Hunt entered the town, the long column of troops standing still while a mule that had collapsed was cut away from the traces of aa ammunition wagon and dragged to the side of the road. Muskets grounded, the men leaned against their weapons for support. Some looked up as he passed; others stood with heads hung low, leaning against their muskets, too exhausted to note his passing. Nothing was said. He could sense that sullenness, their anger and confusion over this turn of events.

The flag of the army commander hung limp over the entryway of a church just beyond the center of town. Headquarters was always easy enough to spot even without a flag. Staff, couriers, and reporters were always clustered about.

Hunt dismounted and slowly walked up the steps into the cool darkness of the church, ignoring the shouted questions of several reporters who tried to intercept him. They knew a major story was developing and were begging for a comment that they could then chop up as they saw fit. He avoided them as he always did.

Meade was in the cool darkness of the church, leaning against a pew, surrounded by staff, bent over a map spread out on a table dragged into the main aisle of the church. Butterfield, chief of staff, was leaning over the map, drawing a line with a pencil.

General Slocum, commander of Twelfth Corps, which was now passing through the town, stood by Meade's side; Sickles was sitting in a pew with arms folded, gazing off, his body tense with controlled fury and frustration, surrounded by his staff.

Meade looked up at Henry's approach and motioned him to approach.

"What's the situation?" Butterfield asked.

"As. ordered, I stayed behind to ensure the proper withdrawal of artillery," Henry said. "The Artillery Reserve should be getting on the road by now. When I left Gettysburg," he paused, trying to remember the time exactly, "at seven-thirty this morning, Sixth Corps was just starting to file out

'Third Corps," and he looked over at Sickles, "was moving in good order; I passed the head of their column about two miles above the town."

Henry moved to an opening around the table; Meade looked up at him. The map was hand-sketched, and he realized it was based on the survey done by Warren and himself of the Pipe Creek line.

"They're moving into the line," Meade said, "my line, the one I selected."

Henry could detect the hint of weariness and desperation in Meade's voice. Not a good sign.

"Hancock reports Longstreet has taken Union Mills."

"They have Westminster," Butterfield interjected.

"I could see it on the road; that fire could be nothing else but Westminster," Henry replied.

"The situation back in Gettysburg?" Meade asked.

"Still some skirmishing north of town with Stuart. Howard sent a brigade out just after dawn and pushed up to the Lutheran seminary. Ewell is gone."

Henry paused. He had ridden up to take a look before turning about to head south. Union dead carpeted the landscape, many of them the old Iron Brigade, which had made the last-ditch stand around the seminary. The building was a hospital, packed with Union wounded who had been left behind, along with Confederate wounded too critical to move. The air reeked of death and torn flesh.

"I talked with one of our surgeons," Henry continued. "He'd been captured on the first day and then left behind as the Rebs pulled out He said the Confederate army started moving before dawn yesterday, the last of their infantry abandoning the line before midnight. All of them were heading west, and then it looked to be south. He overheard several rebel officers talking about getting around our left"

Henry almost wanted to add that Sickles's assumption had indeed been right, but knew that would only make the situation worse.

"The road to Fairfield, as I said," Sickles interjected, looking back at Henry.

Henry ignored him.

"So the only thing they have left up around Gettysburg is cavalry?" Meade asked. "Yes, sir."

Meade nodded, looking back at Butterfield.

"Our cavalry will have to focus on Stuart," Meade said, "but if their infantry is gone, I think it's safe to pull either First or Eleventh Corps down here."

"It's a nightmare up there," Henry said. "From what I saw, there must be six to seven thousand wounded in the town and surrounding area, a couple of thousand of them rebels. The area has to be secured and help brought in."

'I'd suggest Eleventh Corps stays behind, and we put First Corps on the road down here later in the day," Butterfield replied, and Henry nodded in agreement

The First and Eleventh had sustained over 50 percent casualties, but the old First still had a fighting edge to it The morale of the Eleventh was totally gone after the rout at Chancellorsville and the brutal first day's fight at Gettysburg, the few good units left in that formation having been annihilated in the battle for Cemetery Hill.

"Did you say that this surgeon reported the last rebel infantry left Gettysburg around midnight?" Sickles interjected, now standing up and joining the group around the map. "Yes, sir."

Sickles looked over significantly at Meade. "Then what we talked about before," Sickles said. "I'd like to press that case again."

Meade lowered his head.

"We know Longstreet is at Westminster," Sickles continued. "We're almost certain Hill is down there as well. So where is Ewell? Still on the road, most likely."

Sickles pulled out his pocket watch and opened it.

"It's Shortly after ten in the morning. If his corps left Gettysburg around midnight and then did a night march, they've covered fifteen, twenty miles at most. That would put them between Emmitsburg and Taneytown. You only have Fifth Corps attacking there."

"That's all that will be there," Meade replied stiffly.

"My corps will be coming into this town within the hour," Sickles continued.

From the look on Meade's face, Henry sensed that this argument had been going on for some time.

"All they have to do is turn off on to the road between here and Taneytown. Let me support the attack on the right. Do that and we can cut off the tail of Lee's advance and put ourselves between his army and their line of supplies and communication."

"General Sickles, he doesn't need a line of supply now," Butterfield interjected. "He has ours."

"But…" and before he could get another word out, Meade exploded. "Goddamn it, Sickles, it is our line of supply and communications that's the issue now! They are between us and Washington."

'To hell with Washington," Sickles muttered. "They've got enough men behind the fortifications to hold. We're dancing to Lee's tune; let's make him dance to ours for once."

'To hell with Washington?" Meade gasped. "Good God, man, they are bound to be in a panic down there. If Stanton can find a way, he'll get a message to me and it will be one word, just one word… 'Attack!'"

Meade looked back at the map and shook his head. "They're running around down there like headless chickens. Every newspaper will be screaming panic. Where's the army, Washington surrounded, Meade lost. You're a Goddamn politician, Sickles. You know it even better than I do how they'll react"

"I'm a general now," Sickles said coldly.

"For the moment," Meade snapped.

"Are you threatening my command?" Sickles retorted.

Meade looked up at him a dark fire in his eyes.

"I warned you about this yesterday," Sickles pressed, and Henry turned away. Goddamn, now was not the time to bring that up.

"Do you want me to put it in writing?" Meade shouted. "General Sickles guessed right. Then when you run for president you can claim you could have won the battle at Gettysburg? Is that what you want?"

"I want us to win," Henry said, his voice pitched even, leaning over the table, wondering if his interruption would bring the wrath of both generals down on him. Damn all, now was not the time to argue; it was a time to make decisions and carry them through.