Read Online Hope Renewed by David Drake, S.M. Stirling - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Drake, S.M. Stirling
Ads: Link
Other trains were making up, of slat-sided boxcars with 40 hombes/8 dawg freshly stenciled on their sides; forty men, or eight riding dogs. The railyards sprawled along a good part of East Residence’s harbor. Barholm Clerett had built more kilometers of line than the previous ten Governors combined; whatever you said of him, he was a builder. Temples, forts, railways—the great Central Line from the capital to Sandoral completed at last—dams, canals. Much of it financed with the plunder from Raj’s campaigns, and dug by captives from them.
It was a mild early-summer day, the sky blue except for a few puffs of high cloud, both moons up—Maxiluna was three-quarters full, Miniluna a narrow crescent. Like the one on the Colony’s green banner, the crescent of Islam.
Raj shook his head at the thought. Beyond the moons were the Stars, and the Spirit of Man of the Stars.
Today there were more soldiers than railway men in the marshaling yard. Men heaved rectangular crates onto the bed of a railcar. Each had the Star of the Civil Government stenciled on its side, and 11mm 1000 rnds . A group of artillerymen—they were stripped to their baggy maroon pants, but those had a crimson stripe down the outside of the leg—was manhandling a field gun onto the flatcar behind, heaving it up a ramp of planks and lashing the tall iron-shod wheels down to eyebolts on the deck. Oilcloth covers were strapped over the muzzle and breech, to keep dust and moisture out of the mechanism. Near-naked slaves with iron collars embossed with Central Rail were pulling in handcarts loaded with rations: hardtack, raisins, blocks of goat cheese, sacks of dried meat, barrels of salt fish. A farrier-sergeant of the 5th Descott came by leading a string of riding dogs on a chain lead snapped to their bridles; they surged away in wuffling alarm as a locomotive hooted, and the man clung until his feet were nearly off the ground.
“Pochita! Fequez! Ye bitches brood, quiet a’down, er I’ll— sorry, Messer Raj —”
“Carry on, sergeant.”
“—I’ll skin yer lousy hides, quiet there.”
The giant carnivores calmed, but their ears stayed back, and lips curled away from teeth as long as a man’s finger. Few of the beasts had ever seen a steam engine before, much less ridden in a train. For that matter, few of the troopers had either, even the natives of the Gubernio Civil ; most of them were countrymen, the cavalry from border areas or backwaters like Descott County. What the half-savage westerners he’d brought into the service thought of it, the Spirit only knew.
A platoon of infantry passed him, rifles at their right shoulders and blanket rolls over the left. He read their shoulder-flashes, and gave the officer a salute.
“Glad to have you with me again, 24th Valencia,” he said. “That was good work you did at the siege of East Residence, and the pursuit.”
The lieutenant at their head snapped out his sword and returned the salute with a flourish. The men raised a deep shout of Raj! Raj! Some others picked it up, until he waved them to silence. In the relative quiet that followed, he heard a noncom cursing at a fatigue-party:
“Didn’t hear t’ General tell ye t’stop workin’, did ye? Move yer butts! Put yer backs inta it.”
What with one thing and another, it’s probably for the best there’s no time to address the men, he thought mordantly.
A speech from the commander was customary before taking the field, but the last thing he needed right now was the inevitable spies—in East Residence they were even thicker than fleas and almost as common as bureaucrats—giving a lurid description of his troops crying him hail. Far too many Governors had started out as popular generals; bought popularity more often than not, but winning battles would do as well. It made any occupant of the Chair suspicious, and usually more comfortable with mediocrities holding the high military ranks.
He looked around at the bustling yard: chaotic,
It was a mild early-summer day, the sky blue except for a few puffs of high cloud, both moons up—Maxiluna was three-quarters full, Miniluna a narrow crescent. Like the one on the Colony’s green banner, the crescent of Islam.
Raj shook his head at the thought. Beyond the moons were the Stars, and the Spirit of Man of the Stars.
Today there were more soldiers than railway men in the marshaling yard. Men heaved rectangular crates onto the bed of a railcar. Each had the Star of the Civil Government stenciled on its side, and 11mm 1000 rnds . A group of artillerymen—they were stripped to their baggy maroon pants, but those had a crimson stripe down the outside of the leg—was manhandling a field gun onto the flatcar behind, heaving it up a ramp of planks and lashing the tall iron-shod wheels down to eyebolts on the deck. Oilcloth covers were strapped over the muzzle and breech, to keep dust and moisture out of the mechanism. Near-naked slaves with iron collars embossed with Central Rail were pulling in handcarts loaded with rations: hardtack, raisins, blocks of goat cheese, sacks of dried meat, barrels of salt fish. A farrier-sergeant of the 5th Descott came by leading a string of riding dogs on a chain lead snapped to their bridles; they surged away in wuffling alarm as a locomotive hooted, and the man clung until his feet were nearly off the ground.
“Pochita! Fequez! Ye bitches brood, quiet a’down, er I’ll— sorry, Messer Raj —”
“Carry on, sergeant.”
“—I’ll skin yer lousy hides, quiet there.”
The giant carnivores calmed, but their ears stayed back, and lips curled away from teeth as long as a man’s finger. Few of the beasts had ever seen a steam engine before, much less ridden in a train. For that matter, few of the troopers had either, even the natives of the Gubernio Civil ; most of them were countrymen, the cavalry from border areas or backwaters like Descott County. What the half-savage westerners he’d brought into the service thought of it, the Spirit only knew.
A platoon of infantry passed him, rifles at their right shoulders and blanket rolls over the left. He read their shoulder-flashes, and gave the officer a salute.
“Glad to have you with me again, 24th Valencia,” he said. “That was good work you did at the siege of East Residence, and the pursuit.”
The lieutenant at their head snapped out his sword and returned the salute with a flourish. The men raised a deep shout of Raj! Raj! Some others picked it up, until he waved them to silence. In the relative quiet that followed, he heard a noncom cursing at a fatigue-party:
“Didn’t hear t’ General tell ye t’stop workin’, did ye? Move yer butts! Put yer backs inta it.”
What with one thing and another, it’s probably for the best there’s no time to address the men, he thought mordantly.
A speech from the commander was customary before taking the field, but the last thing he needed right now was the inevitable spies—in East Residence they were even thicker than fleas and almost as common as bureaucrats—giving a lurid description of his troops crying him hail. Far too many Governors had started out as popular generals; bought popularity more often than not, but winning battles would do as well. It made any occupant of the Chair suspicious, and usually more comfortable with mediocrities holding the high military ranks.
He looked around at the bustling yard: chaotic,
Similar Books
