Morrell returned the salute. "Pleased to meet you, General Northcote."
"Meaning no disrespect to you, sir, but I'm afraid I can't say the same," Northcote answered bleakly.
"Well, General, under the circumstances, I don't see how I can take offense at that," Morrell said.
"Yes. Under the circumstances." Northcote spoke as if each word pained him. The door to the middle C.S. motorcar opened. A young-looking blond man in a sharp gray civilian suit came out. General Northcote waved to him and he came forward, his perfectly shined shoes flashing in the bright sun. Machinelike, Northcote said, "General Morrell, it is my duty to present to you the President of the CSA, Mr. Don Partridge. Mr. President, this is U.S. General Irving Morrell."
"Mr. President," Morrell said formally. He did not offer to shake President Partridge's hand-he was under orders from Philadelphia to do no such thing.
Partridge's hand did start to rise, but fell back like a dead thing when he realized no handshake would be forthcoming. Close up, his round face didn't just look young. It looked boyish, as if none of the past three years of struggle had registered with him or on him at all. How was that possible? Morrell didn't know, but it seemed to be.
"General," Partridge said, and managed a nod.
Morrell nodded back; he had no orders against that. "Mr. President, you have come here under the terms of the cease-fire now in place to agree to the unconditional surrender of all forces still under command of the Confederate States of America. Is that correct?" He sounded like a man speaking from a script, and he was.
President Partridge had to work to manage another nod. "Yes. That's right." He sounded surprised and hurt, as if wondering how fate-and Morrell-could do such a thing to him.
"All right, then. I have the terms of the surrender here." Morrell took two copies of the document from his left breast pocket and unfolded them. "I would like to go over them with you before you sign so no one can say afterwards that there was any misunderstanding. Is that agreeable to you, sir?"
"Have I got a choice?" Don Partridge sounded bleak, too.
"Only going on with the war," Morrell answered.
"Then I haven't got a choice." Partridge sighed. "Go ahead, General. We can't fight any more, or I wouldn't be here."
Morrell thought that had been true ever since Savannah fell, if not since Atlanta did. But Jake Featherston kept the Confederacy going months longer than anybody would have imagined, and what he did to Philadelphia…He may have killed me yet, even if it takes years. Well, it was over now, thank God.
"All right. Here we go-Article One says you surrender unconditionally to the United States all forces on land, at sea, and in the air who are at this date under Confederate control," Morrell said.
Don Partridge nodded. "That's what I'm here for." Under his breath, he added what sounded like, "Goddammit." Morrell pretended not to notice.
"Article Two says your high command will immediately order all Confederate authorities and forces to cease operations on Thursday, July 14, 1944, at 1801 hours Eastern Summer Time: today at a minute past six," the U.S. general went on. "Your forces will hold in place. They will hand over weapons and equipment to U.S. local commanders. No ship or aircraft is to be scuttled or damaged. Machinery, armaments, and apparatus are to be turned over undamaged. This specifically includes your superbomb works in Lexington. Is that plain enough for you?"
"I understand you," Partridge said. "We won't do any damage to them. Your bombers have already done plenty, though."
"Make sure you don't use that as an excuse for any sabotage there," Morrell warned. "My government is very, very serious about that. If your people get cute, they'll be sorry."
"They're already sorry," the President of the CSA said. "We'll go along."
"You'd better. Now-Article Three. At that same time-6:01 today-all your camps killing Negroes are to cease operations," Morrell said. "Camp authorities are to make every effort to feed their inmates. U.S. supply convoys will reach them as soon as possible. Camp personnel will surrender to the first U.S. officers who arrive. Anyone who flees instead of surrendering will be liable to summary execution-we'll shoot the bastards on sight. Have you got that?"
"I've got it," Don Partridge answered. "Some of them will likely take their chances anyway."
He was bound to be right there. Even so, Morrell went on, "That brings us to Article Four. Your high command will at once issue orders to the appropriate commanders that they obey any commands issued by the U.S. War Department and carry them out without argument or comment. All communications will be in plain language-no codes."
"Agreed." By the way he spat it out, the word seemed to taste bad in Partridge's mouth.
"Good." Again, Morrell left the new and unhappy Confederate President what little pride he could. "Article Five says that a final political settlement may supersede this surrender."
That got him a glare. "When you decide how you want to carve us up, you'll go ahead and do it, you mean," Partridge said.
Yes, Morrell thought. Aloud, he said, "Sir, I'm only a soldier. I don't have anything to do with that." Yeah, I'll pass the buck. "Article Six now. If your high command or any forces under your control fail to act in accordance with this surrender, the War Department will take whatever punitive or other action it deems appropriate. If you disobey or fail to comply, we will deal with you in accordance with the laws and usages of war."
"You won. We lost. You'll do whatever you damn well please," Don Partridge said.
"That's about the size of it, sir," Morrell agreed. "And if there's any doubt or dispute about what these terms mean, the decision of the United States will be final." He handed Partridge both copies of the instrument of surrender. "Have you got a pen?"
"Yes." Partridge took one from an inside pocket. He read the terms to make sure they said what Morrell claimed they did. Maybe he wasn't so dumb as people in the USA thought. Maybe he'd been playing possum to make sure Jake Featherston didn't do unto him as he'd done unto Willy Knight. Chances were it wouldn't matter now one way or the other. Biting his lip, Partridge signed. He thrust one copy back at Morrell. "Here."
"Thank you." Morrell tried to stay what the diplomats called correct. We hate each other, but we don't let it show. "Do you have wireless equipment to let you relay the news of the surrender to your commanders so they can issue the appropriate orders? You are welcome to use U.S. equipment if you don't."
"I do, thank you very much," Partridge replied. So there, Morrell thought. The President of the CSA went back to his motorcar. Morrell watched him talk into a microphone in there.
Morrell made small talk with General Northcote till Partridge got out again. Then he asked, "All taken care of?"
Don Partridge nodded. "Yes. You will have full cooperation from all our officials. And now, if you will excuse me, I'd like to get back up to Charlotte and do what I can to keep things running."
"Um-I'm afraid not," Morrell said.
"Pardon me?" Partridge raised a pale eyebrow.
"I'm afraid not," Morrell repeated, more firmly this time. "You have surrendered-the Confederate States have surrendered-unconditionally. There is no Confederate government right now, sir. There isn't anything, not till the United States say there is."
"What does that make me, then?" President Partridge demanded.
"My prisoner, sir," Morrell answered.
He'd captured a swarm of prisoners in the course of two wars. He'd never had one cuss him out with the virtuoso splendor Don Partridge showed. Partridge must have listened to his boss a lot; by all accounts, Jake Featherston could swear like a muleskinner. Morrell let Partridge have his say. Why not? In the end, it made no difference. The USA had the firepower, and the CSA didn't.