Blood and iron

After the barrel returned to the shed that sheltered it from the elements-and at whose expense the quartermasters had grumbled-Morrell climbed out and headed for the Bachelor Officer Quarters. Then he stopped, did a smart about-face, and went off in the other direction. As he went, he shook his head and laughed at himself. He'd been married only a little more than a month, and the habits he'd acquired over several years died hard.

The cottage toward which he did go resembled nothing so much as the company housing that went up around some factories. It was small and square and looked like the ones all around it. It was also the first time Irving Morrell had had more than a room to himself since joining the Army more than half a lifetime before.

Agnes Hill-no, Agnes Morrell; the habit of thinking of her by her former name died hard, too-opened the door when he was still coming up the walk. "How did it go today?" she asked.

He kissed her before waggling his hand and answering, "Soso. We blew a bunch of Great War barrels to smithereens, the way we always do, but I got shot in the middle of the exercise."

To his surprise, Agnes looked stricken. She needed a few seconds to realize what he meant. Even when she did, her laugh came shaky. "An umpire decided you got shot," she said, sounding as if she needed to reassure herself.

Morrell nodded. "That's right. See? No blood." He did a neat pirouette. When he faced Agnes again, she still wasn't smiling. Now he had to pause to figure out why. When he did, he felt stupid, not a feeling he was used to. Her first husband had died in combat; was it any wonder she didn't find cracks about getting shot very fu

"You'd better be." Agnes' voice was fierce. "And now come on. Supper's just about ready. I've got a beef tongue in the pot, the way you like it-with potatoes and onions and carrots."

"You can spend the rest of the night letting out my trousers, the way you feed me," Morrell said. Agnes laughed at that with real amusement. However much Morrell ate-and he was a good trencherman-he remained ski

After supper, Morrell stayed in the kitchen while his wife washed dishes. He enjoyed her company. They chatted while she worked, and then while she read a novel and he waded through reports. And then they went to bed.

Though he'd hardly been a virgin before saying "I do," Mor-rell's occasional couplings with easy women had not prepared him for the pleasures of the marriage bed. Every time he and his wife made love, it was as if they were getting reacquainted, and at the same time learning things about each other they hadn't known before and might have been a long time finding out any other way. "I love you," he said afterwards, taking his weight on elbows and knees while they lay still joined.

"I love you, too," Agnes answered, raising up a little to kiss him on the cheek. "And I love-this. And I would love you to get off me so I can get up and go to the bathroom, if that's all right."

"I think so," he said. Agnes laughed and poked him in the ribs. When she came back to bed, he was nearly asleep. Agnes laughed again, on a different note. She put on her nightgown and lay down beside him. He heard her breathing slow toward the rhythms of sleep, too. Feeling vaguely triumphant at staying awake long enough to notice that, he drifted off.

A

Now A

Seaboard Park would do well enough. Neither the governor nor the mayor nor the chief of police could ban the rally altogether, though they would have loved to. But the Confederate Constitution guaranteed that citizens might peaceably assemble to petition for redress of grievances. The Freedom Party wasn't always perfectly peaceable, but it came close enough to make refusal to issue a permit a political disaster.

Tom Colleton touched A

"Nice of you to decide to come up from St. Matthews and watch it," A

"It's my country," Tom said. "If you remember, I laid my life on the line for it. I want to see what you and that maniac Feather-ston have in mind for it."

"He's not a maniac." A

"Heh," her brother said. But then he surprised her by nodding. "I suppose you're right-Featherston's not a maniac. He knows what he wants and he knows how to go after it. You ask me, though, that makes him more dangerous, not less."

A

Gasoline-powered generators came to life. Searchlights began to glow all around Seaboard Park. Their beams shot straight up into the air, making the park seem as if it were surrounded by colo

More electric lights came on inside the park. Tom caught his breath. They showed the whole place packed with people. Most of the crowd consisted of the ordinary working people of Columbia in their overalls and dungarees and cloth caps and straw hats, with a sprinkling of men in black jackets and cravats: doctors and lawyers and businessmen, come to hear what the new man in the land had to say.

At the front, though, near the stage a team of carpenters had spent the day ru

The foremost rows of Party stalwarts carried flags-some Confederate ba

"You don't need to worry about investing money," Tom said. "You could make billions designing sets for minstrel shows and vaudeville tours. Christ, you might make millions even if Confederate dollars were really worth anything."

"Thank you, Tom," A

But they hadn't. As soon as Jake advanced far enough to be visible to the crowd, twin spotlight beams speared him. One of the Freedom Party bigwigs from Columbia rushed to the microphone and cried, "Let's hear it for the next president of the Confederate States, Jaaake Featherstonl"