The engineer stood silent and then nodded his head.
Andrew peered through the narrow view port. Another shot came screaming past, this one from behind, impact on the far shore. One galley was left blocking the river, but apparently the sight of what had happened to the rest of the fleet caused it to put its tiller over and race for shore. Out on the deck the last of the Bantag were down, and marines, crouching low, were running back to the deck hatches, with their wounded.
"Those Bantag got guts," Bullfinch said, "sending guns against an ironclad. I thought for sure we'd see at least one armored ship."
"Maybe they didn't have a model to work off of. Besides, it takes time to build a fleet from scratch, and the junks and galleys the Chin use can't be built up the way we did with the Roum transports."
"Well, one thing's for certain," Bullfinch replied. "If we don't get our asses up there and out right quick, they'll think of something. I thought for sure they'd have a chain someplace at one of the narrows. I wouldn't be surprised if they try to sink a galley in the channel or maybe even shift some of those torpedo mines we dodged."
Andrew looked over at the first officer, who was supervising a midshipman sketching a rough chart of their passage. Several dozen X's marked spots where torpedo mines had been spotted.
"The river must be down a couple of feet with this dry spell, and I'd guess the current's sluggish," Bullfinch continued. "Otherwise those bastards wouldn't have been bobbing on the surface."
He ordered the helmsman to swing closer in toward the starboard bank.
"I think we're rounding that big loop here," Bullfinch said as the turn in the river began to straighten out from an easterly heading to a run almost due north.
"If so, we're ten miles out," Andrew replied. "Just under an hour and a half."
He walked to the other side of the armored bridge, squeezing past the first officer and midshipman. The sun was setting, its rays slanting in through the port.
"Just hang on," he whispered. "Hang on."
"What the hell are they doing?" Gregory asked, daring to peer over the side of the wall.
The tarp had been dropped over the shattered gate minutes before. Hans was glad that Alexi had ventured only one shot at it with a canister round. It had shredded in parts, but a second one had been dropped behind that one. With the limited rounds left in the land cruiser it would be wasted unless a clear target showed. A steady patter of rifle fire caused the tarp to jerk and billow. At least Alexi had backed the cruiser off from facing the gate directly, so if they were moving a heavy gun up, it would have to be pushed through before it could be brought to bear.
Two flyers had been seen to touch down nearly an hour ago, but neither had ventured up over the fort. The sniping between the two walls continued, and there was a slow but steady stream of casualties being carried back into the still smoldering wreckage of the town, yet nothing more had happened throughout the afternoon.
Off to the west, the sun was dropping low. Would Ha'ark wait till dark? Hans wondered. That would be one way to knock out the cruiser. The troops they were facing now were different. Their loose-fitting black uniforms bore red collars, unlike the traditional Horde leather jerkin of the guards.
If he had trained modem infantry, they must have some idea of how to mount a night attack, a tactic the Union army had been experimenting with when siege warfare became the norm in '64.
“Flyers are coming up!"
Hans dared a quick glance up over the wall. The two flyers were slowly climbing, swinging out downwind, and at the same moment he heard the distinctive chugging of a train.
“Get ready!" Hans roared.
The first of the two flyers turned into the wind, leveling out, and started toward the fort.
He watched them intently, fascinated by the wings extending from either side. The first flyer finally seemed to hover overhead. It nosed over and started into a dive.
A spray of brick dust erupted in front of Hans from a rifle bullet aimed only an inch or two too low, but he ignored it, unable to turn his eyes away. A fusillade erupted from the defenders aiming at the flyer, and return fire exploded from the opposite wall. A black oblong shape detached from the flyer, which immediately started to pull up.
“A bomb!" Gregory shouted. "A damn big one."
The bomb hurtled down, striking twenty yards to one side of the cruiser. A thunderclap explosion followed. Hans ducked as a geyser of earth sprayed upward, bits of dirt and debris raining down over the wall.
Recovering, Hans scrambled back up, half expecting to see the land cruiser over on its side. The machine was still upright, though dirt covered its side and top.
“The second one," Gregory cried, pointing up.
The next flyer was already into its dive.
“Pour it on 'em!" Hans roared. “Pour it on!"
Cursing, he wished he had arranged for one of the field guns to be rigged for high-angle fire. He picked up his own rifle and fired as well, aware that he could hear the howl of the flyer's engines. The second bomb detached, and he had the sick sensation that it was coming straight at him. He ducked and covered his head.
The bomb impacted just forward of the gate to the town. A thundering shudder ran through the wall, and he saw a column of dirt, debris, pieces of brick, and what looked to be part of a boxcar soaring heavenward and then crashing back down.
He scrambled to his knees and saw that the flyer was not pulling out. Its dive was steepening, the ship coming almost straight down.
"We got it!" Gregory roared. "The pilot. Look."
He thought he caught a fleeting glimpse of the Bantag pilot slumped forward, held in his chair by his safety belt. A second Bantag was struggling with the controls.
The hundred-foot-long ship slammed into the ground alongside the cruiser. An instant later a fireball erupted, flames racing up the fabric sides of the ship, the hydrogen within exploding into a shimmering blue ball of light.
The framework of the ship seemed to stand like a rigid tower above them, and then it crumpled in a shower of sparks, the wings folding in, breaking off. The burning rubble leaned drunkenly, and then pushed by the wind, slowly began to topple, crashing down on top of the cruiser.
For an instant both sides ceased firing, mesmerized by the spectacle. Then a cheer erupted from the human side as the cruiser slowly backed out of the flaming wreckage. But the celebration was short-lived. Suddenly the sound of a train whistle rent the air. The tarp covering the gate was torn aside as a sloping front of black armor appeared, steam billowing around it.
"They must have fixed the drawbridge,” Hans snapped. "Damn him! I never thought of this."
The armored car mounted forward of the engine came through the gate, a plow-like blade mounted on the front of it pushing the wreckage and bodies aside.
Completely forgetting where he was, Hans stood up.
"Alexi! Get the hell out!” he screamed.
The land cruiser, still backing away from the burning airship, slowly started to turn. The gun mounted in the front of the armored car fired, an explosion of sparks streaking down the side of the cruiser. An instant later the cruiser fired back. The shot struck square on the front of the armored car and ricocheted straight up with a howling shriek.
In that instant Hans knew what would come next.
"Get out, get out!"
Gregory was by his side, pulling him back down to his knees, while bullets whistled past.
The armored train car fired again. The cruiser seemed to lift into the air from the blow. Steam exploded out of the smokestack and through the gun ports as the shot penetrated the front armor, tore down the inside of the cruiser and burst the steam engine. Seconds later the back hatch of the cruiser was flung open. Horrified, Hans watched as two men staggered out, shrieking and tearing at their clothes.
"Alexi!"
A volley erupted from the far wall, kicking up spurts of earth around the two as they struggled to reach the wall. Both toppled over, screaming… and
then, mercifully, were still.
Hans watched, cursing wildly, barely hearing Gregory's screams of rage. The train continued forward, its gun shifting, firing straight at the barricade thrown up across the archway into the town. Part of the arch collapsed, the next shot brought the rest of it down.
A solid mass of Bantag now swarmed over the opposite wall and started forward at a run. The four light field guns, which were loaded with canister, swept down dozens of them, but the Bantag, heartened by the destruction they had witnessed, pressed on.
"Sir!"
Hans turned, looking at Ketswana, who was kneeling wide-eyed by his side.
"Get back to your post!"
"Sir, a boat. It's the boat!"
Hans looked at the destroyed archway that cut him off from the north wall.
"We've got to hold, Gregory!" Hans shouted, and following Ketswana, he scrambled down a ladder to the street below. He sprinted past the smoking wreckage of the gate, where several dozen Chin were doggedly holding their position, and ran to the north wall, scrambled up the ladder, and from there made his way out into the projecting bastion.
Coming up the river, and now only a few miles away, an ironclad was just turning the bend. White puffs of smoke swirled around it, and in spite of the roar of battle, he heard the distant sound of a steam whistle.
Grinning, he looked at Ketswana.
"You've got to hold this bastion!" Hans shouted. "It protects the gate down to the river. Once those bastards know the boat's here they'll try to sweep down along the bank and pour fire into the dock."
Laughing with delight, Ketswana nodded. Hans slipped out of the bastion and went back to the street below. He could see another section of the wall crumble, and defenders tumbled off. Running along the north wall, he reached the village temple where the old, young, and wounded were. He burst through the door into the ancient limestone building and looked around frantically until at last he found Tamira. She had Andrew slung over her back while she tended one of the wounded. He raced to her side.
“It's here!"
His voice carried through the temple, and all eyes were upon him.
“Get everyone together and start moving them down to the north gate. When you see the boat reach the dock, open the gate and run. Do you understand me? Run."
“And you?"
"I'll be right behind you."
She stood up and looked into his eyes.
“No, don't even think it," Hans said, trying to block out the cries erupting around him as word spread of the deliverance coming for them. “There's Andrew. You must live for Andrew. Don't wait for me.”
The baby, awakened by the shouting, started to cry feebly. She moved the sling off her back and cradled him in her arms, her eyes on Hans.
“You know what to do. Lead these people out of here."
The beginning of a shuddering sob shook her shoulders, but then she braced herself and looked into his eyes.
“For Andrew," she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her lightly on the mouth, and brushed the tears from her eyes. He leaned over and kissed Andrew on the forehead, then disappeared out the door.
“Swing the third regiment around to the north side!" Ha'ark shouted. "I want a volley line down to the river now."
Jamul saluted, and shouting to his staff, he sprinted across the drawbridge, running toward the reserve regiment, which was deployed in column out on the field.
"All hell is breaking loose up there," Bullfinch snapped at Andrew. "It's a hundred-yard run from the wall down to the river. They'll be slaughtered."
Andrew saw the line of Bantag troops deploying out toward the river. A mounted battery came into view, guns bouncing behind caissons as their drivers drove the teams forward.
"Bullfinch, run us past the dock. Take us up to flank that line, tear it apart, then reverse back down."
Grinning, Bullfinch explained the maneuver to his helmsman. Andrew left the bridge and moved to the main gun deck, watching as Bullfinch came down after him, shouting for his port and starboard gunners to load with double canister. The crews leapt to their guns, ramming the heavy charges home, each of the five-inch rifled pieces taking two bags of shot, each bag containing nearly three hundred musket balls, the hundred-pounder forward taking nearly a thousand musket balls of canister. Andrew leaned out one of the gun ports and saw the dock less than a hundred yards ahead. Looking up at the fortress town, he saw the gate swing open, and to his horror a mad rush of people streamed out.
Not yet, damn it. Not yet.
The Bantag troops opened fire. One of the field-pieces, already unlimbered, kicked back, its round of canister tearing through the press of humanity that had started to surge down to the dock. The forward hundred-pound Parrott gun kicked back with a roar, sweeping down part of the Bantag line, but more of the enemy continued to spill around the side of the wall, opening fire, their volleys tearing into the mob.
"Number one starboard, train on the artillery, two, three, and four on the infantry," Bullfinch roared.
The crowd continued to surge forward, though they were dropping by the dozens.
Petersburg raced past the dock, and he could see the horror on their faces as their salvation passed them.
Bullfinch turned to face aft.
"Port side engine full astern!"
A shudder ran through the ship as the paddle wheel on the port side came to a stop and then slowly went into reverse. The ship began to pivot, even as its momentum continued to propel it forward. Andrew reached up to brace himself and jumped when the first gun went off, kicking back nearly to amidships. The next three guns behind him fired within seconds, and everything in front of him instantly disappeared in a wall of coiling smoke. The ship continued to drift forward, even as it turned.
"Torpedo mine bearing off starboard bow!" The warning from the forward gun captain had barely been heard when at nearly the same instant the ship heaved up, a booming explosion echoing through it. Andrew found himself lying on his back, stunned. He could hear the ship groaning, as if it were a living entity that had just been struck a mortal blow. Bullfinch staggered past him, heading aft, and Andrew suddenly realized he was soaking wet. The blast had sent a column of muddy water pouring through the forward gun port.
The ship was continuing its turn, the stern now presented to the fort. Regaining his feet, he watched as the port side gunners, who were still at their posts, stood poised. The aft gun fired, followed within seconds by the other three. The smoke cleared for an instant, and he saw that the line had simply disappeared. The field was covered with carnage.
He started aft, following Bullfinch, who was shouting orders for both engines forward and then a final reverse.
"Deck crew out, rig anchor astern. Marines prepare to disembark!"
The port side hatch swung open, and a dozen sailors raced out, then the twenty men of the marine detachment. Andrew started to follow them.
A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder.
“Sir. I'm not bringing your corpse back to face Pat. You, sir, are staying here."
He started to protest but sensed that if he did, he would suffer the indignity of actually being physically restrained.
The engineer scrambled up from below, interrupting the confrontation.
“We're taking water fast, sir. There's a hole about ten feet back from the bow big enough to stick my head through, just below the waterline and cracks springing leaks for ten feet in either direction. Lucky that bastard wasn't down lower or we'd already be settling."
“How bad is it?" Bullfinch asked.
"Like to try and rig a lead sheet patch from the outside. We're going to lose her if we don't patch her."
"Get a crew and get outside then," Bullfinch announced.
He then faced Andrew. "Sir, please don't. If you go out there, I'll order my marines to surround you. I'd rather have them helping get these people in."
Even as they spoke, Andrew could see the rush coming down the hi
ll. Anxiously he searched the crowd as it charged forward, but saw that it was the old, the wounded, and the children.
Of course, he realized, it'd be like Hans to be the last one out.
The pressure was building all along the wall, and he could sense the growing panic.
"This isn't going to be like the Potomac!" Gregory shouted. "You take the first line back, I'll hold there!"
Hans fished in his pocket and pulled out the plug of tobacco Ha'ark had given him.
“Have a chew."
“Disgusting habit, but why not?"
Taking the plug, he bit off the end, and started to chew, gagged but then continued.
"Just get them the hell out, sir. I'll be right behind you."
"It's going to be the other way around, Gregory, and that's an order."
Hans looked over the wall down into the street. The light field gun that had been rolled up to block the gate had been dismounted by the fire from the railroad gun. A second gun was now positioned at an angle away from the gate and twice its blasts of canister at point-blank range had swept the Bantag charges attempting to get through.
"Sir!"
Hans turned to see one of Ketswana's men down in the street, clutching a broken and bleeding arm.
"Everyone from the temple is out. They sent me to tell you it's time to get out."
As the man headed back toward the gate, Ketswana scrambled up to the battlement to join them.
Hans looked down the wall. This was the tough part. A small detachment was going to have to stay behind for at least a couple of minutes. Otherwise there'd be a pile up at the gate, with the Bantag pouring in behind them. He had already detailed off the volunteers, and the orders were for everyone else to load their rifles, prop them up, then get off the wall and run. The crew staying behind would then quickly move from gun to gun, firing, keeping up the sham that the retreat had not yet started.
"Get ready to move!"
He watched down the wall, as everyone reloaded.
"Go!"
Battle Hymn Page 31