Never Sound Retreat Part 19

"If you're expecting sympathy, go someplace else. I have a war to run here."

"Thanks a lot, Vincent."

"Maybe you did lose the war, getting caught by surprise off the bay like that. You should have been farther back."

"d.a.m.n it, don't you think I've fought it out a thousand times in my mind? Ferguson was working on a submersible, even said we should worry about Ha'ark doing the same. I didn't think they'd come on like that. And punching through our armor-I should have thought of that as well. I got too c.o.c.ky."

"So, can you change it?"

"No, d.a.m.n all to h.e.l.l."

"I lost count of the number of men I've used up," Vincent said, his voice distant. "Defense of Roum, Hispania. A week ago, I ran a battery up to Fort Hanc.o.c.k, knowing they were going to get cut to ribbons, just so I could watch their land ironclads, observe their tactics, how much punishment the machines could take."

He paused and looked out the open gunport of Bullfinch's cabin to the flame-scorched walls of Suzdal, which still bore the scars from the Tugar and Merki Wars.

"I did a calculation," Vincent continued, his voice distant, almost dreamy. "Trade a hundred, two hundred lives to test Ha'ark's new machines, see how he fought, find out what he could do.

"Then there was this boy, on my staff, didn't even know his name . . ." His voice trailed off.

He sat in silence, listening to the gentle lapping of the river against the ironclad's hull, feeling the sway of the ship as a monitor, under full steam, pa.s.sed ] down the river, its bow wave and wake rocking Bull-jfinch's flagship,The Republic,in its mooring.

"Make those kinds of calculations every day. Is this worth one life or ten thousand. Will I trade a regiment or a division for this piece of ground which the day after will be worthless steppe again."

He looked back over at Bullfinch.

"You made the same calculations and lost."

"Scared to death it will happen again, Vincent. G.o.d, when I saw two of my ships go up, and then the pounding, splinters slicing the deck, men cut in half, and there wasn't anything I could do to hit back."

He started to pour another drink and stopped, looking up guiltily at Vincent.

"Now another rescue, not a thousand like we tried with Hans the first time, but fifty thousand. He's starting to make a habit of this kind of thing."

"Figure on twenty, maybe thirty, if at all," Vincent replied. "He might have stolen a march on them, but they're mounted and he ain't. The last fifty miles or so will be h.e.l.l. No way to take the wounded, fighting i every step of the way. Make it twenty thousand."

"Vincent, I've got ten ironclads here, twenty-five other ships. All of Suzdal and Roum combined might have another hundred merchant ships and some old galleys, we might be able to squeeze out twenty, but it will be rough."

"When are you leaving?"

"Chesapeake is already on her way," Bullfinch said, nodding toward the monitor which had just pa.s.sed. "I'll sail later today. I've telegraphed Roum and told them to be ready to have all their ships rendezvous with us in three days. But d.a.m.n all, it still might not be enough." is already on her way," Bullfinch said, nodding toward the monitor which had just pa.s.sed. "I'll sail later today. I've telegraphed Roum and told them to be ready to have all their ships rendezvous with us in three days. But d.a.m.n all, it still might not be enough."

"If so, you might have to leave someone behind," Vincent said coldly.

"And you know Hans will stay this time if that's the case. Poor old Gregory had to trick him last time."

"I know," Vincent replied. "Look, Bullfinch, we'll worry about that when the time comes. I need those corps and will need them badly. As fast as you pull those people off, get them to Roum. If we don't get Pat and Andrew out, we'll need every man we can get to form a fallback position."

"And if we don't get Pat, Andrew, and the men with them out?" Bullfinch asked.

Vincent sighed. "I guess I'm in command, and we lose the war. Ha'ark will be in Roum before winter. Same stands true even if we do get them out, but don't get Hans's men out, there'll be no reserves. As it is, I'm stripping all of Sixth Corps off the western frontier. That will give me three and a half corps to try and pull this rescue off. I'm leaving later today. Fourth Corps is already in Roum, the last elements of Sixth Corps leave with me, along with the land ironclads and Petracci's airship."

"And if the Merki come back in from the west?"

Vincent shook his head and chuckled.

"We'll be fighting on the banks of the Neiper once again, with your monitors all that's left to stop them."

"We're in the s.h.i.t, aren't we?"

Vincent chuckled sadly. "Most definitely my friend, most definitely."

Andrew stepped back as the courier reined in his mount, mud spraying up around the horse.

"Their flanking column's two miles out, sir. General McMurtry is asking permission to disengage."

Andrew nodded. 'Tell him we'll meet at the rendezvous this evening."

"Yes, sir!" The courier tugged his horse around and, kicking up yet more mud, galloped back up the road leading into the woods to the north.

"Don't know if this d.a.m.n rain is heaven-sent or a devil's curse," Emil shouted, trying to be heard above the shrieking of a train whistle as it lurched out of the Port Lincoln train station, pulling twenty flatcars loaded down with six batteries, the gunners huddled under shelter halves tied off around field-pieces and limber wagons in a vain attempt to block out the driving rain.

Trotting alongside the track, the horses for the batteries were being led west, more than one of them carrying a footsore infantryman riding bareback and hanging on for dear life.

"You really should take the train, Andrew," Emil said, continuing the argument he had been pressing earlier. "Don't hold much with this theory that getting wet makes you sick, but you've been pressing yourself pretty d.a.m.n hard."

"No room for Mercury on the trains, doctor," Andrew said, nodding to his mount, "and he won't let anyone else ride him. Besides, Pat's up forward now. I think I'll tag along with the boys pulling back."

"You don't have to set any examples here, Andrew."

Andrew smiled. "But I do, doctor, I do. No one's getting left behind, we have trains to get them out, at least till the final rush, and I want to make sure it stays that way."

A gust of wind swirled across the Port Lincoln rail yard, and in spite of the driving rain, sparks danced around Andrew from the piles of supplies burning by a siding, the air thick with the smell of smoke and kerosene.

The whistle of the last train in the station shrieked, the engineer leaning out of the cab and waving to Emil.

"Get aboard now, Emil. I'll see you in three days."

"Take care, Andrew. Be careful and don't do anything stupid."

"Me, dear doctor?"

"You're a walking violation of the law of averages, Keane. Don't go rolling the dice again."

Andrew laughed and patted Emil on the shoulder as the old physician climbed up into the command car, which was crammed with the serious cases from the hospital.

A distant rattle of musketry echoed from the woods. Looking up, Andrew gauged the sound.

Stepping back from the train, he waved to the engineer. Pulling down on the whistle, the engineer eased in the steam, the wheels spun, grabbed hold, and, with a lurch, the train started down the track and out onto the main line. As the boxcars loaded with wounded and the last of the infantry from the rear guard drifted past, Andrew stood at attention, returning their salutes.

Stepping away from the track he looked down toward the sea. The spectacle had an apocalyptic quality to it that held Andrew's attention. The warehouses, which had been fired earlier in the day, were now smoldering ruins, clouds of steam and smoke blanketing the side of the hill, rolling black clouds swirled up from the hospital, while in the harbor explosions erupted, flashing bright in the gloom as what was left of Petersburg Petersburg and and Fredericksburg Fredericksburg blew apart. The Bantag blockade ships had moved in closer, and, as he watched the shadowy beetlelike forms of the ships, another broadside erupted, sh.e.l.ls arcing overhead to explode in the woods beyond. blew apart. The Bantag blockade ships had moved in closer, and, as he watched the shadowy beetlelike forms of the ships, another broadside erupted, sh.e.l.ls arcing overhead to explode in the woods beyond.

"d.a.m.n poor shooting," Andrew said disdainfully, now that the worry of a lucky hit on one of the trains was over. Looking to the east, he could see dark forms moving on the far side of the ravine . . . forward skirmishers of the Bantag host advancing up the road. A flash of light detonated as one of the riders triggered a mine, the distant boom of the hundred-pound sh.e.l.l echoing a dozen seconds later.

"Well, it's all over," Andrew announced. "No sense in hanging around. Let's get the h.e.l.l out of here."

One of the boys on his staff nodded toward the door of the headquarters. Andrew stepped back into the building for a final look around. There was a scattering of papers on the floor, the door into his room in the back open, the clock still ticking, the wall map, marked with pins and tape showing the ever-tightening pocket they were in, still hung on the far wall.

"Go ahead, Vasili," Andrew said.

The boy could not help but let the flicker of a smile appear as Andrew walked out. Upending a five-gallon can of kerosene, the boy emptied the contents out, flinging the can into Andrew's office. Pulling out a match, he flicked it to life with his fingernail, lit a newspaper, then tossed it on the floor, stepping back out.

"Enjoy yourself?" Andrew asked.

Embarra.s.sed, the boy looked around.

"It's all right," Andrew said. "It's almost like burning down your school."

The boy nodded, ashamed to admit his incendiary fantasies.

Swinging up onto Mercury, Andrew grimaced at the clammy feel of the wet saddle soaking through his trousers. Pulling his slouch cap down low, rain beading off the brim, he led the way along the track, pausing for a moment to look behind him as flames licked out the doorway of his headquarters.

Another volley erupted from the woods to the north, this time closer. A fieldpiece clattered out of the forest, drivers lashing the horses, the caisson and gun bouncing into the air as they went over the tracks. A troop of cavalry followed. Mounted infantry appeared along the flank to the north, filtering out through the trees, weaving their way through the cluttered streets, their horses shying nervously as they dodged around the smoldering ruins of the town.

"Colonel Keane?"

Andrew barely recognized the commander of the Third Suzdal Mounted Rifles as he reined in. The young officer, the son of an old Boyar, was covered from head to foot in mud, an ugly gash creasing his face from forehead to jaw, blood mixing with the mud.

"You all right?" Andrew asked.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds shot my horse out from under me. Had to kill one of them to get a new mount."

Andrew looked at the horse and saw that the saddle and trappings were Bantag. He wondered if his young officer had checked to see what was in the ration bag behind the saddle and thought it best for now not to mention it.

"Just a little shaken, sir. I think we better get a move on. They might be spreading out ahead of us again."

"Lead the way then," Andrew said.

The cavalry officer swayed in the saddle, his guidon bearer reaching out to steady him.

Cursing, the officer shrugged off the help and urged his horse up to a canter. A rifle ball fluttered past, followed by two more, and, looking back toward the flaming town, Andrew saw several Ban-tag riders emerge from the smoke. Hors.e.m.e.n around Andrew turned, raising carbines and firing, dropping one of the skirmishers into the muddy street as the other two pulled back into the smoke.

As they continued down the track more men emerged, pulling out of the forest to gallop down the road, deploying after several hundred yards to form a screen. Crossing over a low rise, Andrew could see the last train out receding into the distance. Sparing the time for one final glance at Port Lincoln, he saw that what was left of the town was already in enemy hands.

There goes a year's worth of building and planning, Andrew thought sadly. A fleet gone, supplies to keep an army in the field for weeks, a hundred miles of rail, and nearly three thousand dead. He turned Mercury about and continued westward toward Ha'ark.

"d.a.m.n all, I wish I was going with you." Chuck Ferguson sighed, pulling his collar in tight against the wind-driven rain whipping around the station platform. The latest storm had swirled up in the afternoon and by evening had turned into a bitter-cold downpour. A wracking cough seized Chuck, and Vincent looked over anxiously at Jack Petracci, who was holding up an umbrella to try to shelter the young inventor.

"You think Andrew would be crazy enough to allow you within a hundred miles of a battlefield?" Vincent replied.

"Just, well, maybe there are better ways of going than this," Chuck said weakly.

"The h.e.l.l with that," Vincent snapped back angrily. "For starters, wandering around out here in the rain is just courting trouble. Now get the h.e.l.l back into the station."

Chuck, ignoring the warning, stepped past him and started to walk down the length of flatcars, looking up at the artillery crews who stirred and came to their feet at his approach.

"Remember, you can kill at over three hundred, but try and let the range close to two hundred yards, boys. Try to avoid deflection, aim 'em straight in. And keep those sh.e.l.ls dry; otherwise, the papier-mache will melt off."

Vincent turned away, knowing it was senseless to argue, and walked up to Kal, who stood in silence, watching the loading of the last three trains, which were taking a division of Sixth Corps to the eastern front.

"They're tough men," Vincent announced, "mostly veterans, hardened by being out on the western frontier. They'll do well."

"Do you really think you'll get them all out?" Kal asked.

"Not all of them, Father. Some, not all."

"We're bleeding ourselves white out there." Kal sighed.

"You know, if you start to waver, if you fall for anything that Ha'ark is feeding you, it's over."

Kal looked past Vincent and gave a friendly wave to a company of infantry who were marching past, several of the men obviously friends of Kal's from long ago, replying with ribald jests about the infamous tavern owner's wife.

"So few of my friends left now," Kal continued. "Try to keep them alive a bit longer."

"I'll try my best."

"You know, I was thinking about it this morning, when I couldn't sleep. I got up and walked about the White House. Remember when it was the palace of Boyar Ivor?"

"I remember. I was part of the company that escorted Andrew the first time we paid a visit here."

"Ivor wasn't such a bad old character. I think he half wanted to make some sort of agreement with you folks; just there was always the Tugars. Funny, I look back on that time when I was just another d.a.m.n peasant, surviving by telling bad jokes and singing songs off-key, the palace fool. It wasn't such a bad time then in a way."

Vincent looked at him with a worried expression.

"I look at us now. Our whole society has become a machine of war. I sometimes wonder if we could even survive without war. It's like we're addicted to it, like those poor wounded veterans who've become morphine addicts. And here we go again."

Kal gestured toward the Suzdal rail yard. Crates of supplies lined the track, waiting to be loaded aboard when the trains that had moved Fourth Corps earlier in the week returned. One of the trains had five double-length cars on it, the Republic's answer to Ha'ark's land cruisers, the machines covered with tarps, the mechanics who had been working on them for weeks gathered around Chuck, who had wandered over for a final inspection. With the wind from the west, Vincent could hear the low mournful whistle of a steamboat heading down the river, pulling a dozen empty barges, puffs of smoke showing on the far side of the city.

The old earthen fortress line around the city was showing signs of disrepair, rivulets of muddy water eroding the sides in the downpour. Something to remember there, Vincent thought, get work crews out on them. Even if it's women and children, the Merki could always raid now that the frontier has been all but abandoned.

Vincent pulled out his pocket watch, checked it, and looked over at the stationmaster, who nodded in agreement.

"Time to get going," Vincent announced.

The ritual had been played out so many times that he found he really didn't feel anything from it anymore. Tanya and the children were back at the White House. She had learned long ago that tearful farewells at the station were not within his range of emotions.

He extended his hand to Kal, who clasped it warmly, drawing Vincent into the traditional Rus embrace and kiss, which he accepted woodenly.

"Take care, my son."