“Keep on fighting or try and disappear,” Cantarella said. “Those are your only two choices.”
“How can I fight after this?” Spartacus said. “How? Do Jesus!” Neither white man had any answer for him.
The first thing Flora Blackford did when she got up in the morning was turn on the wireless to find out how the war had gone while she slept. The wireless didn’t always tell the truth; she knew that. In the black days of 1941 and 1942, news reports of Confederate advances often ran days behind what really happened. Losses to enemy bombs were minimized, as were U.S. casualties. The uprisings in Utah and Canada had got short shrift-the one in Canada still did.
But, if you knew how to listen, you could get a pretty good notion of what was going on. Today, for instance, the broadcaster declared, “Confederate air raids over Bermuda are of nuisance value only. The enemy has suffered severe losses in terms of bombers and trained crewmen.”
That was true, but, like a lot of true things, didn’t tell the whole story or even most of it. The Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War had had some pungent things to say to the generals and admirals in charge of the reconquest of Bermuda. It was back in U.S. hands, but the whole business had proved much more expensive than anyone expected.
Why hadn’t the generals and admirals figured Confederate bombers would keep paying nighttime visits? It wasn’t stupidity, not exactly. As far as Flora could see, it was more like the blind certainty everything would go fine, and an unwillingness to examine ways in which things might not go fine.
To the men on the low-lying ground who had to put up with bombs coming down on their heads, it probably looked a lot like stupidity even if it wasn’t.
Flora made coffee and scrambled a couple of eggs. They were the only ones she would eat this week. She made a point of sticking to the limits rationing imposed on everybody else. Not all Representatives and Senators did, but she didn’t see how government could force such things on the country without observing them itself. Tomorrow it would be corn flakes or toast and jam. She was low on butter, too, but she couldn’t get more till after the first of the month.
“In Europe,” the newscaster went on, “German wireless reports that the Kaiser’s armored units have driven British forces over the Dutch border. For the first time since the outbreak of war, Germany is free of invaders. British Prime Minister Churchill denies the German claim and insists that strong British counterattacks are imminent.”
How can he do both at once? Flora wondered. But Churchill was formidable, no doubt about it. He’d overshadowed Mosley in the British government, and Britain was overshadowing France in the anti-German alliance, though Action Francaise had held power longer.
“Russia claims the German assault column aimed at Petrograd has been turned back with heavy losses,” the broadcaster continued. “More weight would attach to this claim if the Tsar’s government hadn’t made it repeatedly over the past few weeks, each time without its being true. The situation in the Ukraine, however, remains as confused and chaotic as it has been since the beginning of the war.
“Serbian terrorists have taken credit for the people bomb that exploded in Budapest day before yesterday and killed several prominent Hungarian military officials. The Austro-Hungarian Empire has vowed reprisals.”
Flora sighed as she put salt on her eggs. The cycle of revenge and reprisal was lurching forward another couple of cogs. She saw no end to it. Serbs, Croats, Bosnians, Albanians, Macedonians, Bulgarians…Austria-Hungary had security worries that made the USA’s seem simple by comparison.
“In sports…” Flora got up and poured herself another cup of mostly ersatz coffee. She didn’t care about the football scores. Joshua would have, and no doubt still did. But he was off doing his basic training. The apartment seemed empty without him.
Somewhere out in Washington State, scientists were trying to build a bomb that might make soldiers obsolete. With Joshua in uniform, Flora had one more reason to hope they succeeded soon.
And somewhere down in the CSA, other scientists were trying just as hard to build the same damn thing. Flora didn’t think the Confederates could win the war as a slugging match, not any more. But if they got that bomb ahead of the USA…Roosevelt thought the enemy was running behind. Was he right?
The Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War couldn’t hold hearings to find out. As far as Flora knew, she was the only committee member who’d ever heard of uranium bombs or understood the difference between U-235 and U-238. There, though, she didn’t know how far she knew. Robert Taft might share the secret. So might any other member. The only way to find out was to ask, and asking meant breaching security. She kept quiet. So did any other members who knew. Maybe it would all come out after the war.
She went downstairs and flagged a cab. They were easy to get on this block, where so many Congressmen and Senators lived. “Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked. In most of Philadelphia, Flora would have been lady, the same as in New York City. This fellow remembered where he was, and took no chances.
“Congressional Hall,” Flora said.
“Yes, ma’am.” He probably thought she was a secretary, but politeness could still be good for his tip.
He had to detour from the shortest route a couple of times. Sawhorses and ropes blocked the street. Signs said, BOMB DAMAGE. “Do you know what’s going on?” Flora asked. “I didn’t hear any bombers overhead last night.”
“Neither did I, ma’am,” the cabby agreed. “But I heard one of ’em was an auto bomb and the other one was a people bomb.”
“Oy!” Flora said. “Has anyone claimed responsibility? Confederates? Mormons who don’t want to give up? Canadians?”
“God only knows,” he said. “You can walk along minding your own…darn business, and out of the blue-kaboom!”
“Out of the blue makes it worse,” Flora said, and the driver nodded. When someone said he’d planted an auto bomb, when a group proclaimed that one of its members hated you enough to blow himself to red mist to hurt you, at least you knew why you’d been injured. When the question hung in the air…When the question hung in the air, what could you do but stay afraid all the time? Flora didn’t think the cabby had several hundred pounds of TNT in the trunk of his beat-up Packard or under the floorboards, but she couldn’t prove he didn’t. And he couldn’t know she hadn’t strapped an explosive belt around her waist. Scary times, all the way around.
As if to prove as much, concrete barricades kept motorcars from getting too close to Congressional Hall. Flora paid the driver. The Packard wheezed away. She approached the building. Despite her status, despite her Congressional ID, security guards went through her handbag and attache case. A hard-faced policewoman patted her down. She’d got complaints that some of the women who frisked other women enjoyed themselves as much as men would have. She didn’t know what anyone could do about that. This one seemed all business. “You can go on,” she said when she finished.
“Thank you so much,” Flora said. The sarcasm rolled off the policewoman like rain off a tin roof.
Her secretary was in the office before Flora got there. “Good morning, Congresswoman,” she said. “Coffee’s just about ready.”
“Thanks, Bertha. It smells good,” Flora said. “Isn’t it terrible about the bombs this morning?”
“I should say so,” Bertha answered. “I hear the people bomb was one of those horrible Mormons.”
“Was it? How do they know?” Flora asked.
“I don’t know, but I’d believe anything about those people,” her secretary said. “They caused us so much trouble, so much misery-why wouldn’t they go on doing it even now?”