He started to turn. "All right Gregory, move your…”
He barely saw the dark fist of Ketswana coming at him, catching him on the side of the jaw. The blow knocked him down, stunning him. Steel-like arms wrapped around him, lifted him, tossed him to two men waiting below. Ketswana leapt down beside him and grabbed him around the waist. Then he started to run.
Numbed, Hans looked back and saw Gregory on the wall, grinning.
"No! Damn it, no!"
"We're not going to leave you," Gregory roared. "Not now! You're not doing the Potomac to me again!"
Ketswana, stretched his long legs and ran, still carrying Hans.
"Damn you, let me down!" Hans cried, struggling to break Ketswana's grasp.
He could see Gregory still on the wall, directing the fire of the last defenders. Then he was lost to view. Ketswana maneuvered the burning wreckage of the town, jostling and pushing his way to the front of the swarm heading for the gate. The thunder of rifle fire took on a different sound, and Hans realized that the Bantag must be over the wall. Someone next to Ketswana stumbled and fell, and then another.
Around the gate an insane frenzy took hold as people clawed their way through, screaming, pushing, shoving. Ketswana, towering above the rest, slammed into the crowd and burst through to the other side. His strength returning, Hans began to struggle, trying to get free, to get back. Ketswana continued to press forward.
Suddenly a blinding flash of light enveloped them and Hans felt himself falling, tumbling off the pathway that led to the ship, and freedom.
"There he is!" Andrew shouted.
Bullfinch turned away from the incredible press of humanity pouring in through the hatch.
Andrew pushed his way through the gun port before Bullfinch could stop him and grabbed the nearest marine helping to shepherd the crowd off the dock and onto the ship.
“Come on," he roared, as he sprinted to the side of the boat and leapt off. Sputtering, he came up in chest-deep water and started to wade to shore. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bullfinch standing on the deck, shouting and swearing, pushing marines in after Andrew and then leaping in himself. Andrew scrambled up on the beach, barely aware of the geysers of mud spraying around him. Slipping going down, he came back up, climbed the embankment. Above him, on the dock, the press toward the boat continued, casualties tumbling off into the mud below.
Andrew forced his way through them, grabbing a tuft of grass to pull himself up onto the sloping ground that led to the fort. Crouching low, he sprinted forward toward the gate and then fell to his knees.
“Hans, oh, God! Hans!"
“Andrew, just what the hell are you doing?" Hans gasped.
Andrew reached out and embraced him, laughing and crying at the same time.
"Son, I think we'd better get out of here," Hans growled and for Andrew all the years seemed to fall away, the words almost the same as when he had been a terrified young lieutenant at Antietam, and Hans had looked at him and said it was time to lead the company out of the trap they had fallen into.
Andrew stood up and started to pull Hans to his feet, but Hans stopped and reached down to a wounded black man beside him.
Ketswana groaned, blood pouring from his scalp and arm.
"Come on, my friend, we're going home," Hans gasped, and at that moment the marines and Bullfinch surrounded them, grabbing Hans and Ketswana, taking them back down to the river. Several of the men positioned themselves between Andrew and the increasing fire from the riverbank, where a new swarm of Bantag was charging into position.
Bullfinch ignored the path and led them straight back down to the river. The three marines carrying Ketswana waded in, floundered momentarily at the side of the boat, and then lifted him up to the sailors who now lined the deck. When they reached the water Hans turned around.
“Gregory! Gregory's back there!" he shouted.
Startled, Andrew looked back at the fort. Half a dozen men came bursting out of the gate, and then no one. Along the north wall Bantag appeared, firing down at them.
And then four more men came through the gate, running hard.
"Gregory! Run, damn it! Run!" Hans screamed.
An artillery round burst on the pathway, knocking the four down. With an anguished cry Hans struggled to get up, but Andrew and Bullfinch restrained him.
Two of the men staggered back to their feet and reached down to pick up their comrades. The marines guarding Andrew sprinted up the embankment again, one of them tumbling back over. They reached the struggling knot of men and helped pick up the two wounded, dragging them down the dock.
"Let's go!" Bullfinch cried, wading out into the river, pushing Hans and Andrew in front of him. Hands reached out to them and hoisted them up onto the deck. The air was alive with bullets striking the iron sides of the ship, ricocheting off, sparks flying.
"Cut the anchor! All engines full ahead!" Bullfinch roared.
Andrew was thrown gasping up on the deck, hustled toward an open gun port, and unceremoniously shoved through.
Turning, he helped to pull Hans through, and the two fell atop each other onto the deck. Bullfinch came behind them, still roaring for full power.
Andrew could feel the shudder running through the ship as it started forward. He looked down at Hans, who was lying across him, bloodied, stunned. There were no words to say. Nothing could ever express what he was feeling or all that he wanted to say. It struck him yet again how one could go for years never really conveying just how deeply he felt, how much love he had for another. But when that person was thought lost forever, one would give all he ever had, even his own life, only to have one precious minute back again.
Hans stirred. "Gregory, Ketswana?"
He sat up and saw Ketswana propped up against a gun carriage, grinning.
"Hans!'
It was almost a scream, and Andrew saw a diminutive dark-haired girl pushing her way through the crowd. Hans staggered to his feet and swept her up into his arms, kissing, hugging her. Hans suddenly realized that those standing around him were silent, and he looked at Andrew sheepishly.
"This is," he fumbled for words, his features reddening, "ah…”
"Mrs. Schuder, I presume," Andrew said with a grin.
"And young Andrew," Hans replied, motioning toward the squalling infant cradled between them.
"Sir?"
He turned to see one of the marines, and the memory returned.
"Gregory?" He shouldered his way through the crowd to Gregory, who lay with his men kneeling by his side. The life was already draining from his features. Hans spared a quick glance down to the shattered lower half of his body. He closed his eyes, wishing it away.
“Hans."
He knelt and took Gregory's hand.
“The chew. It made me sick."
Hans tried to smile. “Damn you," Hans whispered. “It was my duty to stay."
"You got me out during the Potomac fight," he sighed. “It was time to repay the favor. Ketswana and I would not let you die."
Then he whispered, "Is that Keane?"
Andrew knelt beside him. "Here, Gregory."
"My wife?"
“Still waiting for you to come home. She never gave up hope. You have a beautiful little girl."
Gregory smiled. "Take me home. Don't leave me here. Please take me home."
"Of course we will, son," Andrew said softly.
He struggled to sit up, but fell back with a sigh.
"We few, we happy few…” and his voice drifted away into silence.
"We band of brothers," Hans choked out, reaching down to close his friend's eyes.
Exhaustion, numbness, all of it at last took hold. Sobbing, he stood up. The deck that only a moment before had been packed with people cheering with wild abandon was now silent. All eyes turned to Hans, as he stood with bowed head, long, shuddering sobs racking his body. Andrew could see tears welling up in the eyes of those around him, in sympathy for the one who had been a rock to which they had clung for survival and who now
, at last, had time to mourn.
Bullfinch made his way through the crowd, looking for Andrew.
"We got the patch on. We're still taking water and overloaded like hell, but with luck I think we'll make it now."
Andrew motioned for him to be silent.
Hans stood alone, looking at those to whom he had given life and then back down at Gregory. Tamira came to his side and put her arm around him, and he gazed down at his baby.
Covering his face with his hands he let the tears come, tears for all of them, all those who were lost, who had fallen, and even now for those who were left. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and raising his head, he found Andrew looking at him, bright-eyed.
"Welcome home, Hans."
Chapter Ten
“I wish I could have seen that devil Ha'ark's face, when Petersburg cut anchor and was away," Pat laughed. "It'd be nice to hear that those animals turned on him and cut his throat."
"He'll find a way to explain it to his followers," Hans said quietly. "He'll survive."
Andrew looked around the table in the formal East Room of the White House, again feeling a warm and comfortable glow. He had a sudden memory of the first time he had seen this room, coming in with Hans to meet Ivor, the boyar ruler of Suzdal. The man sitting at the end of the table now, the president, had stood with them then, stumbling through a translation and most likely making up most of the conversation as he went along.
Andrew smiled at Kal. Whatever differences had existed between them were gone now, and in spite of the fear of what was coming, he could see that the old Kal had returned. And for that matter, he sensed that he had somehow returned as well.
"Five old comrades," Kal suddenly said. "It's good to be alone with you again."
"I still think, Hans, that you should get some rest," Emil interrupted. "Let's save the drinking for another night."
"In a little while," Kal replied. "It's been a good day. Let's relax a bit before ending it."
The reception Hans had received when the train pulled in at Suzdal Station came close to rivaling the triumphal return after the Battle of Hispania. Perhaps the only person to complain was Bill Webster, the secretary of the treasury, who claimed that at least two days' worth of work had been totally lost, along with two days in Roum, where the train had stopped the night before. But beyond all else, Andrew felt it was worth it, if only because it had brought the Republic together.
Declared or not, a state of war now existed. A blockade was up along the Bantag coast, and a light sloop had been reported lost when four flyers dropped bombs on it. Petracci was screaming for more airships, beside himself because Flying Cloud was down for at least two weeks for repairs after its three missions.
Old regiments were mobilizing, calling back their veteran reserves, and the first brigade of Roum troops had already been dispatched to reinforce the defensive line. Andrew could only hope that the sense of unity engendered by the rescue would endure in the months, perhaps years, of struggle to come.
"And would you look at this?" Pat exclaimed, pulling a copy of Gates's Illustrated Weekly out of his back pocket, unfolding it, and putting it on the table.
Emil reached across the table and held it up, looking at the portrait on the cover, and then over at Hans. He read the banner headline: "Our Hero Returns."
Hans, grumbling, took another long sip of vodka.
"I want you to speak before the joint session of Congress tomorrow," Kal told him. "Before I make the formal request for a declaration of war, I want you to tell them everything you saw, everything you experienced."
Hans nodded, and Andrew could see the pain lingering just below the surface.
"And Gregory?"
"He'll be interred with full honors immediately afterward," Andrew interjected softly. "Both Alexi and Gregory will receive the Congressional Medal, and Gregory's widow will always have the special pension supplement."
"Small comfort," Hans whispered.
Andrew nodded. He had met with Gregory's widow immediately after their return, and the anguish of it was almost too much to bear. Nearly four years of his being missing and presumed dead had softened her pain, but now the wound had been torn open again when she learned he had come so close to making it home.
"And Ketswana—I want him appointed a colonel on my staff," Hans said. "His men are to be kept together as well, as part of a headquarters company. Without him, I never would have made it."
"Zulus," Pat said admiringly. "Good fighters. I wish we could find out where they are and bring them in. They'd make a hell of a corps."
"Pull out whomever you want," Andrew said. "Most of these people you brought in will never have a chance to see their real homes again. It would be comforting for them to stay together."
"I wish I could have brought them all out," Hans replied, his gaze drifting as if he were looking off into some unknown land.
"You got out four hundred and twenty-eight," Kal said, "Eighty-three of them from that hellhole you were in. I consider that pretty damn good."
"We broke out with somewhere around three hundred," Hans replied. "We left behind at least three hundred more and thousands who will pay the price for what we did. We picked up at least a hundred on the way, but most of them died. Then there were the townspeople that we dragged into the fight.There were nearly a thousand people at that settlement before we came."
Andrew leaned forward, fixing Hans with a penetrating gaze.
"You got out, my friend. You might very well have saved the Republic as well, with the information you brought. All of you were dead until the moment you stepped onto the Petersburg. How long would all the rest have lived? Another week, a month, a year or two? And then what? Try to convince yourself that they died for something. They were already dead, but by their sacrifice the Republic will live."
"Hard to say that to them now," Hans replied. "Hard to imagine telling them that when they face the slaughter pit for what I did."
"Then, damn it," Emil growled, "tell it to your wife and son. That's why you did it, and in my book it was worth it."
Andrew saw the concern in the doctor's eyes.
"He's consumed with guilt," Emil had told him on the train ride back home. "He admitted he was planning to sacrifice himself in the end, once he knew Tamira and the boy were safe, a sacrifice in atonement, but Gregory and Ketswana guessed what he was up to and stopped him. What makes it worse is that Gregory died so he could live."
Andrew now looked at Hans, who was staring absently into his drink.
"Hans," said Kal softly.
Hans looked up with a strained smile on his face and nodded.
"You came back to us. When all of us here heard you were alive, none of us would have hesitated a second to lay down his own life to save yours."
Hans started to growl a reply, but Kal slammed his open hand on the table.
"Listen to me, Hans."
Hans was quiet.
“And you would have done the same. You were going to do the same for Gregory, but the lad, Kesus grant him peace, knew you well enough to trick you. And I'll tell you this. If we could conjure the soul back into that body resting over in the Capitol building, he would say that he would do it again."
Then Kal continued, his voice dropping, “That is the paradox of war that will always hold me in wonder. It is the most horrible damned thing ever imagined by man or any other race. But it brings out something as well, a nobility of spirit and a love for comrades that nothing will ever break. You taught that to a very young officer named Andrew Lawrence Keane, and he has taught it to this world. And that is why, speaking now not as Kal but as the president, I committed this country to bringing you out, even though it ensured that there would be a war.
“Now I know you are feeling guilty."
Hans stirred and looked helplessly at Emil.
"I don't need the good doctor to tell me. Remember Hans, I survived the coming of the Tugars three times, twice as a terrified peasant. I saw the first girl I ever loved d
ragged into the pits to have her throat cut. I saw my parents go. I helped trigger the rebellion against the boyars and maneuvered to keep you and your comrades here, not for myself but for the love of my daughter Tanya. The same way I know that underneath it all, the real reason for what you did was out of love for that beautiful young woman you brought back and your precious son."
Hans nodded uncomfortably.
“I know what the guilt is, to survive when others die. I know what it is like to help start a war, knowing that tens of thousands might die, while I"—he paused for a moment, his face turning red—“while I know that I will live because I am the president. During the last war I looked into the eyes of thousands of young boys, knowing they would die. I had to trade jokes with them, reassure, inspire, and then leave. Throughout that war I would have given my soul to be able to stand on the volley line with them, rather than hide behind the lines."
"You did give an arm in the Tugar War," Emil said quietly.
"A convenient excuse to soothe my soul when I lie awake at night," Kal snapped. "But all I'm trying to say is that the only one who will ever blame you is yourself. Forgiveness has to come from within. I know. I've yet to forgive myself, and when I go before Congress tomorrow I know that I will be asking for the lives of tens of thousands more.
"This entire nation thanks Kesus that you are alive, Hans Schuder. All I am asking is that you now thank him that you are alive as well."
The room fell silent. All eyes followed Kal as he stood up and walked around the table and extended his hand.
"It's a long day tomorrow. I suspect your young lady is waiting for you upstairs. Let's get some sleep."
Hans, embarrassed by the overt display of emotion, accepted the traditional Rus embrace, which included a kiss on both cheeks.
Pat, blowing his nose loudly, tried to get up, then accepted Emil's hand.
"Come on, you. I don't understand why I bothered to sew your stomach back together again. You're just trying to drink another hole through it."
"You did it for the glory," Pat replied with a laugh. "And because you couldn't stand not to have me to share a drink with."
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