Breakthroughs

“More favorable than if a seamstress’ daughter put in the same request?” Flora asked. The chief of the General Staff did not answer, which was an answer in itself. Almost despairingly, Flora said, “You put me in an impossible position, you know. If I keep him safe, I take unfair advantage of who I am. If I don’t, and anything happens to him…I think you had better go.”

General Wood got to his feet. “I am sorry, Miss Hamburger,” he said. “I hoped to ease your mind, not to upset you. Good day.”

Out he strode, shoulders back, spine straight. Flora stared after him. She didn’t believe him. He was too intelligent not to have understood every bit of what he was doing. He’d done it anyhow. Why? Just to upset her? Or to gain whatever advantage he could if she asked him to help David? “Damn you, General Wood,” she muttered. “Damn you.”

A

In a back pocket of her ma

If it wasn’t true, she was either wasting her time here or walking into a trap rather than setting one. Just for a moment, her hand fell to the barrel of the scope-sighted Tredegar beside her. Any trap that tried closing on her would take some damage first.

Off on the left of the little line, Sergeant Willie Metcalfe stiffened and let out a low hiss. As if afraid that wouldn’t be enough, he turned his head so that he presented the ruined left half of his face to his comrades. “Here they come,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t open up too soon,” A

She stared avidly through the brush, north toward the Congaree. The ground-the ground that should have been covered with cotton instead of overrun by weeds-steamed as the sun rose higher and burned down on it. Through that thin, shimmering mist, she too made out the Negroes heading for the mansion.

They were a ragged lot, ragged and filthy, but they carried themselves like fighting men. Their strides were quick and wary. Their heads never stopped moving. She froze whenever they looked toward her, and hoped her companions had the sense to do the same. The militiamen, she feared, weren’t in the same class as the men of the Congaree Socialist Republic. If they kept the advantage of surprise, they wouldn’t need to be.

Some of the Negroes carried spades, some rifles, most both. One in particular stalked along like a beast of prey in spite of the Tredegar on his shoulder. His shoulder? A

“Cherry,” she whispered. Her lips drew back from her teeth in a smile so ferocious that Linus Ashforth, who crouched beside her, involuntarily flinched away, as from a wild beast. A

She didn’t need long to realize that, as she led the militiamen, Cherry bossed the Negroes. She bossed them imperiously, bullying them into doing exactly as she required. Bitch. Hateful bitch, A

“We done tried over yonder, dat side o’the mansion.” Cherry’s voice floated across a hundred yards of open ground. “Now we tries on dis side.” She led the Reds over toward the side where A

They dug with her. Few would have been bold enough to argue. Cassius would have, but Cassius wasn’t here. A

“At my signal,” A

Cherry was as alert as a beast of prey, too. She caught some tiny motion in the brush and let out a cry of alarm.

At the same instant, A

All along the line of militiamen, rifles barked. The machine gun hammered away like a mad thing. A couple of the Reds managed to fall flat, get hold of their rifles, and fire back. Their fire did not last long. Methodical as factory workers, the machine gu

Seeing how things were, Cherry turned and ran. A

A

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” A

“That one ain’t finished yet, ma’am.” Sergeant Metcalfe pointed in the direction of Cherry, who was still trying to crawl away with a shattered lower leg. He started to raise his own rifle.

“No!” A

She loped toward Cherry. Behind her, a couple of short, flat cracks rang out. Nodding in satisfaction, she trotted on. She had a round in the chamber of her Tredegar, and was ready and more than ready to fire if the colored woman had a pistol tucked in the pocket or waistband of her tattered dungarees.

Cherry snarled hatred at her, but made no move to reach for a weapon. “White debbil bitch,” she said. “They was right all along, damn them. You never was nothin’but a goddamn liar.”

“You know all about lies, don’t you?” A

“I ain’t never told lies like you ’pressors tell de niggers and de poor stupid buckra and your ownselves,” Cherry retorted. She gathered herself, though blood was puddling around her right calf.

“Don’t try it,” A

To her surprise, Cherry nodded. “Ain’t a patch on what I do to you, I had you down shot on de ground.”