering the width of the field. Directly behind the guns battle flags were suddenly raised up, dozens of flags, national colors, state flags, a solid wall of infantry, thousands strong.