Work crews were all about them, clearing rubble, pushing mounds of ice off the street and into the river, which was flowing again but choked with litter. Bobbing in the filthy dark water he saw the swollen bodies of Bantag drifting down to the sea.
A steamer just arrived from Suzdal was tied off below the monitor that had brought Hans in, and a gang of soldiers were off-loading barrels of salt pork, dried fruit, and vegetables, crates of canned milk for the hospitals and the children. The next ship down was laden with coal, and beyond that was another ship carrying ammunition and a dozen land ironclads.
Banners atop each of the ships flapped in the warm breeze. Written on the flags in Cyrillic and Latin: “From the grateful people of Rus to the gallant city of Roum.” Hans smiled. The banners had been Gates's idea, enthusiastically endorsed by Vincent. Lying on the battlement was a copy of Gates’s Illustrated, the headline proclaiming, ROUM STANDS. Beneath it a woodcut of a heroic Andrew, sword in hand, standing on the battlement, Marcus and Pat behind him.
Andrew saw Hans gazing at the paper and shook his head. “It wasn’t quite like that.”
“I know. Still scared, aren’t you?”
Andrew looked off, his gaze distant. “Terrified.”
“And ashamed?”
Andrew nodded.
“I know. At night. When I’m alone. I’m back there. Back in the prison. And they’re waiting for me. The Bantag, knives drawn, leering, waiting. And all those poor damned souls who look to me for strength. Even my wife, the child. I want them to just go away, to let me hide.”
Andrew said nothing.
“When you go through what we’ve been forced to do, Andrew, it will always be like that. The price is too high. We wonder, why us? There is no answer other than the fact that we are here and someone must do it.”
“I wonder, why me? You know I wanted to die, to escape.”
“I know. But what stopped you? I heard a bit about what happened.”
Embarrassed, Andrew lowered his head, remembering Kathleen as she put the gun by the side of the bed, then walked out.
“I could say all this,” Andrew replied, nodding to the city, to the men going past, to the knot of children who stood shyly by the side of an upended wagon half buried in rubble. A sergeant came up to them, gently shooing them away, but stopping first to fish into his haversack and pull out a handful of hardtack and a piece of salt pork.
“His day’s rations,” Hans said admiringly as the soldier realized they were watching him. The sergeant shrugged, embarrassed that his gesture had been observed. He saluted, Hans and Andrew returning the salute, then quickly returned to his men, yelling at them to get back to work.
“It all became personal in the end. It wasn’t the abstraction of the Republic, this city, even my men. It was my children that pushed me back. The thought that I could not betray them, that for their sake I had to live, to keep on fighting.”
“I heard someone say that when you have children, suddenly all children become your own. I learned that with Tamira and our baby. Haven’t seen them now for five months.”
Andrew clumsily reached into his pocket and pulled out a bound packet of letters, a tintype wrapped in them.
“From your wife,” Andrew said. “They came here yesterday.”
“I didn’t know she could write.”
“Vincent’s wife took them down.”
Hans opened the packet, gazing at the notes, then the tintype. He smiled proudly. The two sat together in comfortable silence while Hans read the notes. Finally, pulling out a handkerchief, he blew his nose noisily and sighed.
“Is it true about Ha’ark?” Hans asked, obviously wishing to change the subject for a moment while he regained his composure.
“Not sure. We just have some rumors from a few Chin slaves who’ve escaped into our lines.”
Hans nodded. “Funny, I had this sense he was gone. If so, that might mean one of his companions is in charge now, and the way this war is being fought will change once again.”
The blast of a steam whistle echoed on the river. Yet another boat was slowly coming up against the flood of the river, this one maneuvering to tie off on the other side of the river, Gates’s banner fluttering brightly. Piled on the decks were crates of ammunition and two more ironclads.
A thumping whine rolled over them, and looking up, Hans saw an aerosteamer coming in low over the river. It was Petracci’s airship. One of the wings was frayed, an engine out. It was obvious he had seen action this morning.
“That boy, Andrew. Wish you could have seen him fight. The way of war is changing beyond anything we imagined. Without those new machines they would have crushed us on both sides of the Ebro. Petracci stopped an entire column cold for a half hour or more, gave us enough time to get out.”
“What’s this about you leading an ironclad charge?”
Hans smiled. “Rather like the machines. Never did care much for horses the way you do.”
“Still, you shouldn’t been up there like that.”
“But that’s where we have to be, Andrew. This new war, we could get trapped by it. Sit in our bunker, listen to the telegraph, lose sight of how we fight, what it is we fight for. I would not have missed the moment when I saw those Chin attack for anything. And Andrew, they are who we must fight for now. There are millions of them still enslaved. We owe them that. This Republic is nothing but a fraud if it’s not willing to lay itself on the line for them.”
“The price of this one was terrible, Hans. 1st Corps is a ghost, 9th Corps all but annihilated. We lost more than we did at Hispania. And Ha’ark’s army is holding at Capua.”
“I heard we got at least an umen trapped, though, between Hispania and Kev.”
Andrew nodded. “We took the other end of the rail line this morning at Hispania. Telegraph is still down, but Vincent’s pushing an armored train up the line, work crews following behind it, along with mounted infantry deploying out from here. They’ll most likely slip around us, but if the damage isn’t too bad the rail between here and Roum will be up by spring.”
“And then we start again. Too bad we couldn’t have pushed the bastard harder. I think we’d have driven him all the way back to Junction City, maybe even right off the Great Sea.”
Andrew shook his head. “We’re both exhausted. We’re barely bringing in enough food to feed the city right now. The troops need to rest, refit, resupply. It’ll be spring before we’re ready to move again.”
“And that gives him time as well.”
“This new war you keep talking about. It’s no longer one battle and someone wins and we go home. It’s a war now of exhaustion. Who can make the most guns, the most shells, the newest weapons, and then bring them to where the fight must be fought. How much longer will this go on, Hans?”
“A year. Five years. Until we destroy their factories, push them completely off balance, then free the Chin and all those who labor for them.”
“It may be for years, and it may be forever,” Andrew sighed, remembering the tragic refrain from an old song.
Hans nodded.
“There’s still a bit of nip in the air, Andrew.” The two looked up to see Kathleen approaching.
Hans was up on his feet and smiling as she came up and hugged him.
“Andrew showed me the tintype. The baby is thriving.”
Hans grinned, nodding his head proudly.
Kathleen looked down at Andrew shyly, then extended her hand.
Andrew slowly stood up, and Hans watched the two closely. There was still something of a distance there. Andrew was not yet sure of himself. She came closer, leaning over slightly, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. For a moment Andrew did nothing, then his hand came up and drew her in.
It would take time, Hans thought, but all things can indeed heal, if only the Lord will give us the time.
“Come on, you two. Pat’s howling that he wants a drink with you. Says he needs one, and Emil has given his official approval to the venture. Then
our commander in chief here needs a little rest.”
The three started off, Kathleen gently wrapping her arm around Andrew’s waist.
William R. Forstchen
www.onesecondafter.com
www.dayofwrathbook.com
www.spectrumliteraryagency.com/forstchen.htm
William R. Forstchen is the author of over forty books, has a Ph.D. in history from Purdue University and is a Faculty Fellow at Montreat College. His broad spectrum of writing includes science fiction and fantasy, historical fiction, alternate history, several scholarly works, numerous short stories and articles and near-future thrillers ONE SECOND AFTER, ONE YEAR AFTER, THE FINAL DAY, and PILLAR TO THE SKY.
Books by William R. Forstchen
ONE SECOND AFTER
ONE YEAR AFTER
THE FINAL DAY
PILLAR TO THE SKY
WE LOOK LIKE MEN OF WAR
CARRINGTON'S WARNING
(forthcoming in 2018)
Lost Regiment series
RALLY CRY
UNION FOREVER
TERRIBLE SWIFT SWORD
FATEFUL LIGHTNING
BATTLE HYMN
NEVER SOUND RETREAT
A BAND OF BROTHERS
MEN OF WAR
DOWN TO THE SEA
Star Voyager Academy series
STAR VOYAGER ACADEMY
ARTICLE 23
PROMETHEUS
ICE PROPHET
THE FLAME UPON THE IDE
A DARKNESS UPON THE ICE
INTO THE SEA OF STARS
The Gamester Wars series
THE ALEXANDRIAN RING
THE ASSASSIN GAMBIT
THE NAPOLEON WAGER
Novellas, available online
"Doctors of the Night"
"Day of Wrath"
With Newt Gingrich
THE BATTLE OF THE CRATER
VALLEY FORGE
TO TRY MEN’S SOULS
PEARL HARBOR
DAYS OF INFAMY
NEVER CALL RETREAT
GETTYSBURG
1945
With Raymond Feist
HONORED ENEMY
With Greg Morrison
CRYSTAL WARRIORS
Star Trek: The Next Generation
THE FORGOTTEN WAR
Magic: The Gathering
ARENA
Wing Commander series
ACTION STATIONS
FALSE COLORS
FLEET ACTION
HEART OF THE TIGER
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
END RUN with Christopher Stasheff
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Books by William R. Forstchen
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
About the Author
Books by William R. Forstchen
A Band of Brothers Page 32
