Never Sound Retreat Part 20

Vincent stepped back and saluted formally. From the corner of his eye he saw a women coming through the press, and Vincent walked up to her.

"Mrs. Keane, you shouldn't be out here like this."

She forced a smile.

"Well, Vincent, I've decided I'm going with you. The hospital here is in fine shape. I'm needed more at the front."

"Ma'am, the colonel wouldn't appreciate that."

"Frankly, Vincent, I don't care what the colonel thinks. It's my duty as well, and I'm going. I'll be on the hospital train going back later tonight."

Vincent could see that there was no sense in arguing. Her decision was a logical one. As head of the hospital system now that Emil was trapped behind the lines, it was her duty to be forward.

"Vincent. You know Andrew's always counted on you," she said softly.

"I know."

"No, that's not how I wanted to say it. Of course he knows you'll do everything to get those boys out, and him along with them. It's just, don't lose sight of things out there."

"Ma'am?"

"You're almost too good at what you do. Take Pat. He's a loudmouthed Irish bruiser, and Jesus knows I love him for it, like my da in many ways. Yet even in the thick of it, he always thinks of his men above everything else, how to spare one more life. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Vincent stood silent and lowered his head, leaning forward slightly as a gust of icy wind whipped around him.

Stepping forward, she kissed him on the forehead. "Bring as many back as you can."

Unable to reply, he stepped back and, to her embarra.s.sment, saluted her as well.

"All aboard!" The cry echoed down the station platform. Soldiers, rifles slung over shoulders, hurriedly said their final good-byes, cl.u.s.ters of families gathered around them in the pouring rain. Train whistles shrieked as Vincent moved through the press and ascended the narrow iron steps into his command car. Swinging the door open, he saw the men and officers of his headquarters company looking toward him, and he motioned for them to stand at ease.

Walking the length of the car, he slipped into the small private compartment and slid the door shut. Taking off his rain-soaked poncho and hat, he settled down and looked out the window.

Kal was still standing in the rain, hat off, raised in a salute. A band, standing under the protection of the station porch, was playing "Battle Cry of Freedom," sounding tinny and distant. The train lurched and eased out of the station, rumbling through the maze of tracks onto the main line, slowly gathering speed as it crossed over the bridge spanning the Vina. Looking up the valley, he saw the earthen dam for the reservoir, the factories below the dam belching dark clouds of smoke as the forges turned out yet more locomotives, rails, cannons, rifles, and sh.e.l.ls. In the years since the Merki War a whole new city had sprung up around the works, rows of brick houses going up on the surrounding hills, spreading across the open ground where the Tugar Horde had once camped during the siege.

The dam stirred memories of the act he had performed, which had saved Suzdal, and the tens of thousands of Tugars who had died as a result. There was a time when the killing had frozen his heart. Then there was the moment when, as Weiss later putIit, he had a breakdown of nerves as a result. And now? Funny, there was nothing but the war and for now, that was enough.

"d.a.m.n cold for this time of year."

Hans Schuder didn't even bother to reply as a bat- tery commander squatted next to him, extending his hands to warm them on the flickering fire. The rifle fire along the picket line on the south side of the square flashed silently, the reports drowned out by the driving rain and rolling booms of thunder rumbling across the night sky.

Hans looked at the exhausted men around him, huddled in dark bunches around the flame, rain dripping from hats, a few of them curled up in the mud, so exhausted they were fast asleep in spite of the wet and cold.

"Bantag don't like it much either," the commander continued. "Just before dark, when they charged us, you could see their arrows had no punch. One hit me here"-he pointed to his chest-"barely nicked me. Guess it makes their bowstrings stretch or something like that. Lucky for me, I guess. h.e.l.l, had two of them things dug out of my leg-one at Hispania, the other at the Ford."

Hans grunted, too weary to reply.

"How much farther, sir?"

"Farther?"

"To, you know, we get to the coast and get picked up?"

"Honestly, son, I don't really know."

The artilleryman looked up at Hans, and Hans realized that the boy was the battery commander who had pushed his guns up into the gully two days ago.

"Four, maybe five days," Hans continued. "We're more than halfway there."

The commander sighed and absently kicked at the edge of the smoldering fire with the toe of his boot.

"d.a.m.n, thought we'd be closer by now. The mountains are getting lower on our right."

"We've got to get down to where the plains reach the sea and there's a harbor. That means Tyre," Hans said, knowing he had to say something. One moment of irresolve or a display of despair on his part could ripple through the ranks like a plague.

"Why not try and force some of the pa.s.ses right over there?" The artilleryman nodded to the ridgeline, which showed up for an instant in a flash of lightning.

"They're blocked, all blocked. We get caught there, break our formations up, and we're trapped. Out here, we're keeping them back. We'll get through."

The rain slackened for a moment and Hans could hear the low rumbling growl of the Bantag nargas, echoing in the night. They had taken to blowing the horns all night long, most likely to try to keep his men awake and unnerve them. At this point, though, no one seemed to really care anymore.

Groaning as he stood up Hans slowly stretched, cursing the rheumatism and the ache of the old wounds. Walking through the mud, he pa.s.sed encampments of the reserve regiments in the center of the square. A few of them had managed to keep fires going, but most were in the dark, men sleeping in cl.u.s.ters around the regimental flags, which had been planted in the ground to mark their positions. Another flash of lightning revealed the southern line of the square, and he strode toward it. Men were sprawled out on the ground, some tinder shelter halves, or grouped under caissons and ammunition wagons-half the regiment supposedly awake, while the other half slept. Farther forward, a hundred yards out, he could see the occasional flash of a rifle, where a picket fired to keep back Bantag probes. The old Horde fear of night action seemed to be dropping away the farther south he pushed, and, in spite of the storm, there had been half a dozen flare-ups during the night.

A rifle bullet snapped past, humming like an angry bee and nicked the brim of his hat. Instinctively, he ducked low and chuckled. After all this, he thought, grimly, to get killed by an unaimed shot fired in the middle of the night. He stood back up again, surprised that his knees actually felt a little weak after the scare.

"Hans, you all right?"

"Fine, Ketswana, fine," Hans replied, a bit embarra.s.sed.

"Thought it hit you for a second, scared me." Kets-wana came up to Hans's side, deliberately standing in front of him, while half a dozen Zulus of Hans's headquarters company spread out around them.

"Just had a report a few of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds actually slipped clear into our lines a few minutes ago. You never know who's out there," and even as Ketswana spoke one of his men raised his rifle and fired into the dark. Another rifle bullet whistled by, pa.s.sing between Hans and his friend.

Hans nodded and turned back toward the center of the square, no sense in risking lives.

He looked over at Ketswana and realized that, in spite of the storm, he could make out his friend's features. Dawn must be approaching.

"Pa.s.s the word, time to get up. I want to get moving before full light-we've got another long day ahead of us."

Cursing violently, Ha'ark the Redeemer paced along the wharf, watching as the ironclad, moving slowly as it plowed through the whitecaps, turned into the narrow harbor. Once clear of the storm-lashed sea, the s.h.i.+p leapt forward up the narrow cove for the last quarter mile, then slowed as its engines reversed. Even before the squat black vessel was tied off, Jurak was through the hatch and at Ha'ark's side.

"You're late," Ha'ark snarled. "Everything, everyone is late."

"The weather, Ha'ark. You can plan everything else, but you cannot plan for this." Jurak pointed to the heavens, where dark, low, rolling clouds raced overhead.

"It should be easing up later today," Jurak continued, and, even as he spoke, a shaft of sunlight poked through the clouds to the east for a brief instant before disappearing again as a cold shower lashed across the harbor.

"It still gives them the advantage. They're moving by rail and we are not. The weather doesn't matter to them. Keane is most likely a full day's march ahead of you."

Jurak nodded. "I have half an umen, mounted troops, pressing fairly close, but he did manage to get ahead of us."

"By how much?"

"Two days."

"d.a.m.n all, how!" Ha'ark roared.

"We had to fight through 150 miles of forest after crossing the river, and there's only one real road and the railroad bed to move our horses on. I still have seven umens all the way back out in the steppe waiting to deploy. It's a quagmire. I'm pus.h.i.+ng artillery forward as fast as I can, and that's making it even worse. There's ten and twelve horses now to a single piece."

"What about the rail line?"

"Weeks before we get that running again. Every bridge is blown, track torn up. We didn't capture any engines or rolling stock."

Jurak stood before Ha'ark as if waiting for an explosion.

"The plan was for you to flank them and cut them off."

"Ha'ark, I moved as planned and attacked as planned but their red-haired devil, this other commander of Keane's, kept one step ahead. He's a masterful foe. I understand he's the one who fought the retreat from the Merki. He learned his lessons well."

"I'm disappointed in you," Ha'ark growled. "If you were not my companion from before, I'd have your head."

"You may take it at any time," Jurak replied defiantly. The standoff continued for several long seconds. Ha'ark looked back at his staff, glad they had not heard the exchange, for if they had, Jurak would have to die.

"You press too far," Ha'ark hissed.

"I have sustained sixty thousand casualties in this campaign. It's like ancient history in our hospitals, Ha'ark. I've seen warriors get their limbs hacked off without anesthesia, gangrene is running rampant. I'm losing some of my best-trained soldiers to mere scratches."

"The Bantag know no different," Ha'ark replied. "It is different for you and me."

"That doesn't change what's happening to the warriors I'm responsible for. It's like stories we read in school about the wars of the Second Empire. They die like flies, and by all the G.o.ds the stench of it can be smelled for miles. Nothing we saw in our war back home comes even close to this barbarity."

"This is home," Ha'ark snapped. "We are never going back to the old world. This is home; this is our empire."

"At least you still say 'ours,' " Jurak said.

"If you wish to challenge, go ahead."

Jurak shook his head.

"No, I never wanted it the way you do. I'm more than happy to be second, that way I do not bear the responsibility so heavily upon my soul."

"If you want to leave this fight, you're free to do so."

"No, not that either," and his voice was soft, hollow. "I've come to hate them now, maybe even more than you. You received my report about what happened on the bridge."

"You were a fool to press so many in like that, the trap was so obvious."

"The blood of my warriors was up. I could not stop them. It was murderous, no honor in that killing"-Jurak looked away-"murderous b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Ha'ark smiled.

"Now you are finally seeing what I saw. This is not some petty dynastic struggle, two princes fighting over a province, a hill, a filth-encrusted village where we died and then, when it's finished, they drink together again and trade stories of the game they played over our bodies. This is a war of annihilation, and in such war there is no honor, no glory."

Ha'ark indicated his staff.

"We feed such tales to them. I give one of them a bauble, a t.i.tle, and the others rush out eager to risk death so they too can be thus honored. It has always been with such things that armies are led.

"And because of such things, I will announce your campaign a glorious victory, though you know the truth of that."

Even as he spoke Ha'ark made a show of patting Jurak on the shoulder so that their staffs nodded, Jurak's with obvious relief that their commander had not fallen and they along with him.

"And what of the other campaigns?" Jurak asked hurriedly, struggling to contain his annoyance at Ha'ark's display of approval.

"The first of the steams.h.i.+ps will be up late today," Ha'ark replied, and again his anger started to flare. "Two days late."

"The weather Ha'ark, the weather. You're dealing with low-pressure steams.h.i.+ps, not oil-fired high-pressure turbine engines. Any kind of sea, and they're down to a crawl."

"The front to the south?"

"Schuder," Ha'ark snarled. "I can't get any accurate report on where he is. Bakkth in his airs.h.i.+p claimed he saw elements of their army pus.h.i.+ng north. I have a full umen engaged in the pa.s.ses. There are reports Schuder is with them, then other reports of part of their army moving away, to the south."

Jurak nodded. "It'd be like him to do the unexpected. How big is this force to the south?"

"I'm not sure. Bakkth never got that far south."

"And what are you going to do?"

"As originally planned. I've detailed one umen of rifles and ten land cruisers to land down the coast."

"Wouldn't they serve better here?"

"The force against Schuder was nearly all mounted bows and no artillery. It took sixty days of riding just to position them. I want more modern equipment brought to bear wherever he is. There'll be enough coming here in the next two days to secure this position. Blocking forces on the ridge to the west of the junction and to the east. With the reinforcements coming, we should hold while you move to crush them from behind."

Jurak nodded wearily.

"I'll try."

"I want the attack pressed no later than tomorrow. Even now Keane is deploying to the east of me. At least two of their umens are moving into attack position. On the other front Bakkth reports nearly thirty trains coming from the west, loaded with troops, artillery, and-I suspect-land cruisers."

"They have them?" Jurak asked, incredulous.

"And why shouldn't they. It's been nearly five moons since Schuder escaped. That's precisely why I wanted to press this attack now. Bakkth reported seeing five flatcars covered with tarps, same way we move ours. They'll be up by late today. We need to press the attack now."

"Ha'ark, I've tried to explain to you, it's chaos."

"It's chaos for them, too, d.a.m.n it! I have only three umens here. One covering the east, one the west, the other the south. Tomorrow I should have at least three more and by late tomorrow, twenty more land cruisers. If I can hold my position and force them to attack frontally, we'll slaughter them by the tens of thousands, but you must bring your force up to attack the rear of Keane's line now. We must put the pressure on him, force him to attack head-on."

"Ha'ark, my warriors are exhausted."