That was increasingly his greatest anxiety, that the tunnel would pop up outside of the warehouse, or worse yet, under one of the tracks.
"Before we even approached you on it, Alexi paced it off a dozen times. The tough part was making a compass and having him sight the angle in correctly without being spotted. Once we got the angle in we were on our way."
"Gregory, if we're more than a couple of feet off, we are dead."
"Don't worry. Remember, I was in staff school. I still remember the stuff drilled into us on geometry. And Alexi worked for railroad construction. It's on the mark."
He looked sideways at Gregory, wondering just how confident the young officer really was.
"I wonder what it'll be like back home," Gregory said wistfully. "Four years is a long time."
"You'll be a hero."
A sad smile flickered across his features, "I wonder. I lost my command; all except Alexi are dead. Will they even remember me?"
Hans said nothing. For four years Gregory had slept in the barracks right next to the small room allotted to Tamira and himself. The walls were paper-thin and he could hear the dreams, the nightmares.
"She'll still be waiting."
"Do you think so?"
"Of course she will, son. Your daughter's most likely heard endless stories about you. She'll know you on sight."
Gregory sadly shook his head. "My wife, she was so young, only seventeen when we were married during the retreat from Suzdal. After that, we had less than a year. I can't expect her to spend her life as a widow."
He smiled wistfully. "She was so beautiful with her golden hair that always seemed to fall over her eyes when she let her braids down. I remember…"
His voice trailed off into silence, and he looked away for a moment.
“It's just, well, it's just that I came to accept it all. I was dead, she was living and would go on living. Now I'm coming back and suddenly the memories are so alive again. So real, I can see her, imagine her."
He looked at Hans, then said brokenly, “Imagine her now with someone else."
“Don't torture yourself, son," Hans replied. He had always been so awkward when it came to talking of such things. Tamira and simply trying to stay alive here, and coaxing others to stay alive, had opened up something inside him, and he could sense the anguish.
“I know soldiers' wives. If the body's brought back, or a trusted friend says that they saw you dead, maybe then, after the grief subsides, maybe then they'll find someone else. But even then, it can take years. You're different. The unit simply disappeared. I guess Andrew would have sent out patrols, they might have found where the battle was fought, they might have found evidence."
He didn't add the rest. There would be no graves or rotting corpses lying on the steppe. All that would be found would be the blackened and cracked bones from the feast.
"You're missing. You told me yourself there were rumors that the Merki and Bantag were starting to take prisoners. That's what she'll think and believe. And besides, there'll be something in her heart telling her you're still alive. Believe me. I've seen it."
"I talk to her every night," Gregory said. Hans didn't reply, for in the silence of the night, he had heard the whispered conversation, the murmuring of others in the barracks, praying to their God or gods, crying, talking to loved ones, dreaming that they were home, that home and living were still possible.
"See, right there. Don't you think she feels that? Haven't you felt her talking to you? Telling you about your daughter?"
Gregory nodded. "At first, all the time. But now she seems so distant. I can barely remember what she looks like, except for her eyes, peeking out from under her hair, the scent she use to wear."
"All of it will come back," Hans replied, putting his hand on Gregory's shoulder. "And besides, I want a front row seat when you go up on stage again to do Henry V.”
Gregory, forcing back the tears, tried to smile. "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…"
Having walked down the length of the factory to the east end where the trip-hammers and rollers were, where the newly poured iron was shaped into rails, the two turned and started back. Hans suddenly stiffened.
"Something's up," he announced softly.
Karga was already on the floor, followed by half a dozen guards. Stepping out into the center of the factory floor, they turned and started down the row of furnaces. At each of them Karga slowed for a second and pointed a finger, then a worker was pulled out by one of the guards.
Hans quickened his pace. He could see one of the watchers on number four pull out a handkerchief and wipe her face, passing the signal up to Ketswana. The gesture seemed to be enough to draw Karga's attention, and he pointed the woman out. A guard grabbed her.
Are they onto us? Hans wondered. He steeled himself, walking deliberately. Though he had concluded long ago that Karga did not have the ability to sense thoughts, still his natural caution had conditioned him to be wary.
Karga was already down by number three, watching the crew. He casually pointed at one of the men, and guards quickly dragged him out.
"Is there a problem?" Hans asked. As Karga turned, he bowed low.
"Perhaps."
Hans slowly straightened up and saw the wolflike grin. "Can I be of service to solve this problem?"
Karga shook his head.
"I thought it would be of interest to speak to these people," and he casually gestured with the butt of his whip toward the terrified group that had been gathered up. "Then they are being sent to another factory."
Hans spared them a quick glance. The woman stood with eyes lowered, jaw firmly set. She was the wife of one of his Cartha watchers on number four.
Ketswana started to come over, but a subtle wave of the hand caused him to stop. Karga, seeing the gesture, looked curiously at Ketswana.
"Perhaps he should come as well."
"He is the captain of the furnace. If he is away, production might fall off."
Karga stood for a moment as if considering something. "His man here should be enough for now."
"And may I ask where they are going? They are protected."
Karga threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, they won't die, be certain of that."
Karga's gaze now shifted to Gregory. "I do think, though, that you can spare your young assistant."
"Without him I cannot work," Hans shot back.
"He is a good assistant?"
"I couldn't ask for better."
"Then maybe it is time he was given more responsibility somewhere else."
Hans struggled to remain calm. He knew that once the people selected left the compound they would never return. Occasionally, skilled workers were pulled out to become the leaders of new groups of slaves elsewhere.
“If that is your wish. But I ask this of you. I have too many responsibilities to train another one. Leave him with me," he paused for a moment as if calculating something. “Leave him till two weeks after the next moon. That will give him time to train a replacement."
Karga stood silent as if considering. “Two weeks after the moon?"
"That would be adequate."
Without another word he flicked his whip toward the prisoners and stalked away, the guards pushing them along. He could hear Gregory breathe a sigh of relief.
"Zumal." The voice speaking the single word was choked with grief.
Hans saw Ketswana standing behind him, fists clenched tight. From the corner of his eye he also saw the new man assigned to the crew, watching them as he continued to work.
Hans quickly turned his back.
“My cousin. We were raised together when my mother died."
“Hide it," Hans whispered. “Hide it. We're being watched."
“That bastard back there, he must have told them to pick Zumal."
“They usually can't tell one of us from the other," Hans said quickly, not adding that Zumal was easily distinguishable by the pink scar on the side of his face where he had been splashed wi
th molten iron. "Hide it. Now get back to work."
Ketswana watched the retreating form of Karga. “With my own hands I'll choke the life out of him," he hissed.
"Don't let it show." And as he spoke Hans casually turned to look over the remaining crew. The new man quickly turned his head away.
"And don't touch that spy," Hans whispered. "If you do that, you're dead as well."
Grabbing Gregory by the shoulder, he walked off.
"Thanks. I thought he had me."
"Maybe the time I asked for will throw him off," Hans replied.
As the group turned to go out the gate, he saw the woman look back for a moment.
"God help you," he whispered softly.
The screams from the next room frightened him. The suffering of others had never troubled him, but the thought that there might come a day when he would be screaming like that filled him with horror. The screams were cut short with an awful choking noise, as if someone were drowning.
The door into the questioning room was flung open, and Karga came out.
"Nothing, damn it! Nothing," he snarled. "Twelve of them, a day wasted, and nothing matches."
"What did this one say?"
He tried not to notice as a Bantag guard dragged the woman out of the room feet-first. She was battered almost beyond recognition, and finally her throat was cut. The blood still dripped from the wound. Hinsen swallowed hard and looked at Karga.
"They were protected, you know," he said weakly.
"They died by accident," Karga snarled. "As you will too if something happens and Ha'ark finds out."
"Did she say anything?"
"Nothing that mattered."
Dale could see the trickle of saliva running down Karga's face. The woman must have spat on him, thus triggering the burst of rage.
He heard the body of the woman bouncing down the steps, and he saw one of his spies, the one from the number three furnace, watching, wide-eyed.
"You sent for me," the man said, his voice quavering as he looked first at the body and then at Karga.
"Is there anything to report?"
The man stood silent.
"Anything?" Karga roared.
"I think they suspect me. The big one, the leader. He stared at me. I could see it."
"He stared at you?" Hinsen snapped. "And that's all?"
"Yes."
"If they can't do better than that, I'll send all your people to the pits," Karga roared.
Dale looked at him, frightened. If his spies were wiped out, then what of him?
"Try something else first."
"And that is?"
"Change the work crews. Mix them up, assign them to different furnaces. That should break up the groups, set them off balance. The crews on the outside, change them completely. If they have any hope, they must have some of the outside workers."
"I can't do that," Karga snapped. "Who will take their places? No one else is trained."
"Then take half of them and throw them inside for several days. It might make somebody panic, afraid they'll be left behind, and they'll talk."
He paused for a moment. "And take Hans."
"I can't do that. He speaks directly to Ha'ark."
"I don't mean kill him. Move him to another factory. Say you have a problem in the new foundry, and he is needed there to fix it. Even if it is only for a moon. Surely my lord the Qar Qarth will not object to that. You can leave Gregory in charge. Say as well that it is done to prove that Gregory will be capable of running a new factory once Hans is returned."
Karga nodded thoughtfully.
"Once he is away it will be easy enough. We can arrange for an accident or two. One of my people bumps into Gregory when he is near an open vat. That takes care of two. If there are leaders in this, it is those two."
A flicker of a smile lightened Karga's features. "Fine. On the day of the Moon Feast. We'll take Hans and a dozen others. Even though they are protected, his being taken on that day might lead them to think the protection is broken. It could cause someone to talk."
Karga looked intently at Hinsen. "If something does go wrong. If there is an escape, everyone dies. Do you understand me? Everyone—the workers, your spies, and I'll make sure you go as well."
Laughing softly, he stalked out of the room.
Terrified, Dale watched him leave. His spy still waited outside, wide-eyed with fear.
"Close that damn door and get back to your job," he screamed.
"Two days," Tamira whispered. "Do you really believe we'll make it?"
"Of course we will."
They spoke in the softest of whispers, as they had learned to do in the years together in captivity. Andrew, who was sleep on the other side of Tamira, stirred and whimpered. She rolled over to look at him, whispering a soft song in words Hans did not understand but that he knew were a lullaby.
He listened to her, all thoughts stilled for the moment, as if the song were for him as well. He felt as if he were floating, drifting in a peaceful world, imagining that come dawn he would awake, open the door of a cabin, and look out upon fir-clad hills and a sparkling lake. Funny, he had been to Maine only once. The army had assigned him from a regular infantry unit to help the Thirty-fifth form up, and he spent a month in Augusta as the recruits came in. It was the first time he had talked with Andrew. They took their company of raw recruits out on a daylong march. Leaving the city, they headed north and stopped at midday at a small village. Andrew had picked the spot well, an open field on the side of a hill, looking down on a long, sparkling lake. He could still remember it—Snow Pond, Andrew called it. They had sat there, talking about the war, Andrew so new to it, asking childlike questions. The spot had haunted him ever since … the summer breeze, crystal-white clouds drifting overhead, the waters of the lake catching the sunlight so that they sparkled like gold. He had even thought back then that when the war was over, Snow Pond would be a place he would return to.
The lullaby ended and Tamira snuggled back into his arms, sighing. The dream settled around him, young Andrew playing in the high grass, laughing, a breeze rippling the surface of the water…
Two light knocks on the door brought him upright.
"Come."
He saw the shadow of Ketswana looming above him, and for a frightened instant he thought it was a Bantag.
"Hans, there's a problem."
It was Gregory, stepping out from behind Ketswana.
Tamira was awake, holding him.
"They find it?"
"Not yet, but they're onto us."
Wide awake now, he stood up, pulling on his trousers, motioning for Tamira to still Andrew, who had started to cry softly:
He went to his desk and sat down.
"They're going to shift workers around, starting tomorrow," Gregory said. "Mix up the crews. It'll mean the men from Ketswana's furnace will be pulled away, and new ones, people we haven't let on to yet, will be on number three.”
"Are we done digging?”
”I think we're under the warehouse. One of my diggers reported he could hear them moving things around above him."
"We can scatter the remaining dirt on the tunnel floor. That should solve that."
"There's more, though. The outside workers, half of them are being pulled in to work in the factory. We might lose our telegrapher, Lin, and his people in the warehouse."
"How do you know this?"
Gregory looked at Ketswana. "Tell him."
"The one we thought was a spy, the one with the twisted grin. He told me."
Hans whistled softly. "Go on."
"He came up to me in the barracks just after the shift changed. He spilled everything, said he was a spy for Hinsen placed to find out if there were any plans for an escape. He was so frightened he was crying."
"What did you say?"
Ketswana laughed softly. "I told him he was a madman. Then I said I would tell the guards of his confession, and that's when he truly became frightened. He started talking and couldn't sto
p."
Ketswana's voice suddenly tightened. "He told me about the twelve who were taken away. They were all tortured to death."
Ketswana stood silent for a moment, struggling to control his rage.
"Did any of them talk?"
"No." And there was a fierce note of pride in his voice.
"Go on, tell him the rest," Gregory interrupted, his voice sharp.
“The morning of the Moon Feast, they're taking fifty people."
“For the feast?"
"I don't know. The spy said he heard Hinsen and Karga talking. They'll take fifty." He fell silent again.
Gregory finally stirred. "I'm one of them and so is Alexi."
Hans leaned back in his chair. "Is this man telling the truth? Because if he isn't, and he was sent to you with this tale and you don't report him, you're dead."
"He was so frightened he was shaking," Ketswana replied. "He begged to be taken along. He said if there is an escape, everyone else dies, including all the spies."
"Did he give the names of who they are?"
"First he claimed he didn't know. Then I told him again that I'd denounce him, so he talked. It was the ones we suspected."
"You didn't promise anything, did you?"
Ketswana laughed softly. "I had to do something. He was so frightened I was afraid he might run back to Hinsen. I told him there was nothing but since he was honest with me, he was under my protection. But if anything ever happened to me, he would drown in a pit of molten iron, for someone would surely get him."
Hans nodded. "It could be an elaborate trap. No one heard you talk."
"No. I even sent Manda away when he came into the barracks, and everyone else in there left."
"Fine."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"There's nothing we can do about the workers' being shifted or losing our outside contacts. We have to let that happen."
He looked at Gregory. Damn it all. Everything had been planned on the basis of getting out the night of the Moon Feast when every one of the bastards, and even most of the guards, would be drunk. The schedule as well could be counted on to be light, with few trains on the tracks. Usually they loaded up the day's pouring, moved the train out of the compound, and then let it sit there for the night.
Battle Hymn Page 16