Walk in Hell

"The other question is," she said, as much to herself as to him, "what will the Confederate States be like with Negroes as citi-zens? Is that better, or is losing as we are?"

"Miss Colleton, I always thought you were on the side of modernity, of progress, of change," President Semmes said, a shrewd shot that proved he-or his advisors-knew her views well. "And if we lose, can we stay as we are? Or would we face another round of Red upheaval?"

That was another good question. The answer seemed only too obvious, too. Try to freeze in the mold of the past, or take a chance on the future? If you didn't gamble, how were you going to win? But when she thought about what blacks had done to Marshlands and to her brother-"I hate this," she said quietly.

"So do I," the president of the Confederate States replied.

"I'll do what I can," A

"From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, and your country thanks you as well," President Semmes said. He rose and bowed to her, then went on, "Now that we know ourselves to be in agreement, perhaps you will accompany me to a ceremony where your presence will surely serve as an inspiration to the brave men we honor."

Roger Kimball was bored. The ceremony should have started at half past ten. He drew out his pocket watch. It was closer to eleven. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. Civilians could get away with nonsense like that. For a naval officer, it would have meant trouble at least, maybe a court-martial.

Not only was he bored, he was hot, too. They'd run up an awning so he didn't have to stand in direct sunshine, but it didn't cut the heat much or the humidity at all. He felt as if he were melting down into his socks. The only advantage he found to sweating so much was that he wouldn't have enough water left in him to need to take a leak-probably for the next three days.

Out on the lawn, old people sat in folding chairs and looked at him and the other hunks of uniformed beef on display under the awning. Ladies fa

Off to one side of the awning, a band struck up "Dixie." Kim-ball came to attention; maybe that meant things really would get rolling now. The Negro musicians were in black cutaway coats and black trousers. They didn't have an awning, either. He wondered how they could play without keeling over. He shrugged. They were just niggers, after all.

A woman walked quickly forward to take a seat near the front. Roger's eyebrows came to attention, as the rest of him had at the national anthem. Unlike most of the audience, she was anything but supera

Next to Kimball, an Army sergeant murmured through unmoving lips, "The president ought to pin her on my chest instead of a medal."

"Yeah," he whispered back. Then he stiffened far beyond the requirements of attention. "Christ on a crutch, that's A

"You know her?" the sergeant said. Microscopically, Roger nodded. The Army man sighed. "Either you're a liar, Navy, or you're one lucky bastard, I'll tell you that." And then, recognizing him, too, A

Here came President Gabriel Semmes, all sleek and clever, to present their decorations. Kimball noticed him only peripherally. He'd had a note from A

President Semmes made a speech, of which he heard perhaps one word in three. The gist of it was, with bravery like that which these heroes had displayed, the Confederate States were surely invincible. Roger Kimball didn't believe that for a minute. Semmes didn't believe it, either, or why was he pushing that bill to put guns in the hands of black men?

A flunky brought the president a silver tray with dark blue velvet boxes stacked on it. Reporters scribbled as Semmes read out the deeds of the heroes he was honoring. One of the awards was posthumous: a Confederate Cross for a private who'd leaped on a grenade to save his pals.

Kimball wasn't up for a C.C. himself; Semmes would pin an Order of the Virginia on him, the next highest award a Navy man could get. To earn the Confederate Cross and live through it, you had to be brave, lucky, and crazy, all at the same time. Without false modesty, he knew he was brave and he'd been lucky, but he hadn't-quite-been crazy up there in Chesapeake Bay.

The sergeant standing there next to him had won a Confederate Cross. "P.G.T.B. Austin, without concern for his own safety, climbed onto the top of a U.S. traveling fort," President Semmes said, not calling it a barrel, "and threw grenades into the machine through its hatches until fire forced the crew to flee, whereupon he killed three with his rifle, wounded two more, and accepted the surrender of the rest. Sergeant Austin!" The audience applauded. Photographers snapped away as Austin went up to get his medal. Kimball nodded to himself. Brave, lucky, and crazy, sure enough.

His own turn came a moment later. After hearing what the Army man had done, he felt embarrassed to accept even a lesser decoration. The president shook his hand and told him what a splendid fellow he was. He already knew what a splendid fellow he was, so he didn't argue. The medal, a tiny gold replica of the Confederacy's first ironclad hanging from a red, white, and blue ribbon, did look impressive on his chest.

He went back to his place under the awning and waited for the rest of the medals to be awarded. Then, as he'd expected, the men who'd won them got the chance to mingle with guests and reporters.

He wondered if A

"Congratulations," she said, and shook his hand man-fashion. "I'm glad to see you here and well."

"Same to you," he answered. The feel of her flesh against his sent a charge through him, as if he'd touched a bare wire. He watched her face. Her pupils got bigger; her nostrils flared, ever so slightly. She wanted to be alone with him, too. Heat different from that of Richmond August filled him. "Last I got a look at you, you were seeing how fast you could get away from the Charleston docks."

"I did fine, halfway to Marshlands." Her voice turned bitter. "Then my car got stolen."

"Rebels? Reds?" Kimball said. "You're lucky they didn't kill-"

"Not Reds," A

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw men gathering around them, drawn to A

"Ford's," she answered. "Would you like to celebrate your medal by having supper with me there tonight?"

"Can't think of anything I'd like better," he said. He could, in fact, think of several things, but those were things you did, not things you talked about. "Half past six?" he asked, and, when she nodded, he drifted away as if she were just someone in the crowd he happened to know.