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"Emil's here. We can start now," another poker player said. The guy with the roll flipped him off. The other man turned to Cinci
"Nope," Cinci
"On account of I got grandkids who need shoes?" suggested the man sitting at the card table. "We need suckers in this here game-besides Emil, I mean."
"You'll see who's a sucker," Emil said. "You'll be sorry when you do, too."
"If you're no good at somethin', why do it?" Cinci
"Well, there's always fucking," the other driver replied, which got a laugh.
"Maybe you ain't no good at that," Cinci
"That's telling him," Williamson said.
Cinci
What about white people in the Confederate States? His mouth tightened, the grin disappearing altogether. He knew the answer to that, knew it much too well. They thought Negroes were so far below ordinary human beings that they got rid of them without a qualm. And what would the local in overalls say about that? He'd probably say the Confederacy's Negroes had it coming.
"Fuck him, too," Cinci
"Who? Dolf there?" Williamson nodded toward the poker player who'd gone back and forth with Cinci
"No, not Dolf. This peckerhead redneck I was talkin' with in town," Cinci
"Probably no great loss," Williamson said. "We're go
The next morning, soldiers loaded crates of 105mm shells into the back of Cinci
Two bushwhackers fired from the undergrowth that grew too close to the side of the road before the convoy got halfway to where it was going. One bullet shattered a truck's windshield. Another flattened a tire. The armored cars sprayed the bushes with machine-gun fire. Cinci
One of those cars stayed behind to help the truck driver with the flat change his tire-and to shield him from more bullets while he worked. Cinci
As things were, they didn't run into-or over-any. Cinci
Gun bu
He wished he could stay by the gun pits. Bushwhackers didn't come around here. But then, as he was driving back towards Ellijay, he heard thunder behind him. A glance in the rear-view mirror told him the artillerymen were catching it. Wherever you went, whatever you did, the war would reach out and grab you and bite you.
Snipers fired a few shots at the trucks on the way back to the depot. When they got there, one of the drivers said, "You guys are go
"Jesus, Gordie, how come you ain't screamin' your head off?" another driver asked. "How the hell'd you make it back?"
Gordie started laughing to beat the band. "On account of I lost that leg in 1915," he answered. "Fuckers ruined the joint in my artificial one, but that's about it."
"How'd you work the clutch without your knee joint?" Cinci
"Grabbed the leg with my hand and mashed down on the sucker," Gordie said. "Wasn't pretty. Don't figure I did my gear train any good. But who gives a damn? I made it back. 'Course, the leg's just a piece of junk without that joint. Better find me a wheelchair or some crutches-I ain't goin' anywhere without 'em."
Cinci
The supply dump stocked both wheelchairs and crutches. That didn't surprise Cinci
Gordie's leg went out for repairs. Technicians who dealt with such things were also necessary. When it came back, the amputee was full of praise. "Feels like I just got new spark plugs on my Ford," he said. "Joint's smoother and easier to work than it ever was before, I think. Quieter, too." He still walked with a rolling gait like a drunken sailor's, but so did anybody who'd lost a leg above the knee. The roll locked the joint till the next step. Cinci
Except for harassing fire as he drove his routes, everything seemed pretty quiet. He'd drifted into a backwater of the war. Part of him wanted to be doing more. The rest-the larger portion-thought that part was out of its tree.
III
G eorge Enos, Jr., liked being back on the East Coast. When the Josephus Daniels came in to the Boston Navy Yard for refit or resupply-or even to deliver a package-he had a chance for liberty, a chance to see his wife and kids. Unlike a lot of sailors, he preferred getting it at home to laying down money in some sleazy whorehouse and lying down with a girl who was probably more interested in the current crossword puzzle than in him.
That didn't stop him from lying down with a whore every once in a while. It did leave him feeling guilty whenever he did. That, in turn, meant he drank more on liberty than he would have otherwise. He couldn't get drunk enough to stop feeling guilty, which didn't keep him from trying.
When he came into Boston, he didn't have to worry about it. He could go to bed with Co
"I wish you didn't have to leave," she said, clinging to him with arms and legs the night before he was due back aboard his ship. When she kissed him, he tasted tears on her lipstick.