Andrew looked over at Emil, who ever since leaving the city had been lost in a dreamy silence.
"There's something hypnotic about trains," Emil said. "They make you want to smile, to dream about faraway places, distant romances yet to happen, happy reunions in smoke-filled stations. The clatter of the rails is like a song, the landscape a tapestry rolling by."
"Why, you've got a touch of the poet in you," Andrew said.
Emil grinned shyly.
"Well, it's just they give me a happy-sad sort of feeling. I had always promised my Ester that we'd ride a train. This was before they came to Budapest."
It was rare for Emil to talk about her, and it caught Andrew by surprise.
"I always regretted that. The train line was opened, and she kept pestering me to take it with her to Vienna.
"And then the cholera took her away," he said softly, "so we never did go to Vienna like she wanted."
Fumbling, Emil reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. With a look of embarrassment he wiped his eyes.
"So now when I ride them I think of her. How she wanted to have just one excursion on these new things."
"Maybe she's riding with you now," Andrew said, affectionately putting his hand on Emil's shoulder.
"That's what I'd like to think," he sighed. "Anyhow, I'd better go back in there and recheck my equipment. That numbskull Nicholas packed it."
"He's the best student you have," Andrew said, "Kathleen has nothing but praise for him."
"Now, now. It's Kathleen that's the best medical student I have, and yes, damn him, Nicholas is second, but never let them hear you say that."
Andrew gave Emil another affectionate pat on the shoulder as he opened the door and went into the crowded staff car.
Having rounded the hills, the train turned due east. A scattering of trees edged their passage, the forward march of the great forest. To the south the ground drifted away in an undulating wave of low grass-covered hills to the distant horizon, etched clear in the morning air. The region they were passing through was the meeting place of the endless steppe and forest. He stood alone on the platform for one last moment, letting the rhythm of the train wash over him.
Taking a deep breath he turned away and stepped into the car, the questions engulfing him before the door had even closed behind him.
"Aunt Katie!"
The little boy raced down the platform, and kneeling down, she leaned forward, protecting herself from his exuberant embrace.
"You like the trains, Andrew."
"I want ride," Andrew shouted, and then struggled with an imitation of a whistle that came out with a spray that caused her to laugh as she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her face, and then the smudge of grease off of his.
"Pick me up."
"You know she can't do that," Ludmilla said, sweeping up behind Andrew and lifting him into the air so that he shrieked with delight.
"Grandma, put me down. Katie carry me."
Kathleen stood up and kissed him on the cheek as he struggled with mock disdain.
Seeing Tanya, Kathleen went over and gave her a loving embrace.
"How are you doing?"
"I had to come down and see the last train leave," she said quietly.
"So did I," Kathleen replied. "Don't worry—Vincent's safe in the city. Andrew and the men will have him out of there in no time."
"Oh, I know that," Tanya said, and Kathleen could see the fear in the girl's eyes.
She held her friend close.
"You know something?" Kathleen whispered. "I think all men can be a pain in the ass."
Tanya looked at her wide-eyed.
"Here they get us pregnant, leave us with the babies, and then go traipsing off to their damnable adventures. And we get stuck at home, playing the dutiful wife, worrying ourselves sick over them. Back in America during the war we were supposed to knit socks to keep ourselves busy. Now is that fair?"
A sad worried smile lighted Tanya's features.
"At least Vincent and that president over there could have allowed me to go join him before all this started."
"Now, you know the twins couldn't have stood the travel," Ludmilla interjected, still holding Andrew as she looked into the carriage, where the two girls were fast asleep in spite of the commotion around them.
"You're right," Tanya said, loud enough for her father to hear her. "All men are a pain in the ass."
Kal looked over at his daughter with an air of mock injury while his staff, who had been standing at a respectful distance, looked at her with open shock.
Tanya looked back at Kathleen and forced a smile, though both knew that their bravado was hiding a terrible sea of fear.
"Time for us to leave."
Kathleen looked over and saw John, his face gaunt with exhaustion, come down the platform and stop in front of Kal.
"You've done a magnificent job, son," Kal said, his voice fiill of emotion. "All of you have. I'm not speaking now as president, but as a father to that boy up in Roum, and I thank you for this miracle you've created."
Kal stepped forward and clumsily put his one arm around John, hugging him in the older fashion of Rus. John nervously accepted the embrace, then stepped back and saluted.
"God keep you, John. I wanted to be here to see you off," Kathleen said, coming up to take his hand.
"Thank you, ma'am."
"John, it's always been Kathleen."
He nodded wearily, then walked back to the last remaining engine on the siding and waved.
The train whistle blew, triggering a delighted squeal from Andrew, which was counterpointed by the high piercing wails of the twins. As the train edged forward, John leaped aboard the first car and clambered up the steps.
Ferguson leaned out of the cabin, snapping off a cheery salute as the engine rolled past, setting off a vast plume of steam, sparks kicking up out of the stack. The row of flatcars was piled to overflowing with the men of the 21st Suzdal and the eighth battery. The excitement of the early morning had died away, and the men looked somber, coming to attention, saluting as each car rolled past Kal, who had his hat off and over his heart.
Kathleen looked over at him. Good God, he was becoming like Lincoln, she thought as he anxiously looked at the men rolling past.
The caboose rolled by, a lone officer standing on the back.
"Don't worry, Mr. President," the boy shouted, "we'll all be coming back!" The train turned through the gate and disappeared from view.
The station was silent except for the crying of the girls. Kathleen came up to Kal's side and saw tears in his eyes.
"I kept trying to look into all their faces, to breathe a blessing of life to each and every one of them," he whispered. "But Kesus help me, I know some of them will never come home again."
He stood in silence, and Kathleen felt numbed by his pain, unable to help him, to dredge into her soul beyond her own fears and somehow reassure him that he was doing what had to be done.
"Now I know why your pictures of Lincoln always looked so sad," he said quietly as he blinked away his tears and a look of forced composure appeared.
Slowly he put his hat back on.
"Come, my family, let's go home," he said evenly.
Andrew, breaking free from his grandmother's embrace, raced up to Kal's side. With a smile he held up his hand, and Kal took it, so the two walked down the platform side by side, a sight filled with such poignancy that Kathleen struggled for control.
"Join us for dinner, dear," Ludmilla said, coming up and putting her arm around Kathleen's shoulder.
"I'd like that," Kathleen whispered.
"Well, they're all gone," a voice called.
Kathleen looked up and saw a burly thickset man, followed by a retinue of half a dozen others, come out of the city gate.
"He would show up now," Tanya hissed, drawing up alongside Kathleen.
"Yes, senators, they're gone," Kal said evenly, continuing on so that Mikhail had to step aside.
> "I'm certain that with the great plans you and Keane made, this campaign will be a success," Mikhail announced, his voice loud enough that the people who had stood a respectful distance back from Kal could hear the exchange.
"Kesus alone knows," Kal replied, the concern in his voice evident.
"Unfortunately, Kesus is not here to advise us in person, so all of us good citizens must count on your judgment instead."
Mikhail hesitated and looked over at Kathleen and Tanya.
"And, of course, our friend Keane and your young son-in-law, whom you appointed ambassador."
"I have the fullest confidence in our army, which gained our respect by fighting to free us," Kal replied.
Kathleen could not help but smile at the barb in Kal's retort.
Mikhail paused for a second, taken aback by the veiled insult.
"Oh, I support the army fully, and pray for its glorious success. But I can't help but think that this is a different war, Kal," Mikhail finally replied, as Kal walked past him. "Without the folly of this railroad and the overreaching ambitions of some, it never would have been called down upon us."
"If you wish to debate it, the floor of the Senate is the place," Kal replied without looking back. "A good day to you. Senator Mikhail Ivorovich."
Mikhail bristled at the dismissal, and Kathleen could see he had hoped to draw out an argument in the street to play upon the fears of the families who had watched their loved ones leave. But he had scored his mark nevertheless, Kathleen could see, as she looked over at the anxious faces, as people turned to each other and started to whisper. By nightfall this encounter would be told of in every tavern in the city.
Kathleen, walking behind Kal, with Tanya by her side pushing the carriage, looked over at Mikhail, who glared at her coldly.
"I hope you rot in hell, you lowborn bastard," she whispered in a barely audible voice, her words belied by a sweet, friendly smile.
She could see him coil up with rage.
"Come on, you coward," she whispered. "Wouldn't it look heroic, the brave Tugar-kissing Mikhail attacking a pregnant woman on the street."
His visage purple with rage, all he could do was glare at her as she walked by, a grin of delight crossing her features.
"Andrew should have hung him, amnesty be damned," Kathleen said evenly, looking over at Tanya, who smiled at her with evident delight.
I think before it's all over he still might have to do it, Kathleen thought to herself as they walked back into the city, so strangely quiet now that the army was gone at last.
Chapter Seven
Numb with fatigue, Vincent stopped at the edge of the parapet and looked down. A section of wall nearly a hundred feet across was nothing but shambles. Another breach had been cut along the south side, from the massed battery of six-pounders, but this one was far worse, the sole work of the two heavy guns which were dug in not six hundred yards away.
Behind the breach, hundreds of slaves worked, building an earthen rampart to seal the puncture off. The defense line was crude, but could be efficient with the men of the 5th positioned around the hole, the battered houses lining the streets now linked with barricades of rubble. His command was stretched beyond the limit. A hundred men here, another fifty at the south breach, the rest held in reserve in the forum to be rushed to where the crisis would finally break.
The damnable problem was that the walls of the city were designed without any thought to gunpowder. They were too high and too thin, and worse yet there were no sections of the battlement wide enough for his field pieces to be deployed with enough safe clearance for recoil. He had tried to lash a gun in with short ropes to stop the carriage from rolling back. On the fourth shot the gun cracked a trunnion, putting it permanently out of action.
Their only weapons with any range were the twenty double-torsion ballistae, with a range of four hundred yards, useless against the enemy entrenchments.
He looked back out to the enemy battery. If only he had a couple of squads of snipers armed with scope-mounted Whitworths, they could play hell with the gun crews. If I ever get out of this, he thought coldly, it's something I'm going to make sure gets done.
"Everybody down!" a lookout screamed.
The slaves dropped their tools, scrambling in every direction. Vincent felt exposed, naked, but like a proper officer he had to show disdain for fire. With a measured casualness he turned his back to the enemy battery and looked down at the breach.
A high piercing howl filled the air. Stunned, he felt a rush of air, and for a terrifying instant thought that he was finished. A gaping hole appeared in a house facing the breach, followed a second later by a thunderclap flash of light and smoke. A side wall of the house burst open, spilling the shattered wall into the street, crushing three men who had dived into the gutter for protection. Roofing tiles sickled through the air, shattering against the side of the building across the street.
Terrified screams rent the air. Men came to their feet and in panic started to rush down the street, away from the explosions of death.
Vincent watched as a squad of legionnaires rushed out, shields up, blocking the retreat. Metal snicked out and a slave staggered back screaming, holding his side. The mob stopped, and then sullenly gave back, cursing, returning to their labors.
"Can you keep ahead of the damage?"
Vincent turned to face Marcus, who had come up behind him.
"You know, sir, it really isn't too wise for both of us to be together like this under fire."
"What you're trying to say is that you want me hiding back at the forum."
"Sir, if you should get killed, I think you know what will happen."
"Catullus and Petronius would like nothing better," Marcus said with a smile. "Can you hold them off?"
"It's still five days till reinforcements arrive," Vincent said quietly. "If they keep this hammering up, they're going to have a hole in our lines a hundred yards across. My rifles couldn't possibly hold a breach that wide. I've already lost nearly half my men as is."
"That's what Petronius supposedly said last night."
"Can you hold him off?"
Marcus looked over his shoulder at Boris and the rest of his bodyguard.
"You were right about the assassination," Marcus said quietly.
"What?"
"An hour ago," Boris said excitedly as he came up beside Marcus.
"Let him tell it—he saw it far better than I did," Marcus said with a smile, looking over at Boris and patting him on the shoulder.
"We was going down to the south wall. It was a crowded street, people milling about. Suddenly I saw this flash of metal. They were on him in no time. Well, Marcus here got the first one and no mistake. I got the second one with the bayonet," and he nodded to his blade, which was covered with dried blood.
"You never should have let them get that close!" Vincent roared angrily.
"If you're upset with him, don't be," Marcus replied soothingly, sensing the anger in Vincent's words. "He did a good job."
"They could have just been two madmen," Marcus said as if dismissing the subject.
"I doubt that," Vincent snapped in reply.
"Well, there's no way of ever proving it, so it's best to drop the matter."
Vincent stepped away from Marcus and drew up close to Boris, who looked at him wide-eyed.
"You got it half right the first time," Vincent said coldly. "You'd better make sure you get it completely right the second time. If he gets killed, this whole thing will unravel, and I'll have your head for it."
"Yes, sir," Boris said, his voice trembling.
"All right, then, we understand each other, Boris," and he turned away.
He hated to command this way. He had always done it before by sharing the hardships, ordering softly, leading by example. For the first time in his career he had threatened a soldier, and he found it distasteful. But there was no other way.
Vincent looked back down at the breech, where the slaves were back at work building
the secondary wall.
"You know, Marcus, you have nearly two hundred thousand people in this city, yet only ten thousand under arms."
"What are you suggesting?" Marcus asked.
"When they storm this town, the advantage of weapons will be squarely on their side."
"If your people had delivered the thousand muskets that you promised, the odds would be better."
"Sir, we still have another division to arm at home. Once the surplus of weapons started we would have sent them."
He knew that was a lie. After seeing the slave labor in Hispania after the formal treaty signing, Kal had made it clear that he would not arm a government that could use those weapons against its own people. The old-style smoothbores were sitting in the warehouses by the thousands waiting for conversion to rifling. At the moment Vincent wished he had compromised on that issue and sent the equipment up.
"You have over a hundred thousand men in this city working like the ones down there," Vincent said, pointing to the gang of slaves, who looked up nervously at the two leaders gazing down at them.
"Slaves fight?"
"They fought tooth and nail against the remnants of the Tugars."
"Because they knew that if they failed, two out of ten of them would go to the feasting pits."
"They could fight against the Carthas. Their numbers would tip the scale."
"What for?" Marcus replied.
"For a chance at freedom, Marcus," Vincent replied.
"You said before Petronius that you would not support a revolution against me. What is it you are proposing now but a revolution?"
"I'm proposing a salvation for you. If you offered emancipation to the slaves of this city in return for their fighting, damn near every one of them would follow you. Hell, you're already viewed as something of a hero to them for turning back the Tugars. They'd follow you, Marcus."
"And my country would be destroyed when it was over with."
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