"Who's laying siege to this patch of grass?"
"Why, the dreaded Sam Beasley Company, of course. Don't you read the newspapers?"
"Bingo," said Remo.
"The carpetbaggers subverted our state government, extracted millions of taxpayer dollars for road and highway improvements and had the unmitigated gall to think they could erect a so-called Civil War theme park on Virginia soil, despoiling land that has only recently shrugged off the terrible wounds of the late unpleasantness."
"What late unpleasantness?" asked Remo.
"The War between the States, naturally."
"I wouldn't exactly call the Civil War late," Remo said dryly.
"You are obviously no Virginian, suh. These wounds lie deep, and the scars still fester."
Remo looked around. "I can see that."
"They will never build on this hallowed ground. They failed at the Third Manassas, and they will surely fail here."
"Third Manassas?"
"They desired to build in the vicinity of Manassas National Battlefield Park, but the good people of Manassas chased them away. Their alternative site is just a stone's throw from here. But before God Almighty, we wall run them off also or ourselves lie buried in the Crater."
"Third Manassas wasn't a battle, but a public-relations victory, is that it?"
"It is a victory nonetheless." Page thumped his chest once. "Ah only wish Ah had participated personally instead of succumbing to inglorious defeat at your wicked Yankee hands."
"Forget it. We have a beef with Uncle Sam Beasley, too."
"If only he had lived," Page said, wet-eyed. "The kindly old gentleman would never have allowed this vile travesty to be carried out in his name."
"And Colonel Sanders was a friend to chickens," said Remo.
"Suh?"
"Never mind. I want to talk to someone who was at the first ambush."
"My pleasure." Page called over to the men in gray drinking bitter chicory coffee with even more-bitter expressions. "Fetch Mr. Huckabee over here."
"Huckabee has been confined to quarters for dropping character by virtue of being out of period," a sergeant hollered back.
"What was the nature of his offense?"
"Zippoing his coffee, the lazy shirk."
"These men take their soldierly duties quite serious," Captain Page confided to Remo. Remo rolled his eyes.
"Sergeant, you survived the dastardly attack on your fine regiment. This man would appreciate an opportunity to treat with you."
"He won't hurt me, will he?"
"What kind of soldier talk is that?" Captain Page said angrily.
"I'm recreational, sir."
"I only hurt people who keep me waiting," Remo said loudly.
The sergeant cleared thirty yards of clipped grass in jig time.
"Sergeant Dinwiddie reporting as threatened," he said, saluting Remo smartly.
"Here now, you don't salute a civilian," Captain Page said.
"Beggin' your pardon, Captain, but I have been witness to this individual's manhandling skills, and have no wish to enjoy his wrath."
Captain Page rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Carry on, then."
Remo addressed the sergeant. "You get a clear look at the unit that attacked you last night?"
"Before God, I did."
"They wore Union blue?"
"They did."
"What color piping?"
"It was light blue."
"Not artillery red?"
"No."
"Not cavalry yellow?"
"Light blue, as I have said."
Remo turned to Captain Page.
"Light blue piping is infantry, right?"
"It is indeed," Captain Page said slowly. "Ah declare, Ah was unaware of a Union infantry reenactment regiment on maneuvers in these parts."
Sergeant Dinwiddie spoke up. "There was none, Cap'n. Just the Forty-fourth Rhode Island Weekend Artillery and the First Mass. Interpretive."
"Great," growled Remo. "You were set up and you fell for it."