“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 …”
His voice trailed off. Still hard to believe that Marcus was dead. Yet another part of the political equation he had not anticipated.
“And your own actions?” Bugarin as
ked. “Did you personally try to rally the men?”
Hans bristled yet again; there was a certain tone to the statement, an implication. Andrew did not respond for a moment, never dreaming that someone might actually question his own behavior under fire.
Kal was the first to react. With an angry gesture he cut Bugarin off.
“This is an inquiry,” Kal snapped, “not an inquisition.” There was a flicker of eye contact, and Andrew felt at least a small sense of relief. Some of the old Kal was still there and was not comfortable with the way things were going.
“I’m willing to answer,” Andrew said, breaking the silence. He looked past Kal, staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll admit here that going under fire again left me nervous, though it did not affect my judgment. I crossed to the east shore and stayed there until it was evident that the north flank had completely caved in.”
“Why didn’t you call up reinforcements?” Bugarin asked. “Always reinforce victory, never reinforce defeat,” Andrew shot back.
“Wasn’t the defeat perhaps in your own mind?”
“I think that after more than a decade of campaigning I know the difference,” Andrew replied sharply. “Any unit, even First Corps, would have broken under the pounding inflicted on the left and center. As to a counterstrike, I have to ask with what?
“Three corps went into that assault. I have a total of three left to cover all the rest of that front from the tangles of the Northern Forest down into the mountains of the south. That was our total offensive striking power. If that was blunted, there was nothing left.”
“In other words, as an offensive force in this war, the Army of the Republic is finished,” Bugarin replied sharply, staring straight at Kal.
Andrew inwardly cursed. It was exactly what he did not want to admit to but had now been maneuvered into saying.
“And if the Bantag now launch a counterattack?” Bugarin pressed. “Can you stop it?”
“We have to stop it.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“There is no alternative,” Andrew snapped.
“Perhaps there is.”
“There is no alternative,” Andrew repeated, his voice sharp with anger. “We cannot make a deal with the Bantag; that will divide us and in the end kill all of us. We must fight if need be to the bitter end.”
Bugarin stood up and leaned over the table, staring directly at Andrew.
“You have been nothing but a disaster to us, Keane. We have fought three wars, hundreds of thousands have died, and now we are trapped in a war that we are losing. Beyond that we are trapped in an alliance with an alien people who can’t even defend their own land. As chairman of the Committee on the Conduct of the War, I hereby summon you to give a full accounting of this disaster.”
With barely a nod of acknowledgment to Kal, the senator stalked out of the room. Casmir, rising from his chair, motioned for Kal to stay and hurried out after Bugarin.
Andrew sat back down, realizing that Kal was staring at him coldly.
“Now you see what I am dealing with here,” Kal announced. “You’d better prepare yourself for what you’ll have to face over the next couple of days.”
Andrew nodded. “Kal, you at least know the boys out there tried their damnedest to win.”
“I know that, Andrew, but it doesn’t change the fact that nearly twenty thousand more families lost a son, or father, or husband. How much longer do you think we as a people can take this?”
“Until we win,” Hans replied coolly.
“Define victory to me when we are all dead,” Kal whispered. “Andrew, we have to find a way out of this war.”
“Kal, there’s only one way,” Hans inteijected.
“You, old friend, are a soldier, and that is the path you must see to victory,” Kal replied, his voice filled with infinite weariness. “I, as president, am forced to consider alternate means. I might not like them, I might not even trust them, but I do have to consider them, especially when Bugarin has rallied a majority of senators.”
Andrew looked over at Vincent, who nodded. That bit of news was a shock. If Bugarin held the majority, the Senate could force the issue to a vote at any time.
“Kal, we can’t surrender. Nor can we allow the Republic to split. Jurak is obviously outproducing us. Any agreement, even a temporary cease-fire, will play to his hand.”
“I hear that from you, Andrew. From Bugarin I hear threats of breaking the Republic apart if need be to end the war. From the Roum representatives I hear complaints about our supposed suspicions regarding them. From Webster I hear that the economy is tottering into collapse. Tonight, as the casualty lists come in, I will sit and write letters until dawn, sending my regrets to old friends who’ve lost a loved one.”
His voice seemed near to breaking.
He lowered his head, put on his stovepipe hat, and slowly walked out the room, moving as if the entire weight of the world was upon him.
Andrew, Hans, and Vincent stood respectfully as he left. Andrew sighed, settling back in his chair and looking over at Vincent, who smiled weakly.
“Hawthorne, just what the hell is going on back here?” Hans asked, going around to the side table and taking the pot of tea from which Casmir had poured earlier and refilling his own cup. Taking a fruit vaguely resembling an apple but closer in size to a grapefruit, he settled into the chair Kal had occupied, pulled a paring knife from his haversack, and began to peel off the thick skin from the fruit.
“It’s madness here,” Vincent began. “Kal is losing control of Congress, which is fracturing between representatives of Rus and Roum. The Roum bloc is claiming the war is not being pressed hard enough to expel the invader from their soil. Beyond that there are some who are claiming it is deliberate in order to cut down the population and thus establish an equal balance in the House.”
“That’s insane.” Andrew sighed. “Damn all, who the hell could even think that?”
“And the—Rus side?” Hans asked.
“Well, you heard it straight from Bugarin. The Roum can’t fight and the burden is resting on the old army of Rus. We lost tens of thousands pulling their chestnuts out of the fire last winter and now, in this last battle, they panic again.”
“Never should have named them the Ninth and Eleventh Corps,” Hans said. “It was unlucky with the Army of the Potomac, and the same here.”
“Funny, even that legend is spreading around,” Vincent said, “some of the Roum claiming it’s a jinx we deliberately set on them.”
Andrew could only shake his head in disbelief.
“So the bottom line?” Andrew asked.
“Word is the Senate will vote a resolution today asking for your removal from command.”
There was a quick exchange of looks between Andrew and Hans as the sergeant cut off a piece of peeled fruit and passed it over to Andrew.
“It won’t happen of course. You’ll stay, and there’ll be a staged show of support for you, but the mere fact that it happens will weaken your position.”
“Figured that, but what’s the real game?”
“Far worse. With Crassus dead, and no vice president, the Roum representatives are increasingly nervous. Speaker Flavius is next in line but remember he isn’t of the old aristocracy of Roum. He was once a servant in the house of Marcus who rose through the ranks, was disabled after Hispania, and found himself in Congress.”
Andrew nodded. He had tremendous admiration for Flavius. A true natural soldier. If he had not been so severely wounded, he undoubtedly would have risen to command a division, or even a corps. His selection as Speaker had been something of a surprise, but then the House was dominated by old veterans, both Roum and Rus from the lower classes. But he didn’t have the blind support and instant obedience Marcus could command. Marcus could merely snap his fingers, and all would listen. Flavius lacked that, and though he was now but a heartbeat away from the presidency, Andrew knew he could not stem the growing friction between the two stat
es of the Republic.
“Bugarin will hold hearings about the battle at Capua. He’ll declare the war lost and push for a cease-fire.”
“An agreement with the Bantag?” Hans asked. “Damn all to hell I keep telling you, Andrew, we should be shooting those Chin envoys they keep sending through.”
“I can’t. Congress specifically ordered that we receive them and pass them along.”
“And they’re nothing but damned spies.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Andrew snapped hotly.
Hans settled back in his chair, saying nothing at the tone of rebuke and frustration.
“Are there the votes for a cease-fire?” Andrew asked.
“No, not yet, but the real maneuver is to break the Republic. Reestablish an independent state of Rus, cut Roum off, and pull the army out.”
“And after the Bantag crush Roum they’ll be at our gates.”
“You know that, I know that,” Hawthorne replied, “but for a lot of folks here, any offer of peace, even if but for six months or a year, with the boys back home, and the crushing work in the factories eased off … well that seems all right with them.
“Bugarin’s already floating around a plan to build a fortified line at Kev, claiming that even if the Bantag did betray the agreement, without having to worry about Roum or holding Tyre, we’d have more than enough to stop them.”
“They’re fools,” Hans cried, his anger ready to explode as he glared at Vincent.
“Yes, but remember I’ve been stuck back here since last year being your liaison, so don’t blame me for the bad news.”
Andrew could see that being cut out of the action was still wearing on Vincent but on the other side his exposure to all the administrative work as chief of staff was seasoning Hawthorne, training him for a day when, if they survived, he would take the mantle of control.
“You should go into the factories,” Vincent said. “I’m in there damn near every day now, trying to keep production up. They’re hellholes, old men, women, children as young as eight working twelve-hour shifts six days a week. Emil is pitching a fit, about conditions. Tuberculosis is up, and a lot of the women working in the factory making percussion caps are getting this strange sickness; Emil says it has something to do with mercury, the same as with hatters.
Men of War Page 9
