As a general proposition, U.S. history is more interested in outcomes than in beginnings. Dig into newspapers and diaries from the early months of the Civil War and you might be astonished at how hopeless the Union cause appeared. The North was too divided to subdue such a vast territory as the Confederacy, and Abraham Lincoln was certainly too weak and bumbling for the job. The wise heads of Europe thought this. Leading generals of the Union Army thought this. Much of Lincoln’s Cabinet and his party leaders in Congress thought this.

It comes as a surprise because history’s verdict is determined by the outcome. Of course the North prevailed, the story goes: The Union’s industrial and demographic advantages were too great for the South to overcome. Things could hardly have gone otherwise — so history says.

Or look at World War II: the intelligence failures at Pearl Harbor, the ignominious abandonment of the Philippines, the Bataan death march, the disastrous battle of Kasserine Pass. The U.S. crusade against fascism got off to a terrible start, redeemed in the hindsight of history by lessons learned and the ultimate victory.

Likewise, the history of the COVID-19 pandemic will be more interested in how the battle ends than in how it got started. In that respect, the fight begins now.

As many experts predicted, the approach of winter finds us drowning in a new wave of COVID-19 cases. Precisely how large a wave is hard to say. Confirmed infections — now averaging more than 200,000 per day in the United States — are carefully tracked and widely reported. Yet evidence shows that most infections are never diagnosed because they produce few, if any, symptoms.

Nor is the number of deaths a perfect measure of the pandemic. Of 2,000-plus victims reported on a recent day, some were people already close to death from other causes. Ending COVID would not have saved those lives.

But those two measures point to the same conclusion: The pandemic is as bad or worse than ever, further evidenced by widespread overcrowding in medical facilities — especially the little hospitals and clinics of rural America.

History will elide many of the missteps of last winter provided that we make a better showing from now on. Take, for example, the fiasco of the face coverings. When the novel coronavirus emerged, hospital managers immediately worried they would run short of personal protective equipment, including face masks. To protect existing supplies, authorities assured the public that we’d be fine without masks.

That was a mistake. Masks have proved to be the first line of defense, along with social distancing and clean hands. Even on the cusp of a vaccine, these simple measures are not only our best options against the pandemic; they continue to be the only ones available to engage the nation to meet this challenge.

We’re at a critical point. A magnificent effort by medical researchers has sped us to the beginning of a months-long process of mass vaccinations. With enough patience and cooperation from the public, this offers a real hope of taming the pandemic. In the meantime, however, hospitals and morgues are as taxed by COVID-19 as ever.

Ashish K. Jha, dean of the Brown University School of Public Health, used data analysis to explain recently in The Post that infections are so widespread that hospitals across the country are sending home patients who, in normal times, would be admitted. The same issue can be illustrated by anecdote rather than analysis. The Associated Press found Eric Lewallen, a radiological technician in rural LaCrosse, Kan., who moved into an RV on the hospital parking lot so that he could be on call 24-7. Everyone else on the hospital staff qualified to take an X-ray was out sick with the virus.

“I’m it,” Lewallen told the AP. “To keep a critical access hospital open, you have to have X-ray and lab functioning,” he said. “If one of those go down, you go on diversion and you lose your ER.”

The vaccine is coming, but the crisis is already here. History’s account of Americans in this pandemic will focus on what we do starting now. Our lack of leadership has been depressing. But we’ve learned enough through these past nine months to make up for absent leadership by exercising citizenship.

Wear a mask in public places and keep a safe distance from others. Wash your hands and use sanitizer frequently. Stay close to home this year and keep your holiday gatherings small. Monitor yourself for symptoms and get tested at the earliest signs. Quarantine if you’re sick.

It’s not Normandy. It’s not Gettysburg. But this is what history demands today. There is just enough time — just barely — left for us to pass the test.

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