Read Online American Front by Harry Turtledove - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Turtledove
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Confederates had gone on to fight the war elsewhere.
This time, they seemed intent on leaving no stone in the capital of the United States standing upon another. Once, just before sunrise, Nellie had gone to a well to draw a bucket of water—shelling had burst the pipes that carried water through the city. The Capitol’s dome was smashed, the building itself burning. Not far away, the White House had also become a pile of rubble, and the needle of the Washington Monument no longer reached up to the sky—that despite the Rebels’ claims to revere Washington as the father of their country, too.
More guns boomed, these not the Confederate cannon across the Potomac but American guns replying from the high ground north of Washington. Shells made freight-train noises overhead, then thudded to earth with roars like distant thunder.
“Kill all those Rebel bastards!” Edna shouted. “Blow Arlington to hell and gone so we don’t have the God-damned Lees looking down on us like lords. Blow their balls off, every fucking one of them!”
Nellie stared at her daughter. “Where ever did you learn such language?” she gasped. Absurdly, at that moment, her first impulse was to wash Edna’s mouth out with soap. After a moment’s reflection, though, she wished she let the words out more readily herself. She knew them—oh, she knew them. And when hell came up here on earth, what did a few bad words matter?
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Edna said, but then her chin came up. “No, I’m not sorry, not a bit of it. I wish I knew worse to call the Confederates. If I did, I would, and that’s the truth.”
“What you just said is pretty bad.” Nellie had not led a sheltered life—far from it—but she’d seldom heard a lady curse as her daughter just had. Then again, she’d never been in a situation where tons of death fell randomly from the sky. As the judge said of the man who knifed a poker partner because he spotted an ace coming out of his sleeve, there were mitigating circumstances.
More freight-train noises filled the air, these from the east and south: Rebel artillery, striking back at U.S. guns. Because the Confederates were trying to hit the cannons, shells stopped falling on Washington itself and began smashing the hills that ringed the city.
Edna stood up. “Maybe we can get out of town now, Mama,” she said hopefully.
“Maybe.” Nellie rose, too. The air was thick with smoke and dust and a harsh odor she supposed came from explosives. Half the chairs and tables in the coffeehouse lay on their sides or upside down. The fine linen tablecloths that gave the establishment a touch of class—and that Nellie was still paying for—were rags now, torn rags.
A shell fragment had ripped into the fancy brass coffee grinder that gleamed out in front of the counter. Nellie wouldn’t be grinding coffee with it again, not any time soon. She shivered and had to grasp the counter for a moment. If a fragment had done that to sturdy, machined brass, what would it have done to flesh? A few feet to one side and she would have found out. No, 1881 hadn’t been like this.
She walked toward what had been her front window and was now a square opening with a few jagged shards round the edges. Out in the street—which had suddenly acquired deep pocks, like the face of a man who’d never been vaccinated—a shattered delivery wagon sat on its side, the horses that had drawn it gruesomely dead in the traces. Nellie gulped. She’d killed and plucked and gutted plenty of chickens, and even a few pigs, but artillery was a horrifyingly sloppy butcher. She hadn’t imagined horses had that much blood in them, either. A scrawny stray dog came up and sniffed the pool. She shouted at it. It ran away. Behind the wagon, she could just see an outflung arm. No, the driver hadn’t been luckier than his animals.
“Can we get out of town, do you think, Ma?” Edna repeated.
Nellie raised her eyes from the street to the high ground. For a
This time, they seemed intent on leaving no stone in the capital of the United States standing upon another. Once, just before sunrise, Nellie had gone to a well to draw a bucket of water—shelling had burst the pipes that carried water through the city. The Capitol’s dome was smashed, the building itself burning. Not far away, the White House had also become a pile of rubble, and the needle of the Washington Monument no longer reached up to the sky—that despite the Rebels’ claims to revere Washington as the father of their country, too.
More guns boomed, these not the Confederate cannon across the Potomac but American guns replying from the high ground north of Washington. Shells made freight-train noises overhead, then thudded to earth with roars like distant thunder.
“Kill all those Rebel bastards!” Edna shouted. “Blow Arlington to hell and gone so we don’t have the God-damned Lees looking down on us like lords. Blow their balls off, every fucking one of them!”
Nellie stared at her daughter. “Where ever did you learn such language?” she gasped. Absurdly, at that moment, her first impulse was to wash Edna’s mouth out with soap. After a moment’s reflection, though, she wished she let the words out more readily herself. She knew them—oh, she knew them. And when hell came up here on earth, what did a few bad words matter?
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Edna said, but then her chin came up. “No, I’m not sorry, not a bit of it. I wish I knew worse to call the Confederates. If I did, I would, and that’s the truth.”
“What you just said is pretty bad.” Nellie had not led a sheltered life—far from it—but she’d seldom heard a lady curse as her daughter just had. Then again, she’d never been in a situation where tons of death fell randomly from the sky. As the judge said of the man who knifed a poker partner because he spotted an ace coming out of his sleeve, there were mitigating circumstances.
More freight-train noises filled the air, these from the east and south: Rebel artillery, striking back at U.S. guns. Because the Confederates were trying to hit the cannons, shells stopped falling on Washington itself and began smashing the hills that ringed the city.
Edna stood up. “Maybe we can get out of town now, Mama,” she said hopefully.
“Maybe.” Nellie rose, too. The air was thick with smoke and dust and a harsh odor she supposed came from explosives. Half the chairs and tables in the coffeehouse lay on their sides or upside down. The fine linen tablecloths that gave the establishment a touch of class—and that Nellie was still paying for—were rags now, torn rags.
A shell fragment had ripped into the fancy brass coffee grinder that gleamed out in front of the counter. Nellie wouldn’t be grinding coffee with it again, not any time soon. She shivered and had to grasp the counter for a moment. If a fragment had done that to sturdy, machined brass, what would it have done to flesh? A few feet to one side and she would have found out. No, 1881 hadn’t been like this.
She walked toward what had been her front window and was now a square opening with a few jagged shards round the edges. Out in the street—which had suddenly acquired deep pocks, like the face of a man who’d never been vaccinated—a shattered delivery wagon sat on its side, the horses that had drawn it gruesomely dead in the traces. Nellie gulped. She’d killed and plucked and gutted plenty of chickens, and even a few pigs, but artillery was a horrifyingly sloppy butcher. She hadn’t imagined horses had that much blood in them, either. A scrawny stray dog came up and sniffed the pool. She shouted at it. It ran away. Behind the wagon, she could just see an outflung arm. No, the driver hadn’t been luckier than his animals.
“Can we get out of town, do you think, Ma?” Edna repeated.
Nellie raised her eyes from the street to the high ground. For a
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