Rally Cry

by William R. Forstchen

  With all the burden removed, cables had been run to shore, the ship had finally been keeled over, and the gaping hole near the bow repaired.

  Next came the hard part, refloating the ship. Cables were run out through the bow and anchored firmly in deeper water. First the men had tried to pull her off by hooking the cables to the capstan, but even with sixty men on the bar the ship refused to budge.

  Finally it had turned into a massive engineering project under Tobias's direction. Pilings were sunk a hundred yards forward of the ship. Once a secure foundation was laid, a massive vertical windlass was secured on shore.

  On the appointed day, nearly the entire regiment turned out. Several cables were run out from the ship to the heavy blocks attached to the pilings and then back to shore. Straining at the bars, joined by the half-dozen surviving mounts and a dozen horses loaned by Ivor, the men had set to. For several long minutes the hundreds of men had strained at the bars, cursing and swearing as the ship seemed glued to Kal took good-naturedly, while his wife looked at him wide-eyed, as if her husband had suddenly gone mad.

  With watery eyes, Kal drained off a glass of vodka, and though he gamely kept the cigar alight, the puffs were with little enthusiasm.

  "How do you Yankees find pleasure in this?" Kal finally asked, still gasping and looking slightly green for his effort.

  "I wonder myself at times," Emil retorted. "Always had my suspicion the filthy habit can kill you."

  "You people are such a mystery," Kal said, pulling the cigar out of his mouth and looking at it meditatively, imitating the manner that Andrew used when smoking his pipe.

  "And how's that?" Andrew ventured.

  "This thing you call the Union, for one. I'm curious. Your Private Hawthorne's told me about Boyar Lincoln. But a boyar he sounds not like at all. A boyar that frees slaves, and a country where free men fight to do the freeing of those chained to the soil?"

  "The Union we fought for is our country," Andrew replied, and he looked around the table at his men. "Every man and woman here volunteered to fight to save that country. We believe that all men are created equal."

  Slightly incredulous, Kal looked at the colonel, and putting the cigar back in his mouth, he puffed contemplatively.

  "As I learn more of your language, and the thoughts it expresses, the more I am confused."

  "How so?"

  "Why should men of noble birth fight to free those who are born to work the soil and woods?"

  "Because it is what our country stands for. In America we have no nobles."

  "But Boyar Lincoln who you drink to?"

  Andrew laughed softly, shaking his head. He'd heard Lincoln called many things. During the worst days of the war, before Gettysburg, even he had cursed Lincoln for the fool commanders appointed to lead the Army of the Potomac. But it was a soldier's right to curse bis leaders, and he imagined that even Lincoln would understand that. But Lincoln as a boyar was a first.

  "Lincoln is not a boyar, not even a noble. He came of the peasants the same as you and I. The home he was born in was the same as the cabin I and my men now live in. He is one of us, Kal. In America there are no nobles, no boyars, no peasants, only free men, all of them equal. There were some in our country who thought otherwise, and in the end we had to fight them to end the evil of slavery."

  Leaning back in his chair, Emil cleared his throat, and immediately Andrew realized the mistake he had made. Relations with Ivor were still tense. Neither side had yet to figure out what accommodations were to be made between the two societies. In his heart he knew it would most likely come to a head sooner or later. He preferred later. Given enough time they could at least get organized, and if needs be search out some land to claim their own, beyond the control of Ivor, or the other boyars and find refuge there. Or even better perhaps find a way back home.

  But what he had just said was revolutionary for the Suzdalians. He found it strange that a society could exist with absolutely no concept of personal freedom and equality. As a historian he knew the genesis of American freedom was born out of the social order of England. He knew as well that the brutal autocracy of Russia had been created as a means of surviving under the Mongol yoke.

  The thought of that started his mind to thinking. For two hundred years the Russians had lived under the threat of total annihilation if they dared to defy their conquerors. The nobles had maintained order for their eastern masters and thus guaranteed life both for themselves and for the peasants. While England was planting the first seeds of representative government, Russia had, and of necessity, been ruled by the lash.

  The thoughts started to merge together, but he suppressed the temptation to ask, and instead shifted back to a more immediate concern.

  "What I've just said"—is this for your lord Ivor's information, or for your own knowledge?" Andrew asked.

  Kal merely smiled.

  "And what do you think my lord Ivor would say of this idea you speak of—this Union and boyars who are of the people and not the nobility?"

  Still trying to smile, Andrew could only shake his head.

  "I don't think he'd like it," Andrew said evenly, looking straight into Kal's eyes. Hell, he could just imagine it. The huge boyar would undoubtedly explode in a wild torrent of curses, in the same way he had when they had met only the day before and Andrew asked for an increase in the allocation of food. That had only been placated when he had promised the nobleman a ride aboard the Ogunquit, which was scheduled for tomorrow.

  "I think you are right," Kal replied, chuckling as if they were now sharing a joke.

  Andrew breathed an inner sigh of relief. Somehow he trusted this man, and felt that the peasant had thrown in with him.

  "You know something, Kal?" Emil said, leaning over the table. "We're all amazed at how fast you've learned our language—your translations have helped us tremendously—-but I've had the feeling that you don't quite translate everything that's said when we meet with Ivor."

  Kal showed the most innocent grin possible.

  "Just whose side are you on?" Andrew asked, still smiling.

  "Why, the people's side," Kal said evenly, and the assembly laughed good-naturedly at the response.

  "You'll be a politician yet," O'Donald cried.

  "Is that good, this politician thing?" Kal replied.

  "Depends on who you speak to," Emil said evenly, patting Kal on the shoulder.

  Andrew watched the man closely, the earlier temptation to ask the question coming back again. He felt that bis man was at ease.

  "Tell me, Kal," Andrew ventured in an offhand manner. "Those statues we've seen, and the painting on the wall of the church. Just what are those creatures, anyhow?"

  For a mere second Kal's features froze, and turning, he looked back at Andrew.

  "What statues?" he asked quietly.

  "The ones lining the road. Those horrible-looking things nearly twice the height of a man. It's like they're all covered with hair, and what teeth on them!"

  "Just old gods," Kal said quickly. "Hell creatures destroyed by Perm and Kesus."

  "Strange I see them nearly everywhere," Andrew continued. "I heard a mother say something to a child the other day. I think she called them Tugars."

  It was the look in the mother's eyes that had unnerved him. The child had pointed, obviously asking a question, she had said the word "Tugar," and then with obvious fear had quickly turned the child away.

  But it was not Kal who reacted. As he said the word, Tugar, Tanya and Ludmilla both looked at him with a start.

  Obviously flustered, Kal fumbled for a response.

  "They are nothing," he said quickly. "I believe it is time that I go."

  Standing, he turned to Andrew and gave the traditional bow, right hand extended so that the fingertips swept the ground as he bent over. Ludmilla and Tanya did likewise.

  Rising from the table, Andrew followed them to the door.

  Putting his arm around Kal's shoulder, he stepped outside into the starry night.


  "Did I upset you by asking of the Tugars?" Andrew asked.

  With frightened eyes, Kal looked up at the colonel.

  "Before no one, but especially Ivor or Rasnar, say that word. It is dangerous."

  "But if they are only banished old gods, like our devil back home, why should you be afraid?"

  "This is different," Kal said. "It will not go well if they know that you are aware of such things."

  Andrew could see the fear in Kal's eyes, and nodding an agreement he patted the man on the shoulder.

  "Tomorrow, then, we shall take Ivor for his ride on the boat?"

  Kal merely nodded, and taking the hand of his daughter and his wife, started down the village green to the cabin which Andrew had arranged for them.

  Andrew returned to the officers' mess, and he could see that the men were waiting for him.

  "So what the hell is this Tugar business?" Tobias growled from the other end of the table.

  "Damned if I know," Andrew said, settling back into his chair.

  "Scared the bejeebers out of the man," O'Donald replied, drawing on his cigar.

  "And the girl as well," Kathleen ventured.

  "Well, I think we should ask this Ivor and find out," Tobias announced.

  "No!"

  Startled, the assembly fell quiet. Something about his earlier musings and the reaction of Kal was connecting half a thought. What it was Andrew wasn't sure. But he knew it would be dangerous to ask any questions now.

  "I'm ordering all of you to forget this conversation. If I hear you or anyone else in this camp say the word Tugar,' I'll haul you up on charges. There's something dangerous about asking, Kal told me that, and I believe him."

  "Peasant superstition," Tobias growled. "And besides, what damn charges will you press, colonel, sir? I have a right to freedom of speech."

  "You can say what you want, captain, as long as it does not contradict my orders," Andrew said slowly, "but I am in command of this unit until such time as we ever find a way home. And I am ordering every man here never to make reference to these Tugar creatures."

  With a snort of disgust, Tobias leaned back in his chair. Andrew waited for a response, but the captain was silent, eyeing him with contempt.

  "Now there is other business to attend to. The encampment is basically completed, and the ship has been freed. Therefore, starting tomorrow, I'm granting leave, starting with one company a day, so the men can go into the city."

  "You think that wise, Andrew?" Emil asked.

  "Why?"

  "That place is a pestilence waiting to happen. I don't like the idea of the men going in there. Won't surprise me if there's plague or some such thing just waiting to happen."

  Andrew could well understand the argument. He had wrestled with it as well. He wished he could just keep the men within the stockade, limiting contact until such time as they had their bearings and were ready to move on. But they were men. Morale was slipping badly. In the first weeks, mere survival and the building of the camp had kept them busy. But Hans had been keeping tabs, and morale was starting to take a serious shift.

  Most were still badly frightened by the experience. Nearly a quarter of the command were married men, and from their ranks had been coming the loudest complaints for a desire to return home. He had to let the men out, to see this new world, to form friendships with the people and to just let off some steam. He could only hope that Emil could keep things under control if something did break out.

  "I'm sorry, Emil, I've weighed the risk and it's one we'll have to take. The boys are tough. Just lecture them firmly about the water, and the disease. No one's to go near their churches, and by heavens I'll have any man drunk up for a bucking and gagging on the village green."

  "Who. goes first, colonel darling?" O'Donald asked expectantly.

  "Take half your battery," Andrew said. "We'll have a gun aboard ship fire a salute when we take Ivor back to the city tomorrow. Then they're free for the day. Company A can go with us as well. Captain," and he looked back at Tobias, "you can order your men as you see fit."

  Tobias merely nodded a reply.

  "And the ladies?"

  Andrew turned in his seat to Kathleen.

  "Well, ah, you see . . ."

  "Colonel Keane," Kathleen said evenly, "I can take care of myself, thank you, and have no intention of staying prisoner in this camp."

  "Mutiny," Emil mumbled, a smile lighting his features.

  Flustered, Andrew searched for a reply, finally realizing that Kathleen's features were creased by the slightest of a bemused smile at the consternation of the usually self-assured officer before her.

  "If you would allow me to be your escort tomorrow I would be honored," Andrew said quietly.

  "I will consider it," Kathleen replied.

  "Well, ah," and Andrew nervously cleared his throat, and lapsed into silence, a habit all his friends knew about when in the presence of a woman, and secretively they smiled at each other.

  Andrew looked over at Emil, who was sitting beside Kathleen. The doctor left him dangling for long seconds. Finally Hans took pity and, clearing his throat, leaned over toward Andrew.

  "If I might remind the colonel," he said evenly, "there is some business we must attend to."

  "Yes, of course, sergeant," Andrew said with a sigh of relief, turning away from Kathleen's penetrating gaze. "Thank you for reminding me."

  Regaining his composure, he looked down the table to his company and staff officers, who had sat with smiling patience during the exchange.

  "Other business then, gentlemen. Let's start with Mr. Houston's idea."

  "My boys want to get started on that sawmill, sir," Tracy Houston, the diminutive captain of Company D, said, speaking from the other end of the table. Houston was only nineteen, looking even younger thanks to a shock of unruly blond hair and a cloud of freckles that covered his face. But his features were a stark contradiction to a hardened officer who had won a commission in the field for gallantry during the Wilderness campaign.

  "Start them tomorrow right after the ceremony with Ivor. You've got the site?"

  "A good one, sir. About a quarter mile east of the encampment. There's a good head of water coming through a narrow gorge, so the dam won't take much work. My man Ferguson is a wonder—he's already laid out the site and figures he can have an overshot wheel with a fifteen-foot drop working inside of a month if the whole company pitches in on it. Privates Ivey and Olsen helped build a mill dam back in Vassalboro. The main problem is that we'll need a forge with some good iron to turn out a blade."

  Andrew looked over at O'Donald. Every battery in the army had at least one blacksmith assigned to it who could handle the shoeing of the horses and repairs to the equipment.

  "Dunlevy's the man," O'Donald stated. "Now if he could build that forge next to the dam and get some power off it for a bellows, why, you'll have the finest blade in this bloody country inside a month. We need a good smithy works here."

  "Agreed, then. I'll get Ferguson to work on a gear system to give power to a forge and sawmill, but it'll mean a bigger wheel, most likely. I'll get one of the boys to figure out what's needed."

  "What about power for a grain mill?" Fletcher, the plug-shaped commander of G Company, asked.

  "Why's that?" Andrew asked.

  "They don't have anything like it here," Fletcher replied. "These poor sods are still doing it by hand. Figure if we put up a grain mill, it'll be business for us, so we ain't relying so much on that boyar fellow for a handout. One of my boys already found a good quarry site, on the other side of the river, for mill stones. Figures he could carve out a good set in a couple of weeks."

  Smiling, Andrew leaned back in his chair. He'd been worried about what to keep his men occupied with, but in the worrying he'd forgotten about their character. They were Mainers, and any man of sense knew that when it came to Yankee traders a Mainer could skin a man from Massachusetts or Connecticut coming and going.

  Andrew looked ov
er at Ferguson.

  "It's your site."

  Houston tugged at his thin scanty whiskers for a moment, eyeing Fletcher with suspicion.

  "Give me the men of your company to help build our dam first—do that and we'll give you the first boards for yours, plus a couple of squads to help build your dam. You'll get wood as well—that is after the Methodist committee gets theirs for the church. Anyhow, that gorge could support half a dozen mills and dams at the very least."

  "Will you throw in Ferguson to help lay out the grain mill?"

  "Hold on here," Andrew said chuckling. "What is this?"

  "Just a little business dealing, that's all."

  For a moment Andrew was ready to object. They were all the same regiment, but instantly he realized that if anything these ventures and the concept of company projects were just the tonic they needed.

  "All right then, gentlemen. Trading for labor between companies while on regiment time is all right, but only for approved projects for the good of the regiment. If any profits are made selling services to the locals, half will go to the company which started and is running the affair to spend as they see fit, the rest goes to the regimental coffers."

  The various commanders nodded their agreement.

  "Speaking of ironworks ..." Mina, commander of E Company, began.

  "Go on, then."

  "Has anyone given a thought to where we are going to get iron for blades and horseshoes and other such things?"

  "And I suppose you have the answer," Andrew replied.

  "Just so happens I do," Mina said proudly. "Several of my boys worked the zinc mines up on the edge of the White Mountains. I studied a bit of metallurgy myself at the state university. The boys and I have been wandering about, and we've found a likely site for some ore, about four miles farther up the mill stream. We'll need to cut a trail up there, but it could be producing a good supply of ore. All we'll need is a wheel powering a furnace and a kiln to bake the stuff down, and we'll be hauling iron out of there inside three months."