Stephen Baxter - Anti-Ice

VIP免费

2024-11-28 5 0 438.25KB 165 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Anti-Ice

Stephen Baxter

Anti-Ice

To my mother

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my thanks to Eric Brown and Alan Cousins who read drafts of the

manuscript; to David S. Garnett for his enthusiasm for the concept; and to my agent Maggie Noach,

my editor Malcolm Edwards, and the staff at HarperCollins for their hard work on this project.

Prologue

A LETTER TO A FATHER

July 7th, 1855

Before Sebastopol

My Dear Father,

I scarcely know how to address myself to you after the disgraceful conduct which caused me to

leave home. I am well aware that a full year has elapsed without a word from me, and can only offer

my great shame as excuse for my silence. I can assure you of my guilt at the thought that you,

Mother and Ned might have imagined me lying in some dismal corner of England, alone, penniless

and dying.

Well, Sir, Love and Duty have combined themselves with the extraordinary events of the past few

days to prompt me to break my silence. Father, I am alive and hale and serving in the 90 Light

Infantry in the cause of the Empire in the Crimean campaign! I begin this account seated in the

remains of a Russian fortification we call the Redan—named for its shape after the French "tooth,"

you see, an unimposing but effective affair of sandbags and earthworks—before the ruins of

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (1 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:34 PM]

Anti-Ice

Sebastopol. I have no doubt that my news so far will astonish you enough—and I dare to hope that

your heart will be touched by the tidings of my survival to date—and yet you must be prepared for

still greater astonishment, dear Father, at the tale I have to tell. You have no doubt read in Russell's

dispatches to The Times of the final disembowelling of the fortress of Sebastopol by this fellow

Traveller and his infernal anti-ice shell. Sir, I have witnessed it all. And, in view of my eternal

disgrace, I regard my survival as an unmerited gift from the Lord, as so many good fellows—French

and Turks too, as well as English—have fallen all around me.

I owe you some explanation of my conduct since leaving Sylvan, that dark day last year, and how I

arrived on this remote shore.

As you know I took with me only a few shillings. My mood was one of self-contempt, Sir, and

shame; determined to atone, I made my way by Light Rail to Liverpool and there enlisted into the 90

Regiment. I joined as an ordinary soldier; I had of course no means of purchasing a commission, and

in any event I had determined to descend, to mix with the lowest of men, in order to cleanse myself

of my sin.

A week after my arrival in Liverpool I was sent to Chatham, and spent some months there being

shaped as a soldier of the Empire. Then, determined to submit my life to the will of the Lord, in

February of this year I volunteered to join the 90 Light Infantry, in order to be brought out here, to

the Turkish war.

As I waited for my transport, convinced that only death waited for me in the distant fields of the

Crimea, I wanted most desperately to write to you; but my courage—which has sustained me

through the most terrible carnage here—failed before such a trivial task, and so I left England

without a word.

We were fifteen days coming to Balaclava; and then we faced some days' march along the road north

to the Allied encampments around Sebastopol.

I beg your indulgence to describe the situation I found here; while the campaign has evidently been

reasonably well reported at home by such correspondents as Russell, perhaps the views of an

ordinary infantryman of the Army—for such am I, and proud to be—will be of some interest.

Sir, you know why we are here.

Our Empire girdles the World. And our dominion is held together by the threads that are our lines of

communication: roads, railways, Light Rail routes and sea lanes.

Czar Nicholas, seeking a Mediterranean port, had cast his envious eyes on the failing Ottoman

Empire. So he threatened Constantinople herself—and our lines to India. Soon the Czar was

worsting Johnny Turk on land and on sea; and so we, with the French at our side, went to war with

him.

We entered the war under the command of Lord Raglan, who had once served with Wellington

himself at Waterloo. Father, I once saw that great gentleman himself, riding through our

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (2 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:34 PM]

Anti-Ice

encampment on his way to a conference with his French counterpart Canrobert. Sir, to see Raglan as

I did that day, his back ramrod-stiff on his gray, his empty sleeve tucked into his coat (for the French

had shot his arm off for him) and his grand, careworn, hawk's gaze raking over us all, the same gaze

that had once faced down Bonaparte himself—I can tell you I was not the only chap to cheer to the

heavens and throw his cap high!

But, from the clay I arrived, there were whispers against Raglan.

His head full of days of glory against the Corsican, Raglan apparently was wont to refer to the

Russians here as the "French"! And, of course, there were mutterings about Raglan's conduct of the

campaign. After all our first engagement with the Russians was at Alma, a good ten months ago, at

which we administered a sound licking to the Czar's men. What a spectacle that was, by all accounts;

the Allied lines were a forest of color highlighted by the glinting of bayonets, while the ear was

assailed by a tumult of noise, drums and bugles of all descriptions, all immersed in the unending

hum of an armed force on the march. A fellow here describes a charge by a unit of the Grays, their

great bearskin caps high above the enemy as they fought back to back, hacking and slicing

everywhere...

My only regret is that I missed all the fun!

But, after victory at Alma, Raglan failed to follow up.

Perhaps we could have chased the Russkies there and then out of the Peninsula and been home by

Christmas! But it wasn't to be, and you know the rest of the story: the great battles of Balaclava and

Inkerman, with, at Balaclava, the slaughter of the noble Light Brigade under the Earl of Cardigan.

(Father, I might interject that early in May I had the opportunity to ride up that famous North valley,

almost as far as the site of the Russian guns which had been the Brigade's objective. The ground was

gaudy with flowers, and warm and golden in the rays of the setting sun; six-point shot and pieces of

shell lay strewn thickly enough on the ground, with flowers growing through the rusty fragments. I

found a horse's skull, quite clean of meat, pierced by a single bullet hole from left to right. We saw

no traces of human bodies. But I heard tell of one fellow who found a jawbone—complete and

blanched, with the most perfect, regular set of teeth.)

In any event the Russians survived, and—by Christmas—had holed up in their fortress of

Sebastopol.

Now Sebastopol, Father, is the Russians' key naval base here. If we could take that city the threat to

Constantinople would evaporate, and the Czar's Mediterranean ambitions would be as naught. And

so we were drawn up here in great numbers with our trenches, earthworks and mines; and—since

Christmas—besieged the town.

It was—or seemed to me—a farcical siege; the Russians were well enough supplied with ammo, and

we had no way of imposing a sea blockade—and so the Czar's ships supplied victuals to the besieged

almost daily!

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (3 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:34 PM]

Anti-Ice

But Raglan would entertain no way of dislodging the Russians other than patient attrition. And, of

course, he adamantly refused to have anything to do with suggestions of anti-ice weaponry; a man of

his honor would have naught to do with such modern monstrosities.

And meanwhile we waited and waited...

I can only thank a too-benevolent Savior that I, unworthy as I am, arrived after the worst ravages of

the winter here. The lads who survived all that have some tales to tell. The summer months had been

benevolent, you see, with good foraging to be had, and even sufficient time for games of cricket,

improvised but played strictly to the rules! But winter turned the roads and trenches to mud. There

was only canvas cover—if that—and the men had to snatch what sleep was possible in knee-deep,

freezing mud. Even the Officers suffered disgracefully; by all accounts they were forced to wear

their swords in the trenches as the only means by which they might be distinguished from the

common footsoldier! Father, this truly was soldiering without the gilding.

And, of course, there was Dame Cholera, brought to all quarters of the Peninsula from the landing

station at Varna. A Cholera epidemic is no fun, Sir, for a man can turn from a healthy soldier into a

gaunt and careworn shadow in a few hours, and next day he is dead. To maintain discipline and

composure in such circumstances says much for the mettle of these fellows; and, dare I say it, the

common English have acquitted themselves far better than the French, despite the rumors of our

allies' superior provisioning.

But I have my own ideas about the provision situation, Father. It is my judgment that the French

starve better than the English! Deprive an Englishman of his roast beef and ale and he will growl,

and lie down and die. But your Frenchman... One Captain Maude, a convivial fellow (who was later

shipped home when a shell exploded inside his horse and lacerated his leg) told us of an occasion on

which he was invited to supper with a lieutenant of the French army. Approaching the chap's tent our

Maude was greeted by the scents of fine cooking and snatches of opera, and inside the tent boards

had been laid out and a clean cloth spread upon them, and a three course meal was served! And on

complimenting his host, Maude was astonished to learn that the sole ingredients of all three courses

had been beans, and a few local herbs!

So there you have it!

But I would not complain of the conditions endured by the ordinary Englishman here by the time of

my arrival. I found a billet in a hut which had been constructed by a platoon of the Turks. We

receive salt Beef and Biscuit daily now, poor rations indeed compared to the comfort of home, but

more than sufficient to sustain life. And the degradation of alcohol is not unknown to us, Father.

Beer is difficult to come by and quite expensive—but not so spirits. There is a species of poison

called "raki," for instance, which may be wheedled from the peasantry here. More than once I have

seen men, Officers too, staggering drunk from the stuff; although such behavior, of course, is not

condoned. I might relate the downfall of a splendidly made fellow in our company, a chap over six

feet in height, a fine soldier but a devil with the drink inside him. Punishment parade is always held

early in the morning, before the whole regiment; on this occasion the air was frost and a keen wind

was blowing. Our soldier's wrists and ankles were tied to a triangle of stretcher poles and his bare

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (4 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:34 PM]

Anti-Ice

back exposed; and a drummer plied the cat o' nine tails while the drum major counted the strokes.

Father, the fellow took sixty lashes without a murmur, although the blood was flowing after a dozen

strokes. When it was done he straightened up and saluted his Colonel. "That's a warm breakfast you

gave me, your honor, this morning," he said; and he was walked away to hospital.

For what it is worth, Father, I can report that not a drop has passed my lips since the day I left your

house in such unfortunate circumstances.

Now—at last, I almost hear you cry!—I shall describe to you the momentous events of the last few

days; and, if you will indulge me so far, I will conclude with a report of my own disposition.

Sebastopol is a naval port on the Black Sea. Imagine if you will a wide bay running west, from the

sea, to east; the town squats on the south side of this bay. And the town is riven in two by an inlet

which extends south from the bay by some two miles.

The practical import of this, Father, is that two separate armies are required to invest the town; for a

force attacking one side could not hope to offer support to a force attacking the other, because of the

existence of the inlet. And therefore we and the French were drawn up on either side of the

inlet—the French to the left, the British to the right.

The Russian defenses are—or were—slight in appearance, but occupied very commanding positions

and were fortified strongly by nature herself. For example, I have already mentioned the earthen

battery called the Redan, which was armed with seventeen heavy guns.

I remember one day walking up to within about a mile from the town, intending to inspect its

environs. From a hillock I could see the fine Russian ships of war lying like gray ghosts in the bay,

and the inhabitants of Sebastopol walking through the streets all unconcerned, as if the one hundred

and forty thousand men investing their port were but a dream. But less dreamlike were the fortresses

which looked down over our positions. Great black guns peered down at me through their

embrasures, and when I showed myself too clearly there was a puff of smoke and I heard a hiss as

the shot flew over my head; for they had their ranges very well and could drop them very close.

I have said that the siege lasted many months, and not a few men, growing distracted by the lack of

progress, murmured that Lord Raglan, with his long memories and traditional ways, did not have the

flexibility of mind to resolve this problem of Sebastopol.

Then, early in May, we had our first indication of such rumblings in more senior circles. A group of

Officers joined us, evidently fresh from England, for their epaulettes shone brightly. They were led

by General Sir James Simpson, a portly, fierce-looking gentleman. With them came a civilian: an

odd cove about fifty years of age, over six feet in height and blessed with a nose like a hawk's beak,

with muttonchop whiskers that were vast bushes as black as you please, and a stovepipe hat that

made him look ten feet tall. (Legend has it that a stray Russkie shot—the like of which winged

constantly through our midst like tiny, deadly birds—one day threaded a neat hole through this

headpiece; and the gentleman, as cool as you like, doffed the piece, inspected the hole, and promised

on his return to England to invoice the Czar's Embassy for the repair!) This fellow picked his way

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Stephen%20Baxter%20-%20Anti-Ice.htm (5 of 165) [10/16/2004 3:11:34 PM]

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

Anti-IceStephenBaxterAnti-IceTomymotherAcknowledgmentsIwouldliketoexpressmythankstoEricBrownandAlanCousinswhoreaddraftsofthemanuscript;toDavidS.Garnettforhisenthusiasmfortheconcept;and omyagentMaggieNoach,myeditorMalcolmEdwards,andthestaffatHarperCollinsfortheirhardworkonthisproject.PrologueALETTERTOAFATHERJuly7th,1855BeforeSebastopolMyDearFather,Iscarcelyknowhowtoaddressmyselftoyouafterthedisgracefulconductwhichcausedmetoleavehome.Iamwellawarethatafullyearhaselapsedwithoutawordfromme,andca...

展开>> 收起<<

Stephen Baxter - Anti-Ice.pdf

共165页,预览5页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Stephen Baxter - Anti-Ice

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: