Never Sound Retreat Part 12

By the light of the flares to the south he saw that the Bantag column that had crossed the rail line was continuing to move to the west.

"They're flanking outward," Andrew shouted, "most likely moving to cut the rail line west of town."

Infantry poured out of the fort heading back toward the town, and in the darkness behind them came the triumphal roaring of the Bantag host.

Bugle calls to the south marked where the defenders of the southern bastion were pulling out as well and by the light of a final flare he saw a land cruiser creep up the side of the fortress, then crash down inside, a swarm of Bantag following behind it.

Troops moved past Andrew at the double, officers shouting the names of regiments to rally in their stragglers. From the rail yard on the north side of town train whistles shrieked. In the hours since the landing half a dozen trains had come up from the west, dumping off their supplies and troops twenty miles to the west, where a reserve line was already being dug. The trains were then rushed to Junction City, allowing Andrew to evacuate the two divisions of Fifth Corps to the west, while keeping the trains he had used earlier in the day for moving Pat's troops back from the Shenandoah.

Fires erupted along the rows of warehouses as hundreds of tons of rations, uniforms, medical supplies, limber wagons, bridging equipment, and millions of rounds of ammunition were put to the torch.

Andrew rode down the street, reining in for a moment as a firefight flared up when an advance company of Bantag somehow managed to break into the center of the town and were quickly swarmed under. There was a sense of panic in the air, but most of the men of Fifth Corps were veterans, and though frightened, knew what to do, officers and sergeants urging the men back toward the rail yard.

A clanging of bells caused Andrew to draw his mount over to the side of the road as half a dozen ambulances galloped past, the wagons filled with the seriously wounded.

Reaching the rail yard, he turned to look back at the town, which was engulfed with flames. Fighting raged on the main street as the last of the men from the south bastion provided a rear guard, holding back the Bantag skirmishers pushing in. He had counted on all coordination on the Bantag side breaking down, and so far his bet was working. Ha'ark should have worked more units around from the south to close in on the lightly held line to the west. There was a scattering of skirmish fire from that direction, but so far no major push, and the rail lines to the northwest and northeast were still open.

A sh.e.l.l pa.s.sed overhead, detonating on the far side of the rail yard. Looking back to the southeast, he saw another flash of light, a gun on one of the land cruisers. Several more shots followed, one of them exploding in the rail yard, knocking down half a dozen men who were moving toward one of the trains. If a lucky shot should knock out a locomotive now, the retreat could still turn into a disaster.

Edging his horse through the crowd, he urged the men to hurry, ordering a battery crew to pull the breechblocks off their ten-pounders and abandon the guns.

The first train, loaded with wounded, lurched out of the depot, switching to the main line heading north and from there west, back to Roum. A second train followed as soon as the switch was cleared; survivors of First Division Fifth Corps piled on board.

The blocking force down in the burning town was buckling, the unit leapfrogging back a dozen yards, pa.s.sing through a deployed line, which fired a volley, then fell back in turn. The third and fourth trains started out of the station, sh.e.l.ls detonating on either side, shrapnel tearing into a cl.u.s.ter of men piled aboard an open flatcar.

"Vincent, you're heading out on the next train," Andrew shouted.

"Sir?"

"You heard me, son. I'm sending you west."

"Sir, I thought I was going back in to Port Lincoln, and you'd head west to coordinate the fight."

Andrew smiled and, reaching over, put his hand on Vincent's shoulder.

"I'd be a h.e.l.l of a commander leaving Pat and the boys back in the pocket."

Vincent looked at him, and Andrew was pleased that Vincent offered no argument based on sentimentality or loyalty. He saw the logic of it and simply nodded his head.

Andrew pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and pa.s.sed it over.

"These are your orders and authorization on my part to a.s.sume command of all forces to the west of the breakthrough. I wrote them out earlier."

"So you were planning this all along?"

"But of course."

They hunched low as a sh.e.l.l exploded less than a dozen yards away, blood spraying over the two from one of Vincent's staff, who was decapitated by the round.

"I don't know how Hans will react, but I think he'll make the right move. If so, put Bullfinch in charge. Set up that blocking force with Tenth Corps and the men you get out of here. As soon as I get Pat's forces back from the Shenandoah and reorganized, I'll try to break out. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're in charge over there. I'm counting on you to hold it all together. There's bound to be panic." He had to shout the last words as the fifth train thundered past them, whistle shrieking. A steady hum of bullets whistled overhead as the Bantag closed the ring, the forces to the east reaching the edge of the burning town, then pushing northward to sever the rail line heading back east.

Vincent reached over and took Andrew's hand.

"I'll see you in a week, sir!"

"Get going, son, and tell Kathleen . . ." The words trailed off. What the h.e.l.l could he tell her. He tried to force a smile, then shook his head.

"Your train," Andrew said, nodding as the whistle of the sixth train sounded, signaling that it was pulling out.

Vincent slid down off his horse. He looked at the animal for a moment, patted it on the muzzle, then drew his revolver. Andrew looked away as Vincent shot the beast rather than let it fall into the hands of the enemy.

Dashing to the train, he leapt up onto the engine cab as, with wheels spinning, it started out of the station. The ring closing around the depot was now barely two hundred yards across. Andrew dismounted and started to draw his revolver. He looked into the eyes of the horse which had carried him, grateful that his beloved Mercury was still back at Port Lincoln.

Shaking his head he turned and walked away, letting the horse go, shouting for his staff to follow. Reaching the cab of the last train, he climbed on board and looked back out at the closing circle. This was going to be a near thing. The rocket signal crew was waiting on the first flatcar.

"All right, send them up!" he shouted.

Half a dozen rockets soared into the air, detonating over the two trains waiting for the last units to pull in. A final volley erupted along the contracting line, the men turning and running. The engineer behind Andrew eased the throttle in, the train lurching forward. Men scrambled along the sides of the flatcars, leaping up, turning to help injured comrades while others, reloading their weapons stood up, firing over their heads. Looking back down the street he saw a land cruiser lumbering into view, turning slowly to bring its gun to bear.

The land cruiser's gun fired straight up the street. An instant later a shuddering blow shook the train. Andrew was startled when someone slammed into him, and he fell back into the wood tender as a burst of steam exploded around him.

"Stay down!" The voice was high-pitched, filled with fear, and he felt a body on top of him. Covering his face with his hand, he felt a wash of heat as the steam from the boiler washed over him.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him. The world went dark for an instant and he felt a surge of fear, wondering if he was blind, until he realized that a blanket had been thrown over his head. He felt arms wrapping around his legs and he fell out of the cab, more hands grabbing hold of him, dragging him back from the engine. The blanket was pulled off and he looked up, still unable to see, his gla.s.ses covered with steam.

"Sir, sir, are you all right?"

Unable to reply, he could only nod.

"Get him out of here!" he heard someone scream.

Trying to shout a protest that he could still walk, his words were ignored as half a dozen men grabbed hold of him and started to rim. He heard a hoa.r.s.e, howling scream-a Bantag war cry. Something banged into the knot of men carrying him, pistol shots rang out, hands wrapped around his waist, fell away. The crowd around him surged forward again, running hard, racing to catch up to the next train which was pulling out of the station.

"It's Keane, it's Keane!" The cry was repeated over the shouts, screams, yells, the crackling of rifle fire, pistol shots, grunts of pain, and the rising ululation of the Bantag Horde pressing in around them.

He heard the shriek of a train whistle, the rumbling clang of train wheels nearby, and suddenly he was lifted, other hands reaching out to grab him and an instant later he felt the vibration of the train wheels beneath him as the last car shifted through a switch.

"I'm all right, d.a.m.n it!" he roared, and the men holding on to him let go. Wiping his jacket sleeve across his gla.s.ses while they were still on, he looked back. Several of his staff, who had been carrying him, were staggering alongside the car.

More than a hundred men, having jumped off the disabled train, now surged around the back of the last train out of Junction City as it slowly started to pick up speed.

Andrew went down on his knees, reaching out, grabbing one of his orderlies by the hand, pulling him up. Horrified, he realized that the boy's skin was peeling off as he jerked him on board. Dimly he could see the boy's scalded face and realized that the boy was screaming.

Rifle fire was erupting on all sides, men running by the side of the train, staggering, dropping, and seconds later disappearing into the dark horde that was in pursuit.

Andrew, still kneeling, reached back out, grabbing someone by the shoulder. The soldier lost his footing, fell, and Andrew felt as if he was going to slip off the flatcar. Other hands reached out, grabbing the soldier, hoisting him on board . . . and then suddenly there was no longer anyone running alongside.

A man standing above Andrew grunted, doubled over, and pitched headfirst off the car. Someone else collapsed over Andrew, screaming, his rifle going over the side. Rifle fire was sweeping the car from three directions. Andrew tried to stand up but two men were instantly on top of him, swearing, holding him down, one of them falling silent an instant later, his blood splattering over Andrew's face.

Clearing the yard and the final switch which turned the train northeast and back toward Port Lincoln, they continued to pick up speed. Several sh.e.l.ls shrieked in, one of them exploding directly overhead so that more men on the car went down.

Rifle fire continued to snap past, faring up again as the train thundered past an advance element of Bantag who had tried to sprint over the hills northeast of town and back down to the track ahead of the train. Finally they were clear, and Andrew regained to his feet.

Horrified, he looked around. Nearly every man on the flat car was dead or wounded. To his amazement the boy on his staff whom he had pulled on board was by his side, strips of his skin dangling from his hands.

"Sir, are you all right?" he asked.

Andrew motioned for him to sit down.

"You scared the h.e.l.l out of us, sir. We didn't think we'd get you out."

"Just be still, son."

The boy was obviously in shock, and Andrew eased him back down onto the flatcar bed. The boy's face was swelling, his breathing labored.

"Feels funny inside, sir," he gasped. "Think I breathed in the steam. Feels funny inside."

"Just lie still."

For the first time Andrew realized that he had indeed been scalded, his hand ached, the left side of his face swollen and tender.

The boy started to shake, and Andrew drew him into his grasp, cradled the boy's head against his chest, and held him, crying silently as the boy slipped away into silence . . . and the train continued eastward into the night.

Ignoring the warnings of his staff that the exploding ammunition made the town dangerous, Ha'ark walked up the main street of the town, guards nervously cl.u.s.tered around him, holding shields aloft to ward off the debris pelting down around them.

The heat from the fires was intense, and he pulled his cloak about his face to shield himself.

He had hoped to capture the place intact, it would have supplied his army for days, perhaps even weeks. Now he would be forced to rely on ships making the long run back to Xi'an. Reaching the stalled locomotive he looked around at the slaughter, nodding approvingly. Several hundred dead at least, his warriors already butchering the dead. A few wounded, still alive, were bound together, looking about in terror. Ha'ark approached them.

"I'll spare the life of any of you that will talk," he said slowly, stumbling over the Rus words.

One of the humans, who looked to be not much older than a boy, wearing what Ha'ark recognized as a handsomely cut uniform, glared defiance.

He fixed the young soldier with his gaze and could sense the terror.

"Did Keane escape?"

A flicker of a smile showed, and the soldier spit on the ground.

"He'll have your head on a spike," the soldier snapped. "Of course he got out, but he'll be back. And Schuder will come up from the south, and together they'll finish you."

Ha'ark shook his head.

"Tell me about Keane, and I'll spare your life."

"Go to h.e.l.l, you son of a b.i.t.c.h," the boy cried, trying to sound brave but his voice nearly breaking in terror.

Ha'ark turned away, ignoring the screams as his warriors hacked the survivors apart.

He walked along the side of the train, stopping before the locomotive. Scalded bodies lay alongside the engine, and, stepping over them, he examined the machine. It was an admirable piece of work, obviously far more powerful than his own. The lines of the machine were clean, the bra.s.swork sparkling, such a contrast to the roughly built equipment he had.

A low, throbbing rumble sounded from the other side of the still-smoking ruins, and walking around the front of the train, he watched as a land cruiser rolled forward. If only the things were faster, he thought, we could have overrun them, cut off all escape.

And yet, he could not complain. Only one machine had been destroyed in battle. Five more had broken down in the advance, and two were mired in a streambed. He still had nineteen, and in ten days another, twenty-four would be brought from Xi'an.

That would be the question now. Could supplies and reinforcements be moved in quickly enough to expand their hold at this crucial juncture? His airships would have a base here by the end of tomorrow and then range outward, destroying bridges, landing warriors to keep cutting the telegraph lines. With control of the air, at least we'll be able to keep them blind as to our strength and deployment.

And Schuder was to the south-the boy had revealed that crucial bit of information. We have most of their army cut off; the drive now was to box them in and annihilate the two wings Keane had so foolishly thrown forward.

Grinning with delight, he turned back to watch as the town burned.

Hand stuffed into his pocket, President Kalenka walked out of the war office, head lowered against the cold, driving rain.

"Kal?"

He tried to smile as Kathleen approached, umbrella tilted down against the gale, offering him a little protection from the storm.

"A lot of rumors were sweeping through the hospital; I had to find out."

"The army's cut off." He sighed, reaching up to clutch the brim of his stovepipe hat as an eddy of wind swept across the plaza. Though it was late, well after midnight, a small crowd of women stood before the doors toGates's Ill.u.s.trated Weekly.A large chalkboard was displayed in the window, where one of Gates's employees posted the latest news as it came in. The last bulletin, posted at midnight, simply stated that the telegraph lines were still down. A large map of the front hung in another window, with a red line tracing the landing and attack of Ha'ark's army against Junction City. At the sight of Kal walking nearby, the crowd broke away from the newspaper and pushed in around him, shouting for news.

Kal shook his head.

"All we know is that there's heavy fighting near Junction City, Fifth Corps was engaged."

"Is it true the armies are cut off now?" someone cried.

Kal stood silent for a moment, then finally nodded.

"Neighbors, there's nothing you can do standing here in the rain. Please go home where you'll be safe and pray for our boys. I can a.s.sure you, we'll get them out."

"Your son-in-law got out, though," an angry woman shouted. "You made sure of that."

Kal turned slowly to face his accuser, a towering woman who stood defiant, arms folded across her chest.

Kal walked up to her and took off his hat.

"I have three boys with Schuder, lost two in the last war," she snapped. "But it seems yours are taken care of."

"Madam," he began softly, "my son-in-law was ordered out by Keane. I had nothing to do with that."

He nodded to where Kathleen stood. "Her husband ordered him out while he stayed behind with his men."

"I don't even know why the h.e.l.l we're fighting now," came the bitter reply. "It's on the other side of the world. Those heathen said they'd leave us alone if we stayed away. Why are you sending our boys out to die like this? Haven't we paid enough already?"