Union Forever

by William R. Forstchen

  The other two galleys were ahead, one of them racing straight in toward the Ogunquit's bow. The pole forward dropped, the barrel disappearing into the water. An instant later the forward gun fired.

  It seemed as if the galley simply disappeared, in a swirling torrent of iron hail, shattered wood, and broken bodies.

  The other galley, running up parallel to the Ogunquit, suddenly turned in, spar dropping. Andrew held his breath. The galley raced in, slamming into the side of the ship. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. The galley spun away, and the Ogunquit continued its retreat.

  "Goddammit!" Andrew screamed. "More speed! We've got to catch him!"

  He knew he was drawing the last strength out of the fifty rowers behind him. He could hear their fevered groans with each stroke, the men cursing, the boat leaping ahead.

  The other galley drifted past.

  "The trigger rope broke!" the captain screamed, and then they were behind him.

  A geyser of water shot up beside him, and looking back, he saw that one of the enemy ironclads, passed several minutes ago, had come around and was already racing up past the President and closing in from astern.

  The Roum captain shouted, the men looking up at the death trying to close down upon them from astern, and it seemed as if the sight of the ship wrung the last ounce of strength from the rowers.

  The bow of the Ogunquit was off their side, not twenty yards away.

  "A couple of seconds more!" Andrew shouted. "Just a bit more!"

  They drew abreast the first gun port.

  "Lower the spar! Take us in!"

  The two men standing beside him released the ropes, letting them play out, and the barrel splashed into the water. The galley started to swerve over and he picked up the lanyard, and then he felt as if his heart would freeze. He was looking straight into the barrel of an enemy cannon.

  Tobias looked down the length of the heavy gun. Shouldering the gunner aside, he took hold of the lanyard to the flintlock trigger. The galley started to swing straight in, and he saw Keane looking up.

  Keane seemed to be staring straight at him. All of it was coming together at last, the dream of all the years, the final vindication. He stepped back from the gun, holding the trigger line taut. From the comer of his eye he saw Tamuka, his mouth open, screaming at him to fire, staring at him as Keane was.

  Tobias turned his head and looked straight at the Merki who had betrayed him, as everyone had betrayed him. A tragic smile lit his exhausted features, and he let the lanyard slip out of his hand and drop to the deck.

  "Back oars!" Andrew screamed. He felt the boat surge beneath his feet and waited one last second.

  "Jump, all of you, jump!"

  There was a jarring bump.

  Even as he heaved on the trigger line he threw himself backward.

  For a split second he felt a heartbreaking sickness. It was not working. In the next instant he felt himself tumbling backward through the air. The world seemed to be nothing but water, all the universe, sky and river, jumbled into one.

  Strangely there seemed to be no sound, only a dramming pressure that made his senses reel.

  He tried to breathe, but some instinct prevented him. Something slammed into his head, and he was floundering on the surface of the river, a column of fire and water seemingly suspended above him.

  Debris was raining down. It was hard to see, and he realized that this time he had lost his glasses. The shadow of the Ogunquit was still sliding away, and for an instant he thought that somehow they had not hurt her. But around him a ragged cheer was going up. There was another thunderclap, a shot of flame burst out of one of the gun ports, and the giant ship started to turn, heeling over, its bulk seeming to block out the sky.

  "She's going down!" someone screamed excitedly.

  Andrew felt himself going down as well. Floundering in the water, he felt someone grab his side.

  "I've got you, sir."

  To his amazement it was the Roum captain.

  "We got her, we got her!" the captain kept chanting.

  In the wavering light, Andrew saw the bow of the ship already slipping beneath the water. He could hear the cries of the Carthas, and see dim forms pouring out of the hatches.

  An ironclad shot past him to his right. He felt a moment of terror, but the ship didn't slow. Swinging wide around the Ogunquit, it kept on up the river, the President following in pursuit.

  "We'd better get away from here!" the captain shouted, and pointed out into the water.

  "I can't see too well."

  "Looks like a Cartha galley. Hang on to me," and the captain started to swim straight back down the channel.

  Cresting up over a wave, Vuka hung on as the galley slapped back down.

  All around him the water was aswarm with cattle.

  "Bring us around to the ship!" Vuka cried.

  He knew that he should feel rage at this moment, but there was a cold inner triumph. So they had sent him out to die, and now the tables had been turned at last. The great ship was settling quickly, lying nearly on its side, water pouring into the gun ports. There was another flash from within, and a tongue of fire burst out. Horrified shrieks echoed across the water as from within came the crashing of guns, snapping free from their moorings and sweeping across the deck, crushing their crews, smashing into the opposite bulkhead and adding their weight to the death roll.

  A rumbling blast of steam shot up through the collapsing stack, scalding cattle who were already in the water, and Vuka listened to their cries without concern. Carefully he scanned the water, looking, peering into the darkness.

  And then he saw him.

  He leaped into the water, and coming to the surface he grabbed hold of a plank, gasping and coughing. Kicking his legs, he pushed through the current and saw him, bobbing up and down, feebly hanging on to a piece of wood.

  He came up alongside him.

  "My brother, I'm hurt," Mantu groaned. "I'm burned."

  "Let me help you," Vuka said, and he grabbed hold of him, pulling him away from the board. Mantu looked into his eyes and he understood, even as the blade cut into his throat.

  "My brother," Mantu gasped as the water around him turned scarlet.

  Vuka pushed him away, yet he continued to struggle feebly, hands grasping the air, and then he disappeared at last beneath the water.

  Vuka struggled through the wreckage, grabbing hold of another board, and he started to kick toward shore.

  He paused for a second, bringing a hand up. The dagger —he still held the dagger. He let it drop. There was a brief flash of silver and then it fluttered down into the darkness below.

  The water felt cold, terribly cold. He crawled up higher on the board and then looked up.

  A snap of light crossed the midnight sky, the arrow of an ancestor coming down from the heavens, and he started to shiver.

  "Over here!"

  There was a splashing of oars, and Andrew looked up to see a boat bearing down toward them. "A Cartha ship," the Roum captain whispered. The boat drew closer. "Over here!" "Damn me, it's Marcus," Andrew gasped.

  Oars were raised and eager hands reached out, pulling him up out of the water.

  Crawling up on the deck, Andrew squinted as Marcus came up and clapped him on the shoulder.

  "I thought I told you to get the hell out of here," Andrew sighed.

  "And leave my men to drown up here? Not likely."

  Andrew shook his head wearily and leaned back against the ship's railing.

  "I'm damn glad to see you," Marcus said softly.

  A sailor came forward and threw a blanket over Andrew's shoulders while another man passed over a sack of wine, which he eagerly took.

  The river was dark, and for the first time he realized just how quiet it was.

  "Have you found any?" he asked sadly.

  "You'd be surprised. I've got a dozen boats up here, and we're pulling them out by the hundred."

  "Thank God," Andrew whispered.

&nbs
p; "That was one of the dumbest things I've ever seen," Marcus said gruffly, and Andrew looked up.

  "Your going in like that."

  "I had to," Andrew replied. "I felt as if I had failed in everything. I couldn't ask your people to make a sacrifice like that unless I went with them."

  "It won't be forgotten by me," Marcus said. "But you've given me a hell of a problem."

  "What's that?"

  "When these men get back home, they'll be insufferable with arrogance. They'll be almost as bad as you Yankees."

  For the first time since it had all started, Andrew found that he was laughing.

  "Why, my dear Marcus, we'll make good republicans out of all of them by the time we're finished."

  Cold with rage, Jubadi stalked along the bank of the river. In front of him the city which he had so confidently believed was in his grasp looked as it did before, except for one detail—the walls were now lined with white-clad soldiers. From down the road, he saw the blue column moving quickly, approaching the south gate of the city, the cheers of the cattle echoing across the waters.

  In the middle of the river a single ironclad was afloat, a ship of the enemy blocking any hope of attacking even if he had wanted to.

  "We go back," Jubadi snarled, looking over at Hulagar.

  "We lost but five hundred of the Vushka," Hulagar replied softly. "Our strength here is intact."

  "If I had ten times their number, perhaps. But I will not waste my elite in an uneven battle in which they hold the strength. They have beaten us for now."

  "If we do not destroy them here, every day they will grow stronger."

  "I have the Bantag on my other flank!" Jubadi roared. "If I sweep north, they will follow. They smell our blood. I am still caught between two fires, and I will not be backed into this one with the Bantag behind me."

  "My Qar Qarth," Hulagar said quietly, "I have fought these cattle now, I have seen their weapons, I have seen the terrible power of the ones we had and lost. If you should delay, I fear what they could create by the time we settle accounts to the south."

  "Then I will make new weapons as well," Jubadi growled. "We will keep the Carthas who can make weapons, and grant them exemptions. The rest we will feed upon this winter, since the Rus will not serve our needs. I will keep the pressure on the Rus, and when the time is right I will finish them."

  Jubadi turned away from the river and started back up the bank. Then he saw the other shield-bearer.

  "You are hurt, Tamuka," Jubadi said, his voice showing concern.

  "Only some burns, my Qar Qarth."

  "And you have news."

  Tamuka nodded.

  "Then out with it," Jubadi whispered, his voice suddenly nervous.

  "We have not found Mantu. I know he was injured. I pushed him through the hatchway and then lost him."

  "Then he is dead."

  "He is not on our side of the river, my Qar Qarth. Either he is a prisoner or he is dead."

  "He is dead," Jubadi sighed. "For his ka would not allow him to live the ignominy of capture at the hands of cattle."

  Jubadi turned and looked at Vuka and nodded slowly.

  "Come, my son," he said quietly. "We must plan what to do next."

  He looked back at Tamuka.

  "As the Qar Qarth, I ask that you again be shield-bearer to the Zan Qarth."

  "Which I desire as well," Vuka said softly.

  Stunned, Tamuka nodded his head in reply.

  Jubadi paused and looked back at the city. Unsheathing his sword, he held it up and brought it along his forearm. There was a splattering of scarlet. Holding the blade on high, he looked to the heavens and let out a long cry of pain and rage, and then drew back and hurled the sword into the river.

  "Mark this spot well," Jubadi snarled, "for I will take that blade up yet again." and motioning for Vuka to follow, he leaped up onto his mount and galloped off.

  Tamuka looked over at Hulagar.

  "He is the only heir now, and cannot be touched," Hulagar whispered.

  "Only as long as he is the heir," Tamuka replied. "But when he is Qar Qarth, then I will be shield-bearer."

  "Watch your back," Hulagar said softly.

  "Perhaps Mantu should have watched his," Tamuka replied.

  "Come, let us leave this accursed place," Hulagar said, and he went over to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

  Tamuka paused and looked at the naked cattle bound and flanked by two guards.

  "Look one last time at what was your home, what still could have been yours, traitor," Tamuka snarled.

  Tobias tried to look straight ahead, to ignore the horror of what was gazing at him.

  "You are afraid to look in my eyes, aren't you, cattle?" Tamuka roared. "Tonight is the moon feast, cattle. Do you know what that is?"

  Tobias was silent, still looking off as if his tormentor were not even there.

  "We will strap you to a table. With my own hand I will slice the skull from your head while you are still alive. Traitor, I will gaze into your eyes as I reach into your skull and pull your brains out, and devour them. The last thing you will ever see is my hate-filled eyes, your brains being ground between my teeth."

  Tobias felt as if he were floating inside a vast dark tunnel at the end of which all he could see was the taunting gaze, and yet he felt that somehow in the end he had won after all.

  He spit in Tamuka's face.

  With a scream of rage, Tamuka struck him across the face, shattering his jaw.

  Going to the horse, he swung into the saddle and looked over at Hulagar.

  Hulagar reached out and touched him on the shoulder.

  "After you are done with him, will you join me? There is much to speak of, now that you are shield-bearer to the Zan Qarth again."

  Tamuka nodded.

  "A position I hope I do not hold for long."

  Hulagar looked at him inquiringly.

  "Don't worry, my friend," Tamuka sighed. "But if you are to see your prayers fulfilled, if we are to see the Barkth Num ever again, we will have to act more forcefully."

  Without a backward glance at the city, the two shield-bearers rode off.

  Tobias did not feel the pain of the blow, nor the roughness of the horse's back as they strapped him naked behind the saddle. He raised his head, and all he could see was the city, and the blue column of men marching in to faint distant cheers.

  Were they cheering for Keane? Of course they were cheering for Keane, for all the others, all the countless others. And he felt somehow that he wanted to laugh even as his tears dropped away to the ground. In a way, he felt, they were cheering for him as well.

  Chapter Twenty

  The room fell to a nervous hush as Emil walked in and sat down.

  "How is he?" Andrew asked anxiously.

  "That mick's got the constitution of a horse," Emil said. "The fever broke, and he woke up an hour ago and asked for a drink of whiskey."

  "Glory hallelujah," Vincent shouted, slapping the table.

  Andrew was stunned to see Hans pull out a handkerchief and blow his nose noisily.

  "Just a cold," Hans whispered, and Andrew shook his head.

  "You're a miracle worker," Andrew said, leaning over to pat Emil on the back.

  "Just lucky this time as well," Emil replied. "A lot of things helped. He pulled that shit-covered jacket off before he got hit—I think that would have finished him. He hadn't eaten in nearly a day and had thrown up the rest in the sewer, so the stomach was empty. The bullet was lodged in the stomach and nothing had spilled out, so all I had to do was clean the wound and sew it up."

  Emil held his hands up. "I think I'm on to something with that carbolic acid to kill infection, but it's hell on my hands. I should find something to cover them in the future."

  "It's the first time I ever heard of a man surviving a gut shot," John said admiringly.

  "Same for me," Emil said softly. "We never thought it was even worth the bother of operating before. But damned if I'd let him
die."

  "How we doing with the rest of the men?" Andrew asked.

  "Bullfinch is going to look like a regular pirate with that patch, and he's going to have a hell of a scarred face to mar those pretty looks, but he'll pull through, and at least we saved one eye. The burns and the scalds are giving me a problem, but for the type of campaign we fought, Andrew, the bill could have been a lot worse."

  "Nearly twenty-five hundred dead and three thousand wounded was still too much," Kal replied.

  There was a mumbled chorus of agreements.

  Kal paused and looked over his shoulder at the dozens of bullet holes that pockmarked the bloodstained wall.

  "At least he paid the price,"

  "All right, let's wrap this up," Andrew said. "I've barely had time for Kathleen since I got back here. John, what's our status?"

  John smiled, looked at his notes, and then pushed them aside.

  "We can salvage the Ogunquit, and maybe all the boats that went down. If so, that'll give us a fair-sized fleet. We should strip the rails off all our ships, and the engines as well. They're more valuable to us that way. Within a couple of weeks I'll be able to load those supplies up and ship them by sea back to Roum. With Marcus's help we might have the railroad up and running again inside of three months, with a full link between here and Roum. We'll bring back some boxcars and engine chassis by sea, and that way we'll have some service going out of Suzdal inside of twenty days or so.

  "The big loss in equipment was over eight thousand rifles and damn near all our powder reserves. The factory's up and running now, turning out half a ton a day."

  "When the weapons start coming out," Andrew said, "make good on our losses first, then we split the production between our army and Roum."

  Marcus smiled openly in agreement.

  "Arm them and you'll have to give them the right to vote," Vincent said quietly, and there was a chorus of chuckles.

  "Hans, latest scouting report."

  "They tore up some of the blockhouses and pulled back to the hills a hundred miles south of our defensive line. Beyond that, Andrew, we know nothing. That's the big question now. We know they'll be back, the question is when. If they show up before we've rearmed, it'll be difficult. Getting the Ogunquit up will at least give us a barrier, and with the Cartha boats that surrendered or were captured, we can put a solid curtain out on this side of the river."