Union Forever Page 31
Unable to hide his fear, he leaped back, reaching for his blade.
"Don't!" Jubadi shouted. "There is some mystery inside it. If your blade should strike a spark we will all die."
Trembling, Tamuka slowly walked forward, underneath the belly of the monster. A large box hung down from the creature. Out of the back of the box a bright metal spear projected with four blades sticking out from the end.
"I do not understand," Tamuka whispered, going up to touch the blades, which were dull.
"Nor do I," Jubadi admitted. "Part of it comes from a barrow of the ancestors."
"You dared to disturb such a place?" Tamuka asked.
"Our chanter of the days of the ancients spoke of such things as you see inside that box. One of my pets saw a like such thing that Cromwell had fashioned, and the Yankee Hinsen came to beg of it. The proper prayers were called, and we took it."
"I fear it will disturb our fathers' dreams doing such a thing." Tamuka replied.
"Our fathers want us to survive," Jubadi said forcefully. "Tell Hulagar what you have seen here. If there is need we will use it."
Tamuka nodded, looking at the vast demon with a cold fear.
What are we becoming? he wondered as he followed Jubadi back out of the shed.
As he passed the spear he reached out and touched the blades again.
The propeller slowly spun as Tamuka turned and walked back out into the sunlight.
Chapter Eleven
"Telegram again from Fort Lincoln."
Kal looked over at Hans, who wearily came up the steps of the southwest bastion facing out over the Neiper.
"Go on, Hans, what is it?"
"The signal station reports large contingents of Cartha infantry are disembarking down the beaches at the mouth of the Neiper. Ogunquit and ten ironclad gunboats passed the fort fifteen minutes ago."
O'Donald pointed to a cloud of smoke hovering over the river valley beyond the bend of the river.
"That must be them."
"The station is shutting down. The men along with the militia contingent are retreating up the mill road to protect the mines."
O'Donald looked over at the knot of senators standing to one side of the bastion, who had stopped their arguing to listen to Hans.
"Isn't there anything you can do?" Boris asked, a note of pleading in his voice.
"The twelve-pounders are the heaviest we've got," O'Donald replied.
"A shocking state of affairs this is," Senator Petra sniffed. "Why didn't Andrew make bigger guns?"
"Because they are expensive," Kal said slowly as if repeating himself for the hundredth time. "We believed the Merki would come at us with bows, and the light artillery is best for field actions against them."
"Somebody then has made a terrible mistake," Mikhail retorted.
"We have all made a terrible mistake," Kal replied.
"There's a boat coming around the bend," Hans announced, happy to divert the group for at least a moment.
The vessel was a small Cartha ram, its banks of oars rising and falling with a rhythmic pace, its lateen sail taut against the southwesterly breeze, a large white flag flying from the mast.
The vessel came on at a swift pace, the distant chant of the rowers rising ever louder, a counterpoint to the senators, who fell silent at its approach. The vessel slowed as it approached the outer circle of earthworks that surrounded the city. The captain of the ship swung in close to shore, knifing through the shallow waters, the crew racing to drop sail. A Cartha warrior, dressed in purple, scrambled up into the shrouds, and cupping his hands he faced the bastion.
"I am a messenger from the Carthas," the man cried, his command of Rus almost as bad as O'Donald's, "sent to seek the rulers of the republic of Rus."
Kal stepped over to the bastion.
"You are speaking to the president of Rus," Kal replied.
"I am ordered that this parley must also be represented by the Senate."
Mikhail shouldered his way past O'Donald, the two brushing each other, their mutual hatred causing Mikhail to pause for a moment and grin darkly before he came to step up beside Kal. The other senators swarmed forward to join him.
"The Senate is here," Mikhail shouted.
Kal looked over at him coldly.
"I bring all of you an offer of a peaceful settlement," the messenger stated. "Know first of all that your army fought gallantly but was defeated and made prisoner before the city of Hispania. We ambushed them as they marched at night and routed them. Several thousand are prisoners and will be exchanged when a peaceful settlement is reached."
"I wish to see proof of that," Kal replied.
"Then go to Hispania," the messenger taunted. "Your Colonel Keane was buried there with honor, as was your son Hawthorne. With your permission I will send a man ashore with a token."
Kal nodded.
A Cartha stepped up to the side of the vessel and leaped into the water, a package tucked under his arm. Surfacing, he quickly crossed the narrow distance, and coming up on shore he gingerly picked his way through the maze of entanglements, waded through the moat, and then scaled the side of the earthen embankment.
O'Donald stepped up to the man, who looked around nervously, and snatched the long package out of his hand.
"Now get out of here, you filthy dog," O'Donald snapped.
Kal looked over at the artilleryman and nodded for him to open it.
The oiled leather casing was pulled away.
"It's a sword," O'Donald said quietly, and he held the blade up to look at the engraving down the side.
" 'General Vincent Hawthorne, presented by his old comrades of the 5th Suzdal. As He died to make men holy let us die to make men free,' " he read.
Tears clouded O'Donald's eyes.
"The boy—damn them, he was still only a boy."
Hans came up and took the sword away.
"You filthy blackguards!" O'Donald screamed, coming up to the side of the parapet. "I'll cut your livers out!"
"Pat, step away," Kal ordered, coming up to stand by his friend.
"This is a parley that still might give us peace," Mikhail shouted. "Get this loudmouthed drunkard out of here."
"O'Donald, go take a walk," Hans said, the gentleness in his voice not hiding the fact that it was a command nevertheless.
"Yes sir," O'Donald growled, snapping off an angry salute. He walked past Mikhail, throwing his shoulder in to knock the man aside.
"I'll have you for that," Mikhail growled.
"Anytime," O'Donald hissed, "and I'll cut your goddam jewels off and cram them down your throat."
The group looked at O'Donald, stunned by his rage. Hans started to speak but then fell silent as O'Donald stalked down the ramp and disappeared into the magazine.
"I demand he be arrested, for threatening a senator," Mikhail cried.
"I didn't hear anything," Hans said evenly.
Mikhail turned to look at Kal.
"He's the best artilleryman in the country," Kal said quietly. "If he's to be arrested it'll be after the war."
Without waiting for Mikhail to reply, Kal turned away.
"This is no indication that you have defeated our army," Kal shouted, struggling to control his voice. "It merely shows that but one of ours has fallen."
"My commander extends his sympathy at your loss," the envoy replied. "You can believe or disbelieve, but the facts are the same—your army will not come back."
"Is that your message, then?"
"There are the terms, which my commander believes your people will find generous."
"Go on then and get this over with."
"The Republic of Rus will declare an alliance to the Empire of Cartha. The president is to resign and go into retirement. A new president will be appointed by our commander."
"You mean Cromwell will be dictator."
"You did not hear me correctly," the envoy snapped. "A citizen of Suzdal will rule as appointed by him. We ask nothing else. There will be no arrests
as long as all laws are obeyed. The prisoners of war will be returned home."
"I see before me the lying mask of the Merki horde," Kal replied, raising his voice so that the soldiers lining the battlement could hear.
The envoy laughed.
"Do you think us mad? The Merki have their own concerns, or have you not heard? They are at war with the Bantag horde, who ride thousands of miles away to your south. They are being defeated. When the time comes we will stand against them as you did against the Tugars."
"Then why not come to us in alliance instead of with guns?" Kal argued. "United we could stand against them."
"And destroy our customs, our lives, the way you attempted to pollute the Roum, to use your machines to cheat and betray our power? We are not such fools. Your power must be shared with us. I ask as well, are there not thousands who were rich but are now poor because of your Yankees? I ask the people of Suzdal to look around them and see who controls the great machines, who lives in the spacious new houses, who wears the finery while thousands starve. What good was your railroad to Roum but to make more wealth?"
"I believe nothing of what you have said," Kal replied. "Our army still exists and will return, and you are but the pets and cattle of the Merki."
"Pets and cattle would not create what we have wrought," and the envoy pointed back down the stream, to the plumes of smoke rising into the air, the ships still concealed by the river bend.
"You cannot possibly stand against our power," the envoy boasted. "If you resist we will smash down your walls within days. We have guns that can fire exploding shells into your city, setting it ablaze. And all the time that your city suffers because of the foolish pride of but one man, I hope that your Senate sees the truth.
"I was sent here to spare your lives. I see now that it is useless. When you or the new leaders that follow you change their minds, you will know where to find us."
The envoy signaled to his rowers. The water foamed as the double banks of oars bit into the muddy waters and the galley swung back out into the main channel.
A puff of smoke ignited on the deck of the ship. A rocket snaked upward, rising above the river, bursting with a sharp red light.
Seconds later a dark sinister form started to emerge from around the bend of the river.
"Get O'Donald," Hans shouted, looking back down to an orderly waiting at the foot of the bastion. "Senators, this is going to get very hot in a couple of minutes. Unless you want to be part of the action, I suggest you go into the bomb-proof shelters or back into the city. If you stay, stand clear of these guns."
"I'm staying," Boris announced, looking over coldly at his comrades. "I fought with the old 1st—a little action isn't going to scare me off."
Hans watched with a grim amusement as the group divided. To a man the former peasants who had fought with the army went up to join Boris, while the boyars hesitated and then with muffled curses walked over to join Mikhail at the far side of the bastion.
O'Donald came walking back up the ramp and looked over at them coldly.
"Now if only Cromwell will oblige us with one good shot," O'Donald whispered.
"I should confine you to quarters for what you said," Hans snapped, and then his features softened. "Ah, the look in his eyes, it was priceless, Pat."
The two laughed softly, coming up to join Kal.
"So there's the devil himself," O'Donald said, leaning on the earthen rampart. "It's an ugly thing, to be sure."
"And the most powerful ship in the world," Hans replied.
"Well, we'll see what my Napoleons can do," Pat said.
Stepping back from the wall, he looked down the line. Twenty Napoleons were lined up, the original four of the 44th New York, and the sixteen new guns made over the last year.
"Here come some more," Kal said quietly.
O'Donald looked back and saw two low squared-off craft turning the bend. Both vessels continued across the river, turning about just off the far bank.
Pat raised his field glasses.
"They're anchoring. Hell, that's nearly three-quarters of a mile away."
The Ogunquit continued to struggle upstream against the current, smoke pouring from its cut-down stack.
"A hell of a lot like the Merrimac" Hans said, leaning over the wall to send out a stream of tobacco juice.
"Lot more weight on her now," O'Donald replied. "That old Ogunquit could put on some steam—she must be carrying a heavy load of armor."
O'Donald raised his glasses again.
"Eight hundred yards. I want her a hell of a lot closer."
The ship continued on, the tension building. Pat looked back at his artillerymen, who looked at him with grim expectation.
"Don't worry, my lads," O'Donald shouted. "We'll give him something to think about." O'Donald paused. "By the devil's hide he's opening the gun port."
The three looked at each other nervously.
O'Donald looked around to see his gun crews standing by their weapons, pointing toward the ship.
To either side the infantry lining the log walls were crouching low, all of them looking at O'Donald with open fear.
"Here it comes," Hans replied.
O'Donald turned back. The entire front of the ship was wreathed in smoke. Intently he peered forward. A deep-throated hum, like the sound of an approaching train, filled the air, rising in pitch.
For a brief instant he saw it, the dot growing larger, coming straight at them.
"To the left!" Hans shouted.
The ball screamed past, arching high overhead. O'Donald swung around to watch. The round dropped, slamming into the capitol building. A shower of logs, splintered like broken twigs, soared into the air. There was a pause and a thunderclap echoed, the southwest comer exploding outward, a rain of logs spilling down into the street below.
"Fifty-pounder be damned," O'Donald cursed. "He's got a hundred, maybe a hundred-and-fifty up forward."
"Range is six hundred. I'm opening up! Batteries mark your target!"
Gunnery sergeants who had been peering down the length of their barrels stood with arms outstretched, motioning with extended hands for their crews to move the pieces left or right. With a calm professionalism, O'Donald walked down the length of his old battery watching as his men again practiced their craft. Sergeants stood up holding their right arms up to signal the gun was ready. The number-four man came forward on each piece, set the friction primer into the breech, and stepped back, holding the lanyard taut.
O'Donald looked up and down the line, fist raised, a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth.
"By file on the right!"
He brought his fist down.
"Fire!"
The first Napoleon leaped back, and the bastion was wrapped in a cloud of sulfurous smoke. One after the other the fire raced down the length of the bastion.
"Reload!"
O'Donald, with Hans and Kal by his side, stepped up to the bastion wall as the smoke eddied around them and parted. A geyser of water snapped up off the starboard bow of the Ogunquit. A shower of sparks ignited on the forward armor plate, followed an instant later by two more. Another geyser shot up near the water line, and then the shot went careening off. Geysers erupted, sparks snapped, and rolling back across the water came a kettledrum-like rumbling of iron striking iron. O'Donald watched intently, cigar clenched tight, cursing under his breath.
"Damn, it hardly dented him," O'Donald gasped.
"Batteries independent fire!"
"Maybe when he closes," Kal said hopefully.
O'Donald stepped back from the wall, not bothering to reply.
"The gunboats!" Hans shouted.
Puffs of smoke seemed to soar straight up out of the two ships.
"Goddam mortars," O'Donald said. "I always hated those bastards."
The veterans of the 44th stopped in their work to look up; the Suzdalian gunners paused, eyes wide with terror. After several seconds the men of the 44th went back to work with their reloading.
Kal looked over at O'Donald, who stood with arms folded watching the mortar shells, which were now directly overhead. The twin spheres seemed to hover in the sky and then with alarming speed started to drop. O'Donald turned.
"This side of the square!"
The shells dropped down. One suddenly lit off with a brilliant flash while still several hundred feet up, the fragments screaming outward. The second one dropped behind the wall with a dull crash. O'Donald shook his head.
"Lousy fuses."
The Napoleon alongside him kicked off, and a ripple of fire swept down the line, the gunners leaping forward, rolling the recoiled weapons back up into position.
O'Donald watched now with a cold professionalism. It was interesting work. The targets before had always been rebs, or Tugars, never an ironclad. He chewed on his cigar, watching the shots hit, his stomach tightening with the cold realization that he was doing little more than burning powder.
"Hold fire to a hundred yards!"
"We're not going to stop him," Hans said quietly.
O'Donald looked over at the old sergeant.
"Unless we get lucky, I'm not holding much hope."
Several long minutes of silence passed, the Ogunquit coming on relentlessly, while behind it a parade of ironclad gunboats appeared in its wake.
"The rest must be armed with regular cannon. The other two are mortar boats, hundred-pound shells at least."
At two hundred yards the forward gun port opened again.
All along the wall, gunners and infantrymen ducked down. O'Donald, as if showing his disdain, stood erect, Hans and Kal by his side.
A snap of flame shot out, followed instantly by the scream of the shell. A section of the old city wall a hundred yards behind them exploded in a shower of splinters. Screams of agony rent the air. As if in counterpoint the mortars fired again, the gunboats behind the Ogunquit following suit.
"It's gonna get hot!" O'Donald shouted.
A hail of iron roared in, the bastion beneath his feet rocking from the impact, a fountain of dirt erupting directly in front, the ground leaping beneath his feet. For a brief second he saw the mortar shells, and his stomach tightened. The rounds tumbled down, one slapping into the dockside rail yard and tearing a section of track into the air, the other hitting the river where the Cartha envoy's ship had stood but moments before, the shell detonating, lifting a plume of water up that showered down over the bastion.