"Though your plan, sir, is along the right lines, I think we should be more audacious, General Longstreet" And then he traced a line across the map far to the south, Emmitsburg, Taneytown, and then finally Westminster.
"General Longstreet you spoke with great clarity just now, sir. We have all become focused on here, on this place, these roads leading to Gettysburg, these surrounding hills, and have forgotten how we have fought in the past at Chancellorsville and especially Second Manassas.
"If they are here tomorrow, what is behind them? Not just behind the hills, sir, that you suggest we flank, but farther back, ten miles, twenty miles?"
No one spoke.
"Nothing, except their supplies, which are most likely based at Westminster."
He traced his finger on the map, estimating distances, his generals gathering closer.
"Jed, how far would you estimate?" and his cartographer leaned closer to watch.
"Here at Gettysburg, back to Fairfield, then Emmitsburg, then straight to Westminster."
Jed studied the map for a moment. "Thirty-five miles, but that's a rough guess, sir."
"Jackson did over fifty in two days when he marched around them at the start of the Second Manassas campaign," Lee replied, and he chose the analogy deliberately, looking over at Longstreet
He could see that the comment hit a nerve with Longstreet, who stiffened slightly and then made direct eye contact with Lee and held it
"Westminster is their supply head; it is the closest railroad," Lee continued, still looking at Longstreet "Move toward that gain the march on them, and it will be like Jackson taking Manassas Junction. We will have their supply line and be between them and Washington. Panic will ensue.
"All of the Yankees will be concentrated here at Gettysburg. They'll have to turn around and force march back. It will be a mad tangle. That is the disadvantage this town hides. Getting in is easy; getting back out quickly, that will be a problem. And while they do that, we simply dig in and get ready to receive them."
"How are these roads?" Longstreet asked, at last breaking eye contact with Lee to look at Hotchkiss.
Lee smiled inwardly. Longstreet was rising to the challenge, the bait. It would become for him an issue of pride, to match Jackson and what was now the immortal legend.
"Emmitsburg to Taneytown to Westminster is a good pike, sir," Hotchkiss replied. "Solid bridge over Monocacy Creek."
"I crossed through Westminster, sir," Stuart quickly interjected. "Excellent roads. You could move an entire corps along them without a problem."
Lee held up his hand, indicating for everyone to remain calm. For a moment this afternoon he thought that final victory was, indeed, unfolding before Gettysburg. He realized now that if he had not launched that final, desperate evening assault he would have rejected Longstreet's reasoning, which had triggered this new line of thought, believing that come dawn the fight could be pressed to a successful conclusion on this ground. He knew now that Longstreet, without a doubt, was right Today, exactly one year later, he had fought Malvern Hill here at Gettysburg on July 1st. He would never make that mistake again.
The battle here at Gettysburg was finished.
"We turn this back into a battle of maneuver, gentlemen, the thing we have always done best the thing that our opponents have never mastered. But let me say it before all of you quite clearly. I am not seeking a half victory. By abandoning this field, some will see that as an admission of defeat something we have never yet done, completely abandon a field. In so doing we return to a war of maneuver. We cut their line of supply while at the same time continuing to secure our own line of supply by moving our wagon trains back down to Greencastle. The ultimate goal must be to force the Army of the Potomac to territory that we choose and then fight a battle to finish this once and for all."
He looked carefully at each one in turn. 'That is what I will expect from you, what our country expects from all of us, and nothing less is acceptable. We are here to win not just a battle."
He paused for a moment
"We are here to win a war."
He looked around the room. Ewell's gaze seemed a bit distant; most likely he was still in shock after the debacle before Cemetery Hill, but Longstreet Stuart and even Hill had stirred. In their eyes was that light, that terrible fire he had seen before in men anticipating battle and knew could blaze within him as well.
There was a final gaze back at the map of Gettysburg, then over to the other map, his glance catching a creek north of Westminster… Pipe Creek.
He took a deep breath and pushed the map of Gettysburg aside.
Perhaps the fate of our nation rests on what I've just done here, he thought, but that thought held only for a moment until finally, like the map, he pushed it aside as well. Such thoughts, at such moments, could only serve to cripple one's will, and there was a campaign to be planned.
2.00 AM, JULY I, 1863 ' CEMETERY HILL
"It's General Meade."
Henry Hunt, who had fallen asleep sitting against the wheel of a caisson, stirred, looked up blankly. Hancock stood above him, silhouetted by the moonlight
"Better get up," Winfield said, and leaning over, he offered his hand.
With a groan Henry took the hand, and came up to his feet.
"How long did I sleep?" "An hour, maybe two." "Sorry."
"You needed it" "What about you?"
Hancock chuckled. "No rest for the wicked."
In the bright moonlight Henry could see the cavalcade, a troop of cavalry riding escort guidon of the Commander of the Army of the Potomac shining silver in the moonlight staff officers trailing behind as Meade trotted around the side of the gatehouse to the. cemetery and came up the hill. One of Hancock's staff rode down to meet them and pointed the way.
Henry stretched, absently tugging at his uniform, trying to smooth it out. His mouth felt gummy, the taste sour. His eyes were scratchy. As he stretched, every muscle and joint ached in protest
He caught the scent of coffee and nodded his thanks as a sergeant approached bearing a hot cup. He blew on the rim, took a scalding mouthful, and rinsed his mouth out; then he took a deep swallow, the coffee jolting him awake.
Still a bit disoriented, he looked around. In the moonlight it seemed as if the grounds of the cemetery were a seeming mass, a strange, almost frightful sight, as if the graves had opened and the dead were rising up.
The men were digging in. Shovels flashed in the moonlight; lunettes were going up around the guns rimming the crown of the hill. Shattered caissons, upended wagons, dead horses, empty limber boxes, anything that could stop a bullet or shell were being piled up, strengthening the defensive line.
Farther down the slope, he could see dozens of lanterns, slowly bobbing and weaving about, stretcher parties working to bring in the wounded.
"Lee asked for a truce a couple of hours ago," Hancock announced. "Their boys and ours are down there helping the wounded. Damn, Hunt, there are places you can barely move the ground is so covered with bodies."
He had a flash memory of the flag bearer torn apart, the ground smeared with blood, entrails, parts of bodies. Lowering the cup of coffee, he caught a scent of the air. It was a mixture of raw, upturned earth (cemetery dirt, he. realized coldly), the still-clinging sulfur smell of burnt powder, but layered in was the stench of open flesh, bodies torn open; and though he knew it was his imagination, he felt the air already held the first sickly sweet smell of decay, the flesh preparing to go back into the ground from which it came.