Battle Hymn

by William R. Forstchen

  Hans saw that Gregory's line was beginning to break under the pressure. Some of the Bantag were almost across the bridge and firing from less than fifty yards.

  "Alexi, we've got to get out now," Hans roared. The wood crew sprinted toward the train and threw the last logs up into the tender. Hans flung the telegrapher toward the tender and then reached between the boxcar and the tender to pull Tamira and Andrew up, putting himself between her and the hail of bullets sweeping the siding. He pushed her up into the cab and watched until she ducked down into the woodpile. As he reached the cab, a thumping roar echoed from above, and he saw the flyer racing by less than a hundred yards overhead. He saw someone leaning out of the cab … it had to be Petracci.

  From Petracci's hand, a streamer of red cloth trailed out and fluttered down. Hans offered a salute, Petracci saluted in return, and then the ship headed into a steep, spiraling climb, its tail gun firing at the engine behind them. He tried to follow the red streamer as it plummeted but lost it in a coil of smoke drifting overhead.

  Ketswana and his unit came into view down the side of the track, dragging their wounded, and Hans barely noticed that the train's wheels were spinning, Alexi holding the whistle down. He watched intently as Gregory led his survivors toward the train. They finally broke and raced to the cars, the pursuing Bantag howling in a frenzy, charging up out of the riverbed and across the bridge.

  Hans trotted alongside the tender and finally leapt back aboard. Bantag swarmed down toward the track, waving scimitars, some of them slowing to fire arrows. One of them gained the tender and leapt up the steps, his blade held high. Ketswana, who had reached the tender just ahead of the pursuit, turned and drove his bayonet into the Bantag's midsection. The warrior fell back with a scream, and Ketswana loosed a triumphant shout.

  The last of the Bantag were left behind, and then, to Hans's amazement, he saw that hundreds of slaves lined either side of the track. Some of them started to run, and hands reached out from the boxcars to pull them up.

  "Slow down a bit," Hans shouted. "We lost nearly a third of our people back there. Slow down!"

  Alexi eased up on the throttle, and with that more than a hundred slaves broke loose and sprinted toward the train, crying to be taken aboard. A screaming howl overhead startled Hans, who saw that a cannon back in the rail yard had apparently been manhandled off a flatcar by a Bantag crew. The shot soared out into the steppe and detonated half a mile away.

  "Pour it back on!"

  Hans watched as the enemy gun crew bent to their work. To his horror the gun appeared to be a breechloader. One of the crew was turning a screw mounted to one side, and he could see that the barrel was being lowered.

  The crew stepped back. Another flash. A geyser of earth erupted less than thirty yards away.

  The crew leapt forward, shifting the trail, another round slammed in. Hans leaned out of the cab to look forward. The track dipped down into a tree-covered hollow a quarter mile further on.

  "Pour it on! Pour it on!"

  The gun disappeared in a puff of smoke, and a second later the last car on the train exploded. A shudder ran through the train, and for a horrifying moment Hans thought they had derailed. Smoke billowed from the stricken car.

  “Pour it on!"

  Hans stood impotent. Rifle shots erupted from the other cars, and to his amazement he saw one of the gunners drop, hit by a remarkable shot from more than six hundred yards away from a lurching train. The gun fired again, the shot so close over the tender that he could feel the blast from its passage.

  The train finally hit the edge of the hollow and started down, the rail yard disappearing from view. As they thundered across a bridge, a parting shell detonated in the trees behind them.

  Hans sagged against the side of the tender. He looked at the water bucket Tamira had lugged aboard. It was already empty. Nearly a day since they had eaten, as well, and at the thought of it he realized just how light-headed he was feeling.

  “Sir? Sir?"

  Hans looked back to see Gregory standing atop the boxcar behind them, blood trickling down his left arm.

  "What happened back there?"

  "Slaughterhouse, Sergeant. Lost half my people holding them back. Just about everyone that got into the last car was torn apart when the shell hit."

  The train was already out of the hollow, and to his amazement the distant gun fired yet again, the shell dropping nearly parallel to the train a hundred yards to one side.

  "Two miles or more," he whispered. "They got range on our Parrott guns."

  The last car was still trailing smoke, and Hans silently cursed himself. They should have stopped on the last bridge, disconnected the car, and left it there. It might very well have set the bridge on fire.

  "And there's this," Gregory shouted. He passed a bundle to Ketswana, who scrambled up to the back of the tender and then passed it on. "Fell from the airship. One of the women ran back and picked it up." He hesitated. "She died getting it back to the train, so it better be worth it. I think it's a message."

  Hans took the weighted container, noticing that the sides of it were streaked with blood. He tore open the small leather dispatch case tied to the red streamer and a lead weight fell out. Inside there was a note. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

  Sgt. Schuder! Thank God. Take fort, below town at river. Rail spur leads to it just before last city on river. Big town death trap for you. Hold out! Will send help! Petracci.

  With shaking hands he examined the rough map Jack had sketched, and then he pulled out his own map and compared the two.

  Unbelieving, he shook his head. He felt a hand slip around his waist and saw Tamira standing on tiptoe to see the note.

  "Your friends? The Yankees?"

  Hans nodded, unable to speak, and at his acknowledgment a shout of triumph erupted from Ketswana and the news swept the length of the train like wildfire, as if rescue were already at hand.

  On his own map there was no indication of a fort, only a spur that simply went off into the unknown. They had had no real plan before this, only the thought that they would somehow make it to the docks, seize a boat, and escape. Now there was hope.

  All sorts of dreams formed in that second. He saw the airship receding to the west and felt a wave of guilt at his wish that he could be on that ship, that Jack had swept down to pick up Tamira, Andrew, and himself. He looked at Ketswana, Alexi, Gregory, and all the others, who were shouting excitedly, slapping each other on the back.

  But what help? The note did not say they were waiting for him. Ha'ark had taunted him that the Republic was asleep. Just what could Andrew do for him now? It must be a thousand miles for Jack to get back, and as he watched the ship climbing higher he saw two more flyers on the far western horizon, climbing as well, as if to intercept. Could Jack even get back? And then what? Even if we took the fort, all of the Bantag strength would be upon us. How the hell could help reach us then?

  "We're going to make it!" Alexi shouted, holding down the whistle in long, repeated blasts.

  Hans looked at them, unable to speak, wondering if it was all a dream.

  Ha'ark strode angrily through the wreckage of the rail yard, turning with a snarl as Karga approached.

  "My Qarth, the new engine will have steam up shortly, and they're almost done repairing the switch."

  Ha'ark simply stared at Karga, who silently withdrew. Cursing, he looked at the burning wreckage and then at his own train. Smoke still poured out of the hole that the shot from the enemy airship had torn in the engine.

  One of his precious airships was a burning wreck, the other one had landed near his train and the crew was now struggling to repair the wing.

  "Damn!"

  Slamming a fist into the palm of his hand, he stalked back toward the switch, slowing to watch the half-dozen humans, armed with sledgehammers, who were trying to bend the switch lever and track back into place. What infuriated him even more was the burning wreckage in the rail yard. He hated mistakes, especially whe
n they were his own. He had thought the chase engine could ram through before they could divert it.

  Schuder was proving to be a tougher foe than he had imagined him to be. Even now, trying to probe his thoughts, he caught a fleeting glimpse of hope, mingled with sadness, and then nothing.

  A train whistle sounded from the yard, and he saw the first engine starting to back up, pushing half a dozen flatcars already loaded with warriors, nearly double the number he had had before. The human laborers stepped back from the switch and a Bantag yard worker threw it. The engine backed through and across the bridge. A second whistle now sounded, and up the spur line the next train he had summoned appeared. There was only one car in front of the engine, an armored car. He watched approvingly as the train clicked through the switch and drifted to a stop in front of the troop train.

  Ha'ark said to the Bantag yardmaster, “There's at least five troop trains behind us. Clear the damaged engine from the line and move them forward. They've most likely cut the telegraph wire further up the line toward X'ian. I won't have time to stop and fix it. Send someone behind us with a handcart to try and find it. Signal up to X'ian about what's happened here."

  The yardmaster saluted nervously.

  Ha'ark looked over at the human workers, who stood huddled in a knot. “How many of them escaped?"

  "More than a hundred, we believe."

  Ha'ark nodded. "Kill all the rest," he barked. "No one who saw this is to survive."

  He scrambled up into the armored car, nodding in reply to the crew's salutes. He strode forward, easing past the breech-loading cannon, which pointed directly forward through an open port.

  "Let's go!"

  Chapter Seven

  “There's the train," Alexi announced as they crested a low rise and slid to a stop. The telegrapher jumped out and started to climb the nearest pole to cut the line again.

  Hans could see it, less than a mile ahead, moving slowly up to the next crest of hills. He climbed to the top of the wood tender and looked behind them. Studying the horizon intently, he thought he could detect a plume of smoke and then a second one. They were starting to catch up but were still a good eight to ten miles back.

  He looked ahead down the hill again, shading his eyes from the slanting afternoon sun. There were three open flatcars on the next train, two of them covered with tarps and the third—filled with Bantag troops.

  The engine was struggling to crest the rise, and even at this distance he could see that it was somewhat smaller than the others.

  Damn. It was still twenty miles to the next switchoff, which would have a woodlot and a water tank. Without this slow mover in front of them they could barrel on through, resupply, and perhaps get farther ahead. The telegrapher slid down the pole and ran to the next one, coiling the wire as he went. At the next pole he cut the line again. Unless the enemy were carrying two hundred feet of spare wire, they would have no way to reconnect, though they could still run a signal forward. It was maddening that Hans had to stop every ten miles or so to cut the line, but if he didn't they would face a deadly reception somewhere ahead.

  The telegrapher ran back to the train, dragging the coil of wire, and Alexi started forward again. Hans continued to study the last flatcar. It looked like at least twenty-five Bantag were on board. There was no sense in getting boxed in. They'd have to seize the train ahead.

  Hans outlined his plan as Alexi throttled the train up, and minutes later Gregory returned from the nearest boxcar with a dozen men and women carrying their rifles. The train ahead was lost to view for moment as they climbed the next ridge, and then it reappeared, less than half a mile away now.

  "Bring us up fast, Alexi!"

  With repeated blasts on the whistle, they raced forward, the range rapidly closing to less than a hundred yards. Hans looked around the cab and tender to make sure that everyone was down except Alexi. From the fireman's side of the engine Hans saw that most of the warriors huddled on the flatcar were watching their approach. To his dismay, they were armed with rifles. The Bantag engineer was facing them and waving a fist angrily.

  "Can you get him to stop?"

  Alexi shook his head. "Maybe. Rather strange, though. It's not like we can then go around him."

  "Keep blowing the whistle."

  The stalemate continued for several minutes, the engine ahead rumbling slowly on. Finally the Bantag engineer threw up his hands in exasperation and motioned for the human engineer to pull the throttle back. The engine ahead slowed and Alexi eased up as well until the two trains were moving at barely a walk.

  "Get ready," Hans snapped.

  He watched as the Bantag engineer leapt off his train and strode toward them, swearing vehemently, the warriors on the flatcar standing up, some of them laughing.

  "Now!"

  Hans jumped from the cab, and the others piled out to either side. He ran straight past the Bantag engineer, not even bothering to slow down, and came around the front of the train. Leveling his rifle, he took careful aim and dropped one of the warriors on the flatcar. The others looked at him, dumbfounded. Flipping the breech open, he slammed another cartridge in, snapped it shut, cocked the hammer, aimed, and fired, dropping another. Another rifle cracked by his side. It was Gregory, cursing madly as he worked his breech open.

  A flurry of shots now erupted. The Bantag finally recovered their wits and scrambled for their rifles. Half a dozen jumped off the car, drawing their scimitars, and charged, two of them straight at Hans. He dropped one at less than ten paces and then he crouched down and raised his bayonet. The remaining Bantag leapt to one side, his blade slicing down. Hans raised his rifle to parry the blow, which landed with such force that it numbed his hands and made sparks fly from the barrel of his rifle. The Bantag recovered, and raised his blade again. Hans came in low, his bayonet thrusting up to catch his opponent in the throat.

  He staggered back as the Bantag fell.

  The battle was already over, the dead lying heaped around the tracks. Ketswana was at his side, kneeling by one of his men who had been shot in the chest. Hans saw half a dozen more down, two of them clutching at wounds. Ketswana drew a knife and put his other hand over his comrade's eyes. Hans turned and walked away.

  "Alexi!"

  “Here." The engineer came forward from the train.

  Hans stepped away from the track and looked back. The plumes of smoke were closer now, maybe only five or six miles, ten to fifteen minutes at most.

  "Are you going to run our train back at him and take the new one?" Alexi asked.

  Hans shook his head. "We'd be trading a faster train for a slower one. He'd most likely pull the same trick as last time. Reverse, match speed, then catch it. Once he did that, he could run us down."

  "What about cutting a rail in front of our train?" Alexi proposed. "We back our engine up, run it forward, derail it. That would block them."

  Hans thought for a moment, then shook his head. "That'd still mean packing two hundred or more people onto three flat cars. There's another camp to get through yet. If they see us coming that way, it might get them stirred up, and again, we'd be trading a faster engine for a slower one."

  Alexi nodded his head and cursed.

  "Try to tear up a rail behind us, then. I'll give you five minutes. I'm going forward to run the next train. Maybe we can reverse them at the next switchoff."

  Alexi saluted and returned to his train. Hans could not help but grin. Some of the old military rituals were surfacing. It felt good to be saluted again.

  He sprinted down the track toward the engine they had just captured. The human operators were cowering in the cab, one of Gregory's men standing with rifle aimed at them. Hans ignored them and examined the engine.

  "Do you know who we are?" Hans snapped in Bantag.

  The two shook their heads in unison, both of them trembling with fear.

  "We've started a war against the Bantag. I'm a soldier of the Republic."

  At the mention of the word "Republic" the two began
to talk excitedly, one of them pointing at his own chest and then at his comrade's.

  "Cartha," he announced emphatically.

  Yet another prisoner sold by the Merki to help build the Bantag war machine.

  “Take us," the fireman stuttered, obviously still terrified by what he had seen—cattle slaughtering Bantag. Hans slapped him on the shoulder and then jumped off the cab and started back to his train.

  "Hans!" Gregory was on the first flatcar, tearing the tarp back. "In the name of Perm, look at this!"

  Hans scrambled onto the car and stood, slack-jawed in amazement.

  "What is it?" Gregory asked.

  Hans shook his head. Lifting the tarp, he moved to the front. The entire thing was covered in iron plate, the sheets bolted together. At the front there was an opening more than big enough to stick his head through, and he peered inside. All was darkness within. There was the smell of grease and coal.

  "They're getting closer!"

  Hans pulled his head out and stepped back. Ketswana was by the side of the car.

  Hans nodded. "Gregory, get a dozen of your people up to this train with me. Ketswana, you're still on the second train. Let's get going."

  The pursuing trains were now less than two miles away. Hans saw a flash of light.

  He stood silently, watching Gregory and his unit sprint up and pile into the tender. Alexi leaned out from his cab and waved. Hans motioned to the Cartha engineer, who gave two short blasts and then eased the throttle in. Hans was still silently counting when he finally heard it, the scream of a shell coming in. A detonation erupted a hundred yards behind the second train.

  He stepped up into the cab as they started to crawl forward.

  "Alexi said they bent a section of track. With luck the bastards might run up on it and derail," Gregory said.

  "I doubt it," Hans said quietly.

  Hans looked back at the tarp-covered load behind him. There was a gun in it. Whatever it was, it would be worth taking in spite of the extra weight.

  Another shot screamed past, but he did not even bother to turn around as they continued to race westward.