‘Another me?’ Wainwright frowned. ‘Another me? Surely that would merely be another man who just shares my name and my likeness?’ He looked at Devereau. ‘William, is this not us sacrificing our lives so that other men, who look just like us, can enjoy a better life?’
‘Perhaps.’ Devereau nodded slowly. ‘But, James … are we not dead men anyway?’
The Confederate colonel’s uneasy frown deepened.
‘Our mutiny will be a short-lived one,’ Devereau continued. ‘I’d hoped the flames of rebellion would have spread further, but … well … it appears now that we are in this alone. There we are — that’s the way it is.’ He sat forward, the armchair’s old springs creaking. ‘But, Colonel, I put this to you …’
‘What?’
‘If by dying on a battlefield or being destroyed by this wave, you could end this war, banish both the French and the British from our shores and unite our separate northern and southern states once and for all … and be able to achieve all of this in one instant. Is that not a good way to go?’
Wainwright studied his colleague for a long while. Eventually his frown gave way to a grin that spread beneath his moustache.
‘Putting it like that, Colonel Devereau …’ He raised his mug and clanked it against his friend’s. ‘To foolish men who wish to change history.’
CHAPTER 73. 2001, New York
Sergeant Freeman squinted bleary-eyed at the hazy sky. Beyond the strip of Manhattan, beyond the broad and sedate Hudson River, was New Jersey.
‘The South.’
Freeman realized that where he and young Ray were huddled, near the top of a tall building he guessed must have once been a bank or something — right here, was the closest he’d been to actually even seeing the South. From where they were sitting on dust-covered stools, looking out of a cracked window frame, it looked no different to the crumbling ruins in which he’d been living for more years than he cared to remember. The rising sun coming up behind them picked out the skeletons of dockside cranes, twisted and contorted; the rusting hull of an old Sherman Ironside, a navy ship scuttled nearly seventy years ago when the South made their second assault on New York.
He shuddered as a fresh breeze sent dust devils spinning across the open floor. The wall to the east was completely gone, exposing a cross-section of the building’s many floors. He turned to look at all the old office things — typewriters, filing cabinets, desks and chairs — all of them coated in a thick layer of plaster dust and pigeon droppings.
The sun was filling this floor, streaming in where the wall should be. He shaded his eyes from the glare. If he squinted a little, he could just about imagine how this office must have once looked. Busy with activity. Busy with smartly dressed young men moving purposefully, making money. And the big-framed windows looking down on New York, on all that promise and wealth and hopefulness. A doleful smile slowly pulled on his leathery face.
‘Helluva view folks musta had from up here,’ he muttered.
‘’Sup, sir?’
Freeman shook his head. ‘Ain’t nothing, Ray. Just an old man’s nonsense.’
‘It’s darned cold.’
‘Sunrise’ll warm us up directly, son.’
He rubbed his hands together. The young lad was right. It was cold up here. Wind chill an’ all. He should’ve asked the colonel if they could have taken a brazier up here with them. At the very least, several flasks of hot water or some such.
Ray was looking up the long west side of Manhattan island. Thin tendrils of smoke in the distance signalled the canteen fires of other Southern regiments. ‘You reckon them other regiments upriver gonna join us too, sir?’
‘In due course … I’m sure. We just gotta make a show of things for a while.’ He glanced back at the hazy labyrinth of bomb-ravaged Brooklyn. ‘Our boys and them Southern boys … we just gotta make us a stand. Show them others upriver that we all are serious ’bout this rebellion. That we finally finished with this war.’
Freeman doubted it was going to be that simple. More than that, he sensed that same doubt in their colonel.
Bed’s all made up now. Nothing left to do but sleep in it.
‘Sir?’
Freeman turned back to Ray. ‘What is it, son?’
‘What’s that?’ The boy was pointing. Freeman followed the direction of his finger and squinted once again to make better use of his old eyes. It looked like thunder clouds on the horizon. Made sense. They were due rain sometime soon.
A row of heavily stacked clouds.
‘Pass me them field glasses, Ray.’
The young man fished them out of a pouch and passed them to the sergeant.
‘Now then,’ he said, fumbling with the lens-focus dial. ‘Let me just get a …’
The bell grabbed Maddy and hauled her out of a troubled dream. She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the springs of Sal’s bunk above. For a moment, with the gentle glow of the light bulb above casting a patchwork of shadows from its wire grille, and the hum of the computers, she thought all was well once more. That the idea of a civil war still being fought across the rubble of New York had been nothing but her sleeping mind’s fun and games.
But then the long clattering trill of a bell again.
She turned her head and saw Colonel Devereau jerking awake in one of the armchairs. He reached out and unhooked the phone from its cradle on the table.
‘Yes?’
Maddy swung her legs on to the floor as Wainwright stirred and Becks ducked under the shutter and entered the archway.
Devereau nodded solemnly as he listened. Then finally: ‘Good man. Come back immediately.’ He hung the phone up on its cradle.
‘They’re coming.’
A moment later they were all emerging outside, stepping into the glare of morning. She followed the colonels along the trench, pressing past grim-faced men already mustering, checking their webbing, their ammo pouches, their carbines, buttoning their tunics, replacing forage caps with hard helmets. Up a short stepladder and out of the horseshoe-shaped trench, she joined them on the open ground sloping down towards the borderline and the river.
A motor launch was steaming across the glass-smooth water towards them, leaving a rippling V in its wake.
Becks stood beside her. ‘They are here.’
Looming low in the sky above Manhattan like an archipelago of floating islands, a fleet of giant sky carriers had arrived.
CHAPTER 74. 2001, en route to New Chelmsford
Liam wiped sweat from his face. The morning had started out so chilly. Now, midday, with the sky a rich blue and the sun hanging high, it was a summer’s day come late.
Traipsing across field after field punctuated by the occasional meadow … and now finally in an apple orchard that seemed endless, they were exhausted.
‘Five minutes,’ gasped Liam. ‘I’ve got a stitch in me side.’ He slumped against the trunk of an apple tree. ‘Five minutes’ rest here, then we’ll carry on.’
Lincoln slid down beside him, equally spent and grumbling about blisters on his feet.
Sal didn’t want to sit. She knew if she did she’d not want to get up again. Anyway, more pressing matters.
‘I need to, uh … to go and …’
Liam waved her off. ‘Don’t wander too far.’
‘OK.’
She turned away and ducked down under the low-hanging branches of the nearest tree. She could still see them which meant they could see her. She walked a little further from them, between rows of trees, through grass tall enough to tickle her fingers. She ducked down again, under another cluster of apple-laden branches and found herself on the edge of a clearing.