Down to the Sea
Authors: William R. Forstchen
DON’T MISS WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN’S
BESTSELLING SAGA OF THE LOST REGIMENT
“A CIVIL WAR SERIES WITH A TWIST.”
—
Washington Post
RALLY CRY
UNION FOREVER
TERRIBLE SWIFT SWORD
FATEFUL LIGHTNING
BATTLE HYMN
NEVER SOUND RETREAT
A BAND OF BROTHERS
MEN OF WAR
from
“A terrific adventure that’s as good as anything I’ve read in more years than I can remember. First-rate storytelling,”
—Raymond E. Feist,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Krondor, the Betrayal
“The label science fiction hardly describes this series as a whole, merely the premise. The Lost Regiment series is better described as a Civil War series with a twist.”
—
The Washington Post
“
The Lost Regiment
series moves like a bullet…an exciting read.”
—
Locus
“Science fiction lovers will cheer.”
—
Boy’s Life
ROC
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, December 2000
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © William R. Forstchen, 2000
All rights reserved
Cover art by Edwin Herder
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For Clayton Stokes, who, with a letter at the right moment, helped set things on the proper path; the fire control guys on the Web who awe me with their technical knowledge; Gus, who gave me a whole new perspective on the “adventure” of life; and, finally for a little friend, Adam Rose, a young man filled with courage.
“As I look upon you today, I see not just the promise of the future, but also the spirits of all those who gave the last full measure of devotion so that we could be here to celebrate this day.”
President of the Republic, Andrew Lawrence Keane, paused for a moment. His gaze swept the audience, the ranks of the new cadets graduating from the academies, their families, and the thousands who had gathered to celebrate with them.
In the crowds, he could see the few who had survived, old comrades of so many hard-fought battles. Some nodded in recognition, others stiffened to attention, several of them saluting as their old commander looked their way.
God, have we really grown old? he wondered. Wasn’t it just yesterday that we came to this world? Wasn’t it just yesterday that on these very plains beyond the city of Suzdal we drilled our new army, preparing for our first battle?
His comrades of youth had slipped away, and it was hard to accept that he was drifting with them as well. Already they were the stories of yesterday, memories fading, turning to gray and then to hazy white.
He caught a glimpse of old Pat O’Donald, barrel chest long ago slipping to his belt line, retired from the army, now a popular senator. He was sitting with the other dignitaries: William Webster, yet again secretary of the treasury; Chief Justice of the Supreme Court Casmir; Gates, publisher of a chain of papers; Varinnia Ferguson, president of the technical college—all of them growing old. Others were gone forever, crossing over the river to join comrades who had made that final journey long years before. Kal was gone, as was Emil, who had seemed like he would live forever, but had drifted into the final sleep only the winter before.
Yet, at this moment, he could see them as it was so long ago, the men of his army, Mina, Ferguson, Malady, Showalter, Whatley, and Kindred. And behind them the hundreds of thousands who had died to create the Republic, to give them the blessed days of peace that had lasted for twenty years.
He was suddenly aware that he had not continued with his speech, but his audience was patient. They knew what he was feeling at this moment, and he saw more than one lower his head, wiping tears from his eyes.
The boys graduating from the naval and army academies—and they did still seem like boys—waited patiently, looking up at him, and he smiled.
“I have but two things to say to you today.” He paused, a rhetorical flourish this time, as he stepped out from behind the podium and indicated the flag of the Republic with his one arm.
“Love freedom. Love it more than anything else on this world. There is but one of two conditions in this life: you are either free, or you are a slave. We, your parents, fought a war unlike any other. It was not to conquer. It was not for power. It had but one purpose, and that was to set us free, to set free you, our children who were yet unborn.
“So love that freedom as you would your mothers, your fathers, and the families you shall one day have. Do that, and this Republic will endure.
“The second thing is about the concept of the Republic and the relationship between government and free citizens, who must remain eternally vigilant, and will take at least an hour to explain.”
He could see more than one cadet shift uncomfortably, struggling to remain polite, as the day was hot and their dress uniforms made it even worse. He smiled.
“But your families await you for a final farewell before you leave for your postings, and, frankly, during all my years I’ve heard too many long-winded speeches and given more than one myself. So, I’m letting you off. Let’s close this ceremony and have some fun.”
Polite chuckles erupted, and a few of the old veterans shouted for him to go ahead and talk as long as he wanted. He held up his hand and waved them off, then stepped away from the podium. A cheer erupted from the graduating cadets, and a thunderous ovation rose from the entire audience. The band sitting on a raised platform behind him stood up and started to play the national anthem, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Within seconds the thousands gathered joined in.
Andrew looked over at Kathleen and took her hand in his and squeezed it. The words, no matter how many times they were sung, always cut into his soul….
“I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps…”
Watchfires…the Tugar watchfires; encamped on this very spot outside the city, he thought, remembering the bitter cold of that winter and the siege.
“In rows of burnished steel…”
The charge at Hispania, sweeping down from the heights, bayonets fixed, the final, desperate lunge that swept us to victory.
He lowered his head. The final stanza always moved him to tears.
“As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free…”
The last refrain echoed, and though the official language of the Republic was now English, many sang the words in their native tongues: Rus, Latin, Chinese, Japanese, Greek, Welsh, Gaelic, old Norse, and a dozen other languages spoken in the fifteen states of the Republic.
As tradition demanded, when the last words drifted away, the cadets broke into a cheer, hats flying into the air; the black campaign hats of the infantry, the white caps of the navy, and the sky blue of the aerosteamer corps.
He looked over at Kathleen. Unashamed tears flowed from both of them, for this was not just another ceremony of state for them. She leaned against his shoulder.
“The house will be empty tonight,” she whispered.
“It has been ever since he went off to the academy.”
“Not really, Andrew. He was home on vacations, weekend passes. We knew where he was….” Her voice trailed off. “We have to let go sometime.”
She said nothing, and he pulled her closer.
Madison, their oldest daughter, was married now, living in Roum, where her husband was stationed with the railroad engineering corps. The others—he tried not to think too much about them. The twins had died seven years ago in the typhoid fever epidemic, and young Hans had been taken the following spring by consumption.