Terrible Swift Sword (35 page)

"I'll get to that, doctor," John said wearily.

"It means we'll have to move at least five hundred and fifty thousand people by rail. I'm proposing that we do it in two steps. We go first to Kev—that'll put us two hundred and fifty miles east of here. From there, we'll stage all noncombatants the rest of the distance to Roum." "Two hundred and fifty miles can be covered by the Horde in five days," Hamilcar said coldly.

"On what?" Andrew asked. "They expect to live off the land when they get here; if we turn it into a desert as we leave, it'll make that somewhat more difficult."

"You can't burn green grass," Hamilcar replied.

Andrew nodded in agreement.

"They'll have a million horses with their army. John, what does it take to keep one horse going?"

"I remember hearing that for one of our regular-size horses, not the monsters we have here, that it comes out to about twenty-five acres a year. I'd say at least thirty, maybe thirty-five acres of prime pasture land."

"They'll not be quartering for a year," Emil said quietly. "They just need to cut through us. Seventy pounds of hay a day for horses that size will do it."

"A million horses, four hundred thousand warriors, four hundred guns, all funneling in through Suzdal," Andrew said forcefully. "And remember, this is not just an army marching, it's an entire people, a
Volkswanderung."

"A what?" Pat asked.

"A people movement," Emil said. "You know, like the Huns. Women, children, old people, wagons, everything."

"Another million horses with them as well, at the very least," Andrew added.

"They'll eat horse flesh. The Tugars refused that, but I think these people know better now."

"Two thousand horses a day, if there isn't any other foodstuff available. It'll start to hurt fairly quick, if we can slow them down. They can't abandon their yurts, so they'll have to keep those beasts of burden alive. It'll come out of their remounts."

"Even with the sweet grass of spring," Pat said, a glimmer of optimism in his eyes, "ten horses will eat through an acre of this farmland in a day. It'll drop off like mad, maybe down to an acre a horse in a couple of months."

"A hundred thousand acres a day, just for the army mounts, a million acres a day by midsummer," Andrew said, a thin smile lighting his drawn features.

"You still haven't answered my earlier objection," Hamilcar said, barely giving his translator time to work. "They can still rush a dozen umens across the entire length of Rus in five or six days, then smash into the disorganized mass around Kev."

He lowered his voice.

"It'll be a slaughter."

Everyone looked at Andrew.

"They'll be slowed down. You can be sure of that."

Andrew's tone was emphatic.

"How?"

"It'll be done," he replied, his manner indicating that the topic was closed.

"They'll continue to feed off my people," Hamilcar said angrily.

Andrew looked over at the Cartha leader, unable to say anything, still ashamed of the slaughter on the Potomac.

"I'm still in the fight, though," Hamilcar said quietly.

"If we hold the river with our ironclads, even after we retreat it'll force them to go further upstream to cross, and the river road will be untenable. They'll have to cut another road entirely through the woods for fifty or more miles to move their wagons up."

"And our food?" Emil asked.

Andrew looked back to John hopefully.

"With the trains I have, we can move eighty thousand people a day to Kev, each with ten pounds of belongings.

"I estimate that we have approximately a ninety-day supply of food in all of Rus at this moment. Roughly one hundred thousand tons of food—that's counting everything on hoof or in the barns. Considering the bulk, it comes out to at least six hundred trainloads."

John shuffled his notes for a moment.

"Well need at least thirty days to move everything by rail, just for the people and food up to Kev. But there is one hell of a lot more. We have all the tools and machinery from the iron mills, foundries, shot works, the locomotive yard, and sawmills. And I recommend all farm tools as well, if we wish to survive—and if, on the off chance, we win.

"I figure forty days of trains running nonstop can do it, and that's assuming that every locomotive keeps on running. We cut a lot of wood this winter, but I'm not sure it'll be enough. And we've only converted six of the engines to coal-burning."

The room was silent.

"And after that, Andrew, don't forget the army. We'll need to keep the river posted throughout, and when the line finally breaks all rolling stock will be needed to get the army out. That is, if we want an army and its equipment, which we've worked three years to build. Just to get the field artillery out will take every flatcar for two days. Another day for guns emplaced in the cities."

"What about the navy?" Bullfinch asked.

"Every ironclad will be on the river or patrolling the sea," Andrew said.

"The galleys?"

"If we land them further up the coast, we could evacuate all my people and some of the Rus living nearby," Hamilcar said.

Andrew nodded his thanks.

"Then we start tomorrow," Andrew said. "Those that can start to walk out will do so. Children, mothers with infants, anyone over sixty, the infirm, all the wounded—they go out by rail starting tomorrow morning."

"Jesus, Andrew, we have no contingency plans for this type of thing. It'll take days to figure it out."

"We don't
have
days!" Andrew snapped. "You just said it."

"It'll get tangled as hell. These people won't have a place to live in Kev."

"Then stage off several trains, take the dormitory cars the rail workers used, and start running them all the way up to Roum right off. If we did that, we could get at least a hundred thousand up to Roum in thirty days."

John nodded in agreement.

"First step is to load on all food after the first wave of evacuees. Though I hate to do this, Mr. President, I'm going to declare military law as of this moment."

Kal smiled.

"I assumed it."

"We have to. All food will have to be pooled. Webster, you and Gates start printing up voucher forms tonight. I'm nationalizing all food. Everyone will receive a receipt, and after this is over we'll try and sort out compensation. When a farm is cleared out, the farmer and his family start walking east. If there's room on a train, we take them out."

"There goes capitalism," Webster sighed, bringing rueful smiles to the group.

"We tear down the factories. If we lose the tools and the machines, we lose the war. Once the factories are torn down they receive top priority—all the workers and families still here go out on the trains with them. We don't want those people getting separated from their equipment, since they'll be the only ones who know how to put it back together.

"Finally, we pick up everything else that we can move. Wagons and their teams, even the rails from the tracks, and then the army, when it can no longer hold."

"It'll have to be done in three weeks," Andrew said softly, looking back at John. "I can't even promise you ten days, but we'll try to hold longer."

John said nothing.

"And if they break through before we are done?" Casmar asked.

"The priorities stand," Andrew whispered. "As we organize, noncombatants go first, then food as it's moved in, and the factories once they're torn down, and finally the army and what's left. If they break through before that, the army goes out first along with the factories, and the rest will have to move to Kev by foot."

Casmar nodded and said nothing.

"Fire the cities," Emil said quietly.

"Moscow?" Andrew said hesitantly.

He looked around the room.

"No," he whispered. "Cities are useless to these people. Maybe something of what we have will still be standing when it's over at last."

He looked around his home, realizing for the first time what he had ordered and how it applied to himself. The clock ticking in the corner, the desk carved by a Rus peasant and left on his doorstep one morning, the simple plates in the kitchen, even the jewelry box, the one he had given to Kathleen so long ago, when they had first walked the streets of Suzdal together. All of this, left behind. He struggled with the thought for a moment and looked over at Kathleen, their hands touching.

"Emil, I want you to go out tomorrow to Kev with all the wounded. Start setting up a hospital there, and organize sanitation. Fletcher, you go with him—you're responsible for organizing food storage and distribution. We'll need to get warehouses up to store everything."

For once, there was no argument from the doctor.

Andrew looked over at Kathleen.

"Maddie and I leave when you do," she whispered. He said nothing, and squeezed her hand.

"There is a final point," Andrew said. "This is to be done in secret. The Merki are not to know until they cross the river and get in here."

"A hell of an order, Andrew," Kal said. "What with them damned aerosteamers buzzing about."

"That is a point," John said. "We had some defenses along the military railroad down to the Potomac, but past the Novrod turnoff the road is empty for miles. Once they get wind they can swoop in, bomb a section, maybe even land and tear up a rail or two. One derailment could cripple the line for a day or more."

Andrew looked over at Chuck.

"You flew a machine last week?"

"Well, sir, Jack was the pilot."

"I knew all along you'd go up, in spite of my orders," Andrew said, a note of reproach in his voice. "Is it ready to fight?"

"We're still getting some minor problems ironed out."

"I want it in the air over Suzdal in three days. And move the other ships up as fast as you can."

"The hangers above Vyzima are barely up, sir. Also, sir, it'll depend on the wind. We need a northeasterly, better yet an easterly to get up here."

"Get them up, and get those ships in the air, son. We won't have time to build up a fleet to surprise them, as we'd originally planned, but if they figure out what we're up to they'll swarm across the Neiper regardless of casualties.

"This Jubadi learned from Muzta's mistakes. He's being methodical, sparing his men. But he won't spare them if he thinks we're escaping. I need air protection."

Chuck smiled cautiously.

"I have a full card to do whatever I think necessary?"

"Of course. Your orders will be cut and ready for you when you leave."

Chuck smiled and sat back.

"Whatever you say, sir."

John looked over suspiciously at Chuck, sensing that Andrew might have given a far more sweeping order than he'd suspected, but he was too tired to care and said nothing.

John turned his gaze back toward Andrew. He realized that the entire operation was a fool's dream. Though Andrew had brushed it off, once the Merki broke through there would be nothing to slow them from a sharp run east with part of their forces. Positions along the White Hills would barely be ready to receive their attack.

He was feeding all of them a fantasy. This was the end of it all. He wanted to say something, but a sharp look from Andrew told him that now was not the time to say anything. He lowered his gaze, numbed by what was being asked of them yet again.

Tamuka grabbed hold of the branch, feeling it bow slightly with his weight. He pulled himself up and leaned back to sit against the trunk of the tree. It swayed slightly, the breeze coming out of the north, cool and fragrant. He looked back to the west. The wide trail through the forest, as far as the eye could carry, was packed with horses, warriors, and batteries of artillery, all of it moving forward like one slow, undulating serpent.

A terrible place this, he thought. His memory flashed back to the charge: the lone line of the Nav-hag sweeping forward, behind them column after column of umens, sweeping across the open steppe. And now this. Four days, and still less than a third of the northern wing up to the river. Below him the forest was packed with horses pawing through the leaves, the riverbank lined for fifty miles or more with the gathering host.

A shot fluttered through the night air trailing sparks, then burst above the trail. A scream of pain, then a warrior and his mount going down in a bloody heap, their torn bodies ghostly in the red moonlight.

Another gun fired, and he looked eastward. A ripple of fire raced down the line. Shells winging overhead, bursting along the trail, in the treetops. He felt foolishly naked. A hiss of shrapnel screamed past, cracking through the branches. More warriors went down, the column in confusion. The cattle guns fell silent.

Masterful, Tamuka thought grudgingly.

The fortifications across the river were imposing: two lines on the rising slope, the front of each a near impenetrable maze of sharpened stakes and brush. The shore line was covered with the bodies of three regiments that had attempted to storm across, only to be annihilated by the crossfire of the iron ships and the batteries lining the shore.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the cries of pain from below. His breath came strongly, pulsing in and out, rapidly and yet more rapidly. The tree swayed and the wind whispered a gentle voice through the branches, sighing, drawing each breath out, pushing each breath in. It seemed to say that he, the wind, and the sky were as one.

Tamuka's spirit soared.

He felt himself falling away, and though his
tu
knew it not, his hands clung yet more tightly to the branch, the husk preserving itself for the return.

There was a pulse of light flowing up out of the west, stretching back hundreds of miles. The life-Mood of his people, the Horde, relentlessly moving ever forward, the scent of the horses, of the peoples, the smell of the yurt, of the fires, of the open grasslands, the endless steppe floating about his
tu,
focusing his energy.

The spirits of the ancestors hovered, a vast river as well, forever flowing through the heavens above them, guiding them onward in their endless ride. His sightless eyes turned to the heavens, and could
I
see. Again that longing, a memory locked into his very soul, the memory arching out across the very heavens. The ancestors of the ancestors calling. We were once this, we who traveled the stars, who fashioned the tunnels of light to leap between worlds. Even unto the world of the cattle that we once trod in our youth, building the gateways upon its green surfaces, building the gates upon lands now buried by the seas, gateways upon their open steppes, in their vast mountains, in realms beneath turquoise oceans.