Harry Turtledove: The Grapple

“They’re pretty good at it, aren’t they?” Flora said. Roosevelt laughed merrily, as if she were joking. What he hadn’t said was that some of the rockets would blow houses and apartments and factories to kingdom come. Then something even worse than that occurred to her. “Can they load anything besides ordinary explosives onto these…things?”

“You mean like gas? I think explosives would hurt us more,” Roosevelt said.

Flora had no doubt he was being dense on purpose. “Gas, maybe,” she said. “Or other things.” She didn’t want to say too much on the telephone.

Obviously, neither did he. “Not right away,” he answered. “I’ve already talked with some people. They need a bigger rocket or a smaller thing. So that’s all right for a while, anyhow.”

“For a while. How long is a while?”

“I have no idea. If it’s not till we finish licking them, it doesn’t matter. And now I’ve got to go. Other people to talk to. Stay safe.”

“How?” Flora asked, but she was talking to a dead line. Sighing, she hung up, too. She heard no more bangs out of the blue. That was something. Maybe Featherston had only two ready, and more would have to wait a while. Again, though, how long was a while? Not nearly so long as the Confederates would need to load a uranium bomb on a rocket-Flora was all too sure of that.

Her secretary looked into the inner office. “Were those booms the Confederates or the Mormons, Congresswoman?”

“Mr. Roosevelt says they were the Confederates, Bertha,” Flora answered.

Bertha nodded. “Figured you’d be talking to him. How did they sneak the bombs in? Can’t we stop stuff like that?”

Were the rockets secret? The War Department would probably like to keep them that way, but it would be like trying to classify the sunrise. Like it or not, everybody would know about them before long. Flora told Bertha what she’d heard.

“All the way up from Virginia? How do they do that?” Bertha said.

“If we knew, we’d do it, too,” Flora said dryly. “I bet like anything we’re trying to figure it out, though.”

“Oh, boy.” Bertha didn’t sound impressed, for which Flora could hardly blame her. “What’s to keep us all from getting murdered in our beds without even any warning?”

Nothing, Flora thought. “We’re going to take Atlanta pretty soon. If we smash the Confederate States to pieces, they won’t be able to go on with the war.”

“Oh, boy,” her secretary repeated. “How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. Not too long, I hope.” Please, God, let it be before they send Joshua into action. I haven’t asked You for much, but give me that.

“They’ll be shooting off these skyrocket things all the time till then?” Bertha asked.

“Not if we can bomb the places where they shoot them from,” Flora said.

“Hmp.” Bertha made a noise redolent of skepticism. “Did anybody know what a nasty war this would be before they went and started it?”

“Does anybody ever?”

“What are we going to do?” Bertha asked.

“What can we do? We’re stuck in it. We’ve got to win,” Flora said. Bertha didn’t say no, but she didn’t say yes, either.