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Authors: William R. Forstchen
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weakness in his voice.
Hans looked over at him and smiled wearily.
"This time be prepared for anything, son. Be prepared to lose here, at Wilderness, even Suzdal. Be prepared to go into the woods after everything is gone- All they need is to beat this army once, and we have no reserves. Oh, I know the Roum are drilling, but they've only had six months, and half of their divisions will be armed with smoothbores since we can't make the rifles fast enough."
"You really believe this, don't you?" Andrew asked quietly.
Hans, his features set hard, came closer to Andrew.
"You've got the touch of the gods on your fori head," Hans said, "a killing god who's never known defeat. Perhaps the taste of defeat is occasionally good for a man—too much victory leaves him weak in certain ways.
"Maybe it's how I trained you. I'm cautioning you that it won't be easy this time around. You'll have to think like you never have before, because if the army starts to unravel it will be you alone who cat pull it back together. The Rus are exhausted from four years of war—they won't have the same wild eyed fervor they did back the first time. I think the Merki will know that and play upon it. This one is going to be hell."
"And you're telling me that you've lost hope."
"I'm just far too tired of it all," Hans said, and as he did so Andrew for the first time truly realized that his friend was getting old. There was the slightest catch of frailty in the sergeant's voice. "You know, I thought that by now I'd have retired out. I was thinking of heading west, out to California, there was good land there—maybe marry and set up a business, a tavern or something."
Andrew laughed softly.
"You, a shopkeeper? You're a soldier, Hans; hell I imagine you've been a soldier since the beginning of history, and a hundred years from now you'll still be one. You're the eternal sergeant."
"I'm only human, Andrew."
"Somehow, those people back there"—and Andrew pointed behind him—"think differently, both of you and of me."
"That's the problem, Andrew, I'm not."
"And myself?" "You can't afford to be anything other than what you are; that's what I trained you for, that's what fate cast you to be."
"Small comfort," Andrew whispered. "It's not my job to comfort you anymore, you're bey ond that. Let any frailty show in what's coming, and it 'll all unravel. God help us, we're going to need that fr om you."
"And you, sergeant," Andrew whispered. Just who do I turn to now? he wondered, his insides feeling numb. Just where do I continue to find my strength?
"I'll try," Hans whispered. "I'll put on the bravado. I'll continue to knock their heads together when it's needed, I'll fight to my last breathe, but this time, Andrew , I'm starting to feel the cold chill of their coming for us and .. ." His voice drifted away into silence as he turned and looked back out across the parapet.
The thin shriek of a whistle, muffled by the storm, disturbed his thoughts, and he looked over at Hans. "That should be them." He looked back over at Hans. A bitter gust of wind came up, driving a cold thread of water down his back. It set him shivering. "Damn it, son, I came out here to drag you back i n before they arrived! There's going to be hell to pay now."
Hans reached over, and with a clumsily gruffness threw his arm around Andrew's shoulder, turning him away from the trenches and back into the driving storm. A vent of steam came swirling out of the mist, filled with the damp smell of wood smoke. Lik a ghostly shadow of a fire-breathing dragon stirring out of the past, the engine drifted into view, th bells ringing weakly against the voice of the storm. Just beyond the railroad siding Andrew could see the low silhouette of the blockhouse complex, whic: was serving as his field headquarters. It was an ill lighted and smoke-filled place, and he steered instead for the single passenger car behind the engine. Beyond this was a row of flatcars, burdened down with twelve-pound
Hans looked over at him and smiled wearily.
"This time be prepared for anything, son. Be prepared to lose here, at Wilderness, even Suzdal. Be prepared to go into the woods after everything is gone- All they need is to beat this army once, and we have no reserves. Oh, I know the Roum are drilling, but they've only had six months, and half of their divisions will be armed with smoothbores since we can't make the rifles fast enough."
"You really believe this, don't you?" Andrew asked quietly.
Hans, his features set hard, came closer to Andrew.
"You've got the touch of the gods on your fori head," Hans said, "a killing god who's never known defeat. Perhaps the taste of defeat is occasionally good for a man—too much victory leaves him weak in certain ways.
"Maybe it's how I trained you. I'm cautioning you that it won't be easy this time around. You'll have to think like you never have before, because if the army starts to unravel it will be you alone who cat pull it back together. The Rus are exhausted from four years of war—they won't have the same wild eyed fervor they did back the first time. I think the Merki will know that and play upon it. This one is going to be hell."
"And you're telling me that you've lost hope."
"I'm just far too tired of it all," Hans said, and as he did so Andrew for the first time truly realized that his friend was getting old. There was the slightest catch of frailty in the sergeant's voice. "You know, I thought that by now I'd have retired out. I was thinking of heading west, out to California, there was good land there—maybe marry and set up a business, a tavern or something."
Andrew laughed softly.
"You, a shopkeeper? You're a soldier, Hans; hell I imagine you've been a soldier since the beginning of history, and a hundred years from now you'll still be one. You're the eternal sergeant."
"I'm only human, Andrew."
"Somehow, those people back there"—and Andrew pointed behind him—"think differently, both of you and of me."
"That's the problem, Andrew, I'm not."
"And myself?" "You can't afford to be anything other than what you are; that's what I trained you for, that's what fate cast you to be."
"Small comfort," Andrew whispered. "It's not my job to comfort you anymore, you're bey ond that. Let any frailty show in what's coming, and it 'll all unravel. God help us, we're going to need that fr om you."
"And you, sergeant," Andrew whispered. Just who do I turn to now? he wondered, his insides feeling numb. Just where do I continue to find my strength?
"I'll try," Hans whispered. "I'll put on the bravado. I'll continue to knock their heads together when it's needed, I'll fight to my last breathe, but this time, Andrew , I'm starting to feel the cold chill of their coming for us and .. ." His voice drifted away into silence as he turned and looked back out across the parapet.
The thin shriek of a whistle, muffled by the storm, disturbed his thoughts, and he looked over at Hans. "That should be them." He looked back over at Hans. A bitter gust of wind came up, driving a cold thread of water down his back. It set him shivering. "Damn it, son, I came out here to drag you back i n before they arrived! There's going to be hell to pay now."
Hans reached over, and with a clumsily gruffness threw his arm around Andrew's shoulder, turning him away from the trenches and back into the driving storm. A vent of steam came swirling out of the mist, filled with the damp smell of wood smoke. Lik a ghostly shadow of a fire-breathing dragon stirring out of the past, the engine drifted into view, th bells ringing weakly against the voice of the storm. Just beyond the railroad siding Andrew could see the low silhouette of the blockhouse complex, whic: was serving as his field headquarters. It was an ill lighted and smoke-filled place, and he steered instead for the single passenger car behind the engine. Beyond this was a row of flatcars, burdened down with twelve-pound
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