Never Sound Retreat Part 14

"Exactly." He traced a line on the map, following the Green Mountains southwestward to where they finally dropped down to the sea.

"We make for Tyre."

"That's a Cartha town; they're neutral, sir," Bates said.

"It's the only port city on the east coast of the Inland Sea that our s.h.i.+ps can get into. We take Tyre, and the h.e.l.l with their so-called neutrality."

"They'll cut us off." Bates drew a line straight across the map from where the Bantag umens were advancing. "Pin us against the mountains."

Hans pointed toward the western sky.

"We'll have rain today, maybe even tomorrow. With luck, it'll keep their d.a.m.n airs.h.i.+ps down.

"We'll form up tight, square formation, supplies, wounded in the middle, each corps its own square. And then we just move, take Tyre, and get picked up."

"By who?"

Hans smiled. "Bullfinch will get something there. He pulled me out before; he'll do it again."

"My G.o.d, sir, you're talking about evacuating three corps, nearly fifty thousand men."

"Actually closer to forty thousand. Bates, I'm detaching you and one of your divisions to head up Into the mountains. Act as if you're trying to break through; it should throw Ha'ark off for a while. You'll disperse out, raise h.e.l.l, bushwhack. They might even detach some of their units to pursue you. In fact,I suspect Ha'ark is counting on the umens in front of us to be the force to strengthen him. We, however, will draw them in the opposite direction, away from the main fight."

"Our pickup, sir?"

Hans smiled sadly.

"I can't promise that, son. Fight as long as you can, then break into small units and head for the coast. I'll try and get some light s.h.i.+ps in to pick you up."

Bates nodded.

"I won't leave you up there, Bates. We need to throw Ha'ark off, make him think there's some force coming up, and that's your job. Throw him off, then head west."

"But Bullfinch, sir?"

"He'll be there. I sent half a dozen mounted couriers north last night with the message for a pickup."

The roar of skirmish fire was building into long, sustained volleys, and the division forward was beginning to leapfrog back, men moving at the double. Just forward of where Hans was holding his meeting, a battery deployed opened up, lobbing its sh.e.l.ls over the retreating line.

"Gentlemen, that's our plan. We've got a lot to do today. I'll have your orders drawn up. Now get moving."

He studied the group as they saluted. He could see that most of them were not convinced, shocked by his unorthodox move. As the a.s.sembly broke up officers calling for their staffs, who had been watching quietly at the edge of the circle, Hans looked over at Ketswana.

"They don't like it, my friend." Ketswana said.

"They don't have to. Just as long as they do it."

"This message you sent."

Hans motioned Ketswana to draw closer.

"We won't know if it got through till we get to Tyre. If the s.h.i.+ps are there, the message got through. If not . . ." He shrugged his shoulders.

Ketswana shook his head and laughed.

"I always knew you were a madman."

"That's why we'll win."

Andrew was off the train before it had even come to a full stop. Word had already been sent up from the telegraph station twenty miles west of Port Lincoln and a long row of ambulances was waiting. Emil pushed his way through the crowd of stretcher bearers, grabbed hold of Andrew, and guided him up to the porch of the station.

"Emil, I'm all right."

"Like h.e.l.l you are," Emil snapped, forcing him to sit down. He took off Andrew's gla.s.ses, examining his eyes, then put his ear to Andrew's chest.

"Breathe deeply."

Andrew did as ordered, knowing he wouldn't escape until Emil was satisfied.

Next he took Andrew's hand, and, for the first time, Andrew muttered a protest, wincing as Emil ordered him to flex it.

Opening his black medical bag he pulled out a jar of ointment and smeared it on Andrew's face and hand. He started to bandage the hand, Andrew protesting that he needed it to write.

"Get someone to take dictation. You were lucky, Andrew, d.a.m.n lucky."

Andrew told him about the sacrifice of his staff, first to protect him from the exploding boiler, then the rush to the next train.

"Stanisloff, Kal's nephew, is dead." Andrew sighed.

Emil paused in his work and looked back at the flatcar, where more than twenty bodies were stretched out.

"He saved my life. I think he's the one who knocked me down and covered me when the boiler burst."

Andrew leaned back and closed his eyes, struggling for control. It was one thing to break down in the dark, another to do it now, the sense of panic hanging in the air, thick and palatable as the scent of death.

"Oh G.o.d," Andrew whispered. "How many have died like that for me?"

"It's not just you, Keane," Emil said softly while snipping off the end of the bandage. "It's the Republic, it's winning this war. That's what he died for. He couldn't get us out; you can. That's what he died for. So you can get all of us out."

"Thank you for the guilt, good doctor."

Emil patted him on the shoulder. "Anytime it's necessary, Andrew, anytime."

"What's happening with Pat?"

"Telegraph line just came backup. Near thing, almost got flanked, but managed to pull back to their depot. The first trains are coming returning with the wounded."

He paused. "h.e.l.l of a fight for him yesterday. Ha of Eleventh Corps overrun. Five thousand dead an<>

A booming explosion erupted, shattering the windowpanes behind Andrew, a geyser of dirt soaring up less than a hundred feet away, just behind the last car of the train.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Andrew shouted, standing up.

"Just their d.a.m.n ironclads," Emil announced. "Put a few sh.e.l.ls in the hospital a half hour ago. Most of their shooting is d.a.m.n poor though."

"Ironclads here?"

"Apparently moved up during the night. The hundred-pound Parrott is keeping them back, though just an annoyance more than anything else at th moment."

Andrew stood up and walked to the side of the station. Shading his eyes from the early-morning light, he looked out to sea and saw four s.h.i.+ps lying a couple of miles offsh.o.r.e. A jet of smoke erupted from one and long seconds later a tower of water shot up a couple of hundred yards short of what was left of Petersburg. Petersburg.

"They think she's still worth something, so that's where most of the fire's been directed."

Andrew stood silent, still not quite able to grasp] that in twenty-four hours so much had been reversed.

Emil joined him, offering a flask of vodka.

"You haven't slept. Take a drink, and let me give you something for the pain. You need some rest."

Andrew looked down at Emil and shook his head.

"Is there anything you can actually do at this moment?" Emil asked.

"We have to deploy toward Junction City, try and slow them down, save as much of the line as possible."

"Rest first, Andrew. There'll be time enough later. Let some others do the worrying for a little while. I'll see to it."

Andrew felt a moment of surprise as he lay down on the cot in his office, surprised that he had, in fact, agreed to Emil's orders, and then there was nothing but silence and the nightmare of a boy dying in his arms.

Chapter Eight.

"My G.o.d, Vincent, you look like h.e.l.l."

Vincent Hawthorne smiled as he pulled up a chair by Ferguson's desk and sat down.

"Two days and nights on one of your trains will do it to you."

Vincent looked at his old friend closely. Ferguson seemed to have slipped even more since their last meeting; there was an almost translucent glow to his skin, a pale ghostly quality that he knew was typic of consumption victims.

Taking off his rain-soaked campaign hat and poncho, Vincent sighed with relief, gladly accepting the mug of hot tea Chuck offered.

"I have to be at the White House in an hour, but I wanted to see you first. It's actually the main reason I came all the way back here."

"I'm flattered."

Vincent smiled.

"You might not appreciate what I need and the timetable to deliver it."

"Something to stop the land cruisers."

"Exactly. Look, I took notes of everything I saw out there. Ranges we fired at, effect of weapons. I also know the reports on our own land ironclads. We're faster, but they'll kill our machines in a head-on attack." As he spoke he pulled a pad of paper out of his haversack and laid it on Chuck's desk.

"What's the latest? I've been locked up in here," Chuck asked absently, thumbing through Vincent's notes.

"Marcus is moving Tenth Corps up, reinforcing the survivors of Fifth Corps who are digging in west of Junction City. Ha'ark moved about eight miles west, then stopped, holding a ridgeline and the pa.s.s facing where First and Second Divisions of Fifth Corps dug in. He hasn't pushed any farther since."

"Why?"

"I think he's stretched. Burned up a lot of munitions taking Junction City, and pus.h.i.+ng a frontal attack will cost too much. My bet is he has enough reserve supplies for one d.a.m.n good fight, and he's waiting for reinforcements and additional supplies to come up first. Then he'll broaden his hold to the west and really lock the door shut on Andrew, Pat, and Hans."

Chuck laughed softly.

"So the Quaker guns I recommended scared him off from attacking?"

Vincent nodded uncomfortably. Any reference to his own Quaker upbringing, even unintentional, triggered a sense of guilt for the pacifist heritage he had abandoned in favor of war.

"We've got forty logs, painted black, with just their lake barrels exposed, the rest concealed inside covered bombproofs so their flyers can't see them from above. d.a.m.n, it's the same trick the Rebs used at Mana.s.sas. Never thought it'd work, but I could see Ha'ark studying our position and immediately afterward they started to dig in rather than attack."

"What about Andrew and Hans?"

"Not a word since we lost Junction City."

"They'll find a way out."

"Are you so certain of that?" Vincent asked quietly.

"And you aren't?"

"Between us?"

Ferguson nodded.

"It doesn't look good. Junction City was our major supply depot. We had it there to s.h.i.+ft equipment either east or south as needed. Chuck, we lost enough ammunition and rations to keep half a dozen corps in the field for a month. We lost the equal of all the ammunition expended at Hispania. Pat and Hans have enough with them for four, maybe five days of sustained action, then it's going to get tight. If there's going to be a breakthrough, it's got to come from our side, not theirs."

"And you want me to figure out how to smash their land cruisers in how long?"

"It'll take a week to move up all of Tenth Corps and the men from Sixth Corps that were stripping off the western front. Then I'll attack, and I d.a.m.n well better break through."

"Seven days?"