John stopped, looking over his shoulder at Bob, who came in behind him, pulling back the hood of his parka. The old general did not hesitate or show fear. He actually smiled, coming up to John’s side.
It was a tense moment.
John took a step forward and held up his hand in a calming gesture. “This is General Scales. He is an old friend from long before the Day. General, these are some of my troops.”
Bob actually stiffened and offered a salute, which some then returned, though many continued to just stand in silence, their hostile gazes obvious.
“Colonel Matherson, my compliments, you have a good-looking command here.”
Good-looking? John tried to not show any reaction. In an earlier age, a world long ago, those standing in the hallway would have been described as a ragtag-looking bunch at best, winter camo made out of bedsheets, most of the young men unshaven, all of them thin, wiry after two and a half years of privation and two deadly campaigns behind them. A few had offered salutes in return, but the rest were wary, eyes cold and obviously expecting that before the day was out it would turn into a fight to the death … and though scared were ready to face it.
“All of you,” John said in a calm voice. “We are in stand-down. I want you to keep your weapons slung and follow proper procedure to ensure chambers are empty. We don’t need an accident. Remember what I told you about how things went out of control at Lexington Green. We don’t want that here because one hothead takes matters into their own hands. Do we understand each other?”
“Sir, are we surrendering without a fight?” one of them cried.
“We are not at war here. The general is here to talk things over.”
“With Apaches as an opening move?” another student shouted angrily.
“All of you listen to me. This is not Fredericks. I know this man. He could have come in here with gunships tearing us apart before we even knew what was hitting us. He’s here to talk. So I want all of you to relax, get back to whatever your assigned duties are, ground your weapons, and for now leave them in Fellowship Hall if you are going outside. No one is to go near the ball field. The troops up there have firm orders to protect those helicopters, and that means shoot first and ask questions later. Your venturing up there could be seen as a hostile approach, and then … Lexington Green again. You all got that?”
There were nods, a few soft “Yes, sir” replies, all of them saluting John while avoiding eye contact with Bob, an obvious gesture to indicate who was still in charge as far as they were concerned, and the group started to disperse.
John opened the door to what had been the president’s office, motioned for Bob to step in, and then closed the door behind him.
“You handled that well, John, thank you.”
“What else was I to do? Order them to shoot you and then storm the field and get slaughtered?”
Bob looked around the room, offering a smile as he took his parka off. “Lord, I do recall this room. Remember I visited this campus years ago.” He paused for a moment. “Mary was buried out of this chapel. Our friend Dan Hunt was president. I sat in here with him after the service for Mary. I remember he was in tears for you that day.”
John offered a chair at the long meeting table and turned away for a moment so emotions wouldn’t show as Bob conjured up the memory of that day. It was Bob who had recommended John for the job at this college, having served with Dan Hunt, the two of them classmates from West Point.
“I don’t see him here,” Bob said softly.
“He didn’t make it—died during the starving time after everything went to hell.”
He looked back at Bob, who was gazing at Dan’s favorite painting, George Washington kneeling in the snow in prayer at Valley Forge.
“The list goes on and on,” Bob said softly, “all those who didn’t make it.”
“I wondered about you across these years, sir,” John replied, “but now you are here.”
“You take inspiration from that painting?” Bob asked. “Is that why you kept it?”
John studied it for a moment. “Only recently started to use this office, just for state council meetings. I felt it was kind of a shrine to a good leader. But yeah, on a day like this, it’s worth studying.”
Bob did not respond to John’s obvious touch of cynicism. “How Washington kept his strength through that winter at Valley Forge is beyond me at times. If he had lost his way, the American Revolution would have truly been lost.”
“That’s worth thinking about now.”
Bob turned his gaze from the painting to John, and there seemed to be a flash of warning. “Let’s get to business, John,” he announced, and he sat down at the far end of the table.
“Formal surrender, is that it, sir? It’s Appomattox, you’re Grant, and I’m Lee?”
“I prefer not to think of it that way. Call it rejoining the Union we both swore an oath to.”
“You mean Bluemont?”
Bob hesitated. “You seem damn hostile to them.”
“I have every reason to be hostile. This community lost over a hundred dead to that tin-pot dictator they sent down here back in the spring. Before we leave, I want you to take a look at our chapel; we’re still repairing it. Those troops out in the hallway, they have every reason to mistrust. They all buried friends, several of them spouses, by the time it was done. How else should we react?”
“Were they students of yours, John?”
“You mean now, or before the Day?”
“You know what I mean.”
John smiled sadly. “Yes. That girl who spoke up asking if we were surrendering.”
“You mean the one who would not salute me but definitely saluted you?”
“That one, yes. She was a Bible studies major. Loved history, good kid from a good family that came up here every month to visit, and all of them would sit in on one of my evening classes. Her family lived in Florida.”
With the mention of Florida, he saw the sudden look in Bob’s eyes.
“Sorry I mentioned that place, sir.”
Bob sighed. “Like I said, I know my Linda is gone. I just pray it was peaceful.”
“Same for that girl. She got married in our chapel across the hall a year ago. Had a baby three months ago. No husband now—he was killed in the attack where Fredericks was holed up at the end.”
“I understand the tough edge to her now,” Bob replied.
“We all have tough edges now, sir. No father for her baby, nightmares as to what happened to the rest of her family. This school is all she knows now.” He hesitated. “She feels she has nothing to lose if she dies fighting to defend it.”
“There is no need anymore to fight, John.”
“Really, sir?” He could not control the sarcasm in his voice, but Bob did not react.
“Damn, I’m cold and thirsty.”
“It’s a dry campus, Bob. At least we try to keep it that way.”
“Coffee, then?” Bob asked hopefully.
“None of that either. All those K-Cups of coffee belong to my friend Forrest—you remember him, the sergeant who left an arm in Afghanistan—but I can roust up some herbal tea.”