Union Forever

by William R. Forstchen

  He sighed. It was finally out, something he found he could not bring himself to say to Andrew or Emil. Dimitri had looked at him differently since the fight, like a worried father. They all thought so differently of him, the noble soldier, imbued with the idealism of the cause. He barely knew Ferguson—maybe that was part of all of this.

  Chuck shook his head sadly.

  "I haven't fired a gun since we got here, except when we did that final charge in the square and we figured it was lost. They say I'm too important to go stopping an arrow or bullet."

  "You'll get over it, Vincent."

  "Did you?"

  Ferguson looked around at the mad bustle of activity.

  "I finally found something else," he said softly.

  "I don't want to," Vincent said coldly. "I thought I did. I even told Andrew I had had it with fighting. But when I saw that Merki the hatred just exploded out of me. I get this strange almost tingly feeling when I think about doing it again."

  Vincent looked over at Chuck with an empty vacant smile.

  I'm sitting with a madman, Chuck thought sadly.

  Cresting the low grass-covered hill, Gregory paused, reining Mercury in. Climbing down off his mount, he stiffly bent over, every inch of his body aching.

  Shading his eyes, he looked northward. On the far horizon he could just see the high hills of the forest, and he longed to be back there, under the coolness of the trees, breathing in the tangy scent of the pines. Going over to the water skin, he untied the heavy bag and brought it around, opening it so Mercury could drink.

  How much farther? he wondered. He had gone into the edge of the forest, riding through the scattering of trees for three days. Once, he had seen them, half a dozen riders, mounted on their heavy horses, crossing the steppe behind him a few miles away.

  For three days the horizon had been dotted with fires every couple of miles. Those bastards burning the rails, he thought coldly. Yesterday he had forded the upper reaches of the Penobscot and seen horse tracks in the mud on the other side. Were they looking for him? he wondered. But since this morning the fires no longer showed; he must have swept beyond their reach. All he had to do was to continue southwestward till he hit the rails and then ride hard to the next water-tank stop. Surely it would be guarded and a telegraph line would be there to send the message in.

  "Let's get going, boy," Gregory said, lowering the water sack and pulling it shut. Mercury nickered in protest, nuzzling around for more. Gregory, laughing softly, reached into the saddlebag and pulled out an apple and offered it as a substitution, which Mercury greedily took.

  That the colonel would entrust his horse to him was an honor almost equal to that of carrying the message all the way back home. Surely he'd get a promotion for it once this war was over.

  Slinging the bag up, Gregory climbed back into the saddle, groaning as his backside hit the hard leather.

  "Let's be off, then."

  Urging the horse forward, he continued across the flat plain, barely noticing the gentle rise of the ground beneath him. With head lowered he continued on, nodding wearily, trying to stay awake, not even noticing the crest of the hill and the slow dropping away into the next grassy swale.

  There was no pain, just a numbness slamming into his side.

  Mercury turned, ears flattened, breaking into a run.

  He tried to draw a breath, but somehow it just wouldn't come.

  There was a crack, a puff of smoke in the grass.

  I'm shot, he realized with a cold panic. By Kesus, I'm shot!

  And then the pain hit, blinding him, each surge of Mercury's gallop sending a stab into his heart.

  He looked to his left and saw the two horseman coming out of the high grass, their horses moving from a canter into a gallop.

  They shot me.

  He reached down to his side and drew away his hand. It was covered with blood.

  The two horseman drew out their swords, their taunting laughs drifting across the wind.

  The message, the colonel told me the message.

  He kicked Mercury hard, and the horse leaped forward. He bit his lips to keep from screaming, but the scream came anyhow, the cry lost across the vast empty steppes.

  The great square of the city was empty, as if the city of Suzdal were dead. After the bitter fighting of the last five days, the silence was even more disturbing.

  But it was no ghost city he lived in now. Suzdal was locked in the throes of a civil war, as if a family were trapped inside its own home, arguing over who would possess it, both sides threatening to bum the house down around the other.

  A pennant was raised in front of the cathedral, and at the same moment a side door to the church facing north swung open. Kal knew that a door to the south side of the church had just been opened as well.

  A line of skirmishers raced out of the buildings to either side, forming a cordon. Four men stepped in next to Kal, their height all but blocking his view.

  "Be careful over there," Hans said sharply.

  "Don't worry about me—not even that dog would dare to defile the pledge of Casmar."

  "We'll just keep a sharp eye, and don't forget the revolver in your jacket."

  Kal nodded absently, reaching up to pat the gun tucked in under the stump of his right arm. He had argued hard against that precaution, but Hans had finally closed it by stating he would physically prevent Kal from going unless he complied.

  A priest appeared in the doorway and held his hand up.

  Kal stepped out of the building, the guards edging in around him, the men moving at a trot, so that Kal had to run to keep up with their long-legged stride. Panting, he reached the doorway. The old ways coming back, he bowed to the priest, his hand sweeping the ground.

  "Mr. President, it is I who should bow to you," the priest whispered nervously.

  Kal nodded to the guards, who turned and withdrew back across the street. The priest ushered Kal in, closing and bolting the door behind him.

  "Forgive me, Mr. President, but I must," the priest whispered, and he reached out and gently patted Kal's side.

  The priest hesitated and looked down into Kal's eyes.

  Feeling a bit sheepish, Kal unbuttoned his tunic and took out the revolver, which the priest gingerly took and set on a side table.

  "I'm sorry," Kal whispered.

  "These are terrible times we live in," the priest replied and then beckoned for him to follow.

  The church held the old familiar smell of candles and incense, and he breathed deeply, the fragrance drawing his memory back to far simpler days, when as a lowly peasant he stood in the back of the cathedral, listening to the choir chant the high service to Perm and His son Kesus.

  Stepping into the nave of the cathedral, Kal genuflected, making the Orthodox sign of the cross, and then continued into the south wing, down the long corridor of private chapels, and stopped at last at the door into Casmar's office.

  A doorway down at the far end of the corridor opened and a priest appeared, two men behind him. Kal looked away, ignoring their advance.

  In the doorway before him Casmar appeared, dressed in the full robes of archprelate of the holy church. His purple cassock was embroidered with silver thread; the scarlet lining shimmered as if it had an inner light of its own. His high cap was encrusted with gems, and the cross atop it was of solid gold. It seemed strange to Kal to see him like this. He had grown accustomed to the simple black cassock which Casmar had always preferred and wore both in church and as a justice of the court.

  Kal bowed low again, and noticed from the comer of his eye that Mikhail did as well, while Cromwell merely stood to one side, arms across his chest.

  "I have pledged this holy church to the safety of the three of you," Casmar said formally. "Just remember that, for you stand here upon consecrated ground."

  Kal felt a twinge of guilt for the revolver but said nothing as he stepped into the room, following behind Mikhail, who had shouldered his way forward.

  Casmar wen
t to sit at the head of the table, and Kal, noticing only one chair on the side facing the door, went over to it and sat down opposite his two opponents.

  "It was Mikhail who approached me for this conference," Casmar said. "I agreed to act as the mediator and guarantor in the hope of ending this senseless bloodshed that has engulfed our city once again.

  "Therefore I have granted him the privilege of speaking first."

  Mikhail looked over at Cromwell and then turned to face Kal.

  "It has been six days since my forces freed the south part of the city," Mikhail began. "I think it is time, Kalencka, that we end this foolishness. As president of the state of Rus, I am willing to offer you terms to prevent our city from being burned to the ground."

  "I see it as six days since you betrayed your country and let in his army," Kal retorted, pointing over at Cromwell. "President, you say? When did you hold an election? Your people are nothing but your old retainers, disgruntled merchants, and the Cartha army that backs you up."

  "Betrayed our country? Ten senators were with me in this."

  "And twenty-four are still with me. The army stands with me as well."

  He had believed too much in his dream that laws above all else could rule men. Vincent had taught him that, with his shining innocence. Yet there had never been a proper answer for one question—what could one do with those who laughed at laws, even as they warped and twisted them to hide behind? Mikhail had done it all so efficiently as a senator. The idea of a corrupt senator, a senator who could sell out his own people and do so without compunction, was beyond his understanding. He could see now how such men could make laws to protect themselves, how they could even kill someone, perhaps even an innocent child or woman, and then turn their power to protect themselves like the boyars of old. If he survived this crisis, which he now truly doubted, he would make sure that never again would such a man as Mikhail survive in office.

  "What army?" Cromwell said coldly.

  Kal looked over at Cromwell with open hatred.

  "You betrayed your own kind as well. You are nothing but a servant of the Merki. My people know that. That is why they will fight you to the last."

  Cromwell shook his head sadly.

  "Andrew Keane was a fool. When we fought the Tugars, they had two hundred thousand warriors. If it had not been for a miracle all our bones would now be bleaching in the sun," Cromwell snapped. "The Merki have twice that number. You might not believe anything else I say, but believe that, Kalencka. I am here for your salvation, not your destruction."

  "Then why have you set about to destroy our city?" Casmar said.

  Cromwell sighed and settled back in his chair.

  "Everything I say in this room I will deny outside of it," he said evenly. "I have struck a deal with the Merki."

  "You're mad," Kal roared. "So you are their servant."

  "Not their servant," Cromwell snapped. "I serve no one."

  "But your own interests," Kal retorted.

  "If you wish to see it that way, then do so. But hear me out."

  Kal started to stand up, but Casmar held out his hand, beckoning for him to sit down.

  "Go on, then," Kal said sarcastically. "I am eager to hear what the Merki Namer of Time wishes to say."

  "Last year the Merki granted exemption to the Carthas if they would serve them in building this fleet."

  "Which you taught them how to do."

  "Yes, damn you, I did," Cromwell retorted angrily. "I met with their Qar Qarth, Jubadi. They knew what we had done to the Tugars, and it was their plan to wipe us from the face of the earth unless an alternative was reached."

  "I'm eager to hear this," Kal growled out bitterly.

  "They refuse to deal with you, or with any of the army that fought against the Tugars. They had to be put aside, and though I was reluctant to do so, I agreed."

  "And killed my son-in-law."

  "For that I am sorry," Cromwell replied, and Kal sensed an almost genuine regret in his voice. "But here is the agreement. The city will surrender to me, and Mikhail as a former boyar will be the ruler, a ruler as in the old days. The Rus factories will make arms for the Merki to be used against their rivals to the south. For that we will be granted exemption. In another two years they will be a couple of thousand miles away to the east and we will be spared.

  "If we do not agree to that, they will sweep northward and slaughter all of you."

  Kal sat in silence.

  "For God's sake, Kal. You have only half the population you did before the war. They are twice as strong as the Tugars. Besides that, they learned from what we did to the Tugars. They won't make the same mistakes, and most of all there will be no miracles as there were last time. The odds are simply too great. Andrew must have been mad to think he could actually defeat them."

  "With the alliance to Roum we would have had the manpower and resources to do so."

  "The Roum did not want you. Your alliance was shaky at best, and they would have sold you away the moment the Merki came. Besides, they are now firmly allied with us. You are cut off, your army is gone, and if you do not agree quickly, the Merki will be at your gates."

  Kal was silent, looking over at Casmar, who sat expressionless.

  "You have no alternatives left, Kal. If you wish to fight for Suzdal, we will destroy it from one end to the other if need be in order to take it. The rains of earlier this week prevented the shells from touching off any major fires. But it's been hotter than hell these last four days, everything is drying to tinder, and if a conflagration gets started you'll have nothing left at all. Tell me, do you really think you can rebuild this city again, raise another army, rebuild your weapons, throw us out, and then beat off the Merki alone?"

  "I have no other alternative," Kal whispered.

  "You're mad," Mikhail laughed.

  "No, it is you who are mad," Kal replied. "At least now I have something within the law that will see you hang from the end of a rope when this is done."

  "Remember we agreed there would be no threats in this meeting," Casmar interjected, and Kal, looking over, saw the disdain in the prelate's eyes for Mikhail even as he defended him.

  "Your offer, then?" Casmar asked, looking over at Cromwell and ignoring Mikhail, who bristled but said nothing.

  "Acknowledge Mikhail as president. The army, the navy, and the industries are under my direct control as head of the confederation of Rus, Roum, and Cartha. With such a force I will play the game with the Merki, and if need be I can stab them as well if they dare to betray me."

  "And how would you do that?"

  "I control the Ogunquit, they do not. With it I control the sea, something your Keane never appreciated. As for yourself and any who wish to follow you, you may move to Vazima on the border or even to Novrod to do as you desire. You may serve us or not, but I will give all of you your lives."

  Kal laughed sadly and shook his head.

  "I refuse."

  "The offer has been made. You know now that there is no chance whatsoever of your winning."

  "I faced that before, I'm willing to face it again. I've been a free man since the Yankees helped us to throw down the boyars. I would not go back to living under you, the Merki, and especially under you," and he pointed a shaking hand at Mikhail.

  "Do you have any counterterms to offer?" Casmar said quickly before Mikhail could respond.

  "Only this. Get the hell out," Kal shouted, coming to his feet.

  He silently cursed the priest who had searched him at the door. If he had the revolver now, injunction or not, laws or not, he would shoot the two of them as they sat there.

  "We can still save ourselves," Casmar snapped, slapping the table with his fist.

  Kal, shocked by the display of emotion from the normally jovial, soft-spoken priest, turned to face him.

  "Talk some reason into him, your holiness," Mikhail said, grinning with a cold delight at Kal's rage.

  "I'm trying to talk reason into all of you," Casmar retorted.


  Kal looked over at the prelate and said nothing.

  "We are all agreed that the Merki, the Tugars, whatever they call themselves, are the common foe. As people who acknowledge the healing grace of Kesus, whom even you, Tobias Cromwell, acknowledge, as do the other Yankees, we stand alone in this terrible world.

  "Think what we could do united. Tobias Cromwell, keep your fleet, and let Rus add her strength to stand by your side. Mikhail Ivorovich, if there are people, be they boyars, merchants, or peasants, who wish to acknowledge you, let them go with you. Rus is a great land—surely those who believe as you do can be given a place, and given a proper share of your old wealth. The factories will serve all three together, building up our strength against the Merki if they should come. Let the free people of Rus, who were once slaves, have what they have built, which includes this city that they raised from the ashes. Do not destroy that again with your quarreling, and let Kalencka, and those who acknowledge him as their leader, have at least this. Do this thing and we can still save ourselves, for surely we are like children fighting against each other in the dust, while the dread comes down upon us all."

  "And of the thousands these men have killed?" Kal asked coldly.

  "They can never be brought back," Casmar said sadly, "but if we let that divide us now, all their families will die in the end, and surely as their honored spirits sit above us, they would not want such a fate to befall their loved ones merely to avenge their deaths."

  Kal shook his head sadly. If Vincent was truly gone, he knew that the boy would want him to do whatever was necessary to save Tanya and the children, even if it meant denying the wrongness of how he had been slain.

  Oh, Kesus, Kal prayed silently, is this all we are? Is this the reality of my hope for the Union?

  He looked over at his two rivals.

  "The original terms still stand," Cromwell replied. "If you do not agree, Kal, I regret to say I will shell your town into an inferno."

  Mikhail laughed and came to his feet.

  "Peasant, I have planned this from the beginning. You idiot, if the tables had been turned I would have hung you from the nearest tree, and you like, a fool invited me into this crippled thing you call a republic."