command

door that led to the suite of rooms occupied by the Rogers family—and, now, General Ross. Sam's eyes ranged down the corridor, noting but not really paying any attention to the richness of the trappings.
He was seeing something else in his mind. The vivid image of the carnage twenty-four pounders could wreak on the American soldiers behind the Jackson Line—all of whose fieldworks were designed and built to protect the men from fire coming from the front. Not from across the river.
To be sure, the river was so wide that it would take the British artillerymen a bit of time to find the range. But those were the same veteran gunners who'd found the range to the Carolina in less than a minute.
"We could fall back to the Line Dupre," he protested. "Or the Line Montreuil."
Jackson—very wisely, in Driscol's opinion—had prepared two lines of fallback defense in the event the Jackson Line was overrun. But the major wasn't assuaged.
"So? The British—if they command the opposite bank— could shift the battery more quickly than we could shift an entire army. They'd just do the same to the Lines Dupre and Montreuil that they did to the Jackson."
He gave Houston a little shove. "Best you get about the general's orders then, eh? I have a feeling the day will come—and soon—when