June 29th, 1863

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Noon

The land of west of Gettysburg is a series of ridges, like waves in the earth. The first Rebel infantry came in that way, down the narrow gray road from the mountaintop gap. At noon they were in sight of the town. It was a small neat place: white board houses, rail fences, all in order, one white church steeple. The soldiers coming over the last ridge by the Lutheran Seminary could see across the town to the hills beyond a winding gray road coming up from the south, and as the first gray troops entered the town there was motion on that southern road: a blur, blue movement, blue cavalry. They came on slowly around the last bend, a long blue smoking snake, spiked with guns and flags. The soldiers looked at each other across vacant fields. The day was very hot; the sky was a steamy haze. Someone lifted a gun and fired, but the range was too long.

The streets of Gettysburg were deserted.

John Buford, suntanned and weathered by years of being out in the sun, sat on top of one of the two hills. The one he sat on was flat and topped with a cemetery. The veteran soldier stopped by a stone wall, looking down across the flat open ground, and the lovely clear field of fire.

Across the open field, greener than he had ever seen in the west, there was something moving. A gray snake, spiked with flags and banners and muskets, moved in time with each other around bends and turns. From his vantage point, Buford could see all the way across the town and the ridges to the blue mountains beyond it, to the darkening horizon.

Buford's eyes went to the rebel troops that were jamming the road by a red-bricked building that was topped with a white cupola. At first, he suspected maybe a raiding party, but he could sense the power behind it, the road flowing with troops all the way back to the mountains. Brigadier commander Bill Gamble joined him on his little hill once the brigade had stopped at the base of the hill, next to a red barn. Gamble's muddy horse was trailed by a flock of aides, and they all gazed westward, with water eyes. He sneezed, wheezing as he wiped his nose.

"By God." He whispered. "That's infantry."

Buford nodded as he removed his spyglass from where he had put it, and placed it over his eye. He scanned the group coming up the road, spotting one man on a horse as dark as midnight, a white plume coming out of his hat. Buford had spotted the officer of the brigade. He removed the spyglass form his eyes as the rebs came to a halt. There wasn't any other movement, other than a squad of his own blue troops, riding down into the deserted streets of the nearby town.

Everything was silent.

"That's one whole brigade." Gamble muttered. "At least one brigade."

Buford's eyes scanned the area, his brow furrowing when he realized something was missing. "Do you see infantry?"

Gamble scanned the area, his head shaking.

"Strange. Infantry, moving alone in enemy country. Blind. Very strange."

Gamble gave a very loud sneeze, wiping his nose on his jacket, before point to the ridge along the cemetery. "If you want to fight here, sir, this sure is lovely ground. We tuck in here behind this stone wall and I'd be proud to defend it. Best damn ground I've seen all day."

Buford muttered an agreement, though is mind went somewhere else. The letter he received via pigeon that wasn't a normal army dispatch. A message from an organization that he hadn't had any contact from. The Assassins hadn't been a part of his life for many years, not since he had left for the Indian Wars. Two Assassins, two young pups by the sounds of it, were squirreled away behind both lines. One was placed behind Rebel Army lines, masquerading as a newspaper journalist while the other one was out in 'full view' as it was. As he scanned the lovely ground, and it really lovely ground, some of the best damn ground he had ever seen, he couldn't help but condemn Mentor Kellan for allowing two young Assassins to take part in such a risky venture.

Buford blinked, returning himself to the present. "He's coming this way…."

"Sir?"

"Lee's turned. That's the main body."

"You think so?" Gamble mused on something, wriggling his nose like a rabbit. "Hm. Could be, but I would have sworn he was headed for Harrisburg."

"He was." Buford shifted on his horse, gathering up the reins in his hands. There was a plan that came to mind, blowing through his brain like a wind. He held onto it, gnawing on his lips. This wasn't the time; he could wait until later tonight. He turned to Gamble, "Move your brigades into town. That will make the good citizens happy. I'm going to have a look."

Gamble nodded as Buford made his way around. His thoughts were on where General Reynolds was. Another former Assassin, General Reynolds and his cavalry wouldn't be too far behind him and his unit. Although, if he was too far behind, and the Rebs attacked in the morning…..

Gamble rode up behind him, with Tom Devin right beside him. Tom had a cheery grin on his face, while Gamble remained his sober sane self.

Buford dismounted, leading his horse back and forth along the rise. "I wonder where their cavalry is."

"Well," Devin said with a laugh, "The way old Stuart gets around, he could be having dinner in Philadelphia."

Buford chuckled. He grew silent.

"Where do you think the Assassins are now?"

Buford sighed at Devin's question. The only two non-members of that ancient order who knew about the secret war that had been fought for centuries before this one. He was just glad they decided to stick around.

"Who knows. There's not really an accurate way of sending and receiving messages when you're on the move." Buford sighed. "But we don't need to worry about anything involving the Assassins right now. We have a battle ahead of us. Could be tomorrow. Could be the next day. I'll right to Reynolds, send it back with the lead infantry. It'll go from Reynalds to Meade. And with any luck, Meade will read it before midnight."

Damn it all.

"The whole damn Reb army's going to be here n the morning. They'll move right through town and occupy those damned hills-" He stabbed his finger angrily in that position "-because one thing Lee ain't is a fool. And when our people get here, Lee will have the high ground and there'll be the devil to pay."

Both men were silent. Buford fumed even more

"Meade will come in slowly, cautiously, new to command, wary of reputation. But they'll be on his back from Washington, wires hot with messages: attack, attack. So, he will set up a ring around the hills and when Lee's all nicely dug in behind fat rocks, Meade will finally attack, that is, if he can coordinate the army, straight up the hills out in the open in that gorgeous field of fire. And we will attack valiantly. And be butchered valiantly. Afterwards, men will thump their chests and say what a brave charge it was."

Buford deflated, taking off his hat and rubbing his hair back while Gamble and Devin were silent. The vision he just had, if you can even call it that, had been so clear. Few things in a soldier's life, such as the one that he had led, had ever been so frightfully clear. He could already see, as though etched in charcoal on a green painted canvas, the long line of boys in blue heading up the hill in one single line, like lambs to the slaughter. It was like a memory, etched in stone, as though it had already happened and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

We have to fight here, He thought despairingly. There's no good land anywhere near here, besides this one. Thankfully, tomorrow hasn't happened. With ingenuity, a bit of brainpower and, maybe a little bit of hope, we can win this fight.

Buford drew a breath, licking his lips. "How far back is General Reynolds?"

"Several hours ride, sir."

Too far. That's far too. We'll have to set up fence, a line or something to keep the Rebels back if they do decide to head this way. But could we hold long enough? Thirty minutes? An hour? Longer?

We can hold, a voice told him, one that sounded much like his younger self, when he was optimistic about things, about life. We just need to hold.

"Alright." He intoned. "Let's get at it."

The man turned around, remounting his horse and heading off into the aging day.