Father."
He won't do that here, Finn thought. When this is over, Search and Retrieve will disinter the body and return it to the time where it belongs. And another name will be added to the Wall of Honor at Division Headquarters, with a posthumous commendation.
He could not believe it. He had seen men die in combat throughout all of history, but he could not bring himself to accept that Lucas could be one of them. They had been through so much together, had faced death a hundred times and laughed about it later. There would be no laughing anymore. No more bouts of drinking Irish whiskey in the First Division lounge to wash away the taste of the last mission and celebrate having completed it successfully. No more brawling in the dives of San Diego and Ensenada, no more quiet nights spent with the old man in his private sanctum, sipping ancient wine as they talked about old missions.
The relief force was departing for Chakdarra. The job for them had only just begun. After the brief service, Blood had ordered Andre back to Peshawar, from there to depart for Simla, and preferably from Simla to England—which was home to her, so far as the general knew. He felt that the Father's death was his responsibility, that he never should have allowed him to accompany the unit in the first place, that if it wasn't for the fact that medical aid was sorely lacking, he would have been firm from the beginning. The frontier was no place for civilian noncombatants.
Finn was to head up a small detachment that would escort Andre back to safer territory and deliver dispatches to be sent on from Peshawar. Mulvaney, Learoyd, and Ortheris would be among those to accompany them, since they would have to ride and Blood didn't feel that he could spare any of his lancers. The cavalry had proved to be of great value, and he needed all the experienced horsemen under his command. Sending back one officer—the one with the least experience on the frontier—and several foot soldiers who could ride after a fashion, was the wisest choice. It would still be a hazardous journey, but one small mounted unit could move quickly and stood a better chance of getting through. All the tribes in the vicinity were up in arms, and most of them could be expected to join the forces at Chakdarra. There was far less risk in taking the opposite direction.
"I should have taken that bullet," Churchill said. "I am a soldier whose duty is to die for queen and country if the need arises. He was a man of God who would not even carry a gun."
He was about as far from being a man of God as a man could get, thought Finn. His duty was to die, as well, if the need arose. He had discharged it. His death was not for nothing.
"It's over then," said Finn, when they had gone.
"We've done what we've come back here to do. Or Lucas has. Churchill will live now and go on to become prime minister of Great Britain. Ironic, isn't it? We came here to find a disruption to adjust, and it found us."
"Something's wrong," Andre said. "If I could think straight, maybe I could figure out what the hell it is, but I can't manage to do that now. All I know is that something's wrong. It isn't over yet. Maybe we should have remained with the field force."
"Not much chance of that, after Blood ordered us back," said Finn. "Besides, I don't know what the hell we should have done or should be doing. I just don't know anything anymore, and I don't much care either."
"You didn't remember Churchill before I told you about him, did you?" said Andre.
"What?"
"Lucas was going to talk to you about that, but he never got the chance. When we first met Churchill, I didn't remember him. I didn't know anything about him. But Lucas remembered him."
"Lucas was always a history addict," Finn said. "He used to say that you never know when you might need information that would help you . . . stay alive," he finished lamely.
"Then you knew?" said Andre.
"Knew about what?"
"About Churchill," Andre said. "That he would
He won't do that here, Finn thought. When this is over, Search and Retrieve will disinter the body and return it to the time where it belongs. And another name will be added to the Wall of Honor at Division Headquarters, with a posthumous commendation.
He could not believe it. He had seen men die in combat throughout all of history, but he could not bring himself to accept that Lucas could be one of them. They had been through so much together, had faced death a hundred times and laughed about it later. There would be no laughing anymore. No more bouts of drinking Irish whiskey in the First Division lounge to wash away the taste of the last mission and celebrate having completed it successfully. No more brawling in the dives of San Diego and Ensenada, no more quiet nights spent with the old man in his private sanctum, sipping ancient wine as they talked about old missions.
The relief force was departing for Chakdarra. The job for them had only just begun. After the brief service, Blood had ordered Andre back to Peshawar, from there to depart for Simla, and preferably from Simla to England—which was home to her, so far as the general knew. He felt that the Father's death was his responsibility, that he never should have allowed him to accompany the unit in the first place, that if it wasn't for the fact that medical aid was sorely lacking, he would have been firm from the beginning. The frontier was no place for civilian noncombatants.
Finn was to head up a small detachment that would escort Andre back to safer territory and deliver dispatches to be sent on from Peshawar. Mulvaney, Learoyd, and Ortheris would be among those to accompany them, since they would have to ride and Blood didn't feel that he could spare any of his lancers. The cavalry had proved to be of great value, and he needed all the experienced horsemen under his command. Sending back one officer—the one with the least experience on the frontier—and several foot soldiers who could ride after a fashion, was the wisest choice. It would still be a hazardous journey, but one small mounted unit could move quickly and stood a better chance of getting through. All the tribes in the vicinity were up in arms, and most of them could be expected to join the forces at Chakdarra. There was far less risk in taking the opposite direction.
"I should have taken that bullet," Churchill said. "I am a soldier whose duty is to die for queen and country if the need arises. He was a man of God who would not even carry a gun."
He was about as far from being a man of God as a man could get, thought Finn. His duty was to die, as well, if the need arose. He had discharged it. His death was not for nothing.
"It's over then," said Finn, when they had gone.
"We've done what we've come back here to do. Or Lucas has. Churchill will live now and go on to become prime minister of Great Britain. Ironic, isn't it? We came here to find a disruption to adjust, and it found us."
"Something's wrong," Andre said. "If I could think straight, maybe I could figure out what the hell it is, but I can't manage to do that now. All I know is that something's wrong. It isn't over yet. Maybe we should have remained with the field force."
"Not much chance of that, after Blood ordered us back," said Finn. "Besides, I don't know what the hell we should have done or should be doing. I just don't know anything anymore, and I don't much care either."
"You didn't remember Churchill before I told you about him, did you?" said Andre.
"What?"
"Lucas was going to talk to you about that, but he never got the chance. When we first met Churchill, I didn't remember him. I didn't know anything about him. But Lucas remembered him."
"Lucas was always a history addict," Finn said. "He used to say that you never know when you might need information that would help you . . . stay alive," he finished lamely.
"Then you knew?" said Andre.
"Knew about what?"
"About Churchill," Andre said. "That he would
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