Battle Hymn (41 page)

He started aft, following Bullfinch, who was shouting orders for both engines forward and then a final reverse.

"Deck crew out, rig anchor astern. Marines prepare to disembark!"

The port side hatch swung open, and a dozen sailors raced out, then the twenty men of the marine detachment. Andrew started to follow them.

A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Sir. I'm not bringing your corpse back to face Pat. You, sir, are staying here."

He started to protest but sensed that if he did, he would suffer the indignity of actually being physically restrained.

The engineer scrambled up from below, interrupting the confrontation.

"We're taking water fast, sir. There's a hole about ten feet back from the bow big enough to stick my head through, just below the waterline and cracks springing leaks for ten feet in either direction. Lucky that bastard wasn't down lower or we'd already be settling."

"How bad is it?" Bullfinch asked.

"Like to try and rig a lead sheet patch from the outside. We're going to lose her if we don't patch her."

"Get a crew and get outside then," Bullfinch announced.

He then faced Andrew. "Sir, please don't. If you go out there, I'll order my marines to surround you. I'd rather have them helping get these people in."

Even as they spoke, Andrew could see the rush coming down the hill. Anxiously he searched the crowd as it charged forward, but saw that it was the old, the wounded, and the children.

Of course, he realized, it'd be like Hans to be the last one out.

The pressure was building all along the wall, and he could sense the growing panic.

"This isn't going to be like the Potomac!" Gregory shouted. "You take the first line back, I'll hold there!"

Hans fished in his pocket and pulled out the plug of tobacco Ha'ark had given him.

"Have a chew."

"Disgusting habit, but why not?"

Taking the plug, he bit off the end, and started to chew, gagged but then continued.

"Just get them the hell out, sir. I'll be right behind you."

"It's going to be the other way around, Gregory, and that's an order."

Hans looked over the wall down into the street. The light field gun that had been rolled up to block the gate had been dismounted by the fire from the railroad gun. A second gun was now positioned at an angle away from the gate and twice its blasts of canister at point-blank range had swept the Bantag charges attempting to get through.

"Sir!"

Hans turned to see one of Ketswana's men down in the street, clutching a broken and bleeding arm.

"Everyone from the temple is out. They sent me to tell you it's time to get out."

As the man headed back toward the gate, Ketswana scrambled up to the battlement to join them.

Hans looked down the wall. This was the tough part. A small detachment was going to have to stay behind for at least a couple of minutes. Otherwise there'd be a pile up at the gate, with the Bantag pouring in behind them. He had already detailed off the volunteers, and the orders were for everyone else to load their rifles, prop them up, then get off the wall and run. The crew staying behind would then quickly move from gun to gun, firing, keeping up the sham that the retreat had not yet started.

"Get ready to move!"

He watched down the wall, as everyone reloaded.

"Go!"

He started to turn. "All right Gregory, move your …"

He barely saw the dark fist of Ketswana coming at him, catching him on the side of the jaw. The blow knocked him down, stunning him. Steellike arms wrapped around him, lifted him, tossed him to two men waiting below. Ketswana leapt down beside him and grabbed him around the waist. Then he started to run.

Numbed, Hans looked back and saw Gregory on the wall, grinning.

"No! Damn it, no!"

"We're not going to leave you," Gregory roared. "Not now! You're not doing the Potomac to me again!"

Ketswana, stretched his long legs and ran, still carrying Hans.

"Damn you, let me down!" Hans cried, struggling to break Ketswana's grasp.

He could see Gregory still oh the wall, directing the fire of the last defenders. Then he was lost to view. Ketswana maneuvered the burning wreckage of the town, jostling and pushing his way to the front of the swarm heading for the gate. The thunder of rifle fire took on a different sound, and Hans realized that the Bantag must be over the wall. Someone next to Ketswana stumbled and fell, and then another.

Around the gate an insane frenzy took hold as people clawed their way through, screaming, pushing, shoving. Ketswana, towering above the rest, slammed into the crowd and burst through to the other side. His strength returning, Hans began to struggle, trying to get free, to get back. Ketswana continued to press forward.

Suddenly a blinding flash of light enveloped them and Hans felt himself falling, tumbling off the pathway that led to the ship, and freedom.

"There he is!" Andrew shouted.

Bullfinch turned away from the incredible press of humanity pouring in through the hatch.

Andrew pushed his way through the gun port before Bullfinch could stop him and grabbed the nearest marine helping to shepherd the crowd off the dock and onto the ship.

"Come on," he roared, as he sprinted to the side of the boat and leapt off. Sputtering, he came up in chest-deep water and started to wade to shore. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bullfinch standing on the deck, shouting and swearing, pushing marines in after Andrew and then leaping in himself. Andrew scrambled up on the beach, barely aware of the geysers of mud spraying around him. Slipping going down, he came back up, climbed the embankment. Above him, on the dock, the press toward the boat continued, casualties tumbling off into the mud below.

Andrew forced his way through them, grabbing a tuft of grass to pull himself up onto the sloping ground that led to the fort. Crouching low, he sprinted forward toward the gate and then fell to his knees.

"Hans, oh, God! Hans!"

"Andrew, just what the hell are you doing?" Hans gasped.

Andrew reached out and embraced him, laughing and crying at the same time.

"Son, I think we'd better get out of here," Hans growled and for Andrew all the years seemed to fall away, the words almost the same as when he had been a terrified young lieutenant at Antietam, and Hans had looked at him and said it was time to lead the company out of the trap they had fallen into.

Andrew stood up and started to pull Hans to his feet, but Hans stopped and reached down to a wounded black man beside him.

Ketswana groaned, blood pouring from his scalp and arm.

"Come on, my friend, we're going home," Hans gasped, and at that moment the marines and Bullfinch surrounded them, grabbing Hans and Ketswana, taking them back down to the river. Several of the men positioned themselves between Andrew and the increasing fire from the riverbank, where a new swarm of Bantag was charging into position.

Bullfinch ignored the path and led them straight back down to the river. The three marines carrying Ketswana waded in, floundered momentarily at the side of the boat, and then lifted him up to the sailors who now lined the deck. When they reached the water Hans turned around.

"Gregory! Gregory's back there!" he shouted.

Startled, Andrew looked back at the fort. Half a dozen men came bursting out of the gate, and then no one. Along the north wall Bantag appeared, firing down at them.

And then four more men came through the gate, running hard.

"Gregory! Run, damn it! Run!" Hans screamed.

An artillery round burst on the pathway, knocking the four down. With an anguished cry Hans struggled to get up, but Andrew and Bullfinch restrained him.

Two of the men staggered back to their feet and reached down to pick up their comrades. The marines guarding Andrew sprinted up the embankment again, one of them tumbling back over. They reached the struggling knot of men and helped pick up the two wounded, dragging them down the dock.

"Let's go!" Bullfinch cried, wading out into the river, pushing Hans and Andrew in front of him. Hands reached out to them and hoisted them up onto the deck. The air was alive with bullets striking the iron sides of the ship, ricocheting off, sparks flying.

"Cut the anchor! All engines full ahead!" Bullfinch roared.

Andrew was thrown gasping up on the deck, hustled toward an open gun port, and unceremoniously shoved through.

Turning, he helped to pull Hans through, and the two fell atop each other onto the deck. Bullfinch came behind them, still roaring for full power.

Andrew could feel the shudder running through the ship as it started forward. He looked down at Hans, who was lying across him, bloodied, stunned. There were no words to say. Nothing could ever express what he was feeling or all that he wanted to say. It struck him yet again how one could go for years never really conveying just how deeply he felt, how much love he had for another. But when that person was thought lost forever, one would give all he ever had, even his own life, only to have one precious minute back again.

Hans stirred. "Gregory, Ketswana?"

He sat up and saw Ketswana propped up against a gun carriage, grinning.

"Hans!'

It was almost a scream, and Andrew saw a diminutive dark-haired girl pushing her way through the crowd. Hans staggered to his feet and swept her up into his arms, kissing, hugging her. Hans suddenly realized that those standing around him were silent, and he looked at Andrew sheepishly.

"This is," he fumbled for words, his features reddening, "ah …"

"Mrs. Schuder, I presume," Andrew said with a grin.

"And young Andrew," Hans replied, motioning toward the squalling infant cradled between them.

"Sir?"

He turned to see one of the marines, and the memory returned.

"Gregory?" He shouldered his way through the crowd to Gregory, who lay with his men kneeling by his side. The life was already draining from his features. Hans spared a quick glance down to the shattered lower half of his body. He closed his eyes, wishing it away.

"Hans."

He knelt and took Gregory's hand.

"The chew. It made me sick."

Hans tried to smile. "Damn you," Hans whispered. "It was my duty to stay."

"You got me out during the Potomac fight," he sighed. "It was time to repay the favor. Ketswana and I would not let you die."

Then he whispered, "Is that Keane?"

Andrew knelt beside him. "Here, Gregory."

"My wife?"

"Still waiting for you to come home. She never gave up hope. You have a beautiful little girl."

Gregory smiled. "Take me home. Don't leave me here. Please take me home."

"Of course we will, son," Andrew said softly.

He struggled to sit up, but fell back with a sigh.

"We few, we happy few ..and his voice drifted away into silence.

"We band of brothers," Hans choked out, reaching down to close his friend's eyes.

Exhaustion, numbness, all of it at last took hold. Sobbing, he stood up. The deck that only a moment before had been packed with people cheering with wild abandon was now silent. All eyes turned to Hans, as he stood with bowed head, long, shuddering sobs racking his body. Andrew could see tears welling up in the eyes of those around him, in sympathy for the one who had been a rock to which they had clung for survival and who now, at last, had time to mourn.

Bullfinch made his way through the crowd, looking for Andrew.

"We got the patch on. We're still taking water and overloaded like hell, but with luck I think we'll make it now.''

Andrew motioned for him to be silent.

Hans stood alone, looking at those to whom he had given life and then back down at Gregory. Tamira came to his side and put her arm around him, and he gazed down at his baby.

Covering his face with his hands he let the tears come, tears for all of them, all those who were lost, who had fallen, and even now for those who were left. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and raising his head, he found Andrew looking at him, bright-eyed.

"Welcome home, Hans."

"I wish I could have seen that devil Ha'ark's face, when Petersburg cut anchor and was away," Pat laughed. "It'd be nice to hear that those animals turned on him and cut his throat."

"He'll find a way to explain it to his followers," Hans said quietly. "He'll survive."

Andrew looked around the table in the formal East Room of the White House, again feeling a warm and comfortable glow. He had a sudden memory of the first time he had seen this room, coming in with Hans to meet Ivor, the boyar ruler of Suzdal. The man sitting at the end of the table now, the president, had stood with them then, stumbling through a translation and most likely making up most of the conversation as he went along.

Andrew smiled at Kal. Whatever differences had existed between them were gone now, and in spite of the fear of what was coming, he could see that the old Kal had returned. And for that matter, he sensed that he had somehow returned as well.

"Five old comrades," Kal suddenly said. "It's good to be alone with you again."

"I still think, Hans, that you should get some rest," Emil interrupted. "Let's save the drinking for another night."

"In a little while," Kal replied. "It's been a good day. Let's relax a bit before ending it."

The reception Hans had received when the train pulled in at Suzdal Station came close to rivaling the triumphal return after the Battle of Hispania. Perhaps the only person to complain was Bill Webster, the secretary of the treasury, who claimed that at least two days' worth of work had been totally lost, along with two days in Roum, where the train had stopped the night before. But beyond all else, Andrew felt it was worth it, if only because it had brought the Republic together.

Declared or not, a state of war now existed. A blockade was up along the Bantag coast, and a light sloop had been reported lost when four flyers dropped bombs on it. Petracci was screaming for more airships, beside himself because Flying Cloud was down for at least two weeks for repairs after its three missions.