I held the good ground for the army yesterday, did my duty, pulled back to refit, and now this. How the hell did Hood get around to the rear?

John looked over at Gamble, who was still awaiting orders. "We've got to hold them here, right here. Lose this line and there is no defendable position between here and the far side of Taneytown"-he hesitated for a second trying to remember the name "-along Pipe Creek.

"On the right, Gamble; put whatever we've got in there."

"Reserve?"

John shook his head. "We don't have any now."

Hood was a good player, he knew what to do. Yesterday, Harry Heth was impetuous, came on too fast; Hood though, John was different Aggressive as all hell, but he'd get a full division up and then come storming in with everything at once. Just keep extending the line until he finds a place to get across and turns us. That and some of my men have gone in with cartridge boxes half-empty. The few precious companies armed with repeating Spencer rifles were just about empty, having poured out nearly everything they had up at Gettysburg yesterday.

This was going to get bad real quick.

"Find a trooper with a damn good horse and get him over here now" John announced.

Dismounting in front of a farmhouse on the crest of the hill, he walked up to the porch. A woman with two children behind her stood in the doorway.

"I’d suggest you get your family down into the cellar," Buford said.

The woman turned, pushing the children inside, but returned a moment later, bearing of all things an earthen mug filled with foaming buttermilk.

In spite of his concern for her safety, he gratefully took the offering and downed it. It was cool, delicious. He drank it so fast his head ached for a moment

"Ma'am, please find some shelter."

"You're wounded, sir," and she pointed to his left arm. He glanced down, saw the torn sleeve, and for the first time felt the pain. The last shell burst must have nicked him.

"I'll be fine. Now please go with your children."

"Have your wounded brought in here where it's safe."

Safe? He couldn't help but smile. This house, on the crossroads, would be a target for the guns deploying on the other side.

"Down to the cellar with you, ma'am. I'll send one of my men to stay with you."

Gamble came up, leading a trooper riding a fine-looking stallion, which had obviously just "joined" the army.

Buford pulled out his dispatch book, folded it open, and addressed a note to Meade.

Monocacy Creek, Five Miles West of Taneytown

My command, while proceeding through Taneytown, was informed by a scout that Confederate forces, in at least brigade strength, were approaching from Emmitsburg. I have moved my entire command up, securing the east bank of Monocacy Creek at the stone bridge on the Emmitsburg-Taneytown Pike. I am

facing Hood's division, having directly observed at least two brigades so far and believe that Longstreet's corps is behind him.

He paused for a moment, then added the next line.

I believe Longstreet's intent is to turn the left flank of our army.

I intend to hold this position at whatever cost, though my ammunition supply is limited and many of my mounts are worn. I believe you should move sufficient forces here with all possible dispatch to secure this position; otherwise Taneytown and Westminster will be threatened.

Pulling out his pocket watch, he checked the time and handed the dispatch up.

"Ride back toward Taneytown," Buford ordered. 'Take the road north to Harney, the one we came down this morning, then proceed directly to Gettysburg. Stop for nothing. I want this personally delivered to General Meade. To Meade and no one else. Do you understand me?"

The trooper, obviously pleased with the importance of his role, nodded eagerly and saluted.

"Go!"

The trooper was off with a clattering of hooves, leaning far forward, crouched down on the neck of his mount.

Buford looked back at the woman, who was still standing in the doorway of her house. 'This road here"-and he pointed to the farm lane that intersected the pike at a right angle and headed north, disappearing as it turned down toward the river-"where does it lead?"

"That's Bullfrog Road," she replied. "It heads down to a ford across the river, about a mile north of here."

John nodded. Gamble had heard what she said and didn't need to be told.

"Get a regiment down to that ford. That's where he'll try and turn us. I'm staying here for right now. It's yesterday all over again, Gamble. We've got to hold. We've got to hold."

Gamble casually saluted and started to turn. As Buford watched, a shell screamed in, bursting in the front yard. He looked back at the open doorway, the woman standing there unflinching. Another shell roared in… and then he was down.

There was a glimpse of sky, torn rafters of the porch, cedar shingles smoking, no noise, just a sense of floating. He caught a glimpse of white. It was the woman, kneeling by his side.

"You all right?’

He wasn't sure if he had actually spoken or not, but she nodded in reply, taking his hand. Gamble was by her side, features pale, cradling an arm. He knelt down, grimacing as he reached out, touching John on the shoulder. There were tears in Gamble's eyes.

"You've got to hold…," John Buford tried to whisper, "for God's sake, please hold."

Coming to the edge of the woodlot, Longstreet reined in. Bullets were snicking through the trees, leaves fluttering down around him. "Right down there," Hood announced, pointing. He was right A ford, the river shallow to the right of the crossing for a good hundred yards. The banks were a bit steep. It'd be tough getting up on the far side, but it was better than trying to force the bridge with a frontal charge against men armed with breechloaders.

Two batteries were already in place, shelling the crest behind the bridge. He raised his field glasses and focused on a plume of smoke. It looked like a farmhouse at the crest was on Are. Now that would be a signal that could be seen for miles.

The entire river valley for nearly half a mile was an inferno, stabs of light flickering in the smoke, the high crack of Sharps rifles, the tearing roar of volleys from his side. Behind him, weaving down a farm lane, a column approached, George Anderson's brigade, running at the double, men staggering with exhaustion in the ninety-degree heat, having marched nearly twenty miles and now going into this.

From the opposite side of the creek, he saw an open line of Union cavalry coming down the hill, cutting across the field, stopping a hundred yards from the riverbank, troopers dismounting, pulling carbines from saddle holsters, units of five men, four dismounting, the fifth staying mounted and grabbing the reins of the other horses.

The troopers raced down to the banks of the narrow stream, sliding down into the high grass, nestling in behind trees. No artillery though, not a single gun, thank God. One field piece, loaded with canister, would murder the men about to sprint to the ford.

Hood came up by his side.

"Almost in place."

Pete took out his pocket watch and shook his head. This had been going on for well over an hour and a half. If the signal station back in Emmitsburg had indeed warned Meade, reinforcements could already be approaching Taneytown.

"Send them in now."

'Twenty more minutes, and I'll have the entire brigade up." "Now!"

Hood looked over at him, saluted.

"And John."

"Sir!'

"You stay here with me." "General?"

"I need you for a lot more… John, after this. I don't want you getting hurt now. Give the order, then come back here."