Battle Hymn (33 page)

"Look at the cabin, sir. I counted ten bullet holes. We took three artillery rounds through the ship, if any of them had exploded, that would have been it. One of the engines had to be shut down coming back, and Feyodor won't vouch for the repair job. I'm not going to risk you up there."

"But it's all right for me to send you up in it?"

"Sort of what I got drafted to do on this mad world," Jack said quietly. "I don't like it, but I'm stuck with it. The same as you, sir."

Andrew nodded and looked up at the cabin again.

"Tell me about Hans, everything you saw."

As Jack recounted his experiences, Andrew stood quiet, his head bowed. He could imagine all of it, Hans looking up as the ship soared over, chewing a plug. How he had ever managed to escape, from wherever it was they had held him, was something he sensed only Hans could have done. And what had they done to him, he wondered? What horrors had he endured these years, believing himself lost, most likely forgotten?

He finally looked up when Jack finished, and stepping closer, he put his hand on Petracci's shoulder. "What do you think his chances are?"

"Honestly, sir?"

Andrew nodded.

"A snowball's chance in hell, sir. I'm not even sure if he retrieved the message. Going back up the line I had to dodge three more flyers. If he runs the train into that city, he won't stand a chance. The end of the line by the dockyard is packed with Bantag. There's a huge fort next to the docks. Even if they seize a boat, it'll get cut to ribbons by the artillery.

"I swung over the fort that I told him to go to for a second look. Just in case he does what I suggested. Kind of modern in its look—earthen walls, four heavy guns covering the river, two the land approach, a couple of light carriage-mounted field-pieces. The fort is built against a village of them Chinese folks. The village has a brick wall, which looks to be filled in front with earth."

"Defenders?"

"Looked like a garrison there of about seventy or eighty."

"And Hans's strength?"

"I counted maybe a hundred fifty, two hundred with him at most. I think that fort's the only place they can go, but then what? I bet there'll be a umen or more ready to swarm over him. He's got no place to run, sir. The whole thing is madness. I guess the old man just decided to destroy what he could, go out in a blaze of glory, and we just sort of stumbled onto it."

"Are you saying we shouldn't try anything, then?"

Jack shook his head. "Hell, sir. I'd give my right"—he stumbled, lowering his gaze—"excuse me, sir."

"That's all right. Go on."

"Well, you know, sir. I just don't know what we can do."

"We need to find Petersburg and order it to run the river. Do you think they could do it?"

"I'm not sure, sir. There's galleys in there, and I saw another bastion above five miles up the river from the bay and then one about ten miles before the fort I told Hans to take. Hard to tell what kind of guns, but they looked pretty big. Besides that, we're not even sure where Petersburg is."

"That's part of what I want you to do. You're going to take Flying Cloud straight back to that fort, and we'll see if Hans made it that far. The ship I came here on will take the western coast, then cut across. With luck we might spot Bullfinch. I want the other airships down here as well."

"Sir, there's no hangar here yet. If any of them ships get dinged up or need an overhaul or anything like a breeze more than twenty miles an hour kicks up, we'll lose them for certain. I've damn near used up all the supplies here as is, gassing up and patching the holes."

"Before I left I ordered the airships to move down here at first light and to sweep the ocean looking for Petersburg. We've got to find Bullfinch and his ship and order them in. That's our only hope. If it means losing a airship or two, then we'll take that risk."

Jack nodded in agreement.

"Sir?"

It was Feyodor. As Andrew turned to face him, he came to attention, and, grinning, snapped off a salute. Stefan, who was standing beside him, just stood gaping until Feyodor nudged him, and then he clumsily saluted as well.

"So this is the lad who dropped two flyers?" Andrew asked.

"Actually only one for sure, sir. I think Feyodor got the other, but we didn't see it burn."

"I plan to see some more of your shooting, son."

Jack started to utter a protest, but Andrew's look cut him off.

"That's my oldest friend out there," he said softly, "and you've just told me he probably doesn't stand a chance. By God, without him, I never would have been anything but a scared lieutenant and most likely would have finished the war that way. He made me. He made this Republic, and if he's going to die today I want him to know that I'm with him, that I did everything possible to try and repay all that I owe him."

Andrew felt a sense of shame when he realized that he was on the verge of losing control, his voice quavering. He was embarrassed that he was near to begging one of his subordinates.

"He's like my father, in some ways more than my father," Andrew whispered. "I want to see him, if only to say the good-bye I never had a chance to say before."

Jack stood silent, stunned. "Sir?"

"What?"

"You won't do anything rash? I mean like try to join him?"

The thought had crossed his mind, but there was Kathleen, the children, the Republic.

"No, I couldn't. He wouldn't want that, either."

"Aboard my ship I'm in command, sir. Will you agree to that?"

"Of course."

Jack fished in his pocket, pulled out the telegram, and motioned to the young lieutenant who had brought it to him. The lieutenant approached and again nervously saluted Andrew, then Jack.

"Son, there's something wrong with this message from the president. I think whoever wrote it down got it confused."

The lieutenant started to open his mouth to say something, but then he looked over at Andrew.

"Same with mine, lieutenant. Send an inquiry back to the White House, tell them to repeat both messages."

"But, sir?"

"Just do it!"

"Sir." The confused young officer started to withdraw.

"And son," Jack added, "take your time."

Wishing more than anything that he had a set of field glasses, Hans slipped back down from the low crest and said to Gregory, "Your eyes are better than mine, son. Tell me what you saw."

"It looks like the track goes right into the town, sir. Bastions to either side. Think I saw a couple of them devils up there, but the gate's closed."

Hans nodded. Had they been warned somehow? Shortly before dusk a flyer had passed over them. Did they suspect? Or had Ha'ark managed to get ahead of their cuts in the telegraph line and send a message through?

No, if he had, there would have been a reception waiting at the last siding, five miles back up the line.

Now what? Ram the gate? Chances were it was barred with iron, and besides, even if they did break through, it would most likely smash up the train, derailing it and leaving a gap for the bastards to storm through.

Turning back toward the east, he shaded his eyes against the sunrise. He couldn't see any pursuit coming up the line. Turning to look north, he gazed down the broad open valley that led to X'ian. Though he wasn't sure, he thought he could see an earthen fort in the middle of the town, down by the river. He could only hope that Jack had guessed right. He turned back to the bastion in front of him.

"No sense in wasting time. Let's go. Keep everyone in the cars. We'll see what happens."

Gregory saluted and started back down the track, Hans following slowly behind, struggling against exhaustion and hunger. Approaching the engine, he wearily climbed into the cab and nodded to Alexi.

"Go slow, give a couple of blasts now and then. But stop as close as possible to the gate if they don't open it."

Alexi nodded and eased the throttle in. The train slowly started over the rise, and the fort came into view, a mile away. A heavy morning mist hung on the fields, the ground fog swirling as they passed.

Everyone except the fireman had been sent out of the cab, back to the cars. Hans looked over at the dead Bantag whom they had hauled aboard at the last station. They had propped him up against the side of the cab on a stack of wood, his head lowered to conceal the fact that most of his face had been shot off.

Alexi gave two short blasts of the whistle, followed a moment later by two more, and then started the bell tolling. He could see a guard stirring in the watchtower by the gate, leaning over the side as if to shout to somebody below.

Alexi gave two more sets of two and Hans watched intently, silently praying. Several Bantag on the left bastion guarding the approach scrambled to the top of the earthen embankment to look down on the train. He could see the barrel of an artillery piece poking out of an embrasure, the gun aimed straight at the track.

One shot into the train, that's all it would take. The gate was less than a hundred yards away.

"Ease it off," Hans growled. "Keep ringing the bell."

The train slowed to not much faster than a walk and inched onto a wooden drawbridge that crossed the dry moat. The defenses were laid out well, the moat sloping down to at least ten feet, and then a sheer climb up, the approaches into the moat covered with rows of sharpened stakes.

One of the Bantag on the bastion shouted a question.

Hans gestured at the dead warrior sitting inside the cab, then raised his hand and threw his head back in the universal gesture for drinking. The warrior on the bastion laughed.

Suddenly, to his absolute amazement, the gate swung open.

"Ease us in," Hans whispered.

As they crossed the outer works, Hans carefully scanned the grounds. Several dozen yurts were lined up on either side of the track in the open area between the outer wall and the low brick wall of the inner town. Bantag were idling about. The sight of them standing in a fortress seemed a bizarre incongruity. As mounted warriors they were incomparable; he could almost sense their boredom and bewilderment as garrison troops.

The train drifted through the middle of the parade ground, then turned sharply to come up close against the town wall, which he assumed marked the quarter occupied by Chin who had lived here before the Bantag had come to stay. A loading dock ran down the side of the track, with ramps leading off it. Chin laborers were already forming on the siding. If they got off at the dock, the laborers would undoubtedly panic and get in the way.

"Stop the train."

Alexi nodded and pulled the throttle back, venting steam.

"Now!"

Alexi let go with a long blast. Picking up his rifle, Hans leapt from the cab. The doors to the four boxcars were flung open. The people inside poured out, screaming their defiance. To Hans's amazement they actually held back, following Gregory's shouted orders to form a rough line. The Bantag out in the encampment area stood in shocked amazement, not sure at first what they were seeing. Some of them finally turned and started to run, others came forward, shouting, still not sure what was happening.

There was the reassuring sound of rifles being raised and then lowered.

"Fire!"

A disjointed, ragged volley swept down the line. Half a dozen Bantag out in the field tumbled. Hans shook his head. Damn poor performance for rifles at this range, but it still amazed him that they could do it at all. A steady crackle of fire erupted up and down the line. Bantag scattered in every direction. Hans turned and saw the gang of Chin laborers beginning to scatter, many of them running back through the gate into their town. He sprinted toward them.

"We're killing the Bantag!" Hans roared. "Help us and be free! We're from the Republic!"

Most of the Chin continued to run, but he saw several of them slow down, stop, look at him.

"Tell your friends. We're from the Republic. Kill the Bantag and we'll set you free."

A bullet snapped past him, dropping a Chin who was running back through the gate. Hans turned, raised his rifle, and took careful aim at a Bantag standing on a bastion to his left. The Bantag crumpled and fell. As he ejected the shell, he saw the men he had been shouting at looking at him in open-mouthed astonishment. They turned and ran back into the town.

The last of his people were out of the train and firing across the field. He leaned against the side of the engine and started to fire methodically, dropping three more Bantag in as many shots. The shots were picking up from the other side, and though uncoordinated, it was beginning to take its toll, the far more experienced riflemen of the other side unable to miss across the hundred yards of open field.

Hans strode along behind the line, shouting instructions, pausing to help one of the diggers reload, peering through the smoke, and nervously looking about for Tamira.

"Gregory! Ketswana!" he called.

A blast erupted from one of the bastions, the canister round sweeping through the line to Hans's left. It knocked more than a dozen to the ground and shredded the side of the rail car.

"Ketswana, bastion left of the gate. Gregory, to the right!" The two saluted.

"Cease fire!" Hans roared. Another canister round, this one from their flank, swept down the line, most of it hitting the ground in front of them.

"Charge!" Hans leapt forward, waving his rifle, and started for the left bastion. A ragged cheer erupted, and they all followed. The few Bantag still standing in the courtyard and around the yurts backed up, some of them turning and running. The sight of their hated tormentors running from them drove the charge forward with a mad enthusiasm. Hans reached the earthen ramp leading up to the bastion and then dove to one side. A second later, a round of canister, fired from a light field gun positioned at the top of the ramp, swept down, knocking over the first wave of the charge. Regaining his feet, he started up the slope, not bothering to look back to see if anyone was following. The gun crew was fumbling with the breech, swinging it open. Hans shot one of the loaders who was running up with another round. The four gunners gathered at the back of the gun saw him coming. One of them drew a revolver, leveled it, and then was knocked backward as the charge swarmed up the ramp. Within seconds the gun crew was finished. Hans quickly saw that there was still nothing out in the fields beyond the fort except for a few mounted Bantag, who were several hundred yards away and merely looking curiously in their direction. A wooden-plank walkway ran along the wall to the first bastion on the north side of the fort, and he saw half a dozen Bantag running about, one of them leveling a rifle and firing.