Battle Hymn (38 page)

"I hate dragging you back out like this."

"Let's just hope Flying Cloud can stand it We've got only three engines now and we're leaking badly. Lose one more and we're in trouble, especially with the wind picking up again from the west. It'll help us get down there, sir, but I ain't too sure about getting her back."

"Well, let's hope this is the last run."

"Do me a favor, sir. Don't put it quite that way," Jack said quietly, and Andrew saw him nervously finger the miniature icon dangling from a cord around his neck. "You make it sound like we're not coming back."

"The way you fly, it's a wonder we ever get back," Feyodor interjected.

Andrew leaned back in the chair, pulling a blanket up around his shoulders, and gradually his thoughts drifted away while Jack and Feyodor continued the argument that had been running for years.

"Sir?"

Hans looked over at Gregory, who was pointing at the railroad embankment and a small triangle of white cloth held aloft by a mounted Bantag.

"Flag of truce?" Gregory asked.

Hans raised his field glasses to study the warrior. Then he saw anther rider approaching from behind the rise. It was Ha'ark.

The flag bearer galloped forward and Gregory shouted the command to hold fire. The rider slowed as he approached the moat. It was Karga!

"The Qar Qarth wishes to speak with Schuder."

Hans looked down at him in surprise, not replying.

"Let me just shoot the bastard," Gregory snarled, and a chorus of angry taunts erupted along the wall.

Hans remained silent for a moment, and then a smile creased his features. "Oh, why the hell not? It'll buy us a little more time."

"You're not going out there, are you?"

Hans leaned over the battlement and cupped his hands. "He can meet me halfway. I'll use your horse."

Karga hesitated for a moment, then dismounted.

"Damn it, Hans. He'll get you out there and then spring the attack. You'll be trapped on the outside."

"Maybe, but I doubt it. The bastard's curious about something. And like I said, it'll buy time."

He looked back at Alexi, working feverishly on his contraption.

On his way down the side of the bastion, he motioned for Ketswana and several of his men to follow. He crawled through the wreckage of the gate and slid down the other side, Ketswana following.

"Get some sort of ladder rigged up for when I come back. I don't want to have to crawl up out of the moat, and I might have to move fast."

"Be careful."

Hans patted the revolver tucked into his belt and smiled. Then he slid down the side of the moat, scrambled up the other side, and cautiously approached Karga.

"So your holy one wants to talk and sent his pet to fetch me."

Karga, his features contorted with rage, said nothing, merely extended the reins.

"For what it's worth," Hans said, "there's a hundred rifles aimed at you. Anything happens to me, and you go straight to your ancestors."

"It would be worth it to see you dead."

Hans laughed. "I'll tell you something, though. My friends will find your body, gouge out your eyes, cut off your tongue, and cut off something else as well, so you'll be a blind, dumb eunuch in the next world."

Karga struggled to suppress his rage and fear. "I'll eat your heart for that."

"Stand on line, then. Your false redeemer gets his first chance at that. But I'll tell you what you can eat," and as he finished the description he spurred the mount around and galloped across the field, laughing.

Most of the Bantag dead and wounded had been recovered during the night, but he could see trails of blood and parts of bodies where canister had torn into their ranks. Ha'ark came forward at a canter and Hans slowed his mount, forcing him to come closer. Ha'ark finally stopped fifty yards away.

"So, Hans Schuder, shall we argue about who shall come the last steps?"

"We could. Remember, I've been a sergeant for twenty years, I can shout in hell and still be heard in heaven."

Ha'ark nudged his mount forward and Hans, smiling, did the same.

"I want to offer you terms," Ha'ark said.

Hans continued to smile. "Free passage out of this hellhole is the only terms I'll consider."

"So you expect rescue? Impossible."

"And why not? But we could just simply stay here for a while instead, maybe stir up a rebellion or two."

"I have five regiments ready to assault. If you throw those back, I'll have a full umen by the end of the day, and if need be two umens after that. You know it is useless. You've made an excellent campaign. It has provided good training for my troops. I am impressed, but it is ended."

"Then finish it."

"A waste. I'll lose some good warriors, though the training will be helpful for those who live. I'm offering you and those who escaped with you life."

"As what? Slaves? We'd rather be dead."

Ha'ark stared at him intently and Hans could almost sense a moment of regret. Ha'ark reached into his pocket and Hans stood ready to draw his revolver. Ha'ark slowly withdrew his hand and offered a plug of tobacco.

"Thanks. I've run kind of short, what with all the excitement," Hans said. Tearing off a chew, he held out the rest to Ha'ark.

"Keep it. I'll get it back later."

Hans shook his head.

"We can still call this war off," Hans said. "You know the terms. All humans to be set free. You live where you want. It's that simple."

"And again, no. Your race outnumbers us by ten, maybe a hundred to each of us. How long would it last?"

"Try."

Ha'ark shook his head. "The offer I made is final. Your lives, you return with us. Your wife and child, I give my blood pledge they will never be harmed. Your child will live, Hans, grow, have children of his own, and my pledge will be extended to them as well."

"I'd rather he be dead," Hans said softly, "than to live as a slave."

He could sense some final understanding within his opponent, a smile flickering over Ha'ark's features.

"You'll be worthy opponents, I can see that. There will be glory in this war."

Hans leaned over and spat. "The hell with glory. The fight is for survival and you will lose."

"Even if I do, you'll never live to see it."

"We'll see."

"Then there's nothing more to discuss."

"We could talk about the weather," Hans said dryly.

"And give you more time?" Ha'ark shook his head and started to rein his horse around. Then paused. "By the way, no help is coming. The airship you saw yesterday was destroyed. It went down in flames."

At Hans's expression, Ha'ark smiled. "Ah. So you didn't know?"

"The hell with you," Hans snarled.

Ha'ark studied him intently. "There was someone on that flyer. Wasn't there? Keane, perhaps? The bodies were burned to ashes, but I shall send my men to examine the remains and find the skull of the one with only one arm. It will make an excellent feasting cup."

"I'll see you in hell," Hans cried, furious that he had finally lost control.

"Good-bye, Sergeant," Ha'ark said calmly. He held Hans's gaze for another moment, as if regretting the final parting, and then he reined his horse about, dug in his spurs and galloped off.

Hans struggled with the desire to pull out his revolver and shoot the bastard, but in spite of what had been said, the honor of a truce still held sway. Hans turned his own mount as well and started back across the field at a gallop, expecting for them to open fire any second. Reaching the moat, he reined in hard, dismounted, and threw the reins to Karga.

"So he told you?" Karga said with a laugh.

"Get the hell out of here, you lowborn son of a bitch," Hans growled, "before I order you blown apart."

Hans started to slide down into the moat.

"Hans! Cattle scum!"

He turned to see a revolver in Karga's hand, and in that instant a volley erupted from the wall. Dozens of bullets blasted Karga. A shout of joy issued from the fort as the hated overseer was tom apart.

Hans grinned. It was a gift from Ha'ark, he realized. Karga could not have reacted any other way. The humiliation of being taunted from the wall by his former prisoners would have goaded him into it. It was a fitting punishment as well. Hans looked back and saw a lone rider watching in the distance. Ha'ark held up his hand, and Hans returned the gesture.

At that instant the Bantag artillery opened fire. Hans reached the bottom of the moat and scrambled up the other side. The first rounds came screaming in and detonated on the earthen wall to his right.

Ketswana extended his hand, pushing Hans forward and up through the narrow hole in the gate, then scrambling in behind him to slide down into the dirt piled up on the other side. Ducking low, Hans covered his head as a shower of splinters exploded from the gate.

"What did he say?" Ketswana asked, brushing the dirt from Hans's uniform as they ran into the bombproof under the northeast bastion.

Hans struggled to control his features. It must have been a lie. Yet he had seen the damage to the airship as it headed back up into the clouds. Damn it all, Andrew, why did you risk yourself like that? It would be like Ha'ark to say such a thing, if only to unnerve him. But now the doubt was there, the fear that help would never come, and worse, that all he had pinned his hopes on for the survival of the Republic was destroyed as well.

"Hans?"

Ketswana was looking at him anxiously.

"Nothing. The bastard said nothing at all."

"Ease off helm, steady now! Steady, damn you!"

Admiral Bullfinch stood on the bridge, cursing under his breath, as the flyer hovered thirty feet above him, matching the speed of his own ship. Having to turn into the wind was wasting valuable time, taking him back from the direction he had been steaming, just under eleven knots.

"Mr. Ivanovich, get a couple of men, hustle below, and bring up half a dozen tins of coal oil. They might want some fuel."

The midshipman saluted and dashed below while Bullfinch resumed watching the airship. Petersburg had not been designed with this type of docking in mind. The twin smokestacks projecting up amidships were twenty-five feet above the waterline. If the airship even brushed against them, a disaster might result.

A line snaked out from the airship cabin, and to his astonishment he saw someone extend his legs over the side and then slip out of the cab, dangling with the rope wrapped around his waist. The figure started to descend.

"Mr. Andreovich!" Bullfinch roared. "Pipers and marine detachment topside!"

With a sigh of relief Andrew finally felt his feet touch the deck and two deckhands helped him untie the bowline wrapped around his waist. Bullfinch rushed forward from the bridge, marines and pipers following, fumbling into position to present arms. The pipers started to trill a salute.

"Fine, Mr. Bullfinch, enough of that now," Andrew said, quickly saluting the colors and returning Bullfinch's salute. "Do you have any coal oil on board?"

"About thirty gallons. They're bringing it up now, sir." Even as he spoke Ivanovich appeared topside lugging two of the five gallon tins, two of the crew followed, dragging four more. A deckhand tied three tins to the line, and they were hoisted aloft. A minute later the rope came down, three more tins were tied on, and before they were even halfway up, Petracci had already put his helm over and was heading back to the southeast. Bullfinch shouted for the helmsman to put Petersburg back on her heading and motioned for Andrew to follow him aft.

"You should sight land within the half hour," Andrew told him. "Jack said heading south, southeast, half a point south, will put you straight for the entry to the bay."

Bullfinch nodded, and when they reached the open topside bridge he checked the compass, altered the course slightly, and passed the word for his orderly to bring tea and hardtack.

"I'd almost venture to say, sir, that I'm surprised you dropped in like this," Bullfinch finally said, handing the cup of tea to Andrew.

"Surprised myself. I swore yesterday I'd never ride in that damn thing again, but it was the only way to get there."

"Do you have any kind of chart of the river, sir?"

Andrew fished in his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Bullfinch studied it and shook his head.

"No indication of channels, depth, navigational hazards?"

"Just what we think are the fortresses sketched in there at the entryway to the bay and the mouth of the river, then along those bluffs about ten miles below where we're heading."

"And Franklin?"

"Coming up at full steam, but it won't arrive off here until sometime early in the morning two days from now."

"Well, with luck we should be in and back out by then. Just as long as she meets us—our bunkers will be empty by then."

Andrew sipped the tea, trying to calm his nerves from the ride out.

"So Hans is really alive then, sir?"

"As of yesterday," Andrew said quietly.

"How many are we trying to get out?"

"Seven hundred to a thousand."

Bullfinch looked at him, incredulous. "Sir, we haven't the room."

"Make room. Put them in the coal bunkers, engine rooms, I don't care how, but make the room. We are leaving no one behind."

"Land ho!"

Andrew saw the lookout on the narrow walkway between the smokestacks pointing directly forward.

"This time no one gets left behind."

Blood streaming into his eyes, Hans peeked over the side of the parapet, ducking instinctively when a rifle bullet cracked up a puff of dirt inches from his cheek. He slid back down, lying back against the bastion wall. A Chin woman, crawling low, came to his side, demanding to look at the bayonet gash that had cut a jagged line from his forehead across his cheek. The Bantag who had delivered the blow lay dead by his side.

She said something unintelligible. He tried to wave her off, but she insistently pushed him back and began to wrap a bandage around his head.

Ketswana crawled up. "Building up again along the south wall. Looks like they're shifting a regiment."