Men of War

by William R. Forstchen

  “I knew you Yankees were voting that night whether to stay and fight the Tugars or to take ship and leave and seek safety. I came bearing the news that we, the people of Suzdal, had rebelled against the boyars and wished to fight the Tugars as well.

  “Colonel Keane, you could have turned your back upon me at that moment. You could have left, but you decided to stay and to fight for our freedom.

  “Those men that were with you that night,” and his voice faltered, “how few now remain.”

  Casmir paused, and Andrew saw the emotions and felt a knot in his own throat.

  “You did not leave us, Andrew Keane. It was we who left you.”

  Andrew wanted to say something, embarrassed. He felt the touch of Kathleen’s hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

  “We left you. You tried to teach us that though you fought to give us freedom, we ourselves must have the strength to defend it. When you rode out of the city, alone, we finally learned that.

  “My friend, I now beg you. Pick up your sword again. Take command of the armies. Be Colonel Andrew Lawrence Keane once more.”

  As he spoke the last words the chanting resumed, “Keane, Keane, Keane.”

  Stunned, Andrew was unable to respond for a moment.

  “What about Bugarin, the vote for an armistice?” Kathleen asked.

  “Those buggers. We loaded them onto a ferry across the river. They’re packing it on the road west of here,” Emil announced, coming down the steps to join them.

  At the sight of him Andrew brightened, reached out, and grasped his hand.

  “It started down at the factories,” Emil continued. “Oh this priest might deny it, but his monks were organizing it. By yesterday evening the entire city was on strike. They cut the telegraph lines repeatedly, blockaded the Capitol and the White House. The poor damned Chin representatives didn’t dare set foot outside for fear of getting torn apart.”

  “They didn’t overthrow the government, did they?” Andrew asked.

  Emil smiled.

  “Let’s call it vox populi. Some of the senators got a bit roughed up, maybe a couple of them were told that if they voted the wrong way, they might not get reelected because they wouldn’t live long enough to make reelection. But the people of Suzdal made it clear they would fight to the end rather than go down, and communicated that real clear to the Roum as well.”

  “What did Bugarin do?”

  “It came to a head last night. He tried to order some ruffians he had rounded up to fire into the crowd gathered right here. They lined the steps, and then Casmir here steps out, arms extended, and tells them to aim at him first.” Andrew looked at the priest, unable to speak.

  “That finished it. There was a bit of roughness, a few black eyes, busted ribs, broken arms, and a few lads singing soprano, but the people of this city took the White House. I declared Kal competent to resume office. There was talk of a treason trial and that was it, ten senators and a couple of congressmen quickly resigned and got the hell out of town.”

  “My role is somewhat exaggerated,” Casmir intervened. A wild cheer rose up in the square, laughing, belying Casmir’s statement.

  “I doubt that,” Andrew cried, trying to be heard above the roaring of the crowd.

  “You know, Andrew. Maybe it’s a good thing for a Republic to clean house occasionally and throw out a few cowardly senators now and then.”

  Andrew said nothing, shaking his head with disbelief. “Flavius, and the shot at Kal. Who did it?”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever really know, but if my sacred vows did not prevent it, I’d bet on Bugarin even though he vehemently denied it.”

  “I’d like to see Kal,” Andrew said. “He is the president, and he alone can appoint the commander of the army.”

  “I told you he would say that,” Emil interjected as he led the way up the steps and into the White House.

  Following Emil, he could not contain himself any longer and asked the question that had been tearing his soul apart ever since he had let go of the mantle of command.

  “Any news from the front?”

  “Nothing,” Emil replied. “I think Pat cut the lines, though we’ve been trying to reach him all day. Of course, nothing from Tyre, though we have to assume a courier boat from Roum carrying the cease-fire order reached there last night.”

  “Not even a flyer?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “I hope these people realize that by doing this they’ve most likely condemned themselves to death.”

  “Andrew, they know that. They know as well that what Bugarin offered was death as well. A coward’s death. It might have given them an extra month, maybe a year, maybe even five years, but in the end, without freedom, it would be death anyhow. At least now, if we’re doomed, we go down with heads held high. I think that alone is worth fighting for.”

  They reached the door to Kal’s sickroom. He stepped in, following Emil’s lead. Kal was propped up in bed, features pale and drawn. The Lincolnesque beard was still there, and the unofficial symbol of his office, the stovepipe hat, was back by his side on the nightstand.

  Andrew approached the bed, and Kal, smiling weakly, patted the covers.

  “Sit down, my old friend.”

  Just the tone in his voice broke away all the tension of the last months. Andrew sat down and took his friend’s hand.

  “Once I’m out of this damned bed we should go off together, have a drink, and perhaps buy that pair of gloves we’re always talking about.”

  Andrew chuckled at the clumsy joke, for Kal had lost his right arm and Andrew his left.

  “How are you, Kal?”

  “Better than I’ve ever been. Perhaps that bullet knocked some sense into my thick skull.”

  “You know what you are letting yourself in for?”

  “I know. Most likely a bloody end. But then again, my boyar often told me that would be how I finished.”

  “For everyone,” Andrew whispered.

  “That was our difference, my friend. I wanted a way out, any way out to stop the slaughter. You saw that the only way out was to endure it, to have the courage to fight your way through it. When I thought of Bugarin crawling before them, again offering us up, something finally changed in my heart, as if I was throwing off a sickness. Oh, he would be spared, perhaps even I would be spared, but I swore an oath to myself, long before the Republic, long before I was president, that never again would I see a child go into the slaughter pits. That I would die first, that I would rather see us all die than endure that again.

  “You knew that all along. I had to relearn it. So if we are doomed to die, we’ll die as free men. And as long as you are by my side, Colonel Andrew Keane, I will be content.”

  “Fine then,” Andrew whispered, squeezing his friend’s hand. “Together, and perhaps we can still win.”

  Kal smiled.

  “Actually, I think we shall. This afternoon I had a dream. You often told me that Lincoln was famous for such things.”

  “And?”

  “Strange. It was even like his dream. A ship, far out to sea, coming toward me. It sailed past, and I felt a strange wonderful peace.”

  “Good. Perhaps it will come true.”

  “There was something else, though. Someone was standing on the deck. I couldn’t tell who. He was alone, but then he wasn’t. The deck was crowded, so very crowded. I felt that it was the Ogunquit, the ship that bore you to this world, sailing one last time, perhaps back to where it came from, bearing with it all those who gave the final sacrifice. The lone man raised his hand, and then the ship disappeared into the mist.”

  Andrew said nothing.

  “Sleep, my friend. Perhaps you’ll have another dream.”

  “I think I will. Knowing you’re back, I feel safe again.”

  “I never really left.”

  Kal winked. “I know that, too.”

  Andrew looked up at Emil, who nodded, and with Kathleen quietly withdrew. Andrew sat by Kal’s side, watching as
his old friend drifted off.

  It was a peaceful moment. A strange mix of feelings. On the one side an infinite sadness, knowing what was still to come, the sacrifice still to be made. On the other side, though, there was a tremendous swelling of pride. Win or lose, the people of Rus, of Roum had come together, mingled their blood, and out of that mingling a republic was born. And now, even if they should lose, they would not crawl basely into the night but would go with heads held high. The legend of it would then live on as well, and in the turning of years be remembered, be reborn, and finally triumph.

  His thoughts drifted to Hans, wishing he was there to share the moment. As Hans had taught him, he had passed that strength and vision on to others. Everyone pointed to him, and yet actually it had been Hans all along who had shaped and guided him, and, in turn, he had created the Republic.

  He heard renewed cheering outside, a wild tumultuous roaring that thundered up. Embarrassed, he stood up, gently releasing Kal’s hand. They were most likely cheering the news that he had accepted reappointment; he would have to go out and give yet another speech, something he did not want to do just now.

  And then he saw Kathleen in the door, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “It’s over,” she gasped.

  “What?”

  “The war Andrew! It’s over.”

  He couldn’t speak, and then he sensed something else.

  “The telegraph line just went back up to the front. Pat reports a message from the Bantag side. They are withdrawing. The Chin have revolted.”

  “Glory Hallelujah,” Andrew gasped.

  “Andrew.”

  And then he knew, even before she whispered the words and fell into his arms crying.

  “Andrew, darling. Hans is dead.”

  He couldn’t speak. He held her tight, trying not to break.

  He saw Emil and Casmir in the doorway.

  So strange, such joy, and yet such pain in their eyes.

  “Emil, stay with Kal. Let him sleep; if he wakes up, tell him, but don’t say anything yet about Hans.”

  “That dream—I think he already knew.” Emil sighed.

  He tried to step past Emil. The doctor touched him on the shoulder.

  “The year, this year was a gift, Andrew. He came back to lead us one last time. Now the job is finished.”

  Andrew nodded, unable to speak.

  He stepped out of the room, and Kathleen stopped him.

  “Andrew.”

  “Yes?”

  She nodded to Casmir, who was holding a package.

  “I brought this with me; I thought you might want it.”

  Casmir opened the package. Inside was Andrew’s weather-stained uniform jacket, his Medal of Honor still pinned to the breast.

  He nodded in agreement, and Casmir and Kathleen helped him remove his simple brown coat. The feel of the tight uniform somehow reassured him, and he wordlessly nodded his thanks.

  Holding Kathleen’s hand, he walked down the corridor, passing the reception room where he and Hans had first stood before the Boyar Ivor, and at last gained the steps to the White House.

  Out in the square there was wild rejoicing, and though he was filled with grief, he could feel their joy as well. They had made the decision to stand and fight, redeeming their souls at that moment, and now they had discovered that it was not just their souls that had been redeemed, but their lives as well.

  At the sight of him the cheering redoubled into a thunderous tumult, so that it seemed as if the very heavens would be torn asunder.

  He stood silent, and then gradually the wild celebration died away. As if sensing his thoughts and his pain, a new chant emerged, “Hans, Hans, Hans.”

  There was no rejoicing in it, only a deep and reverent respect.

  Alone he stood, eyes turned heavenward, imagining the ship Kal had dreamed of.

  “Good-bye, Hans,” he whispered. “Good-bye and thank you, my comrade, my friend.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free . .

  The final refrain of the song echoed across the open steppes.

  Colonel Andrew Lawrence Keane, commander of the Army of the Republic, stood stiffly at attention as the last chorus drifted away.

  The ceremony was nearly done. All the dignitaries had spoken, as had he. Now there was only the final ritual.

  A company of soldiers, cadets of the 35th Maine, came to attention, the first rank making a sharp half turn.

  “Present … fire!”

  The volley made him start. There was a momentary flash of memory, the first volley crashing into his line at Antietam.

  “Present … fire!”

  He lifted his gaze. The ruins of what was now simply called the Foundry were before him. In front of it was the cemetery, neat orderly rows with simple stone slabs, thousands of them. Some were for single bodies, most marked mass graves, the thousands upon thousands who had died in the final battle of the war.

  “Present … fire!”

  In the middle of the vast graveyard there was a lone cross. Some had wanted a towering monument, others a vast mausoleum, but his quiet insistence on what he knew his friend would have wanted had swept away all the grandiose proposals. Hans Schuder had tasted slavery, rose up, and cut free the chains, and then died coming back to liberate not just the people he called his comrades, but the world. To rest among those who had died with him that day was all the tribute he would want.

  As the last volley died away, a lone bugler, concealed inside the ruins of the Foundry, blew the first notes of taps.

  It was yet another ritual from the old world. It was a tune born of the Army of the Potomac, written by Dan Butterfield as nothing more than a signal for lights-out. Butterfield’s lullaby many had come to call it. Hans had once said he was partial to it, and Andrew now thought it would be a fitting gesture.

  As the bugler hit the final high note, a shiver seemed to go through those assembled. He could hear President Kal choking back tears. The note echoed and died away.

  “Stand, at ease!”

  The order, given by a young Rus colonel who now commanded the 35th Maine, cut through the air. Andrew lowered his hand from the salute, the boys of the 35th slapping rifles from the present salute down to at ease.

  Andrew swept the assembly with his gaze. They were all here, having made the journey by rail from Suzdal to Roum, where the delegation of Roum senators and congressmen joined them. Then by rail all the way to Nippon, where yet more newly elected senators and congressmen joined in, and then finally to Chin.

  It had been a year to the day since the ending of the war, and at last he had come to visit his friend and say a final farewell.

  They had passed through the Roum lands devastated by the wars, and he was pleased to see new homes going up, tangled vineyards being cleared and replanted.

  They had passed through the battlefields around Junction City, Rocky Hill, and the Shennadoah, and already monuments were going up to honor the regiments that had fought and died there. He had seen as well the orderly cemeteries at each place of battle and had stopped at each of them to offer his salute and his prayers.

  There would still be four more. Tomorrow they would complete the long train ride and go to Xi’an, and from there take a boat to Carnagan, to visit the battlefield that still haunted Vincent, and from there to where Hans had made a stand in the retreat to Tyre, and, finally, a last stop at Tyre.

  But this was the place that had been central to his tour of the battlefields of the war and the dedication of the cemeteries. The week before the Chin had held their first election, and Kal had made it a point to come to this place to witness the swearing in of the new senators and congressmen and congresswomen. Politics was even returning to normal, he realized. Kal had been up for reelection, and somehow it seemed like the admission of Nippon and Chin into the Republic didn’t quite come until after the votes had been counted and the Republican Party had swept back in. Though the way fe
elings were at this moment in the first heady days of peace, Kal had nothing to fear; every last citizen, Chin, Roum, Rus, and Nippon would have voted for another term.

  The amusing part of the admission of the Chin though was that they had indeed elected several women to office. It was an action which delighted him, though the election had scandalized some of the more straitlaced from Roum and Rus. He had pointed out that in the Constitution there was nothing that said a woman could not serve thus, and it was Kathleen who triggered even more of an uproar with a statement in Gates’s Illustrated Weekly that there should be an amendment to the Constitution granting women the right to vote, and she planned to organize a movement to see that it was done.

  So much in a year, he thought. Only this month the last of the Horde had been released by the terms of the treaty with Jurak and escorted to the border. A report had just come in as well that the remnants of the old Tugar Horde were joining them. So far there had been an uneasy peace, but he would feel far better when the expedition dispatched to make contact with those living a thousand leagues to the east returned with a report that the depredations of the Horde had indeed stopped along that distant border as well. Of the last of the horde clans, those who rode south and east of the Bantag and passed through the region half a dozen years ago there was no news; apparently they had simply ridden on, ignoring the conflict to the north. He sensed that someday they might have to be dealt with, but that was years, maybe even decades, off.

  He had come to trust Jurak, having met with him twice in the months after the war, but unfortunately Jurak was a lone individual moving to break thousands of years of tradition. All reports indicated, though, that at least for now the moon feasts were finished, the riders of the Horde turning instead to hunting of the bison and the wool-clad elephants of the steppes.

  There had come other reports, these from the south, beyond the realm of the Cartha, who only now were beginning to make the first overtures of peace. A Cartha merchant reported that there was a vast ocean in the southern half of the world, a realm few humans had seen. Andrew wondered what was out there, but for the moment that could wait.