“We’ve got to do this, Andrew; otherwise, it isn't just us who lose, it’s the Chin, it’s the entire world. Now that’s something I’m willing to risk my life for. The question is, now do you have the guts to risk it as well.”
Andrew looked over angrily at Hans.
“It isn’t a question of my courage.”
“Yes it is. The courage to let go. If it wasn’t me going, maybe it’d be easier somehow.”
He wanted to deny it. Lord knows how many he had sent to certain death going all the way back to his own brother. But Hans was different.
Andrew lowered his head.
“Yes, damn it. I think when that aerosteamer takes off that is it, I never see you again. I can deny it, say it’s the committing of our remaining air fleet to a mad venture. But it’s really you.”
“And I am the only one that can lead it.”
Andrew finally nodded.
“Go.” He whispered.
Hans leaned out, his hand tentatively taking Andrew’s, and then he grasped it tight.
Andrew looked up to see tears in his friend’s eyes.
“You’ll do fine, son, just fine.”
Andrew started to break. What could he say, how could he say it? The words finally spilled out of him, contained for so long.
“I love you, Hans, as I loved my own father.”
Hans smiled.
“I know. We’ve always loved each other, you as the son I never had; it’s just that the way we both are, who we are, makes it impossible to say what we feel.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, eyes locked. There was such a flood of memories for Andrew, of Antietam, the lonely nights on picket, the cold winter mornings sharing a cup of coffee, the dusty marches, the moments of fear and of triumph, the pain of losing him and the indescribable joy of finding him again.
“And Hans.”
“Yeah?”
He had not breathed a word of it to anybody over the last week, but now was the true moment of letting go, of turning back the lie he had whispered at Capua. He knew what had to be done … and both of them were soldiers who understood that.
He unbuttoned the top of his uniform, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out an envelope, handing it to Hans.
“I want you to go all the way,” Andrew whispered.
Hans, looking straight into his eyes, understanding what Andrew was asking, simply nodded.
“This is my written authorization in case Jack or anyone else disagrees. Hans, you’ve got to go all the way with this one, no half measures.”
Hans smiled. “You know I would have done it anyway.”
“I know that.” Andrew sighed.
“It’s just you wanted me to know you were behind my decision.”
Andrew nodded, unable to speak.
Hans patted Andrew on the shoulder.
/ “Like I’ve always said, I’m proud of you, son,” he said, hesitating, “and thank you. Ever since the day I escaped, leaving my comrades behind, it has haunted me. I have to do this.”
There was a moment of silence between the two, both lost in their memories.
“I think they’re waiting,” Hans said gruffly, trying to hide the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.
Andrew finally looked over his shoulder and saw all who were waiting, standing respectfully, some with heads lowered. All was silent except for the aerosteamer engines powering up, propellers cutting the still morning air.
Andrew nodded and ever so slowly let go of Hans’s hand. Andrew tried to smile, fighting to hold on to what little control he had left.
He stood up shakily, Hans grunting as he stood as well.
“Well, they sure as hell haven’t gotten us yet. You lose an arm at Gettysburg, get your lung shot out at Roum. Hell, the Comanche couldn’t get me, a Reb sniper tries to take my leg off and a Merki arrow in the chest and then shot up again escaping. Shit, we’ll get through this one, son; there ain’t nothing left to shoot up.”
Andrew chuckled as Hans put his arm around Andrew’s side as if helping him along, two old battle-scarred warriors, hobbling along. The others waited, and Andrew felt as if all of them could sense what was exchanged between the two.
Andrew was surprised to see that Father Casmir had just ridden up and was dismounting. How the priest found out was beyond him, but then he always seemed to know everything.
He came up to Andrew and Hans, shaking their hands.
“Hawthorne told me about the plan.”
Andrew shifted silently, angry that Vincent could be so loose-tongued.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t breathed a word of it. Brilliant, it’s absolutely brilliant.”
He looked over at Varinna.
“Perhaps you should be a permanent part of our war councils.”
“Chuck would like that,” she said with a smile.
“No, you’re your own person now. Let the dead sleep, my daughter. You have a mind and a heart of your own.”
“Your Holiness, a good blessing sure would help,” Hans said, and Andrew looked over at his friend in surprise.
Hans reddened slightly. “Well, it’s never too late to get a bit of religion.”
Casmir chuckled and, reaching into his robes, pulled out a small vial filled with holy water. Uncorking it, he motioned for Hans to kneel and sprinkled a few drops over his head while softly chanting a prayer in the ancient language of the Rus, unchanged across a thousand years of exile.
The deep melodious chant rose in volume, all who were gathered around falling to their knees, even the Chin and Ketswana. Though of old Presbyterian stock, Andrew felt overwhelmed by the moment and fell to his knees as well, head lowered in prayer for his friend, for the mission, for all who were fighting or longing to be free.
Casmir turned away from Hans, holding the vial up, sprinkling the holy water over the assembly, the chant continuing, Andrew managing to understand a few words … “and for those of the old world and all those of the Diaspora in exile upon this world we beg your mercy and protection …”
The Diaspora, an ancient Greek word carried to this world. We of the Diaspora, he thought, but if we win this fight it shall no longer be thus. We will have finished our wanderings, our enslavement, our exile, and this shall forever be our home.
He looked over at Hans again, and it was as if a strange light was gathered about him, about all those who were leaving. He remembered now and understood, that if ever there was a cause worth dying for, this was it. It wasn’t a war to take something, or even to defend the property or country one had. Hans was right. It had been, it always would be, a war to set men free, the most noble of all causes that one could ever sacrifice oneself for. That was why Hans had to go, and that was why Andrew had to let him go.
The chant died away and there was a long drawn-out moment of silence. Andrew looked up and saw Casmir staring straight at him, smiling. The priest offered his hand, and Andrew took it, coming to his feet.
“Load ’em up!” Andrew shouted, surprised by the power of his own voice.
Hans went up to Ketswana, the two exchanged a few words, slapped each other on the back, and Ketswana started to detail off the Chin in groups of ten, pointing each group in turn to one of the machines.
With a grin Ketswana started for the machine directly behind Flying Cloud, then angled over to Andrew.
“Don’t worry, sir, I bring him back for you,” Ketswana announced. Andrew took the Zulu’s hand with a firm grasp.
“Godspeed and good luck, my friend.”
Ketswana, obviously delighted with the mission, slapped Hans on the shoulder, turned, and sprinted off.
“Other than you the closest friend I have,” Hans said.
The two went over to Jack, who was briefing the pilots gathered round, with Varinna and her assistants standing to one side.
“Remember, you have no bottom gunner now. If we do get jumped, you head right to the deck and hug it. The fake stinger might throw them off for a while, but if they ever figure it out, that’s the spot they’ll go for.”