Men of War (11 page)

Andrew, curious, watched, knowing that protocol demanded that he ascend the steps, not forcing the president to come down to greet him. But Kal had never stood on such foolish protocol, and normally would have been at the station, eager to embrace his friend in a traditional Rus bear hug and kiss. The fact that he had not done so indicated so much to Andrew, and it was such a strange paradox for Andrew had so often lectured the old peasant on the dignity of office and the precedents that needed to be set. Now they were caught in that very game.

Kal stopped midway down the twenty steps, hat still on, and there was a long pregnant pause.

“Don’t push it,” Kathleen whispered.

Finally, Andrew climbed the steps, trying not to let his fatigue and stiffness show. He came to attention and saluted, Kal nodding a reply but no embrace or even a slap on the shoulder. The effect was immediate, whispers running through the crowd of onlookers. Behind the president Andrew caught a glimpse of several senators, all from Rus, one of them Vasily Bugarin.

“Let’s go inside to talk,” Kal finally announced.

Andrew nodded in agreement, saying nothing. There was a moment’s hesitation as Kal looked over at Hans.

“I want my second-in-command with me,” Andrew said, and Kal turned without comment, leading the way up the stairs.

Andrew looked back at Kathleen, who flashed a smile and turned without comment, getting back into the carriage. He felt guilty, not having said more, not feeling more, and that realization was troubling. His feelings were almost an abstraction, a memory, as if he had become so brittle inside that there was no room at the moment for the love and devotion he knew he should feel for his family.

Though it was still early morning, he was glad to step through the ornately carved doors and into the cool dark interior of the executive mansion. Once out of sight of the crowd he hoped that Kal would drop the role and show some warmth, but there was no relenting as the president led the way down the corridor, past the old audience chamber of the boyar and into a side room which served the president as his office.

The room was simply appointed, as was typical of the old Kal. Icons of Perm and Kesus, the half-pagan manifestation of Orthodoxy which had been transplanted to this world dominated the far wall, with smaller icons of a variety of saints, some of them men of the old 35th and 44th New York, surrounding the centerpiece. The other walls were covered with maps studded with red and blue pins marking the situation on the western front, where remnants of the Merki were raiding, the coasts of the Inland Sea and the shadowy war which had resumed against Cartha, and the Eastern Front from which he had just come. In the center of the room was a battered oak table around which a dozen straight-backed chairs were set. Andrew was delighted to see the Holy Prelate Casmir sitting at the far corner, the priest coming to his feet as Andrew came in.

“Good day to you, Andrew,” he said in fairly good English, and Andrew smiled, taking off his old kepi hat with a show of genuine respect. Across from him was Vincent Hawthorne, a mere shadow of a ghost, his uniform hanging loosely on his narrow frame, still sporting the Phil Sheridan look of pointed goatee and mustache.

Without comment Bugarin took a chair next to Casmir, and Kal beckoned for Andrew to sit next to Vincent, Hans taking the chair to Andrew’s right while Kal sat down next to Bugarin.

Andrew was tempted to voice a protest, to ask to be allowed at least to freshen up and get a bite to eat before going into this meeting and then somehow get a few minutes alone with Kal to probe out what was going on, but a cold look from Kal stilled his protest, and as he sat down he made do with a cup of tea that Casmir made a point of pouring for the two new arrivals. The prelate then insisted upon a prayer which ran on for five minutes and which placed a heavy emphasis on his thankfulness for the safe return of Andrew and Hans, the need for divine guidance and strength in the trials to come.

As the three Rus made the sign of the cross Andrew raised his head and stared straight at Kal.

“Andrew, we need an honest report of what happened out there and why,” Kal said, opening the meeting without comment or one of his usual witticisms designed to break the tension.

“I’ve never been anything but honest with you, Mr. President,” Andrew replied coolly, deciding to be formal and avoid the use of the informal nickname of Kal.

Strange,
he thought,
you were once a peasant, a storyteller and jester for the Boyar Ivor, hiding your cunning behind the mask of a fool in order to protect your family and yourself when the Tugars came, hoping against hope to thus spare your daughter from being sent to the slaughter pits. Hawthorne, who is now your son-in-law, taught you about the ideals of a Republic, it was you who triggered the rebellion, and for years afterward I taught you all I know about how to rule and wrote the very Constitution which put you in power.

Andrew could not help but feel a flicker of resentment now, the mentor who found himself outranked by a student, but was this not as it should be, he told himself.
Across all these years I kept demanding that the military must answer to the civilian, and here now are the results
.

“Andrew, please tell us what happened,” Casmir interjected. “The entire city is in turmoil with fear, some are even claiming the front has collapsed and the Bantags will be at the gates.”

“No, they haven’t broken through, the front is the same is it was before the attack.”

“In other words you did not gain a single inch of ground,” Bugarin interjected.

Andrew shifted his gaze to study the senator. It was rumored that he had tuberculosis; his skin was almost china white, laid flat against the bones of his face. Dark eyes seemed to burn like coals as he returned Andrew’s look. In spite of the senator’s current stance Andrew found he did have a certain amount of respect for the man. He had avoided the infamous “Boyars’ Plot” to overthrow the government before the Merki War and had briefly commanded a regiment and then a brigade before Rus was evacuated. Stricken with illness he left the army and was immediately elected senator.

Yet, in the last year protest against the war had increasingly centered around him, first as a general concern about the progress of the fight, and then increasingly as a voice of separatism and mistrust of the Roum and their ability to fight. That was the one thing Andrew could not comprehend, this damnable wedge being driven between Rus and Roum. If it succeeded in splitting them apart, the Republic would fracture, and they would all die. How men with the intelligence of Bugarin could not see that was a mystery.

“If you are asking if we held the opposite bank of the river,” Andrew replied. “No.”

“What are the total losses?” Casmir asked. “I want to know the human cost first.”

Andrew sighed, looking up for a moment at the ceiling.

“At least twenty-seven thousand five hundred men killed, wounded or captured out of the forty thousand who crossed the river. Just over nine thousand wounded made it back; all the rest of the casualties were lost.”

“Merciful Perm bless them,” Casmir intoned, making the sign of the cross.

“And equipment?” Kal asked.

“Every ironclad engaged was lost, that’s fifty-three machines. Nineteen light aerosteamers and eleven heavy machines lost as well. Eight field batteries lost, and almost all the equipment for three corps along with two regiments of engineering and pontoon equipment, three corps field hospitals, and somewhere around fifty regimental stands of colors.”

Kal blew out noisily and leaned back in his chair.

“How, damn it?” Bugarin cried. “What did you do wrong?”

“Just tell us,” Kal said, cutting Bugarin off.

“It was a trap,” Andrew said. “Plain and simple. This new leader, Jurak, is different. I fear that the world he came from is far more advanced than mine. He has a better grasp of how to use the new weapons being created, his army is transforming itself into something far different that what we faced with the Tugars and Merki.”

Andrew drew in a breath; the room was silent except for the ticking of a small wooden clock on the wall near Kal’s desk. He remembered that the clock was the same one Vincent had carved for him long ago before even the Tugars had come.

“They had a new model of land ironclad. Heavier armor and with that the knowledge to keep back out of range of our own ironclads and rocket launchers. There was a new airship, twin engine, faster than our Eagles and almost as fast as the Hornets. Also, they have a new type of gun, like our Gatling, slower firing but still deadly.”

“Didn’t you anticipate any of this?” Bugarin asked.

“Not directly,” Andrew had to admit.

“What do you mean ‘not directly’?”

“As commander I had to assume that things would change with their new leader. Also, that they undoubtedly would have new weapons. Jurak, however, was shrewd enough to keep all his cards hidden until we were fully committed, then he unleashed them all in one killing blow.

“Tactically, as well, he presented a new front. I would estimate that at least five of his umens were armed with better rifles, but beyond that they had obviously trained as much as we had. These were not Horde warriors charging blindly—they came on with a skill and purpose we haven’t seen before.”

“What actually happened,” Kal interrupted. “Tell me that.”

“We launched the assault following the plans I reviewed with you the week before the attack. Losses in the first stage were less than anticipated, just over two thousand killed and wounded. Six hours into the assault our advanced column was within striking distance of their main depot, five miles east of Capua, when the counterattack struck.”

“And you did not anticipate that they would counterattack?” Bugarin asked sharply.

“Of course we expected a counterattack,” Andrew replied, trying to keep the weariness and frustration out of his voice. “All of the hordes were masters of mobile warfare and knew enough to keep a mobile reserve positioned behind their lines, either as a force to seal a break or as reserve to deliver the final blow.”

“So why were you not prepared?” Kal asked.

Andrew hesitated for a moment, surprised by the coldness in Kal’s voice.

“We were prepared. Ninth Corps led the breakthrough supported by the First Ironclad Regiment. Eleventh Corps followed next, anchoring the left flank, while elements of two other corps crossed to anchor the right flank and provide reserves. The Second Ironclad Regiment was held in reserve for the follow-up advance once the pontoon bridges were laid and we felt we had achieved a breakthrough.

“What surprised us was the sheer number of ironclads in their reserves, reports estimate there were upward of two hundred compared to fewer than a hundred of ours, of which we committed only fifty in the first wave, the number of new aerosteamers, their introduction of a machine gun, and finally the tactics of concealment and concentration of ironclads in large striking columns.”

“In other words, you were caught unprepared,” Bu-garin pressed.

Andrew said nothing, and Hans finally interrupted.

“No plan ever fully survives first contact with the enemy, and in war no one can ever prepare for all eventualities.”

“You were against this offensive, weren’t you, Hans?” Kal asked.

Now it was Hans’s turn to hesitate.

“Yes, he was,” Andrew said. “The responsibility is mine.”

There was a long silence again, and Andrew half wondered if Kal, for a variety of reasons, would ask for his resignation and turn command over to Hans. That was indeed part of the reason he had insisted that Hans leave the front and return to Suzdal with him. There was even a bit of a wish that indeed such a decision would be made, relieving him of all that was pressing in.

“The retreat, I heard it was a rout,” Bugarin said, breaking the silent tension.

“Yes, there is no denying that. The river was at our backs, the men quickly realized that the enemy was breaking through on both flanks and rolling the line up with the intent of creating a pocket. Yes, they ran, ran for their lives as even the best troops will.”

“So they ran,” Bugarin continued. “Ninth and Eleventh Corps ran, troops primarily made up of men from Roum.” So that was it, Andrew now realized, and he felt a flicker of anger. No senator from Roum was present.

“I don’t see Tiberius Flavius, Speaker of the House, present here,” Andrew replied coolly. “As Speaker, isn’t he entitled to be here as well, Mr. President?”

“This is an informal discussion,” Kal replied.

“It seems more like an inquiry by the Committee on the Conduct of the War,” Hans snapped.

“I wasn’t asking you for comment, Sergeant,” Bugarin growled.

Hans started to stand up, but a look from Andrew stilled him.

“I will accept no aspersions on the gallant soldiers who crossed that river, whether they were Rus or Roum,” Andrew said, his voice cutting through the tension.

It was impossible for him to try and explain now all that had happened. Though he would not admit it here, the army had indeed broken, the worst rout he had seen since the disaster along the Potomac.

It was almost like Hispania in reverse, his army disintegrating, falling back to the river a disorganized rabble. But in this room, under the cool gaze of Bugarin and Kal, that was impossible to explain. How to explain the exhaustion, the fighting out of the army as an offensive weapon? He knew that to try and explain that now would be an admission of defeat.

Yet was this not defeat? He could admit to the loss of the battle at Capua and take responsibility for it. Yet was this the beginning of the end he wondered? Would the army continue to disintegrate and fall back, or was there some desperate way to wring one last victory out of the situation and save what was left?

“Why did you let the vice president go into the attack against my orders?” Kal asked.

Andrew was silent. The memory of the broken body of his old friend, carried back across the river by men from the 11th, was still too fresh.

“I could not stop him,” Andrew replied sadly. “He insisted that he go forward with ‘his boys,’ as he called them. I understand that was part of the reason for the rout. When the counterattack was launched he was caught by the opening barrage of rockets and killed instantly. Word quickly spread through the ranks …”