Starbuck had talked to the officers and then to the sergeants. The officers had been sullen and the sergeants uncooperative. “The men ain’t ready for battle,” Sergeant Case insisted.

“No one’s ready,” Starbuck had answered, “but we’ve still got to fight. If we wait till we’re ready, Sergeant Case, the Yankees will have conquered us.”

“Ain’t conquered us yet,” Case answered, “and from what I hear, sir,” he managed to invest the honorific with a dripping scorn, “we’re the ones doing the conquering. Just ain’t proper to take these poor boys off to a war they ain’t ready to fight.”

“I thought you were supposed to have got them ready,” Starbuck said, unwisely letting himself be drawn into the argument.

“We’re doing our job, sir,” Case said, carefully enrolling the other sergeants onto his side of the argument, “but as any regular soldier will tell you, sir, a good sergeant’s work can be undone in a minute by a glory-boy.” He offered Starbuck a feral grin. “Glory-boy, sir. Young officer wanting to be famous, sir, and expecting the lads to die for his fame. Bloody shame, sir.”

“We go tomorrow,” Starbuck had said, ignoring Case. “The men will cook three days of rations and draw ammunition tonight.” He had walked away, ignoring Case’s snort of derision. Starbuck knew he had handled the confrontation badly. Another enemy, he thought wearily, another damned enemy.

“So what’s happening?” Potter now asked as the train swayed up the incline.

“Wish I knew.”

“But we’re going to fight?”

“I reckon.”

“But we don’t know where.”

Starbuck shook his head. “Get to Winchester and fetch new orders. That’s what I’m told.”

Potter drew on his cigar. “You reckon the men are ready to fight?” he asked.

“Do you?” Starbuck turned the question back.

“No.”

“Nor me,” Starbuck admitted. “But if we’d waited all winter they wouldn’t be any more ready. It ain’t their training that’s wrong, it’s their morale.”

“Shoot Sergeant Case, that’ll cheer them up,” Potter suggested.

“Give them a battle,” Starbuck said. “Give them a victory.” Though how he was to do that with his present officers and sergeants, he did not know. Even to get the men as far as a battlefield, Starbuck thought, would be some kind of miracle. “You were at Shiloh, right?” he asked Potter.

“I was,” Potter said, “but I have to confess it was mostly a blur. I wasn’t exactly drunk, but sober don’t describe it either. But I do remember an exhilaration, which is odd, don’t you think? But George Washington said the same, do you remember? When he wrote how he was elated by the sound of bullets? Is it, you think, because we seek sensation? Like being a gambler?”

“I reckon I’ve wagered enough,” Starbuck said grimly.

“Ah,” Potter said, understanding. “I only had the one battle.”

“Manassas twice,” Starbuck said bleakly, “God knows how many times in the defense of Richmond, Leesburg, the fight at Cedar Mountain. Some brawl in the rain a few days back.” He shrugged. “Enough.”