Rally Cry (32 page)

"Best damn fight I've ever seen!" the Irishman shouted, as he pointed to his gun, which was being pushed into line.

"B Company, open up!" Andrew shouted.

Parrying the swarming enemy, the company staggered back past the gun.

A thunderous roar echoed across the square. The Napoleon leaped almost to the vertical and slammed back down.

"Triple canister," O'Donald shouted gleefully. "Two hundred iron balls at point-blank!"

Dumbfounded, Andrew looked in amazement at the bloody swarth that had mowed through the square.

The enemy charge broke and started to stream back northward, while from out of the west side of the square the first bluecoats appeared.

"Let's drive them!" Andrew roared. "Keep them moving!"

Reloading, the four companies fired again, counterpointed by another blast from the artillery.

Volley after volley slashed out, and in silence Andrew watched.

So this was the epitome of what he had become, he thought grimly, feeling a strange horrifying sense of power in the destructiveness unleashed.

Hans came up by his side, while the reserve companies rushed past, forming to the right of the line, their firepower adding to the carnage.

"We're doing murder," Andrew said grimly.

"It's our job," Hans replied, pulling out a plug of precious tobacco and biting off a chew. To his amazement, Andrew reached out and took a bite, handing the plug back.

Breaking in every direction, the nobles and their warriors streamed to the north and east, while from out of the side streets a torrent of peasants poured out, driving the stragglers before them, shouting with wild abandon.

"Cease fire!" Andrew shouted, and the volley line was stilled.

The square was wreathed in smoke, the flames from the palace and buildings about the square illuminating the carnage with a lurid light.

"
Hans,
get up to Mina and have his command push up to the north. Keep the pressure on them, but show some mercy. If they keep moving, let them go—we've broken them right here. I'll send four companies up the east road the same
way,
and keep A and B with the artillery here in the square as reserve."

"It had to be done this way," Hans said, looking into Andrew's eyes.

"God help me, I know," Andrew replied. "Now get moving."

Andrew started across the square, but within seconds all semblance of control seemed to break down as a torrent of people, wild with joy, filled the square, laughing, weeping,
shouting
with joy.

Andrew, leading his men, started across the pavilion to the church, where there was still a knot of fighting between peasants and warriors. At the approach of his men the sound of fighting died away.

At least some were starting to give up, he thought hopefully.

"Surrender!"
Andrew shouted. "We offer quarter!"

The peasants backed away, shouting angrily, and as they gave ground, Andrew stood transfixed.

Ivor stood in the doorway of the church.

"Ivor, give up. I'm offering you quarter."

The boyar gazed at Andrew, a look of pain on his features.

Andrew started forward.

"We can work together, Ivor."

The boyar stood before him, a sad smile creasing his features.

"I never wanted this," Ivor said, a distant look on his face.

Andrew could not reply.

"But you were right when you told me the church would destroy me."

"Give, up, Ivor."

Nodding, as if coming from a deep sleep, the boyar motioned to his men, who, letting their weapons drop, started to walk toward the Union line.

Ivor turned to look back into the church.

"No!" And leaping to the middle of the doorway, he rushed into the darkness of the nave.

There was the crack of a rifle shot.

Andrew, sword raised, leaped up the stairs and into the church.

Ivor turned to face him, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. At his feet lay Rasnar, with Ivor's sword driven through his body. A still-smoking rifle rested by Rasnar's side, his fists clenched tightly around the barrel. The priest, who had appeared so powerful in life, now looked pathetic and small, his death grimace a horrible contortion of rage and pain.

"It was meant for you," Ivor said weakly, and drawing back his hands, he revealed a hole in his chest, pouring blood.

Wordlessly the boyar sank to the floor, and Andrew knelt by his side.

"It was meant for both of us," Andrew said sadly.

"Rule my people better than I did," Ivor whispered. "Free them from the Tugars." And then he was still.

Leaning over, Andrew took off Ivor's glasses, and gently closed his eyes.

Coming back out of the church, Andrew beheld a scene of wild jubilation.

He saw
Hawthorne leaning against the side of the church, and he went up to the soldier, who stood wide-eyed in shock.

"Are you all right, boy?" he asked.

"I think so, sir."

"It's the same for all of us," Andrew said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "In there lies a friend of mine. See that his body isn't harmed."

"Keane, Keane!"

Andrew looked up to see Kal pushing through the crowd.

"Keane, I knew you would come," Kal said softly.

"Yes, we came," Andrew said numbly. "We could not let you die."

Kal looked about the square and shook his head.

"Is this the price of freedom?" he asked numbly.

"It usually is," Andrew replied.

"We're free, Keane, we're free," the peasant said as if coming from a dream.

"And there'll be a lot more to pay before you're done," Andrew said, looking at his men, who still stood in ranks, which he could see had been tragically thinned.

"There are still the Tugars."

As the gates of the city opened, a wild tumultuous shout went up.

Feeling a bit foolish, Andrew spurred his mount, and the regiment stepped forward, drums rolling, the men sounding off with the song "The Battle Cry of Freedom."

He could not help but think of the ancient Romans offering a triumph to a victorious legion commander returning from the field.

Kal and a delegation of city elders stood at the gate. At Andrew's approach they bowed low, turned, and led the way up the street to the town square.

Had it only been two days since he came charging up this street, sword in hand, his soul consumed with the joy of battle? As if in a dream, Andrew looked about. Many of the buildings were scorched, their vacant windows looking like blackened skeletal eyes. It was a miracle, he thought, that the whole city hadn't been lost. Only the shifting of the storm into a heavy rain had ended the conflagration.

All about him were people pressing forward, waving, touching his horse, weeping, laughing. Turning in the saddle, he looked back down the street. His battle-hardened men were grinning broadly at the reception, their song echoing above the roar of the crowd.

"And we'll fill our vacant ranks,
With
a million freemen more, Shouting the Battle Cry of Freedom."

The vacant ranks, Andrew thought sadly. Twenty-five more men were resting now on cemetery
hill,
and another sixty were still in the hospital with wounds. The toll of Suzdalians would most likely never be known.
At least three, possibly four thousand dead, along with a couple of thousand from the other side.
Yet still the people celebrated.

Drums rolling, the regiment passed its way up to the city square and made their way toward the great cathedral, where a golden-robed figure stood on the steps of the church.

Drawing up before the cathedral, Andrew reined in, the column coming to a halt. The golden-robed priest raised his hand in a sign of blessing, and all in the square, including many of O'Donald's men, blessed themselves in response.

Reaching out to a young acolyte for support, the priest hobbled down the steps of the church, and as Andrew dismounted the priest shook his hand, which triggered a wild response from the spectators.

"As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free," Casmar said, grinning, and in spite of all that was troubling his mind, Andrew could not help but smile in return.

"They expect you to say something," Casmar said, beckoning back to the expectant crowd.

He'd been dreading this moment, but knew it would have to be done. Mounting the steps with Casmar, Andrew turned and looked out over the sea of faces.

"Citizens of Suzdal," Andrew started, his tenor voice carrying clearly in the cold winter air. "You have shown yourselves to be men and women determined to be free."

A wild cheer went up, and Andrew had to wait until it finally died down.

"You have fought to win your freedom, and you have paid the first price for that freedom in blood. I wish I could offer you peace, but we all know that is impossible. I wish I could offer you freedom to live your lives as you please, but for now that is impossible as well.

"For we know what is coming to us from out of the west."

All were silent.

"If we are to win, to purchase our freedom from the slaughter pits of the Tugars, it will only be by our being united, by giving heart and soul for the common defense of all. It will be a long road, but a road I pray will lead to final victory and freedom."

"Lead us, Boyar Keane!" a voice shouted from the front of the crowd.

Within seconds the cry went up and soon turned to a chant.

"Boyar Keane, Boyar Keane."

Andrew looked over to where Kal stood and nodded.

The burly peasant, his left arm in a sling, and wearing the rough tunic and cloak of the common people, mounted the steps, and at the sight of him a wild thunderous cheer erupted.

Laughing, he extended his right hand for silence.

"So they have learned that the teeth of the mice are sharp after all," he began, and the crowd roared with delight.

"We need a strong leader," Kal continued. "One who knows war, for there will be war. We need a fox
who
can show all of us how to be foxes as well. I say that we will have this Yankee thing called a Declaration of Independence when the time comes. However, we must drive away the Tugars first, and for now I want a fox to lead us. I trust Keane. Let us name him our leader and listen to his words. He will not be a boyar—he told me he hates that word. So I say we should call him Colonel Keane, and let him show us how to fight to keep our freedom."

Again a wild shout went up, and before the crowd Andrew and Kal knelt before Casmar, who blessed both of them.

"So now let us celebrate!" Kal roared, the ceremony completed, and the crowd broke into a wild frenzy of laughing, dancing, and cheering.

Andrew looked back down the steps to Hans, who came forward.

"All right, Hans," Andrew shouted above the roar. "Staff meeting inside—the rest have passes till sundown."

"The boys are going to have a day they'll never forget," Hans said, grinning.

"It's going to be the last for a long time, so let them enjoy
it."

Turning, Andrew walked into the cathedral, Kal and Casmar by his side. Looking over at the peasant, he couldn't help but grin.

The man was a political master equal to any ward boss back home. The whole thing, the triumph, Casmar blessing them, the speeches, the shout from the audience calling for Keane to lead them, had all been engineered by the wily, simple-looking man.

The morning after the battle it had been Kal who approached him, pointing out some of the political necessities required to bring order back to the city, and Andrew could only wonder if this man had been taking lessons on the side.

Turning past the altar, the three proceeded down the corridor and into Rasnar's old office.

Casmar, grimacing with pain, settled into one of the chairs arranged about the table, and as Andrew's staff and Kal's companions filed in, he beckoned for the rest of the group to be seated.

Casmar looked nervously about, obviously still uncomfortable at the position circumstance had suddenly thrust him into. When Dr. Weiss came in he immediately went up to the new prelate and checked him for fever.

"You should be in bed, dammit," Weiss growled.

"When there is time," Casmar replied good-naturedly, motioning for Weiss to sit by his side.

The last of the staff in the room, Andrew motioned for the doors to be closed.

Andrew looked around the table and felt a chill in his heart.

For some in the room there was still the exultation of what had been accomplished in the last two days. But for others a growing sense of what had been created was finally starting to sink in. For the regiment there was now no chance of backing out, of finding that safe place that Tobias had almost successfully argued for. The regiment was staking its life on Suzdal, and Andrew knew the chance was a slim one.

"All right, then, gentlemen, to business," Andrew said, and the room fell silent.

"First item is order in the city," and Andrew looked over at Kal.

"Yesterday was rough," Kal replied. "I followed your orders and organized a militia to bring control back. Dozens were killed nevertheless as old grudges were settled.

"And," he said quietly, "
fifteen
were executed this morning for looting."

Andrew looked at Kal and felt satisfied. There was no joy in Kal for the power of life and death. He could only hope it would stay that way.

"Several thousand have left as well, going east to Vazima."

"Glad to be rid of them," Boris interjected. "They're traitors."

"They're not traitors," Andrew snapped back in reply.

"That's another thing about freedom. We've overthrown the old order here in Suzdal, and if reports are to be believed, in Novrod as well. But there'll be many who do not like this. They must be free to leave and go east to live under Mikhail and the other boyars, if that is their wish."

"We've got over a thousand men at arms who've surrendered, and some wish to join us," Kal interjected.

"Good. We'll need experienced soldiers. I'll discuss them shortly.
Anything else that needs to be reported now?"

He looked about the room, and all were silent.

"Then, gentlemen, there is one and only one issue that must consume our every waking moment.
The Tugars."

The men looked uneasily at each other.

"It'll be impossible," Tobias snapped from the far end of the table. "You never should have destroyed those ballots without counting them. I'm positive the men voted to leave."

Andrew leaned over the table and fixed Tobias with a cold icy stare.

"I am in command of this detachment, Captain Tobias. I gave the men the option to vote when it was necessary. But the real vote was here in this city two days ago. The men marched with me, fully knowing what it would mean, knowing that we were committed to the liberation of these people from the boyars and the Tugars. That vote was taken, sir, and the ballots which I destroyed were no longer valid. For the duration of this campaign I am in command, and you shall follow my orders. Do I make myself clear?"

Tobias was silent but returned Andrew's glare with open hatred.

Andrew turned and looked at Kal, and then swept the room with his gaze.

"I did not want this power, but it is now mine. I am declaring military law for the duration, as we have always maintained with our own detachment. There can only be one person in charge—otherwise there will be chaos, and whatever slim chance we have of beating the Tugars will melt away."

"So you do not believe we can beat them?" Casmar asked.

"The chances aren't very good, your holiness, but by God we'll try nevertheless," Andrew replied.

"Gentlemen, from what little information the people of this city have given us, we can estimate that the Tugars will

be
able to field well over a hundred and fifty thousand mounted warriors. As of this morning's roll we have less than six hundred men trained to meet them. The citizens of Suzdal and Novrod have no concept of how to fight the Tugars. If they attempt to do so as they are now, it will be a massacre, and Rus will cease to exist.

"If I were the Tugar leader I would not allow a single one of the people here to live, for you have overthrown the leaders they appointed over you. Their only alternative is to annihilate the entire population, or else the infection of what you represent will spread."

"Then why did you fight for us?" Kal asked.

"Because we could not let you die at the hands of the boyars."

"And now you agree to stay nevertheless?" Casmar asked softly.

"We have made our commitment. Our arrival helped to trigger this, and I and my command will not leave you now."

"Then how do we defeat them?"

Andrew fixed Kal and his companions with his gaze.

"In one year I plan to raise a national army. Every citizen will be trained to fight."

"But our bows do not carry like theirs," Casmar said quietly. "We have few horses—we do not have even enough swords."

"If we fight them that way, we'll lose," Andrew replied. "But we will not fight them in the way expected."

"How then?"
Kal asked quietly.

"Gentlemen, in one year I plan to create an industrial state out of Suzdal. I intend to place in the field a modern army, armed with muskets and artillery and with all of the logistical support necessary. In that is our only hope."

The men in the room looked at Andrew as if he had proposed an unthinkable madness.

"Sir, may I speak frankly?" John Mina asked.

"Go on, major."

"Sir, do you realize the full import of what you are saying? It is not as if we had the factories waiting for us to churn out all the accoutrements of war. We'll be starting from scratch."

"I know, John, and if you can come up with a better alternative, tell me."

John leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"You know it's been done before," Bob Fletcher interjected.

"Where?"
John asked.

"The rebs.
When the war started they didn't have a single factory for making rifles, artillery, even gunpowder. Their cannon works in
Richmond is now one of the biggest, and their powder mill down in
Georgia was believed to be the biggest in the world—turns out powder as good as or better than our own."

"But they had four years to do it," John argued.

"And we shall have less than one," Andrew replied. "But I should point out we do have the resources to do it with."

"From where?"
Tobias mumbled.