"Samson in the temple," McSweeney murmured. But the big Scotsman shook his head. "No, I cannot believe it. Samson worked with the Lord, not against Him. I do not think Satan could steel their souls to such vain sacrifice."
"The whole damn state of Utah is a sacrifice," Paul said. "I don't know what the hell made the Mormons fight like that, but they did more with less than the damn Rebs ever dreamt of doing. Only way we licked 'em is, we had more men and more guns."
Here and there, people who were not U.S. soldiers picked through the remains of Ogden. Women in bonnets and long skirts shoved aside wreckage, looking for precious possessions or food or perhaps the remains of loved ones. Children and a few old men helped them. The spoiled-meat smell of death hung everywhere.
A few men not old also went through the ruins. Most of them wore overalls, with poplin or flannel shirts underneath. Their clothes were as filthy and tattered as the soldiers' uniforms, and for the same reason: they'd spent too long in trenches.
"If looks could kill…" Paul said quietly. His companions nodded. The Mormon fighting men no longer carried weapons; that was one of the terms of the cease-fire to which their leaders had agreed. They stared at the American soldiers, and stared, and kept on staring. Their eyes were hot and empty at the same time. They'd fought, and they'd lost, and it was eating them inside.
"My granddads fought in the War of Secession," Carlton said. "I seen a photograph of one of 'em after we gave up. He looks just like the Mormons look now."
They tramped past a five-year-old boy, a little towhead cute enough to show up on a poster advertising shoes or candy. His eyes blazed with the same terrible despair that informed the faces of the beaten Mormon fighters.
The women were no different. They glowered at the victorious U.S. troopers. The prettier they were, the harder they glared. Some of them had carried rifles and fought in the trenches, too. Soldiers who won a war were supposed to have an easy time among the women of the people they'd defeated. That hadn't happened anywhere in Utah that Paul had seen. He didn't think it would start happening any time soon, either.
But the Mormon women didn't aim that look full of hatred and contempt at the Americans alone. They also sent it toward their own menfolk, as if to say, How dare you have lost? Even the Mormon fighters quailed under the gaze of their women.
Carlton pointed ahead. "Must be the park."
Most of Ogden was shell holes and rubble. Tabernacle Park was, for the most part, just shell holes. The only major exception was the burned-out building at the southeast corner. It had been the local Mormon temple, and then the last strongpoint in Ogden, holding out until surrounded and battered flat by U.S. artillery.
Captain Schneider was already in the park. He waved the men of his company over to him. Pulling out a pocket watch, he said, "Ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. General Kent could have got himself a fancy honor guard, but he chose us instead. He said he thought it would be better if soldiers who'd been through it from the start saw the end."
"That is a just deed," Gordon McSweeney rumbled-high approval from him.
"Congratulations again on your medal, sir," Mantarakis said.
Schneider looked down at the Remembrance Cross in gold on his left breast pocket, won for rallying the line south of Ogden after the Mormons exploded their mines. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said. "I shouldn't be the only one wearing it, though. We all earned them that day."
Under his breath, Ben Carlton muttered, "Damn fine officer." Paul Mantarakis nodded.
Here came Major General Alonzo Kent, tramping along through the rubble like a common soldier. He waved to the veterans gathering in front of the wrecked Mormon temple. "Well, boys, it was a hell of a fight, but we licked 'em," he said. He wasn't impressive to look at, not even in a general's fancy uniform, but he'd got the job done.
And here came the Mormon delegation, behind a standard-bearer carrying the beehive banner under which the Utah rebels had fought so long and hard and well. Most of the leaders of the defeated Mormons looked more like undertakers than politicians or soldiers: weary old men in black suits and wing-collared shirts.
One of them stepped past the standard-bearer. "General Kent? I am Heber Louis Jackson, now"-he looked extraordinarily bleak as he spoke that word-"president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I have treated with your representatives."
"Yes," Kent said: not agreement, only acknowledgment.
The Mormon leader went on, "With me here are my counselors, Joseph Shook and Orem Pendleton. We make up the first presidency of the church, and are the authority in ultimate charge of the forces that have been resisting those of the government of the United States. And here"-he pointed to the youngest and toughest-looking of the Mormons in his party-"is Wendell Schmitt, commander of the military forces of the Nation of Deseret."
"The Nation of Deseret does not exist," General Kent said in a flat voice. "President Roosevelt has, as you know, declared the entire state of Utah to fall under martial law and military district. He has also ordered the arrest of all officials of the rebel administration in the state of Utah on a charge of treason against the government of the United States of America. That specifically includes you gentlemen here."
"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.