The Portal

by Richard Bowker

  I spotted Professor Foster through the smoke. He was jumping up and down and clapping his hands. It had worked. Electricity had worked.

  And then his smile disappeared, and he too pitched over, clutching his chest.

  The attack slowed down. Over the gunfire I heard the sound of a trumpet from beyond the fence. "They're retreating!" someone shouted.

  I expected us to go after them, and maybe some of the soldiers did, too. But officers on horseback shouted out orders, and we stayed put, instead pouring fire on the enemy as they fell back.

  I sort of figured that was it, the battle was over, but the officers didn't act as if it was over. One of them yelled at me to get more ammunition. I pointed at Augustus's body. "The driver's dead," I said.

  "Then go yourself, blast you," he shouted. "Come on, no time to waste."

  Reluctantly I climbed onto the bench and picked up the reins. I had done this with Susie a couple of times at the professor's house, just for fun. Now it was anything but fun. I gave the reins a shake, and amazingly the horse obeyed me, and we made our way through the bodies back to the ammunition depot. Meanwhile, covered ambulance wagons were being loaded with the injured, and soldiers raced every which way on horseback. It all looked utterly chaotic, but people seemed to know what they were doing.

  Sergeant Dryerson just shook his head when he spotted me alone in the wagon. I told him what had happened at Sector 7.

  "Old Gus saw it coming, poor fellow," he said. "Well, he'll have plenty of company before the day is done."

  "What do you think will happen next?"

  "The enemy'll regroup and attack again, I expect. But from what you say we gave 'em a nasty surprise, so it'll only get harder for 'em next time. No sense speculating, though. Let's just fill that caisson."

  I loaded it up with the sergeant's help, and then headed back to Sector 7. There was only scattered fire now, and I started to wonder if he might be wrong. What if the Portuguese had given up?

  No one seemed to believe it, though. The fortifications were quiet, except for an occasional shot and the groans of soldiers the ambulances hadn't yet reached. I didn't see Augustus's body. As I unloaded the ammunition I looked up at the balloon, still hovering over us. The soldier inside was signaling down to someone, using the semaphore system Professor Palmer had devised.

  We'll know where the next attack is coming, I thought.

  The officers started shouting out orders to the men, and a lot of them moved off, away from the electric fence to another part of the fortifications. I recalled how the professor had scoffed at the fortifications the army had been building out by Brighton. These were bigger than the ones there—they'd had a lot of time to work on them. But, except for the electric fence, the whole thing was really nothing more than some fences and long piles of packed earth, never more than about six feet high. In a lot of places there were long wooden poles sticking out like huge pencils to slow down attackers, but in other places cannon balls had blown pretty big holes in the earth. The fortifications would slow the enemy down but wouldn't stop them, not if there were enough of them, and they were determined to break through.

  A lieutenant rode over to me as I unloaded the cases of ammunition. "Who told you to bring those here?" he demanded.

  "Sir, the sergeant at the—"

  "Never mind, never mind," he interrupted. "Load 'em all back up and take 'em to Sector 10." He waved in the direction where most of the soldiers were heading—west, further inland. "And hurry, boy."

  "Yes, sir."

  My arms were getting really tired, but I managed to load the ammunition back onto the caisson and started off.

  I never found out where Sector 10 was, exactly. Before I got there another lieutenant stopped me. "Where are you going with that?"

  "Sector 10, sir."

  "Never mind about Sector 10. We need ammunition here."

  So I stopped and did as I was told. And I started wondering how much control the "idiot generals" really had over the battle.

  As I was unloading the ammunition again the battle resumed. The roar of gunfire started out further along the fortifications—in Sector 10, maybe. Our soldiers were crowded up at the earthen wall, their rifles aimed over it. I saw the lieutenant on his horse with his sword in the air. Then he lowered the sword, and the men began firing.

  This time I was too busy to watch what was going on. I hauled the ammunition up to the soldiers, who were firing as fast as they could. I scurried along the wall, bent over to keep from being hit, and passed the bullets to whoever needed them.

  "Steady, men, steady!" I heard the lieutenant shout after a while. "Fix bayonets! No retreat! It's here or nowhere!"

  And then I saw why. With a roar, a long line of enemy soldiers clambered up over the wall, pushing against us, and suddenly the sound of rifle fire died down a little, and I was in the middle of a hand-to-hand battle.

  I had waited too long to get away. Now I tried to get back to the caisson, but there were soldiers all around me, and I couldn't even see it. All I could see were blue-and red-jacketed men stabbing and bludgeoning each other. All I could hear were their grunts and screams and moans. And I was the one without a weapon.

  It was awful. I've played lots of violent video games, but they're just stupid and pointless. These were real people, killing and bleeding and dying right next to me.

  I managed to stay out of the way for a while. I was worried that, without a uniform, the soldiers wouldn't know which side I was on. Then one short, bearded enemy soldier spotted me and lunged at me with his bayonet, too fast for me to duck out of the way. But before the blade reached me I heard a pistol shot from close range, and the man dropped to his knees and keeled over at my feet. I turned around and saw Chester standing behind me. "Boys," he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. He picked up the soldier's rifle and tossed it to me, then turned to fight someone else.

  I had never held a rifle before, if you don't count BB guns. My father won't have any of that stuff in the house. The rifle felt heavy with the bayonet attached, but I kept it raised in front of me as the fighting raged.

  You kind of lose your mind in a battle. You're not thinking, you're just reacting. The adrenaline is rushing through you, and everything is kind of a blur. And you do what you have to do, because otherwise you're going to die.

  So there was another blue-jacketed soldier. He was young and scrawny, with no beard, just a wispy mustache. Somehow I remember that mustache. And I noticed him coming towards me out of the corner of my eye. Looking back on it, I think he was heading for me because I looked young and scared. Like him. An easy target, maybe. He had a sword in his hand, and it was aimed at me.

  I whirled, and at the same instant I pressed the trigger. The rifle recoiled with a force that almost knocked me over. And he screamed. Over all the shouting and shooting I heard that scream. I will never forget it. Then he toppled over backwards, still holding onto his sword.

  And that was the last I saw of him.

  I can't remember anything much that happened after that. I don't think I killed anyone else—but it's possible. I have no idea how long the fighting lasted. There just came a point when my brain seemed to start working again, and I realized that there weren't that many blue jackets still standing. Some had dropped their weapons and raised their hands. There weren't any more enemy soldiers climbing over the wall, either.

  Finally my brain put it all together: We had won.

  "After them, mates!" someone shouted, and everyone gave out a roar and raced to the fortifications. I looked around for the lieutenant in charge. All I saw was his horse, wandering by itself among the corpses and the wounded men. Somewhere behind us a trumpet sounded. I couldn't tell what was going on, but the men hesitated, and then stopped.

  I looked out through a part of the fortifications that had been destroyed. The ground was covered with the bodies of enemy soldiers who had been shot before they'd made it inside. How many Portuguese were left? Would there be another attack? Or wa
s the rest of their army retreating, defeated?

  A captain rode up. I had seen him in the mess at headquarters, and had stood in line behind him once to wash up. He looked around, gave some orders that I couldn't hear, and then rode off. I asked a soldier what was going on. "We stay here and let 'em attack again if they're so inclined," he said. His face was grimy and spattered with blood; one arm of his jacket was ripped.

  "Why don't we go after them?"

  He shrugged. "Getting late. And we still have a city to defend, I expect. Might have to go fight the Canadians next."

  "Do you think the Portuguese will come back?"

  He shook his head. "We cut the heart out of 'em, lad. They won't be back."

  I suppose I should have felt happier than I did. But all I felt was relief and sudden, complete exhaustion.

  The ambulances had returned to the battlefield and were being loaded with the wounded. I found my way to the caisson and threw the Portuguese rifle into it. It was all I could do to get up onto the driver's seat and pick up the reins. The horse had survived the battle. He seemed tired too, but he perked up and slowly headed back to the depot.

  And now all I could think about was Kevin. Had he survived the battle? And if New England had truly won, could we make our way back to Glanbury at long last?

  Chapter 24

  Kevin wasn't at the ammunition depot when I arrived. Sergeant Dryerson said he'd been sent to Sector 14. "Hard fighting there, I've heard. But don't worry, he'll be back. Meanwhile, you look like you've been through it. How'd you end up with that?" he asked, gesturing at the rifle.

  I told him about getting caught in the battle.

  The sergeant was impressed. "Hold onto the rifle, lad. It might come in handy. Grab some bullets for it, as long as you're here."

  "Have you heard anything about the battle with the Canadians?" I thought to ask.

  He shook his head. "But it looks like we've won half the war—unless the Portuguese decide to regroup and attack again tomorrow. That's better than some of us thought we'd do."

  What good was it to win half the war, I wondered. I hung around the depot, taking care of the horse and helping to clean up. Outside, the camp was just as busy as before the battle, with wagons clattering over the dirt path and messengers on horseback galloping past them and soldiers trudging back from the fortifications. I kept looking for Kevin's caisson, but it didn't show up, and I became more and more nervous. It was getting dark out. What would I do if he didn't show up?

  "Come to the mess with us, lad," Sergeant Dryerson said to me. "You need a good meal."

  "Thanks, but I guess I'll stay here and wait for my friend."

  This time he didn't say anything reassuring. "Do you need a place to stay the night?" he asked gently. "The barracks won't be full, I fear."

  I just shrugged. I couldn't think about that right now. The sergeant went off with the other soldiers, and I sat down outside the depot, shivering in the cold, with the rifle by my side. It was starting to get dark. I wondered if my father was all right. And poor fat Benjamin, who had looked so unhappy when Corporal Hennessy told him to report to Sergeant Hornbeam. And Chester, who had saved my life, even if I was a boy. And all the other soldiers I had met. How many people died today that I knew?

  Don't be dead, Kevin, I thought. It had been my idea to volunteer for the battle. He just wanted to go home. So if he died, it was my fault.

  "Am I glad to see you," a voice said.

  I looked up and saw a Red Sox cap heading towards me.

  For the second day in a row, I was so relieved to see Kevin I thought I'd cry. I was so relieved I didn't have the energy to tell him how relieved I was. I just kind of waved. He sat down next to me. "It's cold," he said.

  "Sure is."

  "Think we can get something to eat?"

  "They'll feed us over at the mess."

  We didn't move, though. We were silent for a while. "My driver was shot," Kevin said finally. "Killed."

  "Mine too."

  "The caisson got wrecked during the battle, so I had to walk back. Then on the way they asked me to help out on one of the ambulances, take people to the field hospital. Surgery, they call it. What a nasty place. They don't have, you know, what's the word?"

  I thought. "Anesthesia?"

  "Anesthesia. Yeah. They could sure use anesthesia."

  I shivered, thinking about it. "I killed someone, Kevin," I said. "I got caught in the battle, and I had this rifle, and I shot a Portuguese soldier. In the chest. He wasn't much older than us."

  "Geez," Kevin whispered. "You okay?"

  "I guess so. I keep telling myself that I didn't have any choice. Kill or be killed, right? Still."

  "It's a war," Kevin said.

  "Still." We were silent some more. Finally I said, "So why don't we go get some food?"

  Kevin didn't respond. I looked over at him, and tears were streaming down his face. "I want to go home, Larry," he said. "I want to go home so bad."

  I put my arm around him, and we huddled together in the cold and the dark. In the distance, I thought I could hear screams from the surgery.

  Finally it got too cold to just sit there, so we got up and found our way to the mess—a long, low-ceilinged, smoky building with a big fire burning in a fireplace at one end. It was crowded but quiet, despite the victory. We didn't see Sergeant Dryerson, but we did spot Caleb and Fred, who were happy to have us join them. "You lads turn up everywhere," Caleb said. "Aren't you supposed to be back at headquarters?"

  "Yeah," I said, "but everyone had to help out today."

  "That's surely true. Interesting hat, mate," he said to Kevin. "'B' for Boston?"

  "That's right," Kevin replied.

  "Wish I had me one of those."

  I noticed Sergeant Hornbeam looking at us from another table, but he didn't come over.

  Caleb and Fred told us the latest war news while we ate cold mutton and hard rolls. We had held the Canadians off for today, but everyone expected another assault; that battle had been nowhere near as decisive as this one seemed to have been. Caleb thought that some troops would be left here to defend the fortifications, but others would be shifted over to reinforce the soldiers fighting the Canadians to the north.

  "Maybe the Portuguese will swing around the city and join them," Fred suggested.

  "More likely they got such a licking today that they won't stop running till they're back in New Portugal," Caleb countered.

  All the other soldiers at the table got into the discussion about what would happen next. Most agreed with Caleb that the Portuguese were done fighting. "That fence was enough to scare them away," one said.

  "What did that fence do, exactly?" another soldier asked.

  "Don't know, but whatever it was, they surely didn't like it."

  Kevin didn't seem interested in any of this discussion. Once he was finished eating, he immediately started asking where we could find a bed for the night.

  "Not going back to headquarters?" Caleb asked.

  He shrugged. "Maybe tomorrow."

  "By the way, where is that ciphering machine of yours?" Fred asked. "Fellows, you should have seen that machine. It was the darnedest thing..."

  But Kevin didn't stick around to listen to them talk about his watch. Instead he got up and left the mess.

  "He's pretty tired," I explained.

  "Don't blame him," Caleb said. "We're in Barracks B, across the way. Tell the orderly to find you lads a spot."

  I thanked Caleb, grabbed my rifle, and went to catch up with Kevin. He was outside the mess. "What's up?" I asked. "I was going to ask them about who died in the battle. Did I tell you about Professor Foster? He got shot."

  "Doesn't matter," Kevin said. "We've got to get some sleep and head for Glanbury first thing in the morning. Otherwise Lieutenant Carmody is going to find out we're here and grab us. Everyone in camp is gonna know about the kids with the ciphering machine before long. You think that won't get back to headquarters?"

 
"Okay," I said. "Maybe you're right. Do you think we can make it to Glanbury? For all we know, the Portuguese army is still out there."

  "We have a better shot than we did yesterday, Larry. And we can't stay here. We can't be in any more battles."

  He was shaking with emotion. He'd had enough. More than enough. "Fine," I said. I motioned towards the building with the big letter B painted on it. "Let's go over there and see if we can find a couple of beds. In the morning we'll figure it out."

  Inside Barracks B a gloomy young soldier sat behind a desk. He must've been the orderly. He shook his head when we explained what we wanted. "That's not procedures," he said. "If you're not assigned here, you need an order signed by a colonel."

  "Look," I said. "We've been fighting the Portuguese all day. Now we just want someplace to sleep. We're too tired to go looking for a colonel."

  "That's the procedures," he explained again, as if we were a little slow in understanding. "You're not even soldiers," he pointed out. "The rules say you shouldn't even be in this building."

  "Let them have a bed, you imbecile!" a voice demanded from behind us.

  It was Sergeant Hornbeam, his red mustache bristling.

  The orderly looked offended. "They need an order signed—"

  The sergeant was right in front of him now. "Give them a bed!" he shouted. "Do you have a casualty list?"

  "Well, yes, but it's very preliminary."

  "It doesn't matter if it's preliminary, now does it?" the sergeant pointed out. "If someone is listed as dead, he's not coming back to life, is he?"

  "Not procedures," the orderly mumbled. "Highly irregular."

  "These are highly irregular times. Now do it!"

  The orderly studied a piece of paper for a second, and then stood up. "Come along then," he said, without looking at us.

  "Thanks, Sergeant," I said to Sergeant Hornbeam.

  He dismissed us with a wave. "Get some sleep," he said. "There are far too many imbeciles in this army," he muttered as he walked out the door.