Battle Hymn

by William R. Forstchen

  He wondered yet again what might have happened if he had arrived not with five warriors but with only three—or worse yet, alone. Chances were that they would have been riddled with arrows on the spot.

  "My lord Qarth."

  Ha'ark saw that the healer's cart had returned from the field and that the healer was lying prostrate before him.

  "Go on."

  "My lord. The commander Yugba is dead. I could not save him."

  A low murmur erupted behind him.

  The healer was obviously expecting death, but he was also one who had been trained for more than a year to treat wounds on the field. If he could not save Yugba, chances were no one could have.

  "You did your best. There is no fault with you. Leave."

  The healer looked up at him in amazement.

  "No one is to be punished. If I did that to every healer who lost a patient in the war to come, no one would be left. Now go."

  Ha'ark turned back to his commanders. "You now can see what has to be done if we are to win."

  The group was silent.

  He gave a curt nod of dismissal.

  "I think they finally are starting to see," Jamul announced, using their native tongue rather than the speech of the Bantag.

  "Starting is a long way from fully understanding," Ha'ark replied.

  "At least Yugba is out of the way. He was a threat, my friend. He was of the imperial line, and I am willing to bet he was plotting a way to eliminate you."

  Ha'ark smiled. "Why do you think I positioned his umen on the right? I knew he would commit rather than let our new army win the day."

  He realized it was best not to say more. Later he would go into the city and find the three Chin whom he had armed with breechloading rifles. Their hiding place had been well chosen, and they were to go there if they succeeded in killing Yugba, to wait out the sack of the city. Of course, he would kill them rather than let them escape as promised. One less rival to worry about now.

  "You know it will take another season, maybe two, before we are fully ready."

  Ha'ark nodded and looked back toward the city, which was now consumed in flames. That was the vexing point of it all. In four years he had wrenched a nation from barbarism to at least the beginnings of a modem state. In the great complex of Chin cities, two days' ride to the east, were factories using hundreds of thousands of laborers. Each week he had a thousand more guns, ten new cannon, another mile of track, and even the first of the new flying machines powered by yet more engines taken from ancient burial mounds. In the dockyards of the Chin city of X'ian, the first of the iron ships was about to be launched. Yet it was all going much too slowly.

  What were the Yankees doing? That was the question now. Where were their resources located? And the engines. That was the key. Damnable steam engines. But neither he nor those who had come with him understood how to create an internal combustion engine, let alone how to obtain and refine the oil needed to power it. It would have to be steam, and the Yankees apparently had a far better mastery of how it functioned. The engines built so far for the railroad could barely pull six cars loaded with supplies, yet by all reports from the Merki, the Yankees, three years ago, had machines that could pull a dozen cars. Enough prisoners had been taken who knew something about steam; combined with the knowledge he had, he could at least expect a passable model. The ships he wanted were all underpowered as well. It was the one area in which the Yankees were undoubtedly besting him. Most of all, he feared that the new weapons he was making might be matched by the Yankees, once they learned the secret. His only hope was that when the time came he would have so many weapons ready that he could overwhelm them before they could go into production.

  Damn! Damn all of it. The five of them lived daily with machines generations ahead of those the Yankees had—electricity, communication without wire, flight, machine guns, poison gas, even warfare using disease—wonderful things, and yet he could barely avail himself of them. He looked down at the rifle lying in the grass beside him. Even how to make the smokeless powder in the cartridges he brought with him was beyond any of them. Old-fashioned powder was available in abundance now, but all the weapons he wanted, dreamed of, were beyond his grasp. He could make primitive single-shot breechloaders, but it would be a year or more before the cattle under his command were well enough trained to turn out the precision tools necessary to manufacture bolt-action rifles, machine guns, and the shells to feed them.

  He could sense as well that the Yankees would move to probe his operations. Already their ships maintained a constant presence at the mouth of the river leading up to X'ian. He had deliberately built the factories nearly four hundred miles back from the coast so that they were safe from attack. That location also gave him access to the limitless labor of the Chin cattle in their fat cities while isolating the source of his strength from attack or from the threat of an escaping prisoner. The railroad made it possible to do this, allowing him to build his forces and then move the supplies where they would be based for the war.

  The railroad… somehow he could sense a weakness there. So far no Yankee flyer had been sighted even approaching the coast. The range was obviously too far from their bases. But suppose they could? They would see the railroad and might follow the track, thus revealing all.

  They might very well have been lulled by the message he had sent the year before, which was a mixture of threats and promises. Claiming the land once owned by the Merki but announcing as well that he wanted nothing more, he nevertheless made it clear that any move into what was now their land would be an act of war and would be met in kind.

  How long would they fall for that? How long before they came to look and the elaborate secret was finally revealed? Just another year and then it will be too late for them, he thought. We will storm across the sea, land our army, fall upon Roum, and then annihilate what is left. It was time to lull them again, to send another message. And yet there was something else as well. His thoughts turned to the Yankee sergeant whom he had not spoken to in months. Was it there?

  Hans scanned those who had gathered in his cramped office and felt a surge of elation mingled with fear. He knew that the precautions they had taken were well thought out: The watcher outside would knock three times on the door as a warning. Watchers were also placed at the four sides of the building, and there were two more watchers at the gate into the compound. The chance of being interrupted on a Bantag guard's random search was nonexistent. It was, however, the prisoners themselves whom he had to fear the most, and as he scanned the men and women crammed into his office he wondered just how well Gregory had judged their character and strength. For in a universe where a bowl of watery soup was the margin between living and dying, the betrayal of another could be purchased with a handful of rice.

  Hans looked into their eyes—Ketswana and Manda, Gregory and Alexi, the tragic, drawn features of Lin, and finally Tamira. With a protective gesture she nestled Andrew against her breast and kissed him lightly on the top of his head so that the boy stirred and then with a sigh snuggled into his mother's enveloping warmth. Again there was the surge of feelings. To him, children had always been creatures whom he would make a polite noise over when forced to, but beyond that there was nothing other than the soldier's mentality that they were to be protected. The birth of young Andrew had shattered that illusion forever and explained to him why the murder of Lin's child had pushed him over the edge into this act of madness.

  Hans nodded at Alexi, who tapped once on the door. A single tap came in reply… they were as safe as they could hope to be for the moment.

  Hans leaned against the rough log wall and decided that the moment was worth a chew from his precious stash of tobacco. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a plug and tried not to see Tamira's reproachful look as he bit down and savored the first bitter jolt.

  "Before I go any further I want to clear something up," Hans began quietly. "We are all dead. The very act of meeting like this condemns all of us to the slaughte
r pits."

  "We're dead anyhow," Ketswana snarled, the language of the Horde sounding a bit frightening in his deep, rumbling voice. "We saw that today. Nothing can protect us, nothing." And he nodded toward Lin Zhu, who sat on the floor in the comer, his eyes red-rimmed with grief. Lin stirred as if he wanted to speak, but then shook his head and covered his face with his hands. Tamira went to sit by him, whispering softly to him even as she hugged Andrew.

  Just watching her brought a lump of fear to Hans's throat. She alone was the reason he continued to will himself to live. Though he felt himself a traitor to Andrew, to the Republic, in the end he could not tolerate the thought of what would happen to her if he should someday refuse, or someday no longer be useful to the bastards. But the death of Lin's wife and child had shown him that even he could not protect the two that he loved most.

  So ironic. A life devoted to war, to the armies of his two adopted countries, the United States and Rus. Never had there been anyone, until now. He now saw again that expression in her eyes, a look that still could trigger such a surge of emotion in him, even in this hell. For her and Andrew—maybe that's what it all came down to in the end when all other reasons were forgotten.

  "If they find out, though"—Hans hesitated, looking at Lin, but then pressed on—"it won't be the quick death of the slaughter pits. It will be the Moon Feast. And it won't be just you, it will be anyone you hold dear." He paused again, knowing it had to be said. "Even to the smallest infant."

  He did not need to describe it to them. They had all seen the victims dragged forth for the ritual, slowly roasted over a fire for hours while still alive, then strapped to the table, the tops of their skulls removed and the brains consumed while they were still alive, though the light of life was dying. Being consumed, while the bastards roared with laughter. If it was a family thus condemned, parents would watch their children go, then husbands their wives.

  He looked straight into Tamira's eyes. If she shakes her head no, can I still back away? he wondered. She looked down at Andrew, who slept against her breast, and then back at Hans. He sensed that all in the room were watching her.

  "I'd rather he die that way than live as cattle," she whispered, her voice filled with bitter resolve.

  Hans smiled at his companions. "Then we escape," he announced quietly.

  The line had been crossed. He had resisted it for years, out of fear of what would happen and a belief in the mad impossibility of it all. He could feel the rush of emotion, as if he had opened a door and a warm, springlike breeze had suddenly swept into their lives again.

  Ketswana stirred, looking at Manda. "We must accept what will happen to those left behind."

  "They will be slaughtered," Gregory replied. "If we succeed, the Bantag will kill hundreds, perhaps thousands, in their rage."

  "They can't kill all of them," Manda interjected. "They need trained cattle. Some will be killed for vengeance, but not all."

  "Explain that to those who are chosen to die. The fact that others will live will mean nothing to them."

  "We're dead anyhow," Alexi announced coldly. "The sooner all of us realize that, the better."

  "A condemned man doesn't care about the others and will curse any who bring his day of execution closer," Hans replied. "Let me ask all of you this: If you knew that prisoners in the next compound were planning to escape, if you knew that you would be slaughtered in revenge, wouldn't you stop them, or reveal the plan?"

  He knew this was the core of his argument against any attempt to escape. It would be impossible to get everyone out, and those left behind would surely die.

  "No. I would not say a word to stop them."

  Startled, Hans realized it was Tamira who spoke.

  "Let's no longer live the illusion," she said quietly. "The death of Lin's wife proved that. Don't you think they are training others to replace us? Don't you think they fear us because we know too much, because they are too dependent on us? If I knew there was hope for someone, anyone, in this nightmare, I'd want them to go."

  "Even if Andrew was condemned in punishment?" Ketswana asked cautiously.

  "The Buddha will take him to a better world."

  Ketswana stood silent and Hans felt a swelling of pride. Tamira's calm gaze, as always, stilled his fear.

  He looked at his companions, who each nodded in turn.

  "Then we must accept now that we are condemning others to die."

  No one replied to his statement for a long moment. Then finally Gregory broke the silence. "It's not just us anymore. We must get word back to the Republic of what is being made there. The Bantag are preparing for a war that could very well destroy the only hope for humanity on this planet. Yes, people will die, but I saw tens of thousands die at Hispania. I ordered some of my closest friends into certain death because it was my duty and their duty so that others would live. That is why we must do it and why we must succeed."

  Hans saw the nods of agreement. "Alexi, you're the one who has thought this out. Tell us your plan."

  Alexi walked up to the drafting table and brought out from his sweat-stained tunic a tightly folded sheet of rice paper. As he spread it out, he motioned for the others to gather around. Even Lin stirred, and the others parted so their nearsighted friend could see the map.

  "It's death to have such a drawing," Ketswana said cautiously.

  Alexi shook his head and laughed. "That's the least of my worries at the moment."

  "What is it?" Manda asked.

  "A map of the camp," Alexi replied. "There are six barracks buildings in our section, each housing one hundred people." As he spoke he pointed out the rows of buildings. "The foundry is just to the south, here"—he tapped the map with his forefinger—"and the steam engine works are on the other side of our barracks, to the north of us. The camp where the Chin laborers live is south of the foundry.

  "As you can see, there's a rail yard just on the other side of the wall on the west side of the compound. Branch lines go to other factories making guns, to the airship works, and to that new factory that only Bantag are allowed to enter."

  He started to trace out one of the lines. "This is the one that comes through the gate, into our foundry compound. It's the track most of you cross over every day going in and out of the building. My plan is that we seize one of the trains, run it to the end of line at the city of X'ian, and from there flee, hopefully by boat. I've gone nearly all the way up the line half a dozen times with new trains. I've never dared to draw a map, but I've remembered everything. Once we get out by train, I think we can actually make it all the way."

  The others all started shaking their heads. Hans stood silent, looking straight at Alexi.

  "Impossible," Hans sighed, his disappointment showing. Alexi had been the first to approach him about an escape, before the factory was even half built, and he had hoped that more thought would have been given to it.

  "First, the trains leaving the factory pass through the gate at the entrance. Tire train has to stop and be checked by those bastards before the gate is opened. Then it goes to a siding to get coal and water before it heads onto the main line."

  "And the switches," Lin interjected, surprising everyone by stirring from his grief. "Remember, I am outside the gate every day. There's a Bantag guard at the switch house. He is armed, and I think he has a key that locks the switches. If you do not catch him by surprise the switches will be jammed. But I don't think you'll even get through the gate. It is a counter-weighted barrier. They've thought that we might try this and have planned for it. All the guard needs to do is cut the rope to the weight and the gate is locked shut, with us trapped inside. There isn't even enough length of track to build up speed in hopes of smashing the gate down."

  Lin shook his head in disgust and turned away from the table.

  "Let's hear him out," Hans said quietly. "Go on, Alexi."

  "We don't seize the train on the inside. We take it on the outside."

  Hans stirred. He had pondered the problem ever si
nce coming to this nightmare. In designing some of the facilities he had tried in one way or another to build in some flaw, some weakness that could perhaps be exploited, but Karga, receiving advice from someone, had always found out the flaws and changed them at the last minute.

  "How?"

  "We tunnel out to the rail yard."

  "Tunnel?"

  "Look at the map. From the northwest corner of the factory it's only twenty-five feet to the barrier wall. Once under the wall, we cross under the tracks and bring it up underneath the food warehouse by the main siding where Lin works."

  Now Lin examined the map again, with renewed interest. "I don't know," he said quietly.

  "Just listen," Alexi said excitedly. "It's less than two hundred feet, as opposed to four hundred feet from any of the barracks. You know the Bantag worry about tunnels; they're always looking under the barracks because they figure that's where we'd dig. But I'm telling you we can dig one right under their noses, from inside the factory."

  He nodded at Gregory.

  "I guess this is where I come in," Gregory announced, standing up. "When Alexi first suggested that I find a place in the foundry to dig a tunnel, I thought he was insane. But I kept my eyes open and finally hit on the spot."

  His gaze locked on Ketswana.

  "I never told you this before, my friend, but it's right behind your furnace, number three, in the charcoal pile."

  Ketswana laughed. "We're in the northwest comer, so where else could it be?"

  "The two corner furnaces are furthest away from the two entry gates in the middle of the building. I've already checked and I know the guard posts there cannot clearly see number three, even when all the furnaces are cold. When we've got pours going and the building fills with smoke, number three might as well be on the other side of the world."