Rally Cry

by William R. Forstchen

  "And I suppose you'd like your company to get started on this."

  "With the colonel's permission, of course."

  "But of course," Andrew said, smiling. They'd need iron, and, heaven knew, an endless variety of other things as well.

  "While we're at it, why not locate Dunlevy's foundry next to the kiln?" Mina said quickly. "We'll get a regular ironworking shop going, straight from the kiln and into a full-size works."

  "A number of my boys would be happy to get into that," O'Donald interjected. "It'll keep 'em out of trouble. I think I can dig up some leatherworkers to turn out some good sets of bellows for the works."

  Andrew sat back smiling and nodded his agreement, and the various officers started to talk excitedly among themselves.

  "Anything else for right now?" Andrew asked, extending his hand for silence. The officers who had not presented projects looked rather crestfallen, feeling as if their pride had been cut for not coming up with such obvious ventures. Andrew could see the competition was now on. And here he had been worried about morale. Within a week he could expect every company to be venturing into some activity or another.

  "All right then, gentlemen. A good evening to you then. Don't let the party end on my account—it's just that I have a long day with Ivor tomorrow."

  Standing, he left the table. Emil followed him with his gaze, knowing that most likely the real reason was the headache from Andrew's old wound. But if the man wouldn't come to him there was nothing he could do.

  Stepping back out into the fresh evening air, Andrew took a deep breath, the light chill helping to clear his head a bit. The pain had set in earlier in the day, and as usual he had borne it in silence. There was no use complaining anyhow. It was just an old reminder, and absently he rubbed his temples as he walked down the company street. Taps would soon sound, and already the men were settling in for the evening.

  The chill was refreshing, a reminder of home. Kal had said there was a winter here with snow, and that harvest time would be upon them in another month. Funny—back home another month would show spring in Virginia. Perhaps the last spring for the war.

  The war. How was it going? Strange, something that had been a part of his every waking moment for nearly three years was now an infinite distance away. Gaining the parapet, he climbed up to an empty picket box and looked out over the river, which shimmered silver in the starlight. Overhead the Wheel, as the men had taken to calling the vast spiral above them, shone in all its glory, filling near the entire sky in a swirl of light.

  "Think it's up there someplace?"

  "Ah, Kathleen," Andrew said softly, extending his hand to help her up the wooden steps.

  "A beautiful night, colonel."

  "Please, just 'Andrew' is fine when we're alone."

  "All right then, Andrew," she replied softly. "Tell me, do you think home is somewhere up there?" As she spoke she looked heavenward.

  For a moment he looked at her with a sidelong glance. The starlight played across her features, giving her a soft radiant glow. He felt a tightening in his throat at the sight of her like this. For weeks he'd been so overwhelmed with business that the thought of her presence barely crossed his mind. This evening was the first time he'd truly noticed her again, and the memory of their first conversation had come back. And now she was alone beside him.

  "Would you care to venture an opinion, Andrew?"

  "I wish I could," Andrew replied awkwardly. "We had a telescope at the college. Dr. Vassar would invite me up on occasion and we'd look at the heavens. He believed the stars had worlds around them, perhaps the same as our own. But as to where home is ..." He trailed off into silence.

  "Well, I'd like to think that somewhere up there is home," Kathleen replied, her voice almost a whisper. "Maybe that star right over there," and she pointed vaguely to one of the arms of the wheel.

  "And perhaps Vassar is looking here right now," Andrew said softly. "Perhaps looking and wondering what is happening here."

  Kathleen looked at him and smiled.

  "What empires are being dreamed tonight, beyond the starry heavens?" Andrew whispered.

  "A touch of the poet in you, colonel. You surprise me—I thought you more the cold military type."

  Andrew looked over at her and smiled, shrugging his shoulders in a self-deprecating manner.

  "Just a line I once penned back in my student days."

  Kathleen smiled softly and reached out to touch his arm.

  "Would you escort me back to my cottage?"

  "But of course," and leading the way, Andrew helped her down the steps.

  As they started back up the avenue, the sound of taps echoed over the encampment, and the two stopped for a moment and listened.

  "Such a sad sound," Kathleen whispered as the last note drifted away with the breeze.

  "Why do you think that?"

  "Just strange that the army should play it to lull the men to sleep, and when they bury them as well," she replied, as they continued on their way.

  "Fitting, perhaps. It always makes me think of Gettysburg. I remember the night before the battle hearing it played for the first time, as we settled down to sleep. And then for weeks after, while I was in the hospital, I heard it played over and over as the boys who died were buried up on the hill outside town. But it's a comfort somehow. It speaks of rest at the end of day, and at the end of the strife, both for a day, and finally for a life."

  "Such a melancholy turn to our conversation," Kathleen replied. "Or is it that our war has just marked you and me far too much, and haunts us with its presence?"

  "But maybe it isn't our war anymore."

  "You mean you think we'll never get back home."

  Andrew looked over at her and smiled his thin sad smile.

  "Would that upset you so much, Miss Kathleen O'Reilly?"

  "No, I don't think it would," she said evenly. "After all, my fiance is gone."

  Andrew looked over at her.

  "We were engaged shortly before the war. He left for the army in '61, a three-month enlistment," she said softly. "He promised to be back, saying the war would be over before the summer was out and then we'd be married."

  "And he never came back," Andrew whispered.

  Kathleen nodded and turned away.

  Andrew reached out his hand, resting it lightly on her shoulder.

  "Oh, I'm all right," she said, looking back and forcing a smile.

  "And is that why you became a nurse, because of him?"

  "I had to do something, and it seemed somehow fitting. Funny, I often wondered what I'd do when the fighting stopped, for it was a way of losing myself. Now maybe I'll never have to face that question. Perhaps this fate of ours has decided it for me."

  Andrew could not help but smile. So she was more like him than he'd thought. The war, which in its horror repulsed him, had at the same time woven a spell about him. A grand undertaking of which he was a part had come at last to sweep him into its tide and carry him away. Try as he could, he had not been able to imagine returning to Bowdoin after the war, to a life as nothing more than a professor of history in a small college town. He had felt the strange grandeur of becoming lost in a vast undertaking, a knowing that he was a part of something beyond himself.

  Could she understand that? he wondered.

  Reaching the town square, he walked with her to the door of her cabin.

  "I lost myself in it, Andrew, and I learned as well that never again would I ever risk the pain of seeing yet another love walk out the door with a promise of return. I've learned that at least," she said, a sad gentle smile lighting her features.

  She turned away from him and opened the door. To his own surprise he reached out and took her hand so that she turned back to face him.

  "Kathleen, I understand all of that. Perhaps someday I'll tell you of my reasons, my fear, as well. But for right now I would enjoy the honor of your allowing me to escort you into the city tomorrow." His voice tightened up with nervousness.
/>   The slightest of smiles crossed her features.

  "I would be honored, Colonel Keane, but I hope you understand what I've told you, and that you'll respect my feelings."

  Andrew nodded lamely, his hand dropping away from hers.

  With a quick curtsy she turned and stepped into her cabin.

  For a long moment Andrew stood outside her door, feeling like a foolish schoolboy. Turning, he started back for his cabin, not even noticing that his headache had disappeared.

  "Regiment, present arms!"

  As one the men of the 35th snapped muskets to the present position, the dark blue of the state flag snapping in the wind and dipping in salute, while the national colors stayed upright.

  Swinging his mount out, Andrew positioned himself in the middle of the open gate. Drawing his sword, he brought the weapon to the salute position while controlling Mercury with his knees.

  Proceeded by the sun-and-crossed-swords standard of Suzdal and the bear-head emblem of the house of Ivor, the column of knights came through the gate, with Ivor at the lead. Sheathing his sword, Andrew swung his mount around, coming up to ride by Ivor's side.

  Riding next to the massive Clydesdale-like horse, Andrew felt as if he were accompanying a giant. Ivor perched atop his huge mount, looked about with a regal bearing through Emil's spectacles, which were perched upon the end of his round bulbous nose. Andrew watched his companion closely. He had learned already that Ivor was not the type to keep his emotions well hidden. He could see Ivor's surprise at the accomplishments of the last four weeks. Fort Lincoln was well laid out, with spacious streets, the village green as a drill field, surrounded by earthwork fortifications that were truly intimidating.

  Somehow Ivor presented a somewhat incongruous appearance, the plate-mail armor, pointed steel helmet, and shield and spear offset by the nineteenth-century technology of glasses, and the carte de visite of Lincoln, presented by Andrew, which Ivor had attached to his shield as if it were a talisman.

  "Your health is good?" Ivor asked in Rus.

  Not wishing to reveal any knowledge yet of the language, Andrew looked to Kal, who, balanced precariously on Emil's mare, was now riding alongside Andrew.

  He knew Kal was aware that Andrew had gained some command of the language—after all, it was Kal and now Tanya who were teaching him. But the peasant revealed nothing and rendered the necessary translation.

  "Ask his lordship if he is ready for the boat ride," Andrew asked.

  Ivor forced a smile.

  "Da, da," but Andrew could see his nervousness, for undoubtedly among the people who had watched the docking yesterday had been some who had gone straight to Ivor with reports. Turning slightly, Andrew noticed that Rasnar was with the company, and from what little he had gained of politics so far, he knew that the priest was most likely a sworn enemy.

  As the column passed down Gettysburg Street, the various companies fell in behind the small procession, and with drums rolling the regiment marched smartly on its way. There was a long flourish and roll, and the regiment broke into an old favorite, a slightly obscene version of "Dixie" that made Andrew wince. Of course, Ivor and his companions wouldn't know the words, but it was something he'd give Hans a chewing-out for later.

  Approaching the dock, they passed O'Donald's command, three of the field pieces unlimbered in action front along the road, the gunners standing to their position. Pulling out his sword again, Andrew managed a salute, which Pat returned with his usual dramatic flourish, his massive red mutton-chops and walrus mustache drawing more than one envious look from the knights.

  Unable to contain himself, Ivor looked back over his shoulder, surveying the cannons and the regiment marching behind him. From the look on his face it was obvious that he was deeply impressed by the precision and discipline of the troops.

  Going out the west gate, the procession reached the dock and ramp that led to the deck of the Ogunquit. The vessel was decked out with all its signal flags upon the bare poles of the masts, so that it appeared ready for a festival. Tobias was there, the thirty men of his command turned out in their best dress blues, all of them obviously proud to have their ship back.

  Again Andrew was forced to draw sword while mounted, and snapped a salute to the captain, who for once gave a sharp reply. Andrew could not help but notice how the diminutive captain was puffed up because his transport vessel was now the center of all this attention.

  Dismounting, Ivor and his companions stood around nervously, all except for Rasnar, who stood to one side, flanked by a single priest, eyeing all that he saw with suspicious disdain.

  O'Donald and the half of his command set for a day in town came forward, and after a brief explanation through Kal they finally convinced the knights to relinquish their bridles so that the horses could be led up the ramp and tied on deck.

  Once the animals were secured, Tobias came up to Ivor, saluted, and invited him to come aboard.

  "My people tell me your ship moves without sails," the boyar said, looking to Kal and Andrew, his anxiety finally showing in spite of the front he had to maintain for those around him.

  "Through demon craft," Rasnar growled sharply.

  "If such were true, then your presence on the deck would drive the demons away," Andrew replied, looking straight into Rasnar's eyes, "and thus it would not move."

  Kal, obviously uncomfortable with the exchange, sounded nervous as he translated.

  Rasnar, caught by Andrew's offer, fell silent, staring at Andrew with open hatred.

  "My men worship Kesus as well, for is it not true that both your people and mine come from the same place, where Kesus was God?"

  "Yet you speak not of Perm," Rasnar ventured, "Father God of all."

  "Another name but the same God."

  "Kneel and beg the forgiveness of Perm," Rasnar barked, "then perhaps I shall know better what you are."

  "In my belief I do not kneel to God," Andrew said quietly, "for that is not my way." And besides, it would mean my acknowledgment of you in front of the others, he realized.

  "I and my men would consider it a good act if your holiness would bless the ship," Andrew finally replied, shifting the subject away from the confrontation. "Thus if your suspicions of demons is true, they will flee at once, before the presence of one as holy as you. If demons drive the ship against wind and current, it will not move, and thus you will be proved right and I will then kneel before you for forgiveness."

  Rasnar stood silent for a moment, and finally with a muffled comment that Andrew suspected was a curse, the priest pushed his way past the knights who had been watching the harsh exchange of words.

  Raising his staff, the priest in a soft voice muttered a prayer, finishing with a wave of his staff in the sign of the cross.

  Andrew quickly looked over to O'Donald and his mostly Catholic command. But the men had already been briefed and did not make their sign of the cross when the blessing was finished.

  "Captain Tobias, have we your permission to board?" Andrew asked.

  Tobias, obviously enjoying the fact that Andrew was now on his territory, merely nodded, and then, broadening to a smile, touched Ivor on the shoulder and invited him to climb the ramp.

  Falling in behind Ivor and Tobias, Andrew and Kal mounted the deck. After that prayer he could only hope that Tobias's boilers were in good working order; otherwise there'd be hell to pay with Rasnar.

  After the knights came the men of Company A, obviously delighted with their first prospect for a day's pass. Behind them came O'Donald's men, who were shouting back to their forlorn companions about the pleasures that awaited them.

  Mounting the quarterdeck, Tobias stepped into the pilot house with Ivor at his side. With a dramatic flourish, Tobias pulled down hard on the whistle, and a high-pitched shriek echoed down the valley.

  With shouts of dismay the knights standing on the quarterdeck looked wildly about. Some fell to their knees blessing themselves, while others drew swords, ready for battle against whatever terro
r was being unleashed upon them. Even Rasnar blanched at the sound, which quickly turned to rage at the bemused looks of the foreigners.

  There was a long moment of tension, as Kal ran through a quick round of translations to calm their fears. After several moments, Ivor was finally convinced to pull the rope himself. Another round of shouts greeted his action when he pulled the rope down, and instantly released it as if he had touched a venomous snake. Smiling understandingly, Andrew gestured for him to try again. There was another tentative whistle. Then, nerving himself, the boyar pulled down hard. Craftily Ivor watched his knights' look of terror.

  Finally the boyar broke into a rolling gale of laughter and like a schoolchild given permission to raise a racket repeatedly sounded the whistle.

  "I want one!" Ivor shouted. "I want scream maker for my palace!"

  "It'll take a couple of days," Andrew replied, thinking quickly who in the ranks could fashion a small boiler and steam whistle, "but we would be honored for you to have such a gift."

  Ivor was all smiles with this promise.

  "Colonel, sir."

  Andrew turned to see Hawthorne standing by the quarterdeck railing.

  "What is it, son?"

  Hawthorne stepped forward, pulling his knapsack off from his shoulders. Opening it up, he brought out a small wooden clock, carved by hand.

  "Sir, I thought with your permission I could give this to Boyar Ivor as a token of friendship from myself and the enlisted men."

  Andrew could not help but smile at the boy's earnestness.

  "Does it keep time well?" Andrew asked.

  Smiling, Vincent pulled out a small pendulum, attached it beneath the clock, and set it to ticking.

  "There's only an hour hand, sir—it made the gearing a lot simpler. I set it to the time on this world, which seems to be twenty-three hours long. But it'll do."

  "Well done, lad," and Andrew patted the young Quaker on the shoulder. Kal quickly translated the conversation and following Hawthorne's lead explained the workings of the clock.

  Opening up the back panel, Vincent showed Ivor the gears working inside, and the boyar cried aloud with wonder at this new toy, which he accepted with evident delight.