William Forstchen - Men of War

“What did Bugarin do?”

“It came to a head last night. He tried to order some ruffians he had rounded up to fire into the crowd gathered right here. They lined the steps, and then Casmir here steps out, arms extended, and tells them to aim at him first.” Andrew looked at the priest, unable to speak.

“That finished it. There was a bit of roughness, a few black eyes, busted ribs, broken arms, and a few lads singing soprano, but the people of this city took the White House. I declared Kal competent to resume office. There was talk of a treason trial and that was it, ten senators and a couple of congressmen quickly resigned and got the hell out of town.”

“My role is somewhat exaggerated,” Casmir intervened. A wild cheer rose up in the square, laughing, belying Casmir’s statement.

“I doubt that,” Andrew cried, trying to be heard above the roaring of the crowd.

“You know, Andrew. Maybe it’s a good thing for a Republic to clean house occasionally and throw out a few cowardly senators now and then.”

Andrew said nothing, shaking his head with disbelief. “Flavius, and the shot at Kal. Who did it?”

“I don’t think we’ll ever really know, but if my sacred vows did not prevent it, I’d bet on Bugarin even though he vehemently denied it.”

“I’d like to see Kal,” Andrew said. “He is the president, and he alone can appoint the commander of the army.”

“I told you he would say that,” Emil interjected as he led the way up the steps and into the White House.

Following Emil, he could not contain himself any longer and asked the question that had been tearing his soul apart ever since he had let go of the mantle of command.

“Any news from the front?”

“Nothing,” Emil replied. “I think Pat cut the lines, though we’ve been trying to reach him all day. Of course, nothing from Tyre, though we have to assume a courier boat from Roum carrying the cease-fire order reached there last night.”

“Not even a flyer?”

“No, nothing.”

“I hope these people realize that by doing this they’ve most likely condemned themselves to death.”

“Andrew, they know that. They know as well that what Bugarin offered was death as well. A coward’s death. It might have given them an extra month, maybe a year, maybe even five years, but in the end, without freedom, it would be death anyhow. At least now, if we’re doomed, we go down with heads held high. I think that alone is worth fighting for.”

They reached the door to Kal’s sickroom. He stepped in, following Emil’s lead. Kal was propped up in bed, features pale and drawn. The Lincolnesque beard was still there, and the unofficial symbol of his office, the stovepipe hat, was back by his side on the nightstand.

Andrew approached the bed, and Kal, smiling weakly, patted the covers.

“Sit down, my old friend.”

Just the tone in his voice broke away all the tension of the last months. Andrew sat down and took his friend’s hand.

“Once I’m out of this damned bed we should go off together, have a drink, and perhaps buy that pair of gloves we’re always talking about.”

Andrew chuckled at the clumsy joke, for Kal had lost his right arm and Andrew his left.

“How are you, Kal?”

“Better than I’ve ever been. Perhaps that bullet knocked some sense into my thick skull.”

“You know what you are letting yourself in for?”

“I know. Most likely a bloody end. But then again, my boyar often told me that would be how I finished.”

“For everyone,” Andrew whispered.

“That was our difference, my friend. I wanted a way out, any way out to stop the slaughter. You saw that the only way out was to endure it, to have the courage to fight your way through it. When I thought of Bugarin crawling before them, again offering us up, something finally changed in my heart, as if I was throwing off a sickness. Oh, he would be spared, perhaps even I would be spared, but I swore an oath to myself, long before the Republic, long before I was president, that never again would I see a child go into the slaughter pits. That I would die first, that I would rather see us all die than endure that again.

“You knew that all along. I had to relearn it. So if we are doomed to die, we’ll die as free men. And as long as you are by my side, Colonel Andrew Keane, I will be content.”

“Fine then,” Andrew whispered, squeezing his friend’s hand. “Together, and perhaps we can still win.”

Kal smiled.

“Actually, I think we shall. This afternoon I had a dream. You often told me that Lincoln was famous for such things.”

“And?”

“Strange. It was even like his dream. A ship, far out to sea, coming toward me. It sailed past, and I felt a strange wonderful peace.”

“Good. Perhaps it will come true.”

“There was something else, though. Someone was standing on the deck. I couldn’t tell who. He was alone, but then he wasn’t. The deck was crowded, so very crowded. I felt that it was the Ogunquit, the ship that bore you to this world, sailing one last time, perhaps back to where it came from, bearing with it all those who gave the final sacrifice. The lone man raised his hand, and then the ship disappeared into the mist.”

Andrew said nothing.

“Sleep, my friend. Perhaps you’ll have another dream.”

“I think I will. Knowing you’re back, I feel safe again.”

“I never really left.”

Kal winked. “I know that, too.”

Andrew looked up at Emil, who nodded, and with Kathleen quietly withdrew. Andrew sat by Kal’s side, watching as his old friend drifted off.

It was a peaceful moment. A strange mix of feelings. On the one side an infinite sadness, knowing what was still to come, the sacrifice still to be made. On the other side, though, there was a tremendous swelling of pride. Win or lose, the people of Rus, of Roum had come together, mingled their blood, and out of that mingling a republic was born. And now, even if they should lose, they would not crawl basely into the night but would go with heads held high. The legend of it would then live on as well, and in the turning of years be remembered, be reborn, and finally triumph.

His thoughts drifted to Hans, wishing he was there to share the moment. As Hans had taught him, he had passed that strength and vision on to others. Everyone pointed to him, and yet actually it had been Hans all along who had shaped and guided him, and, in turn, he had created the Republic.

He heard renewed cheering outside, a wild tumultuous roaring that thundered up. Embarrassed, he stood up, gently releasing Kal’s hand. They were most likely cheering the news that he had accepted reappointment; he would have to go out and give yet another speech, something he did not want to do just now.

And then he saw Kathleen in the door, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It’s over,” she gasped.

“What?”

“The war Andrew! It’s over.”

He couldn’t speak, and then he sensed something else.

“The telegraph line just went back up to the front. Pat reports a message from the Bantag side. They are withdrawing. The Chin have revolted.”

“Glory Hallelujah,” Andrew gasped.

“Andrew.”

And then he knew, even before she whispered the words and fell into his arms crying.

“Andrew, darling. Hans is dead.”

He couldn’t speak. He held her tight, trying not to break.

He saw Emil and Casmir in the doorway.

So strange, such joy, and yet such pain in their eyes.

“Emil, stay with Kal. Let him sleep; if he wakes up, tell him, but don’t say anything yet about Hans.”

“That dream-I think he already knew.” Emil sighed.

He tried to step past Emil. The doctor touched him on the shoulder.