Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [45]
“I’m an officer in the United States Army. I took an oath to defend my country—”
“Please, Captain, set aside the standard doctrine for a moment. We are a long way from West Point. Your army is about to dissolve, fall to pieces. The commanders, generals, colonels, men to whom you place your admirable loyalty, are about to resign. The reality is that the southern states will secede, forming their own independent nation. What do you think will happen to California, Captain? Let me tell you. The good people of California have no more loyalty to Mr. Lincoln’s government than do the people of South Carolina, or Alabama, or Texas. California will become an independent nation, Captain. A rich nation, welcoming all those who recognize the great bounty we have here. A man like yourself, a man of strength, duty, a man who understands order . . . we will need order, Captain. There is a place for you here, a command, a position of great prestige. California will need her own good soldiers.”
“Mr. Hamilton, California is governed by the laws of the United States government, as are you, sir. If I believed you had the authority to offer me any such position, I would arrest you for treason.”
“Captain Hancock, when you leave here, look around you. Count the flags you see, the illegal flags of the Bear Republic. The only American flag you will see is on your own building, and when the army leaves, that flag will come down. That is the reality, Captain.”
“Please excuse me, Mr. Hamilton. I have duties to attend to.” He began to back away, reached behind him for the door, still watched the round little man.
“The offer stands, Captain. Don’t place your loyalties foolishly. You have a family to think of—their future . . . their safety. . . .”
Hancock felt something break inside him, lunged forward, put one knee up on the desk, reached across and grabbed Hamilton’s shirt, pulled him forward heavily onto his desk. He stared a long second into the man’s eyes, expected fear but did not see it.
“If you . . . if anyone comes near my children . . . my family, I will kill them. I will shoot them dead, Mr. Hamilton. Do you understand?”
He released the man’s shirt, and Hamilton slid back down into his chair, smiled slightly.
“No one is threatening your family, Captain. I’m just a newspaperman. This was a friendly conversation, that’s all. I thought a man in your position should hear the latest news, the election. I’m always here, Captain, my door is always open.”
Hancock backed away, stared at the man’s face, the cold smile, the maddening smugness, and he wanted to grab him again, suddenly felt very weak, powerless, and left the office. He rushed outside through a narrow doorway, felt the coolness, the December breeze, and a motion caught his eye. He looked up, across the street, saw up on a building the short pole and, snapping crisply in the wind, the flag of the Bear Republic.
CAPTAIN LORMAN’S cavalry had been camped around the supply depot now for several weeks, longer than expected. Hancock knew that the longer the infantry was delayed, the greater chance the cavalry would be needed somewhere else and called away. He had sent inquiries to Benicia, asking when the infantry would arrive. Messages were moving back and forth to Fort Tejon, and from there communications were being received from Benicia. It was the only communication line the army had, but there was no definite word about the infantry. It was a five-hundred-mile march down a coastline used by many bandit groups, and no one expected the army to pass through without some problems. All Hancock knew was that they were on the march.
It had been only three days since his meeting with Hamilton, but by now everyone knew of Lincoln’s election, and the men had begun to react here, just as everywhere else.
Hancock knelt on the hard dirt floor, his head close to the ground, reading faded labels on wooden boxes, making notes on a thick inventory pad.
“Captain? Oh, there . .