general beauregard courtney sat under the open-sided tent that was his field headquarters and stretched long legs under the flimsy table. he gazed morosely out toward tullahoma in the north, where the trenches stretched endlessly from east to west and only an occasional artillery shell broke the quiet of the battlefield.
stalemate.
"i thought trench warfare went out with world war i," he growled to his executive officer.
"no, sir. apparently not, sir," replied colonel smithson correctly, not interrupting his preparation of tomorrow's orders.
stalemate. the northern armies and the southern armies had collided with great carnage on that battlefield. fighting had swayed back and forth for weeks, and at last had settled down to a stubborn holding action by both sides.
that had been months ago. now trenches and fortifications and tank traps extended across southern tennessee from the cumberlands to the mississippi. occasional offensives came to naught. only the planes of both sides swept daily over the lines, bombarding the rear areas, reducing the cities of tennessee to rubble.
beauregard toyed with a pencil and listened idly to the news over the little radio at his elbow. it was a nashville station, and nashville was held by the north, but he had learned how to discount the news from the battlefront.
"... and our planes destroyed thirteen rebel tanks and an ammunition depot in a mission near lexington," the announcer was saying. "a gunboat duel in the mississippi river near dyersburg was broken off after severe casualties were inflicted on the rebel crew. our armored troops have advanced farther into the texas panhandle.
"wait. there's a flash coming in...."
there was a momentary pause. beauregard bent his ear to the radio. colonel smithson looked up, listening.
"my god!" cried the announcer in a shaky voice. "this flash ... a hydrogen bomb has exploded in new york city!"
beauregard surged to his feet, upsetting the table. the radio crashed to the ground. the other men in the tent were standing, aghast.
"it isn't ours!" cried beauregard, his face grey. "it's a russian bomb! it must be...!"
the voice on the fallen radio was shouting, excited, almost hysterical.
"... the heart of the city wiped out.... number of dead not estimated yet, but known to be high.... great fires raging.... radioactive fallout spreading over new jersey and eastern pennsylvania....
"here's a bulletin: the president accuses the rebel government of violating the pact not to use large nuclear weapons. retaliatory action has already been initiated....
"here's another flash: detroit and chicago have been h-bombed! my god, has the world gone mad? there's a report, unconfirmed, that the detroit bombers came from the north...."
"they can't believe we did it!" muttered beauregard. all the men in the tent, irrespective of rank, were clustered around the radio. no one thought to pick it up from the ground.
a staff car drove in from the south and rocked to a stop in front of the headquarters tent. beauregard hardly noticed it until piquette got out, followed by a slight, grey-haired negro man in civilian clothes.
beauregard strode out of the tent. the car radio was on loud, and the same announcer was babbling over it.
"quette, what are you doing out here?" he demanded.
"gard, this is adjaha, a friend of mine," she said hurriedly. "i couldn't wait for you to come back to town tonight. i had to get him out to see you before it was too late."
"dammit, it is too late," he growled. "it's too late for anything. haven't you been listening to that damn radio?"
"this is extremely important, general," said adjaha in a mellow voice. "if i may impose on you, i'd like to talk with you for a short while."
beauregard frowned and glanced at piquette. she nodded slightly, and her face was anxious.
"i suppose i have plenty of time to talk," he said heavily. "we can do nothing but sit here with useless armies while the country tears itself apart. sergeant, turn that damn car radio off and go bring some chairs out here. you can listen to the radio in the tent."
they sat, the three of them, and adjaha talked. beauregard listened skeptically, almost incredulously, but something within him—not quite a memory, but an insistent familiarity—caused him to listen. he did not believe, but he suspended disbelief.
"so you see, general," concluded adjaha, "there is some drive within you and piquette—call it fate, if you wish—that draws you together. when it was arranged that she did not become your mistress before the memphis conference, she did after you became governor. when it was arranged that her parents did not move to nashville with her, you were drawn to new orleans to meet her. apparently you must meet if there is any possibility that you meet, and when you meet you love each other.
"and, though you can't remember it, general—for it didn't happen, even though it did—i explained to you once, on this very day, that you cannot love piquette in an unrebellious and peaceful south."
"if we were fated to meet, i'm happy," said beauregard, taking piquette's hand. "if these fantastic things you say were true, i still would never consent to not having met piquette."
"but you must see that it's right, gard!" exclaimed piquette, surprisingly.
"quette! how can you say that? would you be happy if we were never to know each other?"
she looked at him, and there were tears in her eyes.
"yes, gard," she said in a low voice, "because ... well, adjaha can see a little of the future, too. and on every alternate path he sees.... gard, if the south is at war, you'll be killed before the war ends!"
"we can't take any chances this time, general," said adjaha. "should events be thrown back into a path that leads to war again, this time you might be killed before i could reach you. piquette's parents must never have met. she must never have been born!"
suddenly, beauregard believed. this quiet little black man could do what he said.
"i won't permit it!" he roared, starting to his feet. "damn the south! damn the world! piquette is mine!"
but adjaha, moving like lightning, was in the staff car. its motor roared, it swung in a cloud of dust and accelerated toward the south.
"sergeant! colonel! get that stolen staff car!" beauregard bellowed. he whipped out his service pistol and fired two futile shots after the diminishing vehicle.
the general's staff boiled out of the tent. they milled around a minute, shouting questions, before piling into two command cars and giving chase to the disappearing staff car.
beauregard glowered after them. then he took piquette's hand and they walked together into the empty tent.
"... here's a late flash," said the radio on the ground. "birmingham has been h-bombed. our planes are in the air against the rebels...."
beauregard imagined the ground trembled. instinctively he looked toward the south for the radioactive mushroom cloud. then he swung back to piquette.
"quette, he can't do it," said beauregard. "he's a voodoo fraud."
she looked at him with great, dark eyes. her lips trembled.
"gard," she whispered like a frightened child. "gard, aren't there other worlds than this one...?"
she crept into his arms.
