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"How much longer, Hunt?" Meade shouted.

"Sir, as I said before, I can sustain this for roughly two hours. We must keep a reserve, sir…" and his voice trailed off. He did not want to add the final words,… "in case we lose."

"I will not commit my men in until you have suppressed their batteries, Hunt You will tell me when the time is ready."

"Sir, I can only advise you on that"

A round shot clipped the parapet nearby, moving slow enough that Henry could see it go careening off, cutting into a team of horses, dropping two of them in a bloody heap.

"I can't wait here all day, Hunt"

Henry turned away for a moment. Meade was trying to shift it onto him, to have him make the decision. He started to move toward a gun. It was obviously too high, someone letting the elevation screw at the breech wind down. He stopped. I can't walk off from this.

He looked back at Meade. "Sir, at this moment I can't see a damn thing. All I know for certain is that they are still firing back."

A distant thunderclap echoed across the field, most likely a caisson going up on the other side.

"If you can't see, then how the hell will you know?" Meade shouted.

"Let me cease fire for a few minutes," Henry replied.

"Perhaps this smoke will lift enough so that we can judge the results. I can then redirect fire as needed." "Then do it, damn it!" Meade shouted.

10:30 AM, JULY 4,1863

HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA

Lee cocked his head. All around him were silent, looking toward the north, expectant, wondering. yes, the volume of fire was dropping, intervals of half a minute or more between distant peals of thunder.

He looked over at Walter. The young colonel was actually asleep, stretched out on a pew, snoring lightly.

"I'm going up," Lee announced to no one in particular.

The gathered staff nodded; they were eager to see what was going on; the inactivity of sitting here, half a dozen miles from the action, was chafing on their nerves.

One of them started toward Walter to shake him awake. "No, no, let him sleep," Lee said, with an indulgent smile. "He can act as liaison here. If word comes from Ewell, forward it up to me immediately."

A groom brought up Traveler, and Lee swung up into the saddle, several men approaching to help him, but a sharp glance made them step back.

He was feeling better; the long night of sleep had been a blessing, some strength returning for all that was needed this day.

He started north toward the fight, the world around him so quiet that he could hear the chirping of birds, the sigh of a gentle breeze in the trees.

10:40 AM, JULY 4,1863 UNION MILLS

It had taken fifteen minutes for the smoke to slowly clear, fifteen minutes of agonizing frustration. Even the slightest of breezes would have

lifted the curtain, the thick humid air holding the clouds in place.

The rebel lines were now visible. They were continuing to fire back, a slow measured pace, but with the lifting of the smoke it was regaining accuracy, another of his guns dismounted by a direct hit as they waited for the air to clear.

He carefully scanned the line with his field glasses, Meade by his side.

The shooting looked fairly good in places. The parapet overlooking the mill was torn, busted down in places, four, maybe five guns definitely out of action. The grand battery of Napoleons to the right was continuing to fire slowly, shot impacting along the lower line. But the enemy was still in place, a fact that did not surprise him at all. It was one thing for guns to engage an enemy out in the open, another to try and force them out of a prepared position.

He looked over at Meade. Hancock had come up as well, remaining on his black horse, which fidgeted nervously as a shot screamed overhead.

"Keep at it," Meade announced, "I want those batteries suppressed."

Behind them fresh caissons were coming up, crews struggling to back them into place, maneuvering gingerly around wrecked equipment and dead horses. Gunners were leaning on their pieces, speaking in loud voices, everyone's hearing stunned by the pounding of the last hour and a half.

Word was already going down the line to aim carefully and be prepared to resume fire.

"I have enough for one more hour," Henry announced. 'That's it, sir, beyond that and we run the risk of totally depleting our reserves."

"I want those guns over there knocked out," Meade replied, his voice shaky with weariness and nervous strain.

"I've passed the order to slow the rate of fire, gunners not to fire until they can clearly sight a target," Hunt replied.

"Then do it Resume fire."

Henry nodded and, stepping back, he raised his fist up.

10:50 AM

Longstreet was up out of the trench, standing with Porter inside the shattered remains of the earthen fort occupied by what was left of Cabell's battalion. Over half the pieces were destroyed, the gunners all but collapsing from shock and exhaustion. The brief respite allowed them a few minutes to sink to the ground, oblivious to the blood, the dead horses, the dead men dragged to one side. The wounded who could not walk were being run out by stretcher bearers taking advantage of the interlude.

"I think he's about to open up again," Porter announced.

Pete, standing beside him with field glasses raised, nodded in agreement

"They're good, damn good," Porter offered.

"So are we," Pete snapped. "Your gunners are pretty damn good, too.".

He lowered his glasses, looking to the left and right. Some of the infantry were up out of the trenches, walking about examining the damage, like boys who had taken shelter from a violent storm and were now looking at the destruction wrought

The position was still relatively intact casualties about what he had expected. The long bitter hours of work yesterday and through the night were now paying off. If the men had been caught in an open field under this barrage, he doubted if they could have held.

The men suddenly began to scatter, diving back into their trenches. He looked back and saw the flash of fire racing down the front of the grand battery, like firecrackers igniting on a long string.

The sound finally hit a sustained rolling boom, followed a little more than a second later by the scream of more shells coming in. Dignity forgotten, he flung himself down against the parapet Porter by his side, as dozens of shells and solid shot plowed into the battery position. Screams echoed as the concussion of detonations washed over him.

Porter grunted, cursing. Pete looked over. The man was grimacing, holding his arm, the sleeve of his uniform sliced open, blood already welling out

Behind them a caisson blew, jagged splinters spraying the position.

Pete stood up, knowing that if d be a minute or more before the next salvo came in.

Porter, shaking, face pale, stood up, clutching his arm. "Let me see it" Pete shouted.

"I'm all right" and he gingerly held out his arm, flexing his hand, the gesture indicating that a bone was not broken. A gunner, seeing the situation, came up to Porter, pulling out a handkerchief, which he deftly wrapped around the arm, pulling it tight so that Porter cursed softly under his breath.

"Another one!" somebody shouted.

Again they were down, the blizzard of shot raining down on the position.

"Damn all, General, my men can't take this much longer."

Pete nodded, standing back up again. Two of the guns with the battalion finally responded, lone shots going back in defiant response.

He realized that his staying at this exposed point served no logical purpose. Lee was right on such things; the potential loss of a general through reckless exposure was nothing more than a foolish waste. Save yourself for the key moment not now. I get hit and things here might begin to fall apart