Battle Hymn

by William R. Forstchen

  "In the car," Manda said, "it's loaded with guns and bullets!"

  Hans spoke to Ketswana. "Pull a couple of men out of each car, get them into the tender, and we'll show them how to load and fire with the guns we have back there. Then we'll send them back to the cars, and they can teach everyone else. By damn, if they do corner us now, there's going to be one hell of a fight!"

  The whistle shrieked, signaling that the telegrapher had cut the lines. A shuddering lurch ran through the train. Hans looked at Tamira again.

  "Try and rest," he said, even as he reached up to kiss her. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Our son will be free," he said softly, and he ran back to the cab and climbed inside.

  "Nothing will stop us now," Alexi roared.

  Hans stood silent, watching the smoke swirling out of the stack. Gregory came to his side.

  "The wind's in the right direction for us, but I wish it was stronger," Gregory whispered. "If they can get a flyer up, it might get ahead of us."

  Hans nodded as he fumbled in his pocket for the plug of tobacco that Ha'ark had given him only the day before.

  He bit down on the tobacco and offered it to Gregory, who tentatively took it and bit down. The boy started to chew and gagged, but he continued chewing nevertheless.

  Ha'ark. There was no way the bastard could let them escape. If they ever got back to the Republic, the news they carried regarding the buildup, the new weapons, would destroy his plans. Beyond that, if he did not bring back the bodies of those who escaped and impale them on public view, the millions of prisoners of the Bantag might find hope to resist.

  Hans pulled the precious map of the rail line out of his pocket. Forty miles to the next main station. A spur ran from there up into the mountains to the south, where limestone was mined for flux. They'd have to resupply their wood and water as well. There would also be a garrison. He saw that Gregory was already pulling a circle of men around him to teach them how to load and aim the rifles. Two hours to turn out an infantry… madness. But then again, the whole thing was madness. Leaning over the side of the tender, he spat out a stream of tobacco juice and again the question loomed—What would Ha'ark do now?

  "How many trains do we have?" Ha'ark snapped, dismounting at the edge of the rail yard. Pulling his rifle out of its scabbard, he started off at a run toward the factory.

  The Bantag yardmaster ran alongside him to keep up.

  "Five, my Qarth, dispersed at other sites, but we can have them here before morning."

  Jamul galloped up and dismounted to join him.

  "Get the warriors of our First Umen loaded aboard as quickly as possible."

  Jamul shook his head. "They're encamped half an hour's run from the rail line. Just to get the message to them and get them formed, down to the tracks, and loaded will take nearly till dawn."

  Ha'ark swore vehemently.

  "There's the guards units. We can get at least two or three companies of them in a matter of minutes."

  Ha'ark grabbed Jamul by the shoulder.

  "I'm going ahead right now. You get as many of the First Umen on trains as possible and follow me."

  "Shouldn't I go first? It is not your place."

  "I'm going."

  He walked toward a group of guards who were on their knees.

  "Karga, where is Karga?"

  "My Qarth."

  Ha'ark saw Karga prostrate on the ground before him. "Up, damn you."

  The crack of a cannon echoed from within the factory.

  "How did they escape?"

  Karga nervously told him of the tunnel and the breakout.

  "Did I not send you word that I suspected this?"

  "Yes my Qarth."

  "And?"

  "We searched the entire compound from one end to the other. We questioned dozens of cattle. Nothing was revealed."

  "Obviously you did not question or search hard enough," Ha'ark snarled.

  Karga lowered his head and then fell to his knees. With a ritual flourish he drew his scimitar and held it before him, the point of the blade touching his body just below the sternum.

  "Your command, my Qarth."

  Ha'ark looked down at him, simmering with rage. It would be simple enough to order him to fall on his sword.

  Another cannon report echoed.

  "What is going on in there?" Ha'ark demanded.

  "The cattle, my Qarth. They are rioting."

  "How many dead?"

  "Hundreds by now."

  Ha'ark realized they should all be killed. Word of this should never be allowed to seep out to all the other cattle laboring in the mines, factories, and cities now under their control. But we'll lose our main supply of rail, he thought. What we have in there are the best-trained animals on this world, the ones we traded from the Merki.

  Ha'ark stood silent for a moment, listening to the screams coming from the other side of the wall. A ball of fire erupted heavenward from the factory roof.

  "Kill them all," he said quietly. "All of them."

  He looked around at the guards behind Karga.

  "All of them!" he roared.

  They saluted and ran back toward the factory.

  "We have enough cattle trained in other factories now. We should have killed these people anyhow. They thought they had a place to run to, the Chin don't."

  To Karga he said, "You're coming with me."

  Karga's face showed his surprise.

  "I will not give Schuder the pleasure of thinking you dead. I want him to see you one more time. You're coming with me."

  He could see the flicker of relief on Karga's face. But what he had planned for him, and for Schuder, would soon cause this one to wish that he had been allowed to die.

  A train emerged from the smoke behind him, its bell tolling, and came to a stop. Warriors from one of the guard companies raced out of their barracks on the far side of the rail yard and began to clamber aboard the flatcars. Ha'ark climbed up to the engine.

  This was nothing but a hunt for escaped cattle, an ignominious task. But there was something else now, something he could not quite explain. It was Schuder. Somehow the human had succeeded in besting him. He had kept his thoughts hidden, he had succeeded where no one had dreamed possible. He carried with him, as well, knowledge of all that was planned. Worst of all, Ha'ark sensed that Schuder carried knowledge of him. He had to see this done himself.

  He looked down and saw Jamul.

  "Take command here in my absence," he instructed Jamul. "Finish the job in the factory. Send someone out to look for the break in the telegraph line, get it repaired, and see if you can get a signal further up the line to block them. Also, get a flyer up to try and get ahead of them. Once we do that, they're trapped. When you've loaded as many as possible from the First Umen, come forward."

  Jamul bowed low in salute and left. Ha'ark watched him go, probing, wondering. It wasn't quite safe for Ha'ark to go like this. There was the loss of face for what had happened. Some of the other Qarths would surely take secret delight in that. Jamul was loyal; he was too stupid not to be. But there were always the old clan Qarths. Could they take advantage of this? Possibly, but such an act would be madness, to split their ranks. Wisdom told him he should stay. But that was impossible now. It had become all too personal and the thought that consumed him was the dream of looking into Hans's eyes as he ripped his heart out and devoured it.

  Chapter Six

  Hans watched Alexi nervously.

  “The switch to the main line is open," Alexi reported. “If I remember correctly there's a water tower just beyond the station and a woodlot beside it."

  Hans leaned out of the cab. The station seemed quiet. He could see a light shining in the single log hut next to the track. In the dim glow cast by the Great Wheel overhead he thought he could see a dozen yurts, but nothing stirred around them. With luck they might even get in and out without the alarm being sounded.

  Alexi gave three short blasts on the whistle, and his firemen eased off on the throttle
and pulled down on the brake.

  “Keep your steam up," Hans instructed him. "Be ready to get us the hell out of here if there's a reception waiting."

  He turned to the men Gregory had been training. "If we stop here, you men get back into the cars. Break out the guns and ammunition. Start showing the others how to use them. Sooner or later we're going to have to fight, and I want every man and woman on this train to be able to shoot. Each of you will be responsible for leading the people in your car. If we have to fight, Alexi will give one long blast on the whistle. Get out and then follow me."

  The men nodded eagerly in reply.

  "There's the water tank," Alexi announced.

  Hans looked at Ketswana and Gregory. "No shooting unless we have to. If there's a Bantag in the hut, try to kill him quickly and quietly."

  Ketswana grinned, raising the scimitar. The engine drifted past the station. A quick glance in the window showed a single human inside, looking up. Ketswana jumped from the train, followed by Gregory. The two leapt onto the platform and made for the door. Hans leaned out to watch. Ketswana flung the door open and stormed inside. The train continued to glide forward and Hans stepped down, rifle in hand. Ketswana was already back out the door, grinning.

  "One of them, he'll never wake up from his sleep."

  Gregory came out, dragging a man behind him. "Do you know who we are?" Hans asked him in Bantag.

  The man looked at him goggle-eyed, then turned his gaze toward Ketswana, who stood to one side, his scimitar dripping with blood.

  "If you want to go with us, you can, but be quick about it."

  Hans headed to the woodlot, where a crew of a dozen men were already at work, hurling logs up into the tender while Alexi and the fireman struggled to swing the spout from the water tank around to the intake pipe.

  "Hans!" Gregory ran up to him. "We've got a problem. There's a train due from the west here in about an hour, the telegrapher just told me."

  Damn.

  "Did they have any warning at all here?"

  "He said they knew the wire was dead, but figured it was just a break in the line. The guard was asleep, like Ketswana said."

  "Any garrison?"

  "A couple of hundred," and he nodded toward the yurts lined up along a low ridge a hundred yards to the south.

  "Hans." Ketswana called him over.

  Ketswana held up his hand. "Listen."

  Hans came to a stop at the end of the train and looked back to the east. The only sound that he heard was the whirring of the night in the high grass.

  "There," Ketswana whispered.

  Hans cocked his head but still heard nothing.

  "It's a train," Gregory hissed. "Can't you hear it?"

  Hans shook his head.

  "There," Ketswana said again and pointed. Hans peered down the track, and suddenly he saw it, a low cloud of smoke hanging on the horizon, just visible in the starlight, briefly illuminated by a flash of red.

  "How far?" Gregory asked.

  "Three miles, maybe four," Hans sighed.

  We knew we'd be pursued, he thought. But to come on so damn quick!

  "We've got five, maybe seven minutes at most. Gregory, tell Alexi to hurry it up. Look in the cabin and around the woodlot for tools. Try to smash a hole in the water tank. Ketswana, get that switchman back here, throw the switch onto the spur line and then jam it."

  The two sprinted off. Hans started back down the length of the train, pausing at the next to last car. Tamira stood there waiting for him.

  "Andrew?"

  "Just fine," she whispered, and in the shadows he could see that she was holding him.

  "Is there any food or water in there?"

  "I was hoping we could get water here."

  Hans shook his head and explained what was happening.

  Anxiously she looked out the open door. This time he could hear the whistle, a low, mournful sound in the distance. A hammering erupted from the track behind him, and he winced at the sound. Why the Bantag encampment on the ridge wasn't astir was beyond him.

  "We're leaving in a minute," Hans announced. He reached up quickly to touch her side and then ran back to the front. Alexi was on top of the engine, holding the water spout over the intake pipe.

  "What about the train up ahead?" the engineer asked.

  "We can't stay here!" He pulled out his map and examined it intently. "There's a siding twenty miles up the line."

  "He'll be past there before we make it," Gregory announced, coming up to join Hans.

  "We can't stay here," Hans snarled. "Unless that bastard behind us is a complete fool, he'll come in here slow, expecting us to throw the switch. They must have armed warriors on that train, and we've yet to get our people ready to fight. We run for the siding and just hope to get there first."

  The insistent whistle of the train behind him now echoed clearly, and Hans could see the engine light and its reflection shimmering off the rails.

  The crew in the woodlot worked furiously, the logs slamming against the iron side of the tender.

  "Yakazk?"

  Startled, Hans saw a Bantag coming toward them out of the shadows.

  Hans unslung his rifle and leveled it. The Bantag stopped, wide-eyed, and started to turn around.

  His finger edged against the trigger, then stopped. A shot would stir them all to instant action. One of them yelling and hollering might be dismissed as a drunk, gaining them crucial seconds.

  The Bantag continued to back up, his expression terrified.

  Hans grinned at him, taking pleasure in seeing the fear in his eyes.

  “I'm letting you live, you bastard," Hans snapped. “Now go tell your friends about it."

  With a wild scream the Bantag turned and started to run.

  Not sparing him a second thought, Hans said to Alexi, "Let's get the hell out of here! Signal Ketswana!"

  Alexi leapt down into the cab, the wood crew still working with a frenzy as the engineer gave three short blasts on the whistle, then slammed the throttle in, setting the wheels to spinning.

  Hans looked back anxiously. The approaching engine couldn't be more than half a mile away. Suddenly he remembered the telegraph line and started to curse himself until he saw someone sliding down the nearest pole. Gregory had obviously detailed someone off.

  The train lurched forward with a shudder, and Ketswana came racing down the platform. "We threw the switch, and bent part of the mechanism!"

  Hans climbed up onto the engine, Ketswana following. A rifle shot snapped past. Now Hans could see Bantag pouring out of the yurts at the camp. More shots echoed, and from the boxcar behind him a scream erupted.

  Bantag came boiling down the hill, but as the train pulled out, half a dozen shots from the boxcars dropped several of them.

  "Pour it on, Alexi!" Hans shouted. "Everything we've got."

  "You know, if we don't get there first, we could very well have a head-on."

  "What the hell?" Hans snarled. "There's worse ways of going!"

  Ha'ark leaned out of the cab and saw the sparks showering up from the retreating engine, less than a quarter mile away. His train lurched to a stop and he hopped down, while several of his guards raced forward. He walked over to the switch with one of the engineers.

  "How long to fix this?"

  The engineer looked at him wide-eyed.

  "How long?"

  "Shortly, my Qarth. Shortly. But we should get water and wood. It's more than eighty miles to the next supplies."

  Ha'ark uttered a curse and strode over to the station and watched as several cattle were driven up the side of the water tower to raise the spout so the precious liquid would not drain away.

  In the cabin he saw the headless body of a warrior sprawled on the floor.

  Damn fool, asleep, most likely.

  Guards ran past him in the darkness, not even aware of who he was. Ten minutes, more like fifteen, before they could get under way again. Too much lead time and they'll be able to stop and smash a switc
h or tear up a rail.

  He grabbed one of the guards running by. "Rails, do you have any extra rails, tools, spikes here?"

  The guard pointed off into the shadows. "On the other side of the spur."

  "Damn it all, load some of that equipment on one of the cars."

  The guard hesitated.

  "My Qarth, the switch is fixed," the engineer shouted.

  The guard looked at Ha'ark, wide-eyed, and started to bow low.

  "Damn it, just get to work!" Ha'ark roared. "I want a work crew that knows how to repair track going with us—cattle or warrior, I don't care."

  The guard saluted and ran off as Ha'ark, still cursing, watched the escaping train recede into the distance.

  "Land ahead," Feyodor announced.

  Mumbling a curse, Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. A loud snoring rumbled above him in the upper berth. When he kicked the sagging hammock swaying just over his head, the snoring stopped.

  "What time is it?"

  "About an hour before dawn." Feyodor nodded toward the eastern horizon.

  "Lord, we made time!" Jack said. "It must be forty, fifty knots blowing up here. We're going to have to duck low for the run back."

  Stefan sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  "Sleep all right?" Feyodor asked. He offered a mug of steaming tea.

  "Wonderful! The air up here's so clean," Stefan said enthusiastically.

  "Oh, shut up," Jack growled, wrapping his hands around the mug to cut the chill. He gazed down at the tea, the question trying to form, and then finally back up at Feyodor.

  "I went forward and set a kettle on the engine," Feyodor said, anticipating the question.

  Jack looked out at the catwalk and shook his head. "And suppose you'd fallen? Here we'd have drifted for hours, you damn fool, before we woke up and knew you were gone."

  "Look, do you want the tea or not? At least it's something hot."

  Jack sipped the scalding brew, pleased that Feyodor had thought to bring along some honey to sweeten it.

  "There's land ahead."

  Jack crouched down and went forward. In the early light of dawn he could clearly see a low range of hills, the mist drifting through the passes and valleys. The moment transcended all his fears. The darker shadows of tree-clad mountains to the north swept out like long fingers across the steppe. To his right the indigo blue surface of the Great Sea was capped with long rollers, kicked up by the strengthening northwesterly breeze. He knew he was gazing upon land that no free man had ever before set eyes on.