Never Sound Retreat Part 29

"I'll get men upending their caissons, there's hundreds of horses loose out here. We've got a couple of hundred wagons at the rear of the advance as well." "Fine." Andrew sighed wearily. "I just want to get the h.e.l.l out of here."

Andrew turned his mount about and rode off, Marcus following. Timokin watched as they rode up the slope.

"Sir?"

It was the gunnery sergeant, sticking his head out of the hatch and watching in awe as Keane rode off.

"Can we grab some air for a few minutes? The boys are d.a.m.n near dead in there."

"Fine, Sergeant."

Another burst of Gatling gun fire erupted from the top turret, the rounds soaring high into the air before plunging into the open steppe.

"Tell that d.a.m.n fool up there to cease fire."

Picking up his helmet, Timokin walked aroundSaint Malady,examining the dozens of pockmarks, dents, and buckled plates. A wagon, loaded with sacks of coal and barrels of water, lumbered up, the teamster shouting for some infantry to help him unload. Behind it a limber wagon arrived, carrying boxes of cartridges and sh.e.l.ls.

Timokin sagged against the front armor, gladly accepting a canteen of water offered by his sergeant. Uncorking it, he upended the canteen, pouring half of it over his head, then took a long drink.

"We sure beat the h.e.l.l out of them," the sergeant announced, sliding to the ground beside him.

Timokin, remembering Keane's expression, looked across the field at the dark host on the distant ridge.

"It's only just started," Timokin sighed.

"s.h.i.+p oars."

Admiral Bullfinch, not waiting for the launch to reach the dock and tie off, leapt for the gunnel, and up onto the wharf. A sh.e.l.l, slicing the air high overhead, shrieked out into the bay, a geyser of water mushrooming off the bow of his ironclad. He didn't even bother to look back. It was nothing but light field artillery, its threat like that of an insect attacking an elephant.

"So, Bullfinch, you finally decided to show up."

Bullfinch looked into the eyes of Sergeant Major Hans Schuder, not sure if the opening comment was a reprimand or not. In the twilight he could see that Schuder was exhausted, features drawn, eyes red-rimmed. He waited for the blow, ready to accept the blame.

"You're here, that's all I wanted Bullfinch, you're here." Hans extended his hand. "You got me out last time; I knew you'd do it again."

"Sir, I'm sorry, I . . ." His voice trailed off and he lowered his head.

"We've all lost fights, Bullfinch. Lord knows I've lost my share."

Bullfinch looked out across the bay, where one of his steam transport s.h.i.+ps was dropping anchor, and then back to the city. In the shadows he could see armed patrols in the streets.

"The Cartha?" Bullfinch asked.

"I think I just started a war with them." Hans sighed. "I asked permission for us simply to evacuate through here. They refused and barred the city gates."

He chuckled softly.

"Funny what a battery of twenty-pounders can do as a persuasive tool. A dozen shots and they threw in the towel, but the half dozen s.h.i.+ps that were here hightailed it out. I guess they've run back to Cartha with the report."

"Kal was worried about that, but my orders were if this was where you were heading, I was ordered to blow down the walls if need be to get you out."

Hans exhaled noisily.

"Relief hearing that, but there was no place else to go."

Bullfinch wanted to ask, but was afraid to. There was something about the look in his eyes.

"Miraculous, sir," Bullfinch finally ventured. "I mean 150 miles, no line of supplies, fighting all the way through. Sherman's march through Georgia was a romp in comparison to what you did, sir. Coming down the coast we picked up some of your men from Bates's command. They said you had up to fifteen umens on you."

"We counted eighteen all total."

Bullfinch hesitated.

"How bad is it, sir."

"I've got thirty-one thousand men with me, Bullfinch, nine thousand of them wounded. I started with nearly fifty."

"Merciful G.o.d."

Hans turned away, and Bullfinch could see that the sergeant was struggling to control his emotions.

"I thought they had us yesterday. They completely broke the square of Seventh Corps, overran it. G.o.d, it was a d.a.m.ned nightmare, the screaming, men panic-stricken, trying to get into our square, chopped down, swept by our own rifle fire and canister. We had to fire into them, had to."

His voice trailed off, and he spit over the side of the dock.

"We finally cut our way through; I left close to ten thousand men back there." He nodded toward the open steppe.

"Walk or die," he said, sighing. "Walk or die."

Hans stepped away from Bullfinch, his gaze fixed on the western horizon as twilight drifted in around him.

"I'll have fifty s.h.i.+ps up by morning," Bullfinch announced. "We can start pulling you out then."

"Evacuate?" Hans asked.

"I thought that was the idea."

Hans spit again and shook his head.

"We've got this town-it's ours. The Cartha are in the war now, like it or not."

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about, sir?"

"Bullfinch, we're keeping this town."

"Sir?"

Hans forced a smile. "We hold this town, it'll force the Bantag to stay here, too, covering their flank. It's the jumping-off place for a second front for us. h.e.l.l, Ha'ark flanked us. Now let's threaten to flank him. We have the sea and this port to cover the flank of Roum. You keep the supplies up, and we'll hold this place till h.e.l.l freezes. Get my wounded off, but the rest of us stay.

"I paid for this place with blood, and this is where we'll finally make our comeback, d.a.m.n it."

Chapter Fourteen.

Ready to collapse from exhaustion, Andrew hesitated by the door into the hospital railroad car, braced himself, then opened it and stepped in. Kathleen looked up with a start and silently slipped down the corridor, all but collapsing into his arms. He winced as her arms swept around him, and she drew back.

"You're hurt," she gasped.

He pulled her back into his embrace.

"Scratch. I've had worse."

In spite of his feeble protests she forced him into a chair and, kneeling before him, unb.u.t.toned his tunic. He was suddenly embarra.s.sed. It'd been weeks since he had bathed, and now nearly three days without sleep.

"I stink; I'm covered with lice."

"I'm a doctor, remember." As his jacket came off she held it between thumb and forefinger and tossed it toward the door of the car. Next came the tattered s.h.i.+rt, and, motioning for a nurse to bring a basin of water, she started to wash the stump of his arm, which had been torn open by the sh.e.l.l fragment.

"It's infected, but I think we got it in time," she whispered, and Andrew suppressed a groan as she washed the wound with disinfectant.

"It's going to need st.i.tches." "Not now. Things to do, but I wanted to see you first."

He looked back up the corridor.

"How is he?"

"Not good. Running a high fever."

"I want to see him."

"So, Dr. Keane, how's our wounded hero?"

Andrew looked up to see Emil come through the door, followed by Pat.

"Emil, how the h.e.l.l could you let him wander around like this," Kathleen snapped.

"Well, Kathleen darling," Pat interjected, coming to the protection of his friend. "It's been rather hard pinning the colonel down long enough, what with fighting a withdrawal from the Shenandoah, attacking the Bantag, holding out on Rocky Hill, then directing the retreat back to here."

"Let me see Vincent," Andrew said.

Kathleen looked back up the corridor as if ready to argue with him, then nodded. Taking a blanket, she draped it over Andrew's shoulders and motioned for him to follow quietly. Pat and Emil fell in behind, and though she started to raise an objection, Emil's gesture for her not to debate the point silenced her.

Stretchers lined both sides of the car, and Andrew moved slowly, reaching out, taking hands as he pa.s.sed.

"Licked 'em good, didn't we, sir ... the old First Corps didn't let you down did it, sir . .. don't worry, sir, we'll win this yet."

Andrew nodded, unable to speak, slowly moving to the back of the car, following Kathleen as she opened the door into a private room, then stepped out a minute later.

Andrew stepped in and, at the first sight of Vincent, he felt his throat tighten. The diminutive general seemed to have shrunk, looking like a wasted child. Father Casmar was by his side.

"Sir, how are you?" Vincent whispered.

Andrew drew up a chair and sat down by the bunk.

"d.a.m.n all, Vincent." Andrew sighed. "Marcus told me about the charge. Why, son? Why did you do that?"

"It was the only way, sir. Had to fix Ha'ark's attention, make him think we were coming straight in. Would you have ordered the charge and then stayed behind?"

Andrew shook his head, unable to reply.

"And you said I was a dumb mick," Pat interjected. "Vincent Hawthorne, I think you're madder than I am."

"How you doing, Pat?"

"h.e.l.l of a fight." He looked over at Casmar. "Sorry, Your Holiness."

Casmar smiled. "d.a.m.n it; heard a lot worse since I joined the army."

Pat smiled and relaxed. "Well, d.a.m.n me, Vincent, you should have seen my guns tear 'em apart. And them ironclads of that boy Timokin. Lord, what a charge."

"Wish I'd been there."

Andrew reached out and took Vincent's hand, surprised at how frail it seemed.

"You did well, son. I knew I could count on you. It was worth it, Vincent. Not for me, for Pat, or Emil. We got four corps out of the trap. It wasn't the Potomac this time."

"And Hans?" "Wire just came in from Roum; Bullfinch got to him, they're on the coast."

Vincent sighed and laid his head back on his pillow, his features tightening.

"Kathleen?" Emil hissed.

"Gentlemen, please leave," Kathleen ordered.

Vincent started to tremble, struggling to sit up. Kathleen reached out with firm hands, forcing him back down.

"Don't leave me," he gasped.

"I'm here, son," Andrew whispered.

"Sir, I'm scared."