"They're getting set to hit."
"Well, let's go see."
The Rus brigadier pointed up the trail and Pat followed. Both of the moons were just past full, their light illuminating the forest with twin ribbons of shadows and light. Pat had been up on the ford when both had been at full, and the shrieks of the Cartha prisoners on the other side had curdled his blood, like the wailing of banshees. Just at dawn the Merki had stood one of them up, and he had seen the flames.
He suppressed a retch at the memory, which had sent the Rus troops into a frenzy. Whoever had done it was certainly a fool, Pat realized, for if ever there was a way to harden men to fight to the death, it was the sight of that.
"Get down low," the Rus general hissed. "They're getting damn good at it. Some of them have got our captured rifles."
Enough to arm nearly two divisions' worth, Pat thought coldly. As if to add weight to the argument, Harrigan stood up for a quick look around only to dive into the pine needles when the tree alongside his head was torn open by a minie ball.
They slid into a trench lining the river bank, then moved down its length for a score of paces to the spot where a narrow sniper's slit had been carved between two logs.
Pat cautiously peered through the hole.
The river was less than a hundred yards across, and the moonlight gave a ghostly glow to the corpses, human and Merki, lining the other shore.
The sound of axes ringing on the far shore rang across the river. The mole was only thirty yards into the stream, fronted with a heavy log breastwork, and it had been torn and riddled by twelve-pound solid shot fired at near point-blank range.
Farther upstream he saw incessant flashes of light rippling up and down the shore, both sides keeping up a murderous fire.
"It's been building all night," the general said. "There must be thousands of those poor Cartha devils in the woods, getting ready to push the log rafts in to block off the stream."
Pat nodded.
"All you men up?"
"Haven't slept since early morning of yesterday."
"Get them ready."
"What kind of support do I have?"
Pat smiled.
"They're planning this for all along the line, fifty miles. I'm getting the same reports. They've got six moles like this one, and there's half a dozen other fords. The bastards are even floating across the deep sections on logs. It's all getting set to hit."
"I'm just worried about me," the brigadier said.
"It's gonna be a long day, Ilya, I'm sorry."
"A regiment by mid-morning, that's all I'm asking. Hell, general, they'll be over the river by then."
"You better not let it happen here," Pat said quietly. "You've got a good path running behind you for horses. They'll slice right through us if you fail."
"Well, thanks for the support," the brigadier hissed.
"A pleasure, general, a pleasure," Pat replied, slapping the man on the shoulder.
He paused for a moment.
"Ilya."
The Rus general looked back angrily.
"We need you to hold out as long as possible, do you understand? I'm trusting you to give it everything you've got before you allow your men to fall back."
"Thanks, I understand now." His voice was cold, as if already coming from the grave.
Pat crawled back out of the trench and started for the rear, ignoring the flurry of shots that snapped
through the trees above him. Standing up at last, he walked back to his mount.
"Poor son of a bitch doesn't stand a chance," Harrigan said in English.
"Somebody had to take the worst spot, and it's him," Pat replied, looking back sadly as he mounted. "It's the same place where the Tugars first flanked us. They were bound to remember it."
"Will you commit the reserves to him?"
"They're dug in five miles back across a gully. It's all we've got."
"Then you won't."
"Never reinforce what you know will be a defeat," Pat whispered. "We're weak all along the line, and we've got to save most of this army for Kev. We're buying time here, Harrigan. Buying time. Five miles a day through the woods at most—that's what Andrew's asking for, that's what he'll get. We need at least three corps to make any type of stand at Kev, and we need another two weeks to get everyone out. It means a lot of men are going to die in the process."
Trying to still the guilt in his heart, Pat turned his mount and galloped off.
Andrew stepped out of his headquarters into the incessant roar of battle. Overhead a shot fluttered past, detonating at the opposite side of the clearing.
A half-mile away, at the ford, the thunder was reaching a sharp crescendo. The incessant shouts of the Merki boomed above the roar of the artillery and the sharp tearing report of volleys.
Yet this was merely a demonstration.
Andrew looked down at the telegraph message from Pat.
" 'Yerganin Ford breached on half-mile front.
Recommend evacuation of enure 2nd Corps southward.' "
The Merki were across the river, on the fifteenth day of what he had hoped would be thirty.
He slumped against the side of the rail car. In less than five days, Suzdal and the heart of Rus would be overrun.
"The Navgah and Vushka have forced the river!"
Jubadi looked over at the joyful messenger and merely nodded in reply.
He stretched wearily, wishing he could take off his battle armor, but he still had to put on the show. His Qarths and umen commanders grunted their approval of the news.
"It's more than fifty miles through the woods, from the ford down to the open lands near their city of Vazima," Muzta said quietly. "It's gullies, sharp ravines, marshes. The last time they didn't have the men to cover that approach and ceded it to us. It'll be a hard fight, Jubadi."
"We are still driving them back," Vuka replied.
"And we are running low on food," Muzta said. "Horses cannot dig for roots in the forest for long. They cannot eat cattle flesh. Our mounts are thinning."
Jubadi held his hand up for silence.
"We will be in their land. Then we shall eat off of it."
"If they are still there," Tamuka replied.
Jubadi looked over at the shield-bearer.
"Not your vision again?"
"It was the tu, the sight; that is what I speak of, my Qar Qarth."
Vuka gave a sniff of disdain and turned his horse around, trotting off.
"We will know of this when the cloud-flyers go up again," Hulagar interjected. "They are ready, and but wait for a favorable wind."
"Get them up, once the wind changes," Jubadi snapped. "I need to know."
He looked up at the dark skies heavy with rain, and cursed.
His mount slipping through the mud, Pat reined in hard, the horse nearly collapsing.
"You've got to hold here till night!" Pat shouted, pointing with his saber to the crest of the ravine.
The men in the road nodded, moving up to the low ridge and deploying across the trail. From up over the next ridge a mud-spattered mob appeared, men staggering, running hard, many without weapons.
From beyond came a rising, taunting shout.
Pat edged his horse up to the top of the ridge.
In the gully below, men were wading through the marshy ground to either side of the trail. Spilling over the opposite ridge, barely visible in the rain and mist, came a scattering of Merki, some on horse, most on foot, waving scimitars, some carrying Springfield rifles, others with bows.
Pat had thought to keep the next line five miles back from the river, but guilt had finally won, and he had rushed a regiment forward to provide cover for Ilya's broken units.
The forest to either side echoed with shouts, the woods for miles along the river now a breach.
"Bad as the Wilderness."
He looked down to see an officer standing by his horse, gasping for breath. He wore the colonel's eagle of the Rus army, and was dressed in the faded blue
of a Union uniform, his corporal stripes still visible.
"Damn near," Pat said dryly. "What happened up there?"
"My regiment was to the right of the ford. We burned off most of our ammunition just shooting the poor Cartha bastards pushing the log rafts and booms in. They jammed the river by the mole, and in minutes they started across. Thousands of them. The whole line broke, sir."
"It had to happen sooner or later," Pat replied, his voice edged with bitterness.
"We got flanked, I ordered the boys back. Got cut off a couple of times, but we pushed out. I told the men to keep going straight south, angle in towards the road, and get the hell out of here."
Pat nodded.
A volley roared down the line, slamming into the Merki on the opposite ridge and slowing their charge. The men down in the gully were running hard, coming up the slope and dragging their wounded along. The survivors came through the line and kept on going.
Pat saw the Rus general and rode up to his side.
"Tried, but they just keep coming," the man gasped.
"You did your best."
"Lost half a brigade back there. It better be worth it," the man said bitterly.
"Let's hope so," Pat replied, reaching over to offer the man a drink.
The officer took the flask, drained it down in a long gulp, and passed it back up.
"Keep your men moving south," Pat said. "Rally them at sundown, then march 'em south and out of here. Once clear of the woods head to Vyzima—a train will pick you up."
"To go where, yet another debacle?" the general snapped, and without waiting for a reply he started down the trail.
The Merki, stalled for a moment by the fresh regiment, started down the slope at a run, chanting their clan names. They hit the marshy ground and sank knee-deep, but kept sloughing forward. The woods filled with acrid smoke, bullets that missed then mark sending up geysers of mud. The enemy pushed on, climbing over their dead and relentlessly pushing in.
Straight down the trail a heavy column started in at a run, hitting the corduroy road through the low ground. The head of the column collapsed from the volleys and the rear spilled over the sides of the road and leaped past the bodies of their comrades, swarming up the slope. Bows wet from the rain snapped lazy bolts up the hill, still carrying enough power to drive into flesh. Men staggered out of the line, holding still quivering shafts.
"Wounded that can walk, take your guns with you!" Pat shouted. Far too many weapons were being lost in the leapfrog retreat through the woods.
Pat watched the action closely. The fresh regiment was giving a good account of itself, and the torn remnants of the broken units were now safely to the rear.
He rode up to the regimental commander.
"They'll be flanking you before long. Send a couple of your reserve companies back to the next ridge, then get your boys the hell out before you get overrun!"
The commander nodded without comment.
Pat turned to ride away. He had to keep reminding himself that he was not a field commander anymore. He was responsible for the entire right wing of the army, a full two corps, holding over fifty miles of woods bordering the river. If he let this corps go down, there'd be precious little to hold Kev.
He started back. A wounded Rus soldier was hobbling down the road, trailing blood from a gunshot wound to the leg. Pat reached down from his mount.
"Get up here, damn it!" he snapped, grabbing hold of the man and pulling him up across the horse's rump. The soldier grimaced even as he tried to force a smile of thanks.
Pat urged the horse into a gallop. With mud splattering, he cantered off into the mist.
The train rolled silently into the station, the hiss of steam mingling with the light drizzle that marked the ending of the storm that had lingered for two long days and nights.
Wearily, Andrew climbed down from the car. The reception committee looked ghostlike in the fog, silhouetted by a couple of lanterns, the umbrellas above them shiny from the rain.
There was an eerie silence to it all. He had so many memories of other days at this station: the day the first train bearing citizens of Roum came in; the morning he had left here to lead the relief to their allies, or the coming back less than three weeks ago after the defeat on the Potomac. Now there was another defeat in the air. Three days ago the enemy had broken the Neiper. With the coming of morning advanced scouts most likely would be filtering out of the forest, sweeping down toward Vyzima by nightfall. The moment Merki units hit the rail line, the retreat out for everything west of Vyzima would be cut.
"I've been reading the reports," Kal said quietly, coming out of the group to shake Andrew's hand.
"They put up a hell of a fight, but I still don't think it gave us enough time," Andrew replied softly.
"Is it time to leave?" Kal asked.
Andrew nodded sadly.
"Anyone still in the city has to be out by tomorrow," Andrew said. "We're keeping a brigade at the ford till tomorrow night. Once evening comes in, all trains will be run back up the line to pick up the troops pulling back to Vyzima and those at the ford,
"A couple of regiments will stay in the city till the end. They'll retreat south to the beach on the inland sea, and be pulled out by Hamilcar and a couple of the ironclads. After that, the only ones to see Suzdal will be Bullfinch's flotilla, which will stay on the river for the duration.
"How did we do, John?" Andrew asked quietly, falling in with the group as they started back up the hill toward the Great Square. A shell from the far shore arched overhead, bursting in midair, followed seconds later by a volley of shots that thunder-clapped across the square and on northward into the Yankee Quarter.
Andrew tried not to worry about it.
"Only half the food out we had hoped for," John said wearily. "We must of burned tens of thousands of tons out in the barns and fields that we could have gotten out. We've got a pretty good sweep of everything west of Vyzima, but east of that, especially from Nizhil to Kev, maybe fifty thousand tons of it are still sitting there. If the Merki drive straight on east, it's all going to have to be torched."
"The people?"
"Like something out of the Bible. An exodus of them marching east, the roads choked with them. Trains overflowing. Nearly everyone west of Vyzima is out, but if they come on hard, Andrew, I'm afraid a couple of hundred thousand still might get caught.
There's a hell of a lot of people still a hundred or more miles west of Kev, and a huge cluster around Vyzima. Word didn't get to some of the out regions for days. Some of those poor bastards out in the far reaches don't believe what's happening and are refusing to leave, or got started too late. We've got a good fifty thousand along the coast. Hamilcar is running galleys to pick them up, moving them to the Kennebec, where they can walk up to the rail line and catch a train east. Some of the folks are even heading into the woods."
"Maybe they'll get lucky and survive," Kal replied.
"I tell you, it's like them stories you read about the Russians and Napoleon. Some of the peasants even plowed their crops back under before leaving. Trees are getting dropped across roads. I broke up a couple of companies of engineers and sent them to damn near every town. Showed people how to make traps, deadfalls. I saw one smart bastard catch a couple of poisonous snakes and put them in a barrel that looks like it might have food. If it doesn't kill some Merki bastard, it'll sure scare the shit out of him."
John chuckled softly, the rest of the group shaking their heads.
"We took about five hundred defective shells that hadn't been cast right and packed them with powder anyhow, set percussion fuses in them. We'll bury them in the roads as we pull back. That ought to shake them up as well."
"Good work. When they come on to Kev, anything to slow them will buy us time and hurt them further."
"Once they break through, they could sweep up to the White Hills in five, six days," John said. "If only we had a division or two of cavalry, it'd slow them down. We're tied to that single rail line. T
hey'll outflank us anywhere we try to slow them."
Andrew said nothing, and after a long moment of silence John realized that his commander would not offer any information.
"Now the bad news. We're going down on engines, Ten were stripped down to give power to the factories. The first rifles were turned out today in Hispania, and we've got shot getting molded again as well. But twelve of the locomotives are just plain finished—they're back up at Hispania for overhauling, We had to tow three of them in, the others barely could make it under their own steam. We've done a year's worth of hauling in a month, Andrew—the tracks are ready to come apart."
"Well, I don't think it'll be much of a worry after tomorrow."
"I've got crews waiting for a good sixty miles west of Kev. Once the last troop trains go through we're going to start tearing up the rail behind us. At a hundred tons to the mile that'll be six thousand tons of iron. It'll keep the forges going for weapons— we'll even use them in fortifications."
"Good thinking," Andrew said, forcing a smile. "But don't pass the order on that till I give the word."
"But the food, Andrew, that's the problem. At best we've got forty days' worth for the people. Army rations are fairly secure for the next sixty days, though I had to order a lot of them sent back up to Hispania, where we have more warehouses going up. Emil's worried about disease. We're getting a lot of typhoid—it's spreading from that outbreak we had last winter up in Yaroslav. There's even been a couple of cases of smallpox. A lot of consumption, too, what with all this rain."
"A mixed blessing," Casmar said.
"Father, if you could come up with a clear-weather prayer I'd sure appreciate it."
"For tomorrow morning's mass, my son."
Andrew nodded his thanks.
They had reached the great square. It was ghostly, the city dark and eerie as only an empty city can be. Andrew felt as if spirits were taking over.
"What about the factories?"
"Cleaned out, as of yesterday."
"And all the government material?"
"Everything's gone," Bill Webster said. "Presses for money, a full boxcar load of paper for notices, forms, the usual garbage of running a bureaucracy, including all records. The same for the treasury and public corporations."
Terrible Swift Sword Page 34
