The Shiloh Project

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"Riot, looting, arson," said Colonel Earl Sawyer softly, staring out as the Bentley's tires crunched on shattered glass. "Even rape — though not white women yet, they say. They've learned that lesson, at least."

Major Aubrey Quidley, sitting erect beside him, nodded, without words. He was staring down at his hands, seeing them, yet not really there. The colonel's words had illuminated, like a suddenly lit and frozen single frame of film, a horrific picture within his normally unimaginative mind. An image of Miss Sharon's slender legs, naked under her torn-open dress, spread wide in his vision to allow… he caught Sawyer looking at him and recalled himself to reality. "Yes, sir," he said.

"This is the worst I've seen since the riots in Alabama, back in sixty-eight. Those were some bad weeks, let me tell you. Took a full division of Regular Army to pacify Birmingham. There wasn't much left." Sawyer shifted his heavy body slightly in the seat, bringing his chest up; a small red decoration came into the edge of Quidley's view, and he knew what the colonel wanted him to ask.

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