July 8^th 1863



"Sir, these dispatches just arrived for General Grant." The brown haired Lieutenant Thomason announced as he entered the large library that was now the new command center for the Union officers of the Army of Tennessee. The library was in a courthouse, sitting tall on a hill, in a town called Vicksburg, down on the Louisiana- Mississippi boarder. Confederate General Pemberton had surrendered the town after the 47-day siege. The Union Army now had control of the Mississippi River being able to put a choke hole around the Rebel throat. Young Lieutenant Thomason instantly handed the dispatches over to Colonel Rawlins, General Ulysses Grant's chief of staff. The lieutenant immediately saluted as he saw who was behind Rawlins, Major General William Tecumseh Sherman and besides him was Major General Philip Henry Sheridan. There were too many generals in the room and the startled lieutenant retreated back out the door as fast as his legs would permit. The force of will of the officers in the room was smothering. Cracking a grin, Rawlins laughed at the terrified lieutenant, then headed over to stand in front of General Ulysses Grant sitting behind a deep mahogany desk. The three Generals' emotions were running wild, except for the officer who always stood apart, the one in the shadows; the one that made Rawlins uneasy and awkward and a little bit nervous to be around. It was a rare accordance for Rawlins to in the same room with the man the Confederates called the Blue Ghost.

Grant never looked up, only held out the palm of his hand. Rawlins handed the three dispatches over, and waited. Grant glanced at the top dispatch. It was from Washington. He sighed, and then shuffled it to the bottom of the other two. The next one made his hands shake; it was addressed to a General TL Grant. All correspondents for the Blue Ghost went through Grant first. Very seldom did the man receive any personal letters and those that he did gain possession of were always cherished and read over and over again. General Grant glanced over toward the window seat observing the weary soldier, his left hand stroking his chin before he handed the letter back to Rawlins and gestured towards the sleeping man. Grant quickly glanced at the next letter and from the writing style, the way the letters carved, Grant instantly knew the same man, John Buford, wrote them, a bad omen. Grant grabbed his knife and opened the letter and started to read. The letter was to the point, a soldier's letter in full detail. John left nothing out.

Rawlins glimpsed down at the dispatch, his face quivered in a nervous twitch as he read which officer to hand it to. With a short bow the colonel moved across the room and placed the third dispatch on the window seat, next to the officer that seemed to be quietly sleeping against the window frame. Rawlins made his way back over to stand next to the brown stone hearth, not seeing the man's hand move to retrieve the dispatch.

"I tell you again, Philip, though he has the high ground, George Meade will not attack. The man can't make a decision to save his life, too indecisive. Lord, help those boys up in Gettysburg. Damn, where the hell is Reynolds?" William Sherman said, starting up their conversation the men were having before they were interrupted, thinking nothing of his brutal portrayal of Meade's personality in front of his superior officer. Then he quickly added to his general, "I beg your pardon, Sir." However Sherman was only sorry for the use of his crude language, for he knew General Grant detested rude manners.

Grant paid him no attention. He was too busy opening and reading the second dispatch, from Buford.

"Well, what I want to know is which Cavalry unit arrived in town and where is that popinjay Jed Stuart?" Philip Sheridan asked as he arched over the desk, again glancing over the map of Gettysburg and the surrounding towns. Sheridan was a cavalry man with a hot temper to match his strength of will, his drive to lead his men and his dedication to win the war. Both men turned their heads toward the general as he cleared his throat.

"Well it has been confirmed Gentlemen, John Reynolds is dead, killed on the first day of the engagement," Sam Grant told the men around the desk, in his low quiet voice. The men stood still for a moment. Reynolds had been a fine Officer and gentleman. They all knew him. He had been a former commander of West Point and all three of the men around the desk had attended West Point. Grant continued to out line the 3-day battle on the map, ending with the soon legendary details of 'Pickett's Charge'.

"Sir, what of the Confederate cavalry?" Sheridan asked, his rivalry with Stuart well known.

"It looks like Stuart was off joy riding again, getting his name in the papers, leaving Lee blind." Grant told him, pausing as he read the second page of the dispatch, this one more personal. The expression on this face deepened, his normally easygoing attitude tensed as if he was standing in front of a sea of infantry charging the gates of hell.

"And our boys?" Sheridan asked impatiently. Sherman slapped him on the back, chucking. Both officers failed to notice the growing anger in Grant's face, his hands clenching the letter tightly.

"Colonel Rawlins, would you please excuse us." Grant politely ordered after placing Buford's dispatch on the desk. Rawlins saluted and quickly left the room. "General Buford's two Division were the first to enter Gettysburg," Grant said, finally answering Sheridan. His eyes fell on the cavalry officer before they wandered to an area of the room that was not very lit, past the sitting chairs and stone fireplace. For a moment, he thought the shadow would move forward, but no, it only seemed to fold more into itself growing darker. Grant could only imagine the anguish his friend must be going through as he read his own letter.

"Buford and his boys, thank God for small miracles. General Buford picked the high ground. I knew it," Sheridan shouted excitedly. Sheridan held the old Dragoon in high esteem. His only worry was that Buford would get Jed Stuart before he did. From the start of the war, a rivalry had grown between the east and west cavalry divisions on who would capture the flag of the cavalier Stuart.

"Sir, if you will excuses us, it time for Phillip and I to leave," Sherman said, as his eyes fixed on where Grant was staring. Sherman had few friends, even less in the newsworld that depicted him as a heartless man with a brutal hand against human life. His expressions soften for a millisecond, as he thought of his own weakness, his wife and babies. The ghost of the Union did have one weakness and as the shadow moved closer to the window, a silhouette of a man appeared with his head bowed and his left hand leaning on the glass for support. Trembling, the other hand was grasped firmly around the third dispatch.

"What?" exclaimed Sheridan. Then he too turned and followed Sherman's glaze towards the dark corner. "Good God, I was wrong, I'm so sorry my friend. I should have said yes. I should have taken the boy with me." Sheridan thought as he turned back around and saw the moisture in Grant's eyes for the first time. He softly mumbled, "Yes, yes, you're right Will. Need to check the men. Sir." Both men saluted and made their way out of the library, starting an argument on what they would have done if they were the ones leading the battle at Gettysburg. Leaving the two men alone, total silence filled the room, only the sound of the crackle fire was heard.

Sam Grant could only stand the silence for so long and said, "John reports that his boys held the high ground over three hours before the Iron Brigade showed up. Lots of heavy fighting. He says here, at one point he almost lost one of his colonels." Grant's finger outlined the letter as he read. He lookup and asked at one point, "By the way, you know John's Brigade Commanders? What is up with Colonel Devin and white horses?" Not expecting nor receiving an answer, he continued to read.

After a few minutes, he stop reading and stood up, walking over to the tall picture window, pulling the curtains open all the way letting the light from full moon shine in. Grant turned around and faced the man the Confederates called the Blue Ghost. The letter from Buford was held tightly against his chest, unopened. "Devin and some of his dismounted boys were about to be over run when Christopher took charge and ordered Devin to take his horse. With Devin back with his mounted boys, Christopher lead the twenty soldiers in a charge, covering Devin's retreat." When he finished speaking, Grant stood watching the man's face for any signs of emotions. There was none, only the trembling of his hand against the glass.

Grant went on talking, "John says here, that Rebel prisoners reported that the Confederates captured the Blue Ghost at Gettysburg." Grant paused and looked up, "Now Tyrone, did you forget to tell me something about running around up north?" The man Grant called Tyrone shook his head no. Grant lifted Buford's letter and started to read it again, when a hoarse voice finally spoke.

"Sam, just tell me is the boy dead?"

"Read your letter, I'm sure John went into more details. He wrote that they got him back. I don't know how, nor do I want to know. However, Christopher is alive and on his way to Julia at this very moment. The boy needs his father." Grant shook his head sadly, as his friend Tyrone mouthed "no" again.

Grant surrounded himself with stubborn men, like Sherman and Sheridan. The pertinacious men of Grant's inner circle always found a way to get the job done, at great personal loss no matter the particular situation. Like the other two men, Tyrone was not the easiest to control when it came to doing one's duty and honor. He was the most stubborn of the three, he resisted Grant's authority no matter what the cost. This time Grant hoped his young friend didn't make the same tragic mistake that robbed him the life of his beloved wife, Elena. Grant glanced at the door wondering if he shouldn't have let Sherman and Sheridan leave before adding. "He is hurt bad, he may…. Tyrone he may lose his leg." Grant paused as Tyrone closed his eyes, giving the man time to get his emotions under control. Sam Grant cleared his throat, and when he felt his friend was ready, he added. "Seems Christopher was a guest of our old friend Major Shellburne before he fell into friendlier hands." Grant watched his younger friend's body stiffened and for the first time his friend looked him right into eyes, with a craze leer- a loss of control that Grant had only see once before, fifteen year ago.

The moonlight lit up the man's face as he moved from the shadow. The tall, dark chocolate haired man, dressed in Union blues started to mumble under his breath as he made his way to the door. "I'm coming for you Shellburne, as God is my witness, I'll kill you this time."

"Major Larabee!" Grant said, his voice low-pitched, commanding, stopping the major in his tracks, "I gave you leave to visit your son, not to go hunting all over Virginia for Shellburne."

"You said Christopher is alive. He doesn't need me, hasn't since he was five," Major Tyrone Larabee growled. Without turning around he headed towards the door.

"Good Lord, Tyrone. You can't still be blaming the boy for surviving," Grant asked

"No…. I don't blame him, he was only a baby." Tyrone paused, taking a cleansing breath before he circle back around to face Grant. "I can't, I just can't go to him, not with Elena scaring back at me through his eyes. I loved her. I still love her, even after all these years. I have an ache in my heart…. my soul. I miss her so. I just can't forgive myself for what happen. I should of killed Shellburne when I had the chance. I should never of let Pete stop me."

"Tyrone, you could never kill someone in cold blood. Pete was right at the time. You had no proof and young Christopher still doesn't remember anything from that dreadful night when he and his mother was attacked. We had to let Shellburne go."

"Sam, please don't get in my way. What kind of father am I, if I keep letting a monster like Shellburne live? Don't you understand, he tried to kill my son," Tyrone pleaded.

"Sir, I will not let you destroy yourself and your good name. If you will not go see your son, then I have a new mission for you," Grant said, his tone of voice left no room for argument. Tyrone shook his head and walked to the door. When he opened it, Sherman and Sheridan blocked his way.

All three men moved back into the room and Sherman slowly shut the door behind them. "Going somewhere without us, Tyrone?" Sheridan asked.

"Yes." He answered, looking back over to Grant, "Sir, I know where my duty lies, give me two weeks. That's all I ask." His eyes pleaded with his general.

"No." Grant was final, he wasn't going to let Tyrone run off and possibly get himself killed. "We both know Shellburne will be waiting for you." Grant could see in Tyrone's dark eyes that he was counting on it. "Given the option, he struck where you were most vulnerable, hoping to lure you out in the open. Sir, we could use this to our advantage."

"Sir?" said Tyrone, both Sherman and Sheridan stood at his back, blocking his way out the door.

"First we remove Christopher from any more threat," Grant said.

"How?"

"Washington has already approved his promotion to first lieutenant. Washington owes us. I will have no problem having him transferred to my staff."

"Christopher will be resentful, and you will have problems controlling him." Tyrone muttered under his breath, "Too much like his old man." Grant smiled as he heard what Tyrone said.

"Sir, with your permission, I need a new aide." Sheridan spoke up. The other three men rolled their eyes at the suggestion and they broke out in laughter.

"Are you insane?" Tyrone barked, tears welled in his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his head and laughed out, "Sir."

"What, you don't think I could control him?" Sheridan asked the others and they broke out laughing again. "Well, I say!" Raising his hands in defeat he went and sat down in one of the tall elegant chairs trying to ignore the crude laughter.

"We can decide which brigade later, after the boy is recovered from his injuries. Tyrone, you have my word, after this war is settled, we will look up our old friend Shellburne and finish it. On my honor, Sir." Grant promised.

"Sir, my word, I will be by your side." Sherman also promised.

Sheridan stood up from his chair, turned and pledged, "On my honor, Tyrone. I will be your right hand." Sheridan's eyes twinkled, "You know I'll keep the boy at my side. Just think of the adventures we can have together, the glory and honor we will have bestowed on us."

Turning his full attention back to Grant, he asked, "Sir, you said we could use Shellburne to our advantage, how?" Tyrone waited for Grant to answer. Grant in turn placed both his hands on the desk, waiting for Tyrone to make his promise not to run out on him and desert. A battle of wills took place between the two friends. Tyrone's heart broke in two and his eyes turned away from Grant, falling on the two officers' that stood by his side. Tyrone studied each man's face, took their pledge of honor, and placed his son's life in their hands. "Sirs, I'm honored." His eyes shone with regret, for again he had chosen honor and duty over his family. He uttered a low prolonged sound, deep in his throat, his despair evident to the three men, as he said. "You have my word General Grant, I won't take off."

"Good, good. Gentleman, if you please. Our next stop is Chattanooga." Grant gestured the men back over to his desk. As they hunched over the map, he edged back and sat back down in his chair, taking a side-glance at the dispatch from Washington. From Tyrone's warning earlier in the day, Grant expected that the dispatch might be from Lincoln and his staff, requesting the general to join the president in Washington. Grant shifted in his seat, changing positions so that he could examine is friend Tyrone, he explored his youngest officer's face for any signs that the man was being deceitful, giving him a false senses of security. After a long moment, studying the major's exhausted, somber face, Grant was satisfied that the major wouldn't disappear and head after Shellburne at the first opportunity.

As the men settled down, making plans on how and when to move the Union troops, Grant mind wandered to the days before the war, when he had meet Tyrone and Buford. Five years older then Buford, Longstreet and Pickett graduated the year John and Tyrone had entered the Point. They all had fought together in the Mexican War, becoming good friends. Now two wore gray and the others wore the dark blue of the Union. General Ulysses Grant prayed that the war would be over soon and God willing, he would see his friends again, setting around his house, listening to his wife Julia, singing, just likes in the old days, before the war.


But that was not to be….


The War Between the States went on for two more bloody years.

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