"A hell of a battle coming," Andrew Keane said, his voice a drawn-out sigh.

"Perhaps then it'll be finished with," Kathleen said, sitting down to rest, "and then we can go back home."

"Home? Suzdal, Maine?"

"Suzdal. Of course I mean Suzdal."

"Don't you ever miss the other place?"

She looked up at him and smiled.

"At first. Of course I did. The war there, at least it was different. I never thought there could be a worse type of war, but we certainly found it here. But in spite of that, this is home."

A worse kind of war. He looked down at her, barely visible in the evening shadows. She never spoke of her fiance, and he couldn't even recall his name now. Didn't want to. Dead at First Bull Run and she goes off to be a nurse. It was hard to imagine she might have loved someone else once. Unpleasant thought. But he had loved others. He remembered Mary, and how he finally and so brutally had found out the truth. Kathleen never asked; it was just as well.

They had both lost and gained. If he should fall this time, he wondered what she would do. Fall. Funny the euphemisms of war. Fall. Far better that way, almost clean in its imagery, like a sudden going into the earth. Not gut-shot, or bayoneted and clubbed to death or blown apart by canister. A simple lying down into peace, like the leaves of autumn drifting to the ground.

"If I don't come out of this one, I want you to live," he said, the words almost blurted out.

Startled, she looked up at him, and there was a sudden trickle of a tear, as if she had almost been thinking the same thoughts.

"Find Maddie. I've already arranged for Ludmilla to take Maddie and Vincent's children to a hiding place north of Brindusia if things go wrong. For her sake, please."

She nodded, unable to speak.

A worse kind of war. God, it made the old one look pleasant in comparison. Still had rules. You would share your last drop of water with a wounded reb, bandage him up, and write a letter to his kin telling them that he was all right. Here we cut the throats of the wounded and shoot our own rather than leave them behind. The memory of the blurred photograph haunted him. he looked down at Kathleen. He'd do the same with her to spare her that type of end.

And she calls this place home.

Yet it was home, Maine starting to blur into fuzzi-ness. Five years here, eight years since he'd last seen Brunswick. No, this was home.

He looked around. The shadows of evening concealed the presence of war, the lines of entrenchments and breastworks, the mad bustle at Hispania, the city of lean-tos and tents housing over a hundred thousand soldiers, factory workers, families, refugees, even the prostitutes who'd come up from Roum to work the army camps.

The campfires lit the hills, a glow that stretched on for miles, a distant rumbling of talking, laughing, singing, praying, the sad crying of those so far from home, or afraid of dying.

A flight of ducks kicked up noisily from the river and headed north for the forest.

The wind, still blowing hot, drifted in from the steppe, bringing with it the scent of dry grass, blowing the smells of the camp away. One of the reasons he liked this particular place-the air was fresh, clean.

He sat down beside her, almost shyly putting his arm around her waist, she doing the same to him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Peaceful now," she whispered.

He said nothing. Nothing needed to be said.

"If I could steal you away from all this. Find a hidden place, just the two of us, far away ..."

Her words trailed off into silence.

Would he go? He knew that's what she was wishing for. And give this up? When he was a boy he had dreamed of great and heroic things, reading Scott and later Arrian and Shakespeare's Henry V, Henry V, imagining himself with the knights of Arthur, marching with Alexander, standing with the few at Agincourt. He still almost believed it now, despite the horror, the filth, the pain. Even after Gettysburg, his left arm gone, his brother dead, even then he almost still believed in it all. Here, right now, he had the chance to somehow change an entire world. He had never wanted it; fate had put it in front of him. He could hate what he had to do, but he could never turn away, trade it for something else. He had seen a people become free; he could see an entire world be free, and a fair part of it would be his dreams and idealisms of youth come to life in such an alien world. imagining himself with the knights of Arthur, marching with Alexander, standing with the few at Agincourt. He still almost believed it now, despite the horror, the filth, the pain. Even after Gettysburg, his left arm gone, his brother dead, even then he almost still believed in it all. Here, right now, he had the chance to somehow change an entire world. He had never wanted it; fate had put it in front of him. He could hate what he had to do, but he could never turn away, trade it for something else. He had seen a people become free; he could see an entire world be free, and a fair part of it would be his dreams and idealisms of youth come to life in such an alien world.

A bugle sounded in the distance. Tattoo, in fifteen minutes taps. A world where the day was an hour and a half shorter, going into summer, night not settling until nine, first light of dawn at four, what he felt should be five-thirty. Tomorrow another round of it. Still thousands of shoulder weapons short, millions of musket rounds short of what he wanted, the strange disappearance of gunpowder making it worse. Emil and his ranting about fresh water, shortage of nurses and doctors, the hospital area not yet finished for what might be fifteen thousand or more causalities just in the first day.

What if they broke through? He tried to push that thought aside. The nurses were to shoot the men who couldn't be evacuated in time. But then again, we'll all die if they do break through here, there's no retreating now, that's settled, he thought.Tomorrow so much more to do.

Bob Fletcher was coming in on the Roum train tomorrow with the latest food reports, improving with the early harvest of vegetables coming up from the south of Roum, enough to give the men a better ration to prevent scurvy. Then Kal and the senators, their problems, then back to John Mina and Emil at the end of the day to inspect the fortifications.

He sighed.

She raised her head and looked at him.

"Your thoughts are a million miles away from me, aren't they?"

He smiled shyly.

"No, of course not."

"Liar," and she smiled and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

"Signal the fleet, cast off towed ships once the harbor wall is cleared."

The multicolored pennants shot up the stubby mast behind him. He looked aft. The eight ironclad ships were strung out for several miles, moving slow, each of them towing two galleys crammed with troops.

The race was almost over. Straight ahead the Cartha galley moved steadily forward, acting as pilot ship as they rounded the mole. The walls were crammed with tens of thousands, who stood in silence.

"I daresay they're still not sure whose side we're on at the moment," Bullfinch said, looking over at his ensign.

"I think it's the other way around," the ensign replied. "Whose side are they on?"

"Their own, for the moment, and I can't blame the bastards."

"Well, they'd better give us one hell of a lot of wood, sir, or we're stranded here. The bulkheads are empty."

Bullfinch said nothing, displaying an outward calm. Inside he was a nervous wreck. He had jumped without orders, taking eight out of his ten ships five hundred miles south on what might be a fool's errand. Worse yet, the darker voice inside of him now started to wonder if the whole thing was an elaborate trap to take the fleet. A couple of minutes more would tell.

As they rounded the harbor mole he felt the ship start to surge ahead, the two galleys astern casting off. Straight ahead he saw the Antietam Antietam and trained his field glasses on it. The ship was riding fairly high. Not much fuel aboard. A thin puff of steam came from its smokestack. A plume of exhaust came up and the ship started to leave its dock, slowly gaining speed. and trained his field glasses on it. The ship was riding fairly high. Not much fuel aboard. A thin puff of steam came from its smokestack. A plume of exhaust came up and the ship started to leave its dock, slowly gaining speed.

"If he wants to fight, just remember she's got some cracked ribs to the port side of the forward gunport," the ensign said.

Bullfinch did not reply.

Below deck he had his two guns loaded with double shot, gunports closed, but the crews standing ready.

"Quarter speed."

His ship started to slow. Looking aft again, he saw the galleys crammed with men waiting outside the harbor, the second ironclad just starting to round the outer point.

A pennant snapped out from atop Antietam, Antietam, a white flag. a white flag.

He started to breathe a bit easier. The galley with Elazar swung up alongside the ship, lines snaking out, tying alongside.

"Bring us to port side of her," Bullfinch announced, the pilot turning the wheel over, calling below for all engines to stop.

Bullfinch watched the performance with feigned disinterest. The men were learning their craft well after months of constant drill. His ship slowly dropped off speed, the simple equation of her mass and momentum sending her forward for another couple of hundred yards, the bow wake flattening out. They came to a stop amidships to Antietam, Antietam, half a dozen feet separating the two. half a dozen feet separating the two.

Bullfinch stood exposed upon the upper works.

The gunport of Antietam Antietam opened, and Hamilcar, looking almost like a surprised tavernkeeper sticking his head out from a shuttered window, gazed out at him. He withdrew his head and Elazar appeared, climbing through the gunport a moment later. Hamilcar followed. opened, and Hamilcar, looking almost like a surprised tavernkeeper sticking his head out from a shuttered window, gazed out at him. He withdrew his head and Elazar appeared, climbing through the gunport a moment later. Hamilcar followed.

Bullfinch climbed down from atop the gunhouse.

He was tempted to make a quip, "Fancy seeing you again," or something about coming to take his ship back, but knew the joke might very well backfire.

Hamilcar, his features uncertain, turned to Elazar, and the two started to talk excitedly in Carthan as if Bullfinch weren't there.

After a moment, Hamilcar looked back at Bullfinch.

"I didn't ask for your damned help," he snapped in broken Rus.

"Well, you've got it. Can I come over to talk?"

Hamilcar, looking thoroughly confused, said nothing.

Without waiting for a response, Bullfinch leaped the narrow distance between the two ships, almost losing his footing on the other side so that Elazar had to reach out to steady him.

Without waiting for a comment from Hamilcar, he turned first to the flag of Cartha and saluted, and then saluted Hamilcar in turn.

The Cartha's features softened ever so slightly.

"I didn't ask for this," Hamilcar said again, this time in his own tongue, Elazar quickly translating.

"I know you didn't, sir. But your friend here came and explained that maybe half a dozen umens of the Bantag might be moving against you to take this city. I've brought a full brigade of marine troops and eight ironclads to help. I think a few modern weapons might be enough to hold the bastards off until our own problems get settled and then we can bring down some more support."

"Your own problems settled?" Hamilcar sniffed. "You're all dead and you know it."

"Maybe so," Bullfinch replied coldly. "But the offer still stands."

"By whose orders, yours or Keane's?"

Bullfinch stiffened at the anger in Hamilcar's voice when he spat out Keane's name.

"I acted as admiral of the Rus and Roum fleets. I'm sure Colonel Keane will back it up."

"I doubt it."

Angry, Bullfinch suddenly felt that it was simply best to leave now and the hell with them.

Bullfinch looked at Elazar, who, caught in a crossfire of his own creating, stood pale with shock.

"Translate this straight," Bullfinch snapped. "I don't want any niceties thrown in, I want it word for word."

Elazar nodded, now nervous.

"Tell that fat bastard that I came five hundred miles to help, and get the word 'bastard' in the translation."

Elazar started to speak nervously, his voice low. Hamilcar's features started to redden.

"Tell him he's a prideful ass. He's lost hundreds of thousands of his people-well, goddammit, so have we. We didn't want this war but now we've got it. I lost my eye and damn near got killed fighting against you people last year, but I've put that aside, because the real enemy is out there," and he pointed west as if the open steppe were directly before them.

"Now if he wants our help, fine. I've got twenty-five hundred men, four hundred thousand rounds of ammunition, and the guns on the ironclads. A sharp demonstration might bluff the Bantag into staying the hell out of here. And if he doesn't agree to that, well, then . . ."

He hesitated.

". . . then he can kiss my royal ass, because I'm going back to Rus to fight."

He turned around, preparing to jump back to his ship, which was slowly starting to drift farther away.

The laugh came low, a deep full-bellied chuckle.

"Fine, very good."

Bullfinch looked back, breathing hard. It had come from a sharp rage and had nothing at all to do with any kind of maneuvering.

Hamilcar extended his hand.

Behind Hamilcar he saw a crowd of shocked Cartha sailors, who were even more stunned by Hamilcar's laughter.

"I need your help," Hamilcar said. "But more important, I know you to be a fair man and truthful, a good warrior who defeated me and yet greeted me later with honor."

He hesitated, his features growing serious.

"I will not lie now in turn. I still blame Keane for what happened to my people, and that I cannot forgive. I think you came here on your own, to atone for that. From you I accept that offer, but from Keane, or the Rus, it is still the same in my heart.

"Six umens of the Bantag approach. There is no hope of standing against them alone. The Merki stripped everything-most of the factories were burned when we took the city back. Except for the men I brought with me, my people are armed with sharpened sticks, clubs. A shower of fire arrows and they'll burn us out. I hate to stand here now like this. I need your help."

"That's why I came here to start with," Bullfinch replied sharply.

Hamilcar relaxed, a smile lighting his features.

Elazar, his eyes clouded with tears, came up to Bullfinch and, grabbing hold of him, kissed him on both cheeks.

"Thank you."

"Did you translate what I said?" Bullfinch asked.

"Almost," Elazar replied with a smile.

Pulling away from the front of the column, Vincent turned his horse to the left and rode westward up the long gentle slope, leaving the road behind. The ground was hard, baked under the heat of the noonday sun. For nearly a quarter mile he rode, barely noticing that Dimitri trailed behind him.