From New York Times bestselling author Bernard Cornwell, the third installment in The Starbuck Chronicles. The epic battle for control of the Confederate capital continues through the hot summer of 1862. It’s a battle that Captain Nate Starbuck, a Yankee fighting for the Southern cause, has to survive and win. He must lead his ragged company in a bitter struggle, not only against the formidable Northern army, but against his own superiors who would like nothing better than to see Nate Starbuck dead. “The most entertaining military historical novels…Always based on fact, always interesting…always entertaining.” - Kirkus Reviews “Fast-paced, well-written and very entertaining, The Starbuck Chronicles are becoming a must-read for Civil War enthusiasts.” - Orlando Sentinel “Wonderful series…believable, three-dimensional characters…a rollicking treat for Cornwell’s many fans.” - Publishers Weekly Distinguished at the Battle of Cedar Mountain, Confederate Captain Nate Starbuck's career is jeopardized once again by the suspicion and hostility of his brigade commander, General Washington Faulconer. The outcome of this vicious fight drastically changes both men's fortunes and propels AX into the ghastly bloodletting at the Second Battle of Manassas. Evocative and historically accurate, Battle Flag continues Bernard Cornwell's powerful series of Nate's adventures on some of the most decisive battlefields of the American Civil War. Bernard Cornwell is the author of over fifty novels, including the acclaimed New York Times bestselling Saxon Tales, which serve as the basis for the hit Netflix series The Last Kingdom. He lives with his wife on Cape Cod and in Charleston, South Carolina. Battle Flag The Nathaniel Starbuck Chronicles: Book Three By Cornwell, Bernard Perennial Copyright ©2004 Bernard Cornwell All right reserved. ISBN: 0060937181 Chapter One Captain Nathaniel Starbuck first saw his new commanding general when the Faulconer Legion forded the Rapidan. Thomas Jackson was on the river's northern bank, where he appeared to be in a trance, for he was motionless in his saddle with his left hand held high in the air while his eyes, blue and resentful, stared into the river's vacant and murky depths. His glum stillness was so uncanny that the marching column edged to the far margin of the ford rather than pass near a man whose stance so presaged death. The General's physical appearance was equally disturbing. Jackson had a ragged beard, a plain coat, and a dirty cap, while his horse looked as if it should have been taken to a slaughterhouse long before. It was hard to credit that this was the South's most controversial general, the man who gave the North sleepless nights and nervous days, but Lieutenant Franklin Coffman, sixteen years old and newly arrived in the Faulconer Legion, asserted that the odd-looking figure was indeed the famous Stonewall Jackson. Coffman had once been taught by Professor Thomas Jackson. "Mind you," Lieutenant Coffman confided in Starbuck, "I don't believe generals make any real difference to battles." "Such wisdom in one so young," said Starbuck, who was twenty-two years old. "It's the men who win battles, not generals," Coffman said, ignoring his Captain's sarcasm. Lieutenant Coffman had received one year's schooling at the Virginia Military Institute, where Thomas Jackson had ineffectively lectured him in artillery drill and Natural Philosophy. Now Coffman looked at the rigid figure sitting motionless in the shabby saddle. I can't imagine old Square Box as a general Coffman said scornfully. "He couldn't keep a schoolroom in order, let alone an army." "Square Box?" Starbuck asked. General Jackson had many nicknames. The newspapers called him Stonewall, his soldiers called him Old Jack or even Old Mad Jack, while many of Old Jack's former students liked to refer to him as Tom Fool Jack, but Square Box was a name new to Starbuck. "He's got the biggest feet in the world," Coffman explained. "Really huge! And the only shoes that ever fitted him were like boxes." "What a fount of useful information you are, Lieutenant," Starbuck said casually. The Legion was still too far from the river for Starbuck to see the General's feet, but he made a mental note to look at these prodigies when he did finally reach the Rapidan. The Legion was presently not moving at all, its progress halted by the reluctance of the men ahead to march straight through the ford without first removing their tattered boots. Mad Jack Stonewall Square Box Jackson was reputed to detest such delays, but he seemed oblivious to this holdup. Instead he just sat, hand in the air and eyes on the river, while right in front of him the column bunched and halted. The men behind the obstruction were grateful for the enforced halt, for the day was blistering hot, the air motionless, and the heat as damp as steam, "You were remarking, Coffman, on the ineffectiveness of generals?" Starbuck prompted his new ju