“Pity they’ll shoot them or hang them,” Gordon McSweeney whispered to Mantarakis as Heber Jackson bowed his head. “They should be burned.” He touched the nozzle to his flamethrower. Mantarakis hissed at him to be quiet; he wanted to hear what the Mormons said.
Wendell Schmitt took an angry step forward. “The terms you set us were already hard enough without that, General. The Constitution-”
“Does not apply here, because of the president’s declaration,” General Kent interrupted. “You people put yourselves beyond the pale when you hopped into bed with the Confederates and the Canadians. Now that you have made that bed for yourselves, you shall be made to lie in it. You tried to destroy our government here. You failed. We will destroy your government here. This surrender will let the common people of the state survive. If you reject it, we will destroy them, too, and turn Utah back into the desert it was before they came.”
“And call that peace,” Joseph Shook murmured. It sounded like a quotation, but Paul didn’t know what it was from.
General Kent evidently did: “If you like, Mr. Shook. But you Mormons will not joggle our elbows again while we are fighting this bigger war, and you will not disturb the peace in the USA once we have won the war.” He opened an attache case and took out a sheet of fancy paper. “Here is the formal instrument of surrender. Before we affix our signatures to it, I am going to summarize its provisions one last time, so that we have no unfortunate misunderstandings. Is that agreeable to you?”
“Hard terms,” Heber Jackson said softly.
“Having fought us tooth and nail for a year, you cannot expect a kiss on the cheek now,” Kent retorted. He fumbled in the case again, this time for a pair of reading glasses. “‘Item: all troops in resistance to the government of the United States’…Well, we’ve done that; they laid down their arms when you asked for the cease-fire.
“‘Item: all firearms in Utah to be surrendered within two weeks. Penalty for possession after that time is death.
“‘Item: any act of violence against soldiers of the United States shall be punished by the taking and execution of hostages, not to exceed ten for each soldier wounded or fifty for each soldier killed.
“‘Item: all public gatherings of more than three persons are banned. This includes churches, vaudeville houses, picnics’-you name it. ‘Violators will be fired upon without warning by soldiers of the United States.
“‘Item: all property of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is forfeit to the government of the United States in reparation for the cost of suppressing this rebellion.
“‘Item: gatherings in private homes to worship in the fashion of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Days Saints shall be construed as public gatherings under the meaning of the previous item, and shall be dealt with like any other public gatherings under the terms of that item.
“‘Item…’” He droned on and on. After a while, Paul stopped paying close attention. The Mormons had tried to break away from the USA, and they were paying a heavy price for it. In effect, they had broken away, and were being treated not as a state returning to the Union but as a conquered province. As far as he was concerned, they’d earned it. He’d been in Utah most of a year, and nasty strangers had been trying to kill him the whole time.
One of General Kent’s aides unfolded a portable table and produced a pen and bottle of ink with which to sign the instrument of surrender. “May I say something before I set my name there?” Wendell Schmitt asked.
“Go ahead,” General Kent told him. “If you think anything you say will change matters, though-”
“Not likely,” the Mormon military commander broke in. “No, what I want to tell you is that terms like these will come back to haunt you, years from now. You’re sowing the seeds of hatred and bloodshed that will grow up in the days of our grandchildren, and of their grandchildren, too.”
“Do you know what?” General Kent said. “I don’t care. Teddy Roosevelt doesn’t care, either. And if they have to, Mr. Schmitt, my grandchildren will come in here to Utah and blow your grandchildren sky-high all over again. If more damn fools like you come to power here, that’s just what will happen. If you people are smart enough to realize you’re fighting out of your weight, it won’t.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Biting his lip, Wendell Schmitt signed the surrender document. So did the three men who made up the first presidency of the Mormon Church. Last of all, so did General Kent. His aides took the Mormon leaders into custody. The Mormon standard-bearer handed the beehive banner to one of those U.S. aides. With deliberate contempt, the American soldier let it fall in the dirt.
“It’s over,” Ben Carlton said.
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “Now we either get to stay here for occupation duty, with everybody hating us like rat poison, or else they ship us back to fighting the Rebs or the Canucks.” He laughed ruefully. “Sounds like a bully time either way, doesn’t it?”
Anne Colleton cranked to life the engine of the battered Ford they’d given her. The motorcar shivered and shuddered like a man with the grippe. It sounded as if it would fall to pieces at any moment-it was about as far a cry from her Vauxhall roadster as an automobile could possibly be.
She didn’t complain, not any more. She’d had to move heaven and earth to pry the Ford out of Confederate officialdom. It would, with luck, get her back to Marshlands, which was all she wanted for the time being. God only knew where the Vauxhall Major Hotchkiss had confiscated was now. That might well have been literally true; Hotchkiss himself, she was given to understand, was dead, killed along with so many others in the death throes of the Congaree Socialist Republic.
“Anyone want to ride with me?” Anne asked, not for the first time. None of the women with whom she’d shared a refugee tent for so many months made a move toward her. The bayoneted Tredegar with a full clip she’d laid in the middle of the seat probably had something to do with that.
“The officers say you’re asking to get yourself killed-or else somethin’ even worse-if y’all go into that country now,” the fat woman named Melissa declared. By her tone, she looked forward to that prospect for Anne.
“I’ll risk it,” Anne answered. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself, unlike a lot of people I can think of.” Being on the point of leaving gave her the last word. She hopped into the Ford, released the hand brake, put the motorcar in gear, and put-putted away.
Going was slow, as she’d known it would be. The Robert E. Lee Highway had been one of the main lines of Confederate advance, which meant the Red Negro rebels had defended it as well as they could, which in turn meant the artillery had gone to work, which meant what was called a road was in many places anything but. Anne was glad she’d managed to get her hands on several spare inner tubes and a pump and patches.
Not many trees along the road were standing; most had been blasted to tinder. Those that did stand often held ghastly fruit: rebels captured and then summarily hanged. Ravens and buzzards flew up from them as the noisy Ford rattled past. The stench of death was everywhere, and far stronger than the hanged bodies could have accounted for by themselves. Anne wondered if the fronts between the CSA and USA were full of this same dreadful reek. If they were, how did the soldiers endure it?
In a field by the side of the road, Negroes were digging trenches that would probably serve as mass graves. From a distance, the scene looked almost as it would have before the Red uprising began. Almost, for the couple of whites who supervised the laborers carried rifles: the spring sun glinted off the sharp edge of a bayonet.
Anne bit her lip. Putting Humpty-Dumpty back together again in the CSA wouldn’t be easy. If whites had to get labor out of blacks at gunpoint, how were they supposed to fight the damnyankees at the same time? And if they offered concessions to make Negroes more willing to go along with them, wasn’t that as much as saying the Reds had been right to rise against the government?