Battle Hymn Read Online Free Page A

deeply.
    "Home. To what? To be a student, or worst yet, a drafted soldier? Here—why, here I am Kathul. Do you know the word?"
    Hans shook his head.
    "The Redeemer, the one of prophecy."
    Hans felt a chill at the way he said it.
    "No. I'll stay. But if I could find a way back, there are things I need."
    "Such as?"
    The Bantag smiled as if deciding whether to share a secret or not.
    "What I would give for a book on refining. Or even some good tungsten steel tool bits. As for engines, I never could understand how internal combustion worked, though one of my Companions worked on—what is the word you use?—railroads."
    Hans was silent.
    "So we do know steam. Tell me, did you have flying machines on your world?"
    Hans felt a cold chill creep into his soul. "Of course."
    The Bantag smiled again and shook his head. "I doubt it. Your machines are generations behind what I knew. There are artifacts here on this world, however, that are useful. I think the ancients, before the fall, even had atomic power. At least that's what I suspect from the description of the engines the Merki used for their flying machines. We're digging in gravesites right now for more of these ancient devices. Unless the fuel has decayed, they should still be useful for flyers."
    He stopped for a moment. "Atomic? Do you understand the word?"
    "Who doesn't?" "Then explain it."
    Hans fell silent, angry with himself. Whatever it was this creature was rambling about, Hans knew that he had already revealed too much. He felt he should say nothing more, but his curiosity compelled him not simply to turn away and retreat into silence.
    The Bantag chuckled. "You're not revealing anything I didn't suspect. Your friend Hinsen told me everything of your world. Primitive. If we could but use a portal from my world to yours we would squash you."
    "I doubt it."
    "By defending yourselves with what?" Ha'ark laughed. "Rifled muskets against machine guns. Airships against jets and rockets. Do you even know what a radio is?"
    "Go ahead and try it," Hans spat, feeling increasingly angry, as if this creature were taunting him with his ignorance.
    The Bantag smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry. There are other things to do first."
    "Such as?"
    "End this war between you"—he hesitated for a moment—"you humans and us."
    Hans felt a surge of hope that he knew had to be misplaced. There would never be an end to the war until one race, or the other, was annihilated.
    "How?"
    "Maybe an accommodation could be made—a division, perhaps."
    "I doubt it."
    "Why?"
    "First of all, why should we?" Hans replied coldly. "We all but destroyed the Tugars, and the Merki were shattered as well. What's left?"
    "The Bantag, with over sixty umens. The Harangi to the south of the Bantag, with another forty umens. That's a million warriors we can put in the field."
    "We defeated forty umens of the Merki."
    "And nearly destroyed yourselves in the process. Even now your people are still recovering and, I hear, are divided as well."
    In his year of captivity Hans had not heard a single word of what had happened to his old comrades. He tried not to show interest. The Bantag smiled.
    "Curious, aren't you? Maybe later I'll share more. For that matter, you might even see your friends before you die."
    "That doesn't matter to me. I assumed I was dead the moment I was taken prisoner. Hope of a different ending is a fool's dream."
    "You know, I might actually like you."
    Hans found himself weakening. He felt almost as if he were talking with another soldier rather than a hated enemy.
    "I'll grant that if those barbarians you called the Bantag marched against you as they were, they'd most likely lose. But"—and Ha'ark patted the rifle on his lap—"that's changed."
    "The Merki had weapons like ours."
    "Primitive, and besides, not enough. Things have changed since I've come. We have a factory east of here, turning out three hundred rifles a week."
    "Like yours?" Hans asked cautiously.
    "No, muzzle loaders