it, hastily laid down during the fall and winter. A strategic gamble that had consumed over fifteen thousand tons of light ten-pound-to-the-foot rails.
And straight ahead were the Shenandoah Hills.
O Shenandoah, I long to see you.
Longingly.
The snow was most likely even heavier back home, back in Suzdal. He could imagine her by the fire, nursing Maddie—Madison—Madison Bridget O'Reilly Keane, a long name for fifteen pounds of squalling humanity, and the thought of it filled him with a cold aching pain. All he wanted was to lie down by the stove in the parlor, to take an entire day of nothingness, other than his daughter, Kathleen, and quiet solitude.
He started to shiver.
"Son, let's get back inside; the train will be coming in shortly."
Andrew looked over at Hans. He had gone for some time without calling him "son." It was funny, but it felt almost strange now. Hans was still the mentor , the father figure from the beginning. With linns by his side he had carried the crushing responsibility of running first a regiment, and then an entire war effort. He felt far distant from the young professor of history who had gone, wide-eyed like a boy, to see a war. It was now nearly impossible to define himself as someone's son.
Hans smiled sadly.
"You know, I never had a son of my own. Married to the army too long, I guess."
Andrew nodded, saying nothing.
"I'm getting old, Andrew."
"We all are."
"No, it's beyond that. I'm not talking about the rheumatism, the eyes that don't see quite as sharply, the game leg. It's just that I'm tired. Now I know what they mean by 'old soldier.' "
He hesitated for a moment, looking off into the swirling mist.
"I've got a bad feeling about this one, son," he whispered.
Hans looked up at Andrew, as if startled by his own admission.
"It's just that no matter how hard we try, they keep coming at us. Each time they're stronger smarter—it's like it will never end."
Andrew felt an inner shiver, beyond the cold beyond the weakness of the typhoid. Hans had been the rock upon which he had built his own strength as a leader. And now the rock was shifting away.
Hans fell silent, as if embarrassed.
"Go on," Andrew said quietly, "I need to hear this."
"I haven't said a word for months, but I feel the need now, before the others come up for this final conference. You know I didn't care for this Potomac line idea."
"I'm sorry we disagreed," Andrew replied.
The debate had been bitter at times, when they had started planning for this war more than a year ago. The first goal was to build the rail line to Roum—in that they had been in full agreement. Without the link to Roum there was no chance they could stand against the Hordes. But Hans wanted to try to hold onto the Neiper, even though the terrain north of the first ford was a nightmare for the building of a rail line to provide support. They had spent endless nights, pouring over the rough maps their survey teams had worked up. There was no fallback if the Neiper failed, he had argued. The Potomac front is on the steppe, terrain for their cavalry, Hans had replied, a front of a hundred miles far to long for them to hold with strength. In the end he'd had to order it. Hans had cursed soundly, but then saluted and thrown himself into the task. This was the first time in months that the debate had cropped up again.
"We can't afford to lose even a single battle, while even if they lose the entire war they'll still be back for more," Hans finally replied, saying each word slowly, as if they carried an actual weight and form.
"We defeated the Tugars, and it damn near destroyed us. Then they send the Cartha and we win it by a hair's breadth. Now we face them again. How many did that Yuri say, forty umens? Four hundred thousand warriors armed, with over four hundred field pieces and maybe twenty thousand muskets. They're capable of flying, while we've yet to get a single powered ship off the ground.
"The first time it was against bows and
And straight ahead were the Shenandoah Hills.
O Shenandoah, I long to see you.
Longingly.
The snow was most likely even heavier back home, back in Suzdal. He could imagine her by the fire, nursing Maddie—Madison—Madison Bridget O'Reilly Keane, a long name for fifteen pounds of squalling humanity, and the thought of it filled him with a cold aching pain. All he wanted was to lie down by the stove in the parlor, to take an entire day of nothingness, other than his daughter, Kathleen, and quiet solitude.
He started to shiver.
"Son, let's get back inside; the train will be coming in shortly."
Andrew looked over at Hans. He had gone for some time without calling him "son." It was funny, but it felt almost strange now. Hans was still the mentor , the father figure from the beginning. With linns by his side he had carried the crushing responsibility of running first a regiment, and then an entire war effort. He felt far distant from the young professor of history who had gone, wide-eyed like a boy, to see a war. It was now nearly impossible to define himself as someone's son.
Hans smiled sadly.
"You know, I never had a son of my own. Married to the army too long, I guess."
Andrew nodded, saying nothing.
"I'm getting old, Andrew."
"We all are."
"No, it's beyond that. I'm not talking about the rheumatism, the eyes that don't see quite as sharply, the game leg. It's just that I'm tired. Now I know what they mean by 'old soldier.' "
He hesitated for a moment, looking off into the swirling mist.
"I've got a bad feeling about this one, son," he whispered.
Hans looked up at Andrew, as if startled by his own admission.
"It's just that no matter how hard we try, they keep coming at us. Each time they're stronger smarter—it's like it will never end."
Andrew felt an inner shiver, beyond the cold beyond the weakness of the typhoid. Hans had been the rock upon which he had built his own strength as a leader. And now the rock was shifting away.
Hans fell silent, as if embarrassed.
"Go on," Andrew said quietly, "I need to hear this."
"I haven't said a word for months, but I feel the need now, before the others come up for this final conference. You know I didn't care for this Potomac line idea."
"I'm sorry we disagreed," Andrew replied.
The debate had been bitter at times, when they had started planning for this war more than a year ago. The first goal was to build the rail line to Roum—in that they had been in full agreement. Without the link to Roum there was no chance they could stand against the Hordes. But Hans wanted to try to hold onto the Neiper, even though the terrain north of the first ford was a nightmare for the building of a rail line to provide support. They had spent endless nights, pouring over the rough maps their survey teams had worked up. There was no fallback if the Neiper failed, he had argued. The Potomac front is on the steppe, terrain for their cavalry, Hans had replied, a front of a hundred miles far to long for them to hold with strength. In the end he'd had to order it. Hans had cursed soundly, but then saluted and thrown himself into the task. This was the first time in months that the debate had cropped up again.
"We can't afford to lose even a single battle, while even if they lose the entire war they'll still be back for more," Hans finally replied, saying each word slowly, as if they carried an actual weight and form.
"We defeated the Tugars, and it damn near destroyed us. Then they send the Cartha and we win it by a hair's breadth. Now we face them again. How many did that Yuri say, forty umens? Four hundred thousand warriors armed, with over four hundred field pieces and maybe twenty thousand muskets. They're capable of flying, while we've yet to get a single powered ship off the ground.
"The first time it was against bows and
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