Battle Hymn

by William R. Forstchen

  The company commander looked at him, not understanding.

  "You'll see."

  "Jack, shouldn't we be turning back soon?"

  Jack ignored Feyodor's plea, though he did check the fuel supply and then returned his attention to the ground below. By the way the shadows of the newly forming cumulus clouds, were drifting across the steppe it appeared that the wind had backed around a bit more to southwest by west, perhaps even due southwest. If so, luck was on his side. It would mean a wind abeam to crab into, but at least they wouldn't be running into a straight headwind going back.

  "Fifteen more minutes. We've seen nothing but some sidings, a few spur tracks running up into the hills southward, most likely for lumber or ore. But no factory."

  "How's the pursuit astern?"

  Feyodor got out of his seat and scurried the length of the cabin to see the view out the rear window.

  "Way back there, a good fifteen miles or more. They just don't have the speed."

  Jack chuckled. He could well imagine the consternation of the damn Bantag right now, a four-engine airship cruising their skies with impunity. It was the only source of comfort at the moment. They had covered at least a hundred fifty miles of track, and as he looked to the far horizon it seemed to go on forever. Just how the hell did the bastards do it in four years? A locomotive had been captured during the Cartha War and the Merki had a chance to study the steam engine on board the Ogunquit before it went down. But a train line? Did the Merki capture some railroad personnel with the old Third Corps and trade them off to the Bantag? And why build it at all, if not for the renewal of a war against the Republic?

  There was all that the technology implied as well. It was obvious that a telegraph line was strung along the side of the track, which meant they had galvanic batteries and instant communication. They had at least rudimentary precision tooling, some form of industrialization to make the hundreds of miles of rail, steam engines for trains and ships. What was more troubling, though, was the realization that they had somehow adopted the thinking of industrialization. The Merki were able to mimic it to the extent needed to acquire artillery and muskets, but that was the limit of it. Somehow, something had come into the Bantag Horde and changed part of their thinking, at least as far as the concepts of a modem war were concerned. It was evident from what he had seen from the air that the human population below was enslaved, and according to what Andrew had told him, the Chin population was almost beyond counting, perhaps in the tens of millions or more. That meant almost limitless labor to turn out the tools of war for their Bantag masters.

  On the horizon he saw a plume of smoke. Then he saw two more behind it. Three trains coming up the line at once. Perhaps there was something interesting on board.

  “All right, Feyodor, let's use the camera to get these three trains together. Then we'll come about and head for home."

  "We've got to stop for water and wood!" Alexi shouted. "If we don't, we'll be out of steam in another five miles, ten at most!"

  Hans leaned out of the cab to check the rear. The engine behind them was gaining fast. For the first ten miles out from the last siding, the chase had not reappeared, and he had wondered if somehow the engine they had sent back indeed managed to wreck the pursuers. It was clear now what their strategy was: to keep running the train behind them, and he suspected that if they slowed down, the engine would just keep coming and ram them, while the second train, several miles further behind, would finish off what was left.

  "We're going to have to seize the rail yard, switch the chase train off onto a siding, then put up a fight till we've loaded up on water and wood."

  He could see the junction straight ahead less than a mile away. No troops were deployed out, so he knew that the telegraph line had yet to be repaired. What was curious, though, was that the flyers, which had both managed to surge ahead of him, had banked off southward about fifteen minutes ago and disappeared into the growing bank of cumulus clouds overhead. The strange shape of the airship, had been startling, but there was no time to worry about that now.

  "Everyone knows what to do!" Hans shouted. He looked at Gregory and Ketswana, who nodded grimly.

  "Get ready, then!"

  "Slow her down," Ha'ark announced.

  The human engineer looked over at him with relief. Sparks flew as the engineer applied the brake and the speed dropped off. Ha'ark looked at the half dozen guards who had boarded the engine at the insistence of their company commander.

  The speed diminished to not much more than a slow run.

  "Jump!"

  "My Qarth, you can't," one of them protested. "Let me have the honor!"

  "Idiot, I'll be along. Now jump!"

  The guards looked at each other until finally one of them went over the side, followed an instant later by the other five. The two humans tumbled out after them.

  Ha'ark released the brake and then slammed the throttle forward. An instant later he jumped off the side of the cab, rolling head over heels in the high grass. Coming to his feet, he watched as the train surged straight ahead, racing at the escaping train, and he grinned with delight.

  "Hit the whistle!"

  Alexi gave one long blast, and the boxcar doors slid open, the escapees pouring out.

  Hans nodded to Gregory and Ketswana, who leapt off the cab to take command of the ragged battle line. Ketswana's group swarmed across the rail yard while Gregory's formed a skirmish line covering the bridge.

  The rail yard to his left erupted in pandemonium. Hundreds of slaves scattered in every direction, Bantag, most of them armed only with scimitars, stood in openmouthed amazement at the screaming, berserk mob charging toward them.

  "It's going to cost lives for this water and fuel!" Hans shouted.

  Alexi nodded as Hans leapt from the cab and led the switchman and four of Ketswana's men back down the track.

  The pursuing engine was coming on fast, as he had expected it would, and reaching the switch leading into the rail yard he helped the switchman slide the track over. They had barely locked it in place when the engine came roaring through and went careening into the yard.

  Hans watched incredulously as part of the attacking party led by Ketswana jumped out of the way. The engine, still gathering speed, roared on, straight into a row of boxcars. With a resounding crash, the runaway locomotive lifted the first boxcar off the rails, tossing it aside like a broken toy, and then smashed into the second. The engine rose up like a dying beast and then fell over on its left side, the second boxcar flipping over in front of it, the third jackknifing off the track in the opposite direction. A hiss of steam erupted as the engine plowed into the ground, sparks showering, plumes of dirty smoke boiling out. A ragged cheer went up at the spectacle… and then was drowned out by a thunderclap explosion when the first boxcar detonated.

  Hans hit the ground, the shock of the explosion knocking the breath out of him. Like a string of firecrackers, the other six cars detonated, one after the other. Hans watched, horrified, as some of his people, caught in the explosion, were tossed into the air like broken dolls, their screams of anguish sounding thin and distant as tons of powder in the cars continued to erupt.

  Debris soared heavenward and then cascaded back to the ground, a broken train wheel corkscrewed through the air, tearing up the earth to his right, bouncing back upward, then finally coming to rest thirty yards down the track.

  In shock, Hans looked back at his train. Burning debris had rained down on the cars, and several people were already scrambling onto the roofs to kick the embers off. Standing in the doorway to the next to last car was Tamira, with Andrew in her arms, shrieking in terror.

  Hans looked numbly back up the track. The second engine was still coming on. In another minute it would be upon him, loaded with an organized enemy force ready to fight.

  "What in hell?"

  Jack leaned forward in the cab as the string of explosions raced down the track.

  "What is going on down there?" Feyodor cried. "Are th
ey crazy?"

  "We're going down," Jack announced even as he pushed the helm forward.

  "What for?"

  "To see what's happening. Look at that. A bunch of people poured out of that first train. It looks like they're shooting."

  Jack's heart started to race. Was it some sort of war? Was it possible that there were human armies here fighting the Bantag? He had to find out.

  Dropping through four thousand feet, he saw the struggle below laid out before him like a panorama. Around the first engine he could see a crew of humans loading wood frantically, and taking on water from a tank. A wavy line of humans were pulling back around the wrecked train, some of them firing guns, while from a Bantag encampment hundreds of warriors poured out like ants stirred from a nest. Further to the west he could see another engine slowing down and Bantag leaping off of flatcars.

  What the hell was going on? And then a thought started to form. Like Andrew's Raid. Were these people trying to escape? But to where? And who the hell were they?

  The whistle in the speaking tube to topside shrieked, causing Jack's heart to skip. He pulled the plug.

  "What is it?"

  "Two flyers above us! Coming out of the sun and fast!"

  He felt a thump, the blast of the topside gun thundering through the speaking tube.

  "Feyodor. Clear the aft gun! Full throttle!"

  Feyodor bounded out of his seat, and racing aft he pulled the levers that opened the back end of the cabin so that the two-pounder would have a clear field of fire. He heard Stefan's gun thump again. He should pull the hell out now, but he still had to find out what was going on.

  "Hang on!"

  With throttles wide open, he dived for the ground.

  "Gregory, keep up your fire! Keep it up!"

  Hans paced the length of the ragged volley line he had thrown up at a right angle to the track. The other engine was stopped less than a hundred yards away, on the far side of the bridge over the shallow stream. Bantag warriors were pressing out to either flank. Half a dozen men and women on the line were already down. A bullet clanged against the rail next to Hans's feet and ricocheted off with a howl, plucking at his trousers.

  He pulled out his plug of tobacco and bit off a chew, feeling a strange exultation… he was on the firing line again… it was Antietam, Gettysburg, Wilderness, the Ford. It was good to be alive, if only for this moment, this one last chance to strike back.

  Raising his rifle, he drew careful aim on a Bantag and squeezed off. The warrior spun around, then fell.

  Behind him the switchman and his crew were hammering on the switch lever, trying to bend it out of shape while half a dozen men struggled to pry part of the track up with their rifles.

  "A flyer!"

  At that moment Hans felt as if his heart would burst. A flyer, larger than any he had ever seen, was diving down out of the clouds. Emblazoned across its bow was… the flag of the Republic.

  Tears filled his eyes at the sight of her, and stepping back from the volley line he threw his arms wide, waving with wild abandon. Then he saw the other two flyers diving down on the ship from astern.

  A hole burst through the bottom of the ship a dozen feet forward of the cab, splinters showering out. Jack ignored the hit.

  "How low you taking us?" Feyodor screamed.

  "We'll level off at a thousand."

  "That's rifle range!"

  "Shut up, damn it, and start shooting."

  "At what? It's madness down there."

  "Anything big! But don't hit the lead engine! That's ours."

  Jack finally eased back on the stick and then he saw one man standing behind a ragged crowd fighting by the bridge just east of the station.

  In the sea of dark-colored clothes this one stood out clear with sky-blue trousers and a navy-blue jacket. The upturned face had a gray beard, and the arms were waving excitedly.

  "Jesus Christ in heaven," Jack whispered, his voice choking.

  A pane of glass forward shattered, showering him with shards.

  "It's Schuder!" Jack screamed. "My God, it's Schuder!"

  "What?"

  "Feyodor, it's Hans Schuder down there!"

  Jack continued to press the ship down, diving straight in. Feyodor came up behind him, looking forward.

  "Get back to your gun! No—get me a message streamer!"

  Jack finally pulled back on the helm, and the ship's nose started to rise. Leveling out at less than five hundred feet, he raced over the train. He leaned out of the cab, waving, and screaming, then pressed on down the track.

  Recovering his senses, he shuddered as half a dozen bullets smashed through the cab and wooden splinters blew in every direction. On his left he could see the shadow of his ship, and then, above it, he saw two more shadows.

  "They're closing in!"

  He could barely hear Stefan's voice over the howling of the engines running at full throttle.

  A shot screamed past, arcing from above, slamming into the ground, and detonating.

  Explosive shells. Damn, if one goes off on this ship, that's it.

  He pulled back hard on the helm, causing the ship to pitch up, and then he saw the other ship take a sharp turn to his left.

  "Feyodor, do you see that?" Jack shouted. "Get 'em!"

  Startled, he realized that the two ships had… wings on them like a bird's.

  He had a sudden recollection of speculating with Ferguson that wings added to a ship could give it additional lift, enabling it to cut back on the use of hydrogen gas and diminish the bulky drag. Now the first enemy ship was in a banking turn, it wings fully exposed. The turn seemed tighter than what he could do. He sensed that even though he had four engines to the enemy ship's single engine, the Bantag could match or maybe even exceed his speed. Jack pushed the helm hard to the right so that the stern gun would bear, all the time studying the enemy ship.

  Feyodor fired and a hole burst in the enemy wing. The ship continued to turn and then lined up. A flash of light ignited.

  Feyodor let out a cry as the shot snapped just aft of their ship.

  "Got him!" The scream came from topside.

  Jack checked their shadows and saw one of them falling in on itself. Seconds later a stream of fire plummeted past on his right, the wings collapsing in on the body of the ship. He caught a glimpse of two Bantag tangled in the burning wreckage just before it impacted. He experienced a moment of regret, for he felt some sort of kinship with anyone mad enough to fly, even if he was of the Horde.

  "See the second one!" Stefan called, and a second later a thump ran through the ship, followed straightaway by yet another shot from Feyodor. As before, a hole appeared in the wing, this one detonating on impact so that six feet of wing sheared off. The ship lurched, the side that had lost the wing dropping down, so that for an instant it looked as though the ship would roll. Then it recovered and turned sharply away.

  "Feyodor. Two things quickly! We're going straight back over. Try to get a couple of shots into the engine that's chasing them."

  "Then what?"

  He hesitated for a second. He was tempted to hover and run a line down to Hans to get him out. But he knew that would be futile. The old bastard had stirred something up, and there was no way he would abandon it.

  "Second thing. That message streamer. Get it to me now!"

  "They got one!"

  Hans followed his man's pointing finger. A Bantag flyer engulfed in flames plummeted from the heavens, crashing half a mile away. A ragged cheer went up from his fighters. The sight of something going wrong for the hated enemy gave them a momentary boost in morale. The bodies were piling up at either side of the track and he could see he was losing three, even four, to every one of the Bantag.

  "Gregory, you've got to hold. I'm going forward!"

  "Tell them to hurry up, damn it. This isn't the First Suzdal here. They're not even militia. We're about to get overrun."

  Hans made his way down the length of track and, to his horror, saw Tamira standing upr
ight in the boxcar, Andrew screaming on the floor at her feet, while she scooped up handfuls of ammunition and passed them out the door. Splinters of wood showered around her as bullets hit the car. Hans slung his rifle over his shoulder and swept her into his arms. He grabbed Andrew with his free hand, quickly turning his back to shield the child as another shower of splinters rained down around him.

  To hell with worrying about what others would think. He ran the length of the train, then stopped behind the tender and pushed her down.

  “Damn it, woman, just stay down!"

  “The flyer—it was your friends?" she cried.

  "Just stay down!"

  A chain gang of twenty men and women were heaving logs off a woodpile while others carrying wooden buckets were running alongside the train, lifting them into the cars. Hans suddenly realized that no one had had a drop of water since the escape. He grabbed a bucket from one of the runners, took a deep gulp, and carried it over to Tamira.

  "Bring it into the cab with you when we pull out. You're riding up here."

  "I can't do that, Hans."

  He forced a smile, shook his head, and turned away.

  Up forward he saw Ketswana's line starting to draw back, a surge of Bantag waving scimitars rushing toward them. Arrows arced up over the burning wreckage to their left, plunging down into the workers. Even as he watched, one of them fell. He noticed that half a dozen on the woodpile seemed to be local slaves who had fallen in with them.

  "Alexi?"

  "Two minutes! We need a full tender."

  "Where's that damn telegrapher?"

  The man came bursting out of the station even as he called, dragging what Hans guessed was one of his comrades.

  "Train just pulled out of here half an hour ago heading west," the telegrapher shouted. "We should be able to follow it up the line."

  He nodded to the young Chin telegrapher standing next to him, and even as he did so the boy crumpled, his head exploding from a bullet.