“Sails ho!” the lookout called out: Captain Green trained his glass at the coast ahead. “Three, four — maybe five,” he said. “What a gorgeous sight.”

Black smoke puffed from the stack as the sails were lowered and Hartford aimed for the enemy ships. They had surely been seen because white sails suddenly blossomed along the bare masts of the British ships. But they were late, far too late, for the warship was bearing down upon them at a good eleven knots. They were fat Indiamen, all of them, and not very used to setting sail with such little notice. The first two ships were anchored no more than a hundred feet apart.

“Helmsman,” Green ordered. “Sail between them. Guns, fire as soon as you bear on your target.” He signaled the engine room to reduce speed. Hartford slid through the green, transparent water. On the gun decks the cannon were rolled out, the gun captains gripping the lanyards of their igniters.

The first cannon fired and the ship’s frame shivered. Then the others, one after another, as the Hartford passed between the two ships.

There was a yellow puff of smoke from the Indiaman to port, the only resistance, but the cannonball screamed over the Hartford’s deck, missing completely.

Not so the well-laid guns of the American warship. At point blank range the cannon roared out. The solid shot crashing through the hulls of the British ships. Tearing down bulkheads, dismasting the port ship, the blast from the guns starting numberless fires. When Hartford steamed on, the two shattered hulls lay low in the water behind her, on fire, drifting towards the shore. Their attacker raised more steam again and turned towards the other ships.

Within a half an hour the scene at the peaceful anchorage had changed completely. One battered ship was beached and burning. Three others were in hopeless condition, holed, burning, sinking. One desperate captain had run his ship ashore — but this was no escape. Hartford stood in as close as she could, almost in the surf, and battered her into wreckage.

“Cannon on shore, sir,” the first mate said. The captain, for the first time, realized that they were under fire. There were at least six guns ashore firing at them. But their fire was wildly inaccurate, with only a few shells sending up waterspouts close to them.

“All right, we’ve done what we can,” the captain said with great satisfaction. “Raise sail. We’ll stop the engine as soon as we are on a west-south-west heading to clear that headland. Then north to California. There will hopefully be some coal for us there.”

He looked back at the ruined ships and smiled. “At least we will be able to telegraph some good news to Washington. A fine day’s work, lads, fine indeed.”

General William Tecumseh Sherman and General Robert E. Lee had Room 313 to themselves, with strict orders that they were not to be disturbed. Sherman now had his own key to the map cabinet. After bolting the room’s door from the inside he unlocked the cabinet and opened its door wide.

“There it is, Robert. The country that we must free.”

The two generals had become more than just allies working in a common cause, they had formed a close bond of friendship. Both men were of the same mind, tacticians who had a ruthless and determined drive to win. Neither enjoyed defending, both relished the attack. Now they were working to a common purpose.

“Do you have an invasion plan in mind?” Lee asked.

“A probable structure. Which is why I called you here today. First, let us look to the enemy defenses. The British have long worried about a French invasion of this island and have been building forts and coastal defenses for years. Most of them along the eastern coast where the centers of population are. They run from Londonderry here on the north coast — then go right around to Belfast and down to Newry. Past Dublin, to Waterford and Cork. There are forts and Martello towers all along the way, making this a very inhospitable coast. I can see no reason to charge headfirst against these obstacles.”

“I am in complete agreement, Cumph. And for another important reason as well. The people.”

“Agreed. We have friends in the south. But all of our reports assure us that the Northern Protestants will side with the English. I am assured by those who know that the population might very well rise against any invasion.”

“I sincerely believe that they will. The north will be a tough nut to crack.” Sherman looked up at the wall clock. “I asked General Meagher to bring Surgeon Reynolds here at three o’clock. He is a northern Catholic who can tell us what we need to know about the situation in Ulster. I am seriously considering taking him into our confidence about the invasion. That may be the only way to get the information that we must have.”

Lee nodded. “A more than sensible suggestion. And one that goes very well with something I have been turning over in my head. I think that we are in agreement that the Irish Brigade will lead the attacks in the south of Ireland. They would burn us at the stake if we didn’t let them do that. But I am sure that you will also agree with me that we want to keep them out of the north. However we go about the invasion there — we don’t want them anywhere near it. That would be the one certain way to guarantee a civil uprising.”

“I have been thinking exactly the same thing,” Sherman said.

“Well then, if you think I’m fit, I would like to command in the north. Lead the attack with my Southern regiments. Every one of them a Protestant as well!”

“The job is yours if you want it. I can’t think of another officer who could handle the problems there as well as you could. Now, before Meagher and his surgeon appear, let us see where we stand on the overall invasion. What is the best way to envelop the south? Let us consider the broad sweep of this map. Soldiers and defenses in the east, few people and fewer defenses in the west. Landings would be very easy to make there.”

“They would — but we would have to cross the width of the country before we could reach the enemy in any numbers.”

Sherman’s finger kept tapping the west coast of the country, the central part around Galway, then tracing a route east. Then back again, over and over again. When he did this his finger traced along markings on the map. Lee watched him do this, concentrating as he repeated himself — then he smiled.

“I don’t know what you are thinking,” Lee said, “but I have a feeling that we are of a mind…”

“The railroads.”

“The railroads indeed.” Lee joined him at the map, traced a line from coast to coast. “A landing here at Limerick — and then the train straight to Cork.”

“And here at Galway directly to Dublin. But the situation in the north is not clear at all. We want to avoid Londonderry if we can because it seems to be stoutly defended. We will have to get some advice from the Irish. But trains will be our strength. We made good use of the railroads during the past conflict.”

Lee nodded begrudging agreement. “I always worried about the railroads. As fast as I could move my troops you would still be able to use the trains to flank me.”

“Then let us put this knowledge to good use. Ireland has a finely developed network of rail lines. I feel that we should design any invasion around them.”

Lee nodded. “I agree completely. There is one main advantage to this plan of attack. We land where we can expect little opposition. When we have secured a foothold we advance by train. Which means that we will be arriving at these strong-points on the east coast from inland — while all of their defenses point out to sea. But we must have the benefit of surprise. Not only must the railroads be seized and used to our own ends — but communication must be cut so the enemy will not know of our presence.”