Marching Through Georgia by S.M. Stirling Read Free Book Online

parcels out of it, reflecting that they probably had another volunteer there. Then he was striding up the broad black-stone steps, the hard soles of his high boots clattering. The servants bowed like a rippling field, and there were genuine smiles of welcome. Eric had always been popular with the staff, as such things went.
    He clicked heels and saluted. His father returned it, and they stood for a wordless moment eye to eye; they were of a height.
    Alike in color and cast of face as well; the resemblance was stronger now that pain had graven lines in the younger man's face to match his sire's.
    "Recovered from your wound, I see." The strategos paused, searching for words. "I read the report. You were a credit to the service and the family, Eric."
    "Thank you, sir," he replied neutrally, fighting down an irrational surge of anger. I didn't want the Academy , a part of him thought savagely. The first von Shrakenberg in seven generations not to, and a would-be artist to boot. Does that make me an incompetent, or a coward ?
    And that was unjust. Pa had not really been surprised that he had the makings of a good officer; he had too much confidence in the von Shrakenberg blood for that. What was it that makes me draw back ? he thought. Alone, he could wish so strongly to be at peace with his father again. Those grey eyes, more accustomed to cold mastery, shared his own baffled hurt; he could see it. But together… they fought, or coexisted with an icy politeness that was worse.
    Or usually worse. Two years ago he had sent Tyansha's daughter out of the country. To America, where there was a Quaker group that specialized in helping the tiny trickle of escaped serfs who managed to flee; they must have been surprised to receive a tow-haired girlchild from an aristocrat of the Domination, together with an annuity to pay for her upkeep and education. Not that he had been fond of the girl; he had handed her to the women of the servant's quarters, and as she grew her looks were an intolerable reminder. But she was Tyansha's… It had required a good deal of money, and several illegalities.
    To Arch-Strategos Karl von Shrakenberg, that had been a matter touching on honor, and on the interests of the Race and the nation. His father had threatened to abandon him to the Security Directorate; that could have meant a one-way trip to a cold cellar with instruments of metal, a trip that ended with a pistol-bullet in the back of the head. Eric suspected that if his brother John had still been alive to carry on the family name, it might have come to that. As it was, he had been forbidden the house, until service in Italy had changed the general's mind.
    I saved my daugh … a little girl , he thought. For that, I was a criminal and will always be watched. But by helping to destroy a city and killing hundreds who've never done me harm, I'm a hero and all is forgiven . Tyansha had once told him that she had given up expecting sense from the world long ago; more and more, he saw her point.
    He forced his mind back to the older man's words. "And the Janissaries won't have any problems in the Quarters?"
    "Not unless someone's foolish enough to provoke them.
    They're Master Sergeants, steady types; the Headman will find them beds and a couple of willing girls."
    There was another awkward pause, and the strategos turned to go. "Well. I'll see you when we dine, then."
    Johanna had been waiting impatiently, but in this household the proprieties were observed. As Eric turned to face her she straightened and threw a crackling salute, then winked broadly and pointed her thumb upward at the collar of her uniform jacket.
    He returned the salute and followed her digit. "Well, well!
    Pilot Officer Johanna von Shrakenberg, now!" He spread his arms and she gave him a swift fierce hug. She was four years younger than he; on her the bony family looks and the regulations that cropped her fair hair close produced an effect halfway between elegance and adolescent