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If he can do it, so can I, Jorge thought. He laid his weapon on the ground and walked toward the waiting U.S. soldiers. One of them pointed into the town. "Line up by the courthouse," he said, not unkindly. "Some trucks'll take you off to prison camp."
"All right." Jorge pointed back the way he'd come. "We left wounded in the woods. My buddy's there."
"We'll get 'em-don't flabble about it. You move along now."
Dully, Jorge obeyed. The men with whom he'd endured so much tramped through the late-afternoon stillness in the little town of Appomattox-a sign on the courthouse gave him the name of the place-toward the end of the war.
T hings were quiet outside of Birmingham, and inside, too. Cinci
None of the drivers, of course, knew what the U.S. officer would tell the surrounded general. That didn't stop them from guessing. "If he don't quit, I bet we drop a superbomb on him," Cinci
"Sounds good to me," Hal Williamson said. Several other men nodded. Williamson went on, "All the trouble Patton's caused, we ought to drop a bomb on the fucker anyway."
More nods, Cinci
"How long d'you think he'll give Patton?" somebody asked.
"I wouldn't give him long," Williamson said. "If it's surrender or get one of those bombs in the kisser, what does he need to figure out?"
Cinci
So did the other drivers. "That Patton's a stubborn bastard," one of them said. "What if he doesn't give in?"
"His funeral, in that case," Cinci
Williamson pointed into the ruin that was Birmingham. "Here comes our guy," he said. "And look! He's got one of those butternut bastards with him."
Sure enough, two men came out of the city, each of them carrying a large flag of truce. The C.S. officer looked clean and neat despite the disaster that had befallen the place he was defending. He also looked as unhappy as if he were burying his only son. That told Cinci
"They givin' up, suh?" he called to the U.S. officer, the rising lilt in his voice saying he already had a good notion of the answer.
All the drivers burst into cheers when the major nodded. "They sure are," he answered, "or it looks that way, anyhow. We've still got a few little things to iron out-that's why Captain Monroe is with me."
The Confederate started to give the men standing near the big green-gray trucks a polite nod. Then he saw Cinci
"I ain't a guerrilla." Cinci
"That's telling him!" Hal Williamson said.
Captain Monroe looked even more mournful than he had before. The U.S. major, whose name Cinci
"It's still wrong," Monroe said stubbornly. "Niggers got no business fighting."
"You call me nigger again, you ofay asshole, you ain't go
"Somebody doesn't seem to agree with you," the U.S. major observed. "And since he's here, maybe he's got a point, you know?"
Monroe shook his head. Cinci
As the two officers went back to confer with U.S. higher-ups, Hal Williamson thumped Cinci
"He better not," Cinci
"That's us!" Two drivers said it at the same time. Cinci
After that, with the ceasefire holding, the drivers had nothing to do but sit around and smoke and eat and play cards. Cinci
Three hours later, the U.S. major and C.S. Captain Monroe returned, both of them with their white flags. The officer in green-gray was all smiles, while Monroe, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed, showed nothing but gloom.
"It's all over," the U.S. major said. "They'll come out. One more nail in the coffin, and a big one, too."
"Did you have to say that?" Monroe barked.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but will you tell me it's not the truth?" the major asked. The Confederate officer didn't answer, which in itself told everything that needed telling. The major nodded to the group of truck drivers. "We gave them one thing: Patton gets to address his men after they lay down their arms."
"Why not?" Cinci
The two officers went back into Birmingham. Cinci
They weren't shy about scrounging ration tins from anybody in green-gray they saw. "Thanks, pal," one of them said when Cinci
"Wow," Hal Williamson said. "This place made half the shit they threw at us, seems like. And now it's out of business." He mimed swiping the back of his hand over his forehead in relief.
"So where do we drop the superbomb we were go
"New Orleans. Gotta be New Orleans." The answer came to Cinci
"No offense, Cinci
Cinci
"So is Jake Featherston," Williamson said, which was true but not exactly a compliment. Cinci