Free Terrible Swift Sword by William R. Forstchen

well as can be expected, sir," he replied, hill voice a little too loud.
    Pat chuckled and looked over at the gray-haired Rus, who had volunteered as a private inHawthorne's original company and had risen alongside the young Quaker to prominence.
    "You're sounding like an artillery man, Dimitri— a bit deaf and loud-voiced."
    Dimitri smiled and said nothing. Beside Dimitri was Julius of the Graca, a former slave of Marcus's household and now Consul of the Plebian Council. Andrew smiled at the man, who looked around a bit self-consciously. It was good politics of Marcus to send this man as a liaison. Far too much needed to be done in Roum to spare either him or Vincent, and the sight of a former slave representing Roum was heartening. The bicameral government of Roum--a senate for the patricians and a house for the plebs—was less than satisfying to the radical republican elements of Roum and Rus, but Vincent's plan, Andrew realized, was the best one for a quick transition to wartime emergency status while setting the groundwork for what would come later—if they ever pulled through this. Vincent had argued that the economic revolution of industrialism would soon render the patrician class all but obsolete, in much the same way that the House of Lords had atrophied in England. Though Julius was still a complete novice, lacking the far more cunning skill of Kal, he would learn soon enough. But for the duration of the present military emergency it was obvious that Kal and Marcus would have near dictatorial powers, with Andrew acknowledged as being above them in all things military.
    He had noticed a curious thing that his men had created. He had always refused to promote himself, feeling it to be a foolish bit of vainglory, while Hans, Pat, Vincent, and more than forty others had been elevated to brigadier general or above by his orders. Yet he was still a colonel. But of late they had worked around that behind his back. There were lieutenant colonels to be sure, but, if promoted to regiment command, Hans kept the man's rank the same until he moved up to brigade command and earned his first star as a brigadier. There was but one colonel now in all of Valennia. So the title of colonel, like it or not, had been changed to the highest rank.
    Andrew looked over at Bullfinch, sporting an eye patch like a pirate of old. The boy had recovered completely from his terrible wounding in the battle of Saint Gregory, as the great encounter between the two fleets was now known, referring to the local name for the point off of which the two fleets had clashed. He had to admit that, horrible though the wound was, it had made the boyish lieutenant into an almost rakish-looking character, who had his hands more than full with the Rus girls who seemed to be forever following the young admiral of the fleet. We damn near all seem to have earned a wound or two in our profession, Andrew thought dryly.
    Next to him was father Casmar, prelate and supreme court justice, wrapped in simple black robe without adornment and nodding a smile.
    "Your health is improving?"
    "Thank you, father, I'm feeling better."
    "When word came of your illness," Kal saw approvingly, "Father offered a high mass everyday for your recovery."
    "Your prayers carried their strength to me." Andrew replied openly.
    "To be honest it was a prayer for all of us, for without you, my dear friend, we would truly be lost"
    Andrew did not reply, unable as always to say any thing in response to such a statement.
    In the far corner of the room Andrew saw Chuck Ferguson, with Jack Petracci by his side. The young engineer, the driving force behind so many of the technological innovations, was as bright-eyed asalways, as if ready to spring yet more miracles upon them. He thought back to young Chuck as he had been in the early days of the war, the old war with the Army of the Potomac. He had felt the man to be the least likely of good soldiers. More often than not he was on sick call,