"Not in my nature," McPherson gasped. "Could you do me a favor, soldier. Can't breathe. Help me sit up."

Robinson set his rifle down and propped McPherson up against the side of the building. McPherson coughed, clearing his lungs, blood foaming from his lips. "Thank you."

"Sergeant?"

Robinson looked up and was stunned to see General Lee approaching, oblivious to the battle raging around him, staff nervously drawn in close in a protective ring.

More troops of Hood's old Texas brigade were running past, going into the fight.

"Who is that, Sergeant?" Lee asked.

Robinson looked at the man's shoulders.

"A major general, sir."

Walter took the reins of Traveler as Lee dismounted and stepped up to the two. Robinson, not sure whether he should come to attention, decided to continue to help the wounded officer and kept him braced against the wall.

"Oh, God," Lee sighed, "James."

McPherson opened his eyes.

"General, sir. Sorry we had to meet again like this."

Lee knelt by his side and took his hand.

"James. Dear God, James, I'm so sorry."

"Fortunes of war, General. Remember old Alfred T. Mahan always talked about that, the chances of war."

Robinson did not know what to do. Should he draw back, stay to help the Union general, or rejoin his command?

The sergeant looked over at Lee.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, voice near to breaking. "I asked him to surrender, but he wouldn't. I'm sorry, sir." His voice trailed off.

"Not your fault, Sergeant," McPherson whispered. "Did your duty. Foolish of me, actually. Don't blame yourself."

Robinson found himself looking up into Lee's eyes, and was filled with anguish.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Lee shook his head.

"No, Sergeant. War, contemptible war, did it." Lee looked back at McPherson. "Are you sorely hurt, James?"

McPherson nodded. "Can't seem to breathe." Blood was spilling out from just under his armpit, trickling down from his lips and nostrils. "General?"

Lee looked up. It was Walter.

"Sir, it isn't safe for you here. Word is more Yankees are coming into the town. Sir, you must move!"

Lee nodded, then looked from his old student to Robinson.

"Sergeant, get a detail together. Carry General McPherson back to the depot down by the river. Stay with him, I'm ordering you to stay with him. Find my surgeon down there, and see that the general is tended to immediately."

"Of course, sir," Robinson replied.

He wondered for a second whether Lee remembered the incident at Taneytown, where he had defied Lee, grabbing hold of Traveler's reins and blocking his advance. But the general seemed lost in misery.

"I'll see he is taken care of, sir," Robinson whispered.

"General Lee, a favor," McPherson whispered.

"Anything, James."

"My fiancee is in Baltimore. We were planning to many but then this campaign started. Interfered with our plans." He paused, struggling for breath, coughing up more blood. "Could you send for her?" "Of course, James. Anything."

"Her name is Emily Hoffman." He paused again as if already drifting away, Lee leaning closer.

McPherson chuckled and then grimaced with pain.

"Can't remember her address, it seems. But it's on her letters in my breast pocket."

"She'll be on a train and up to you by tomorrow, James."

"Would like to see her again."

"You will, my friend. God forgive me. I am so sorry."

"Duty divided us," McPherson whispered, "but you are still my friend, sir."

Lee, head lowered, could not suppress a sob, squeezing McPherson's hand "General, sir!"

It was Walter, dismounted, placing a hand on Lee's shoulder.

"Sir, it is too dangerous here. They have reinforcements coming in from the pass. We must move!"

Lee stood up woodenly, his gaze turning again to Robinson.

"Sergeant, this man is your duty now. Please see to him, and I shall be grateful." "Yes, sir."

Lee mounted and rode off.

A number of soldiers who had gathered round to watch had already made up a litter out of blankets and muskets strapped together. Robinson gently helped to pick up the general and place him in the litter.

"Help me sit up, Sergeant," McPherson gasped. "Can't breathe lying down."

"Certainly, sir," Robinson said softly, as if to a sick child. "I'll keep you up. You'll be all right, sir."

McPherson looked at him and smiled weakly.

"Don't think so. You're a damn good shooter, Sergeant."

Sgt. Lee Robinson found he could not reply.

As the group setoff he caught a glimpse of Hazner standing outside a building, remembering him from the charge at Fort Stevens. As they passed, Hazner saluted.

Braddock Heights 7:30 P.M.

Come on boys, that's it, that's it!" Grant shouted.

The lead division of Ninth Corps was storming over the heights, running at the double, Sheridan in the lead.

Whatever had been said before about colored troops, he now laid to rest as he watched them pass. These men were tough, unbelievably tough, rifles at the shoulder, moving at the double, still keeping columns. A few collapsed as they passed, but then struggled to get to their feet and press forward.

Sheridan barely paused to salute, obviously in his glory. He had driven these men forward without pity, and they had answered to his call.

"How did Burnside take it?" Grant asked, as Sheridan rode up to his side.

"Like a soldier actually," Phil replied. "I think he expected it. I don't like the man leading these colored men, Ferroro, but for the moment he'll do. He, at least, is at the front. Tough men, double-timed them the last two miles."

"Hunt?"

"Courier came back, saying if Burnside's boys will get the hell off the road he'll have the first guns up by midnight."

"Good, very good," Grant replied enthusiastically.

"Sir, I've got a battle to fight," Phil announced excitedly, and turning, he fell in with the column, heading down the ridge into Frederick, and as he rode the heavens opened and the rain began.

Frederick 8:00 P.M.

General Lee stood at the edge of the town watching it burn even as the storm swept down from the hills. By the flashes of lightning he could see a column of Union troops coming down off the ridge.

It had to be another corps. Reports were they were colored, men of Ninth Corps.

The battle for today had served its purpose. The Union Seventeenth Corps had been shredded in the town. There was no sense any longer in trying to hold it It was afire, all semblance of control lost. Throughout the night Grant would keep pouring more men in while Johnston would not arrive much before midnight and it'd still take several hours to bring him up.

No. The day had started off poorly with the bridge, but he felt confident now. They had smashed a corps, and Grant would not let that pass lightly. He'll bring in the rest of his men. Now is the time for us to take the good ground.

He turned to Walter.

"Order Scales and Robertson to evacuate the town, to pull back to the other side of the river."

"The other side, sir? What about the bridge?"

"The other side has higher ground, Walter. You saw the survey Jed Hotchkiss did for us today. It's a good defensive position, and I will not venture a fight on this side. Grant's blood is up, and he'll hit us, come tomorrow. Let him think we're retreating and that will bring him on. I want everyone back across the river and then let us see what Grant will do. Once we defeat him, we can repair the bridge and move our pontoons."

"Yes, sir."

Walter rode off.

Lee sat silent, watching the town burn, the wounded coming out, and he lowered his head.

"Merciful God," he whispered, "forgive us what we did to each other this day. Please let this be the last fight. Let it end here so that no longer friend is turned against friend."