Chapter 12
Grand Army of the Sunrise headquarters
Oppidum Judaeorum, Kazimierz
Isaac heard the soft, breathy sounds of fornication before he reached the covered wagon.
“Oy, Fakakta!” he whispered with an exhalation of agitated breath. He winced, shook his head, and gave a light wrap of knuckles on the wagon bed. “Christian. Christian, I know you’re in there. Come on out, please.”
Silence. Then giggles, a shuffle of bodies as the wagon rocked slightly. Whispered voices, more giggling, and then a smiling young lady stuck her head out the back. “Guten abend, Herr Doktor,” she said, blowing a wisp of hair out of her face.
“Guten abend, Greta,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He thumbed her out. “Loslegen.”
She giggled, climbed out, then ran off, holding her modest dress closed tightly at the chest.
Christian climbed out shortly thereafter, even more disheveled than Greta. He dropped down into a small puddle of water and paused to tuck in his shirt. He buckled his belt and flashed a contented smile. “I must say, Isaac, Greta is a far better physical therapist than you are.”
Isaac ignored the crass comment. “I thought you said she reminded you of your sister.”
Christian straightened his collar. He winked. “Well…perhaps a distant cousin.”
Isaac wagged a finger in Christian’s face. “Listen here, if you get that girl in trouble, we’ll lose a good nurse, and I’ll put you in her place permanently.”
Christian chuckled and slapped Isaac on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend. I was nothing if not careful, and a gentleman.”
There were many things Isaac wanted to say to that, but he tucked away his agitation and tugged at Christian’s shirt. “Come, now. I’m taking you to see the boss.”
“I’ve already met Oberheuser.”
Isaac shook his head while guiding Christian toward the stone bridge that crossed the Vistula. “No, not that boss. The boss.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Isaac had expected something smaller, more intimate, perhaps even a one-on-one with the commanding officer, to go over medical supply and further needs. Such was not the case.
Sunrise HQ was packed.
It seemed as if the entire command staff was in attendance. General von Mercy was there, of course, standing beside Morris Roth. Next to him and going down one entire side of the large table in the center of the room, were the newly appointed provost marshal, Major General Luther Lange; Colonel Samson Shalit, First Regiment of the Joshua Corps; Colonel Reznik Makovec of the Brethren; Colonels Friedrick Burkenfeld and Gerhardt Renz, First and Second Cavalry Regiments. There were others, too, but Isaac did not know their names, or their faces, very well. Like the provost marshal, many of them had just been appointed to their positions. It was intimidating to be in the presence of so much “brass,” as an up-timer might say. He was thankful, though, to see Jason Gotkin huddled with the rest of the chaplain corps at the end of the table. And Doctor Oberheuser too, who had managed to weasel his way up to stand close to General von Mercy and was talking to him as if they were old friends.
There was one woman in attendance as well, Ellie Anderson, who stood near Morris Roth and didn’t seem to mind her minority status. Isaac recognized her from Prague. He could hear her laughing and speaking casual obscenities as she and Morris engaged in a private conversation. There was a lot of elevated banter going around the room. Their voices created a cacophony of noise that made it difficult to hear anything clearly.
Isaac stepped up to the table, pulling Christian with him. Morris caught his eye and brought the attending to silence.
“Thank you, Isaac, for coming,” Morris said with a pleasant smile and a wave as the conversation in the room dwindled, then stopped.
“Honored to have been invited, sir,” Isaac said.
“Who is your companion?”
“This is Captain Christian von Jori. He has been serving as my medical supply assistant during his convalescence and therapy.”
“How are you, young man?” Colonel Renz asked from across the table.
Christian nodded. “Very well, sir, thank you. I’m anxious to get back in the saddle.”
“Von Jori,” von Mercy said, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He is the young man I told you about, General,” Colonel Renz said. “The one who saved a Brethren company from rout.”
“Then I should thank you,” Colonel Makovec said, his deep, rough Bohemian accent catching the attention of everyone at the table. “Perhaps I should take you back to my regiment, make you my aide-de-camp.”
Light laughter spread across the table. Christian smiled, nodded, said, “Thank you, sir, but I’m a cavalry officer. I’ve no desire to be anything else.”
“And you’re not going to steal him from us, Colonel Makovec,” Colonel Renz said with a sly smile and a twitch of an eye. “The cavalry needs good company commanders.”
“The need is great throughout the army, gentlemen, both for foot and horse,” Morris said, bringing the conversation back to him before it broke into an inter-regimental squabble. “Let’s focus now on why we are all here. Why I’ve called you together.”
Morris placed his hands on the large map spread across the table. “I’ve already discussed this matter with General von Mercy and our regimental commanders. This conversation is more for the benefit of you serving civilians.” He looked at Doctor Oberheuser, Isaac, Jason Gotkin, and the rest of the chaplain corps. “Simply put: in seventy-two hours, the Grand Army of the Sunrise will strike its tents and march to Kassa.”
The announcement was no surprise to Isaac. The fact that Morris Roth had returned from Prague was a clear sign that a decision had been, or would be made soon, as to the Sunrise’s next move. He was a little surprised, however, at the destination. The talk about camp pertained to Bohemia’s and Transylvania’s newly declared alliance. Why, then, were they marching in a more southerly direction and not simply moving straight away into Transylvania? For that matter, why not keep moving east into Ruthenian lands to further what the Grand Army of the Sunrise was supposed to do, what Morris Roth had told Isaac in person what it was supposed to do: destroy any possibility that the Chmielnicki Pogrom could ever take root. How could that be accomplished by moving to Kassa and therefore, moving closer to Ottoman battle lines?
But all of it became clearer as Morris laid out the plan, and once he did in full, it made perfect sense. At least most of it. Isaac was no soldier, no officer. When he heard grand strategies about military movements and operations, all he could see in his mind were the number of casualties, the number of wounded, the number of corpses that such plans could produce.
Isaac was young, yes, but no fool. He understood the cost of war; he had become a military surgeon to help mitigate that cost. This move to Kassa did not appear to be overly dangerous. Naturally, whenever armies marched, there was always death. Men would die simply by accident: one of the axles on a wagon in the baggage train would snap, and in the process of fixing it, a soldier’s leg or arm would get crushed. Foolish horseplay during bivouac would end in a knife fight and someone’s throat cut. One of the Brethren’s APCs would topple into a deep ditch, injuring everyone inside and probably killing some of them. Death always happened with armies on the march. The question in Isaac’s mind as General Morris Roth laid out the plan was, where would they go next? It was the second move, after Kassa, that worried him the most.
Christian, on the other hand, stood at the table in rapt attention, listening intently as the plan was articulated. He even dared raise his hand and ask questions about which regiment might take point and lead the army into Kassa. That created a small debate about whether it should be the Joshua Corps or a cavalry regiment. There were good rationales for both options, but Morris shelved the final decision. He finished his presentation and stood back from the table.
“All right, gentlemen,” he said, “that’s the plan. Now, before I go around the table and ask each of you to give me a status report, I want to introduce you to Ellie Anderson. She and her husband, Len Tanner, will be taking command of our radio and communication network.”
Ellie stepped up to the table and waved. “Howdy!”
Everyone was cordial and either gave her a small wave, a nod, or a curt “hello,” but it was clear to Isaac that many of them were uncomfortable being in a war council with a woman. For her part, Ellie kept her cool, which was more than he ever remembered her doing in Prague.
“What’s the status of our communication network, Ellie?” Morris asked.
“A work in progress, Morris,” she said, ignoring proper military protocol. “Len and I just got here yesterday late, and unfortunately, didn’t escape Prague with as many radios as we had hoped. Your dream of seven to twelve radios per thousand men is just that. More likely, four or five per thou for now. And we’ll be starting a training program using the radio techs you have. Len and I would prefer we not move until at least the radios are distributed. But you know what they say about military movements and pissing: if you gotta go, you gotta go.”
Her frank, vulgar comment brought a few chuckles, but clearly shocked everyone else. Especially in the chaplain corps. How dare a woman speak harshly and in front of so many important men? Isaac noticed Rabbi Gotkin lower his head and force himself not to burst into laughter.
Morris moved on. “Very well. Colonel Shalit?”
Colonel Sampson Shalit was much revered among the Joshua Corps. He had been in command of the Jewish infantry that had fought against the Polish-Lithuanian Magnates, so all the men in his regiment were veterans. His opinion carried weight among the Ashkenazim. Isaac was glad to see him wearing his yarmulke.
Wish I had worn mine.
Colonel Shalit nodded. “We are ready to move, sir, though we do so without a full refit. Some of the promised ZB-1636 rifles have arrived, but not all. Many of our companies will have to make do with regular down-time muskets and equipment for now.”
“I noticed in your most recent TOO that you are sticking with roughly two hundred men per company?” Morris asked.
“Yes, sir. We don’t have enough qualified company commanders to reduce that number per your request. For now, at least. We will, in time, have a more qualified pool of officers, but we must assign the men to someone before we move. We’ll reassess the Joshua Corps’ command structure once we reach Kassa.”
Colonel Shalit turned to Ellie. “Frau Anderson, I have discussed the issue of radio coverage with Colonel Burkenfeld, and I agree with his assessment. For now, the cavalry requires more radio coverage, as it is likely that their companies will be used for reconnaissance, scouting, flanking. I will speak with you and Herr Tanner afterward about all this…with your permission, of course.”
“Of course,” Ellie said. “Let’s get this matter taken care of as soon as possible.”
“General Lange?” Morris said, moving down the table. “What’s the security situation?”
“Horrible,” he said flatly, “but improving. I’ll have provost marshals assigned to each regiment before we leave Krakow. Increasing the men’s pay, sir, has improved spirits and mood considerably.” He narrowed his eyes and glared around the room. “But it has been made clear to me that there has been some discrimination and harassment between the Ashkenazim and, specifically, the cavalry. This will not be tolerated. Is that understood?”
General von Mercy had promoted Luther Lange to major general, so he was, in effect, the third-highest ranking officer in the Sunrise.
Looking around the room, waiting for the other officers to acknowledge General Lange’s warning, Isaac could see real tension in the promotion. Lange was a favorite of von Mercy’s. They apparently went way back, even before the Ring of Fire. Lange was reported to be fair, but very harsh, and he was not above hanging a miscreant on sight.
Everyone nodded their agreement to General Lange’s warning, and Morris pressed on. “Colonel Burkenfeld? Colonel Renz? What’s the status of our cavalry?”
“The cavalry is ready to move, sir,” Colonel Burkenfeld said. “Like the infantry, our supplies are low. We are limited in our ZB-2 Santees, along with ammunition. If we were to distribute them all evenly among the companies, we’d have only two per man. We’ve decided to give those precious howdahs only to our elite companies, sir. The rest of the men will have to make do with the weapons they have. Until, of course, our resupply arrives.” He turned to Colonel Renz. “Do you concur, Colonel?”
Colonel Renz nodded. “Yes, and I would like to reinforce what Colonel Shalit has said. We suffered command losses during our tussle with the Lithuanians. Some of our companies are short-staffed. I’m having to combine companies for the time being, until I can find—”
“I’m ready to go!”
Christian’s interruption startled Isaac. It startled nearly everyone at the table.
“I’m ready to go,” Christian repeated, this time at a more respectful volume. “Colonel Renz, I’m ready to take command of my company.”
Isaac tugged at Christian’s sleeve and whispered, “Christian…hold a moment. We should discuss this.”
Christian pulled away. “No, Isaac, I’m sorry, but I’m ready to go.” He turned to Colonel Renz. “Sir, with your permission, I will take my position as captain in your regiment.”
All eyes fell upon Isaac, as if he were the one to make the final decision. But was he? Did he really have the authority to refuse Christian’s declaration? If Colonel Renz said yes, then there was nothing he could really do about it, especially in the presence of all these high-ranking officers. This was a military matter. No, in fact, it wasn’t. It was a medical decision, and it came down to a simple question: Was Captain Christian von Jori ready to assume his duties as a cavalry officer? Isaac sighed, rubbed his forehead, said, “Very well. If you wish to return to duty, then you may do so. I release you from my service.”
Colonel Renz nodded. “Very well. Captain von Jori, attend to me after this meeting, and we will discuss your reinstatement.”
There was a pause, then Morris moved on. “Colonel Makovec?”
“I’ll simply reiterate what has already been mentioned,” the Bohemian commander of the Zizka Brigade said. “We do not have sufficient weapons or ammunition. I am less concerned about additional training, General Roth, as most of my men are well-rehearsed in the art of war. But…we have commissioned two additional APCs, and they have not arrived yet.”
What that really meant was six more vehicles, two locomotives and four armored wagons. After some terminological fumbling around, the Brethren had settled on the definition of “an APC” being a locomotive and two wagons. That definition could get ragged around the edges in the field, because a locomotive could wind up pulling anywhere from one to four armored wagons.
Morris nodded. “I have spoken with the quartermaster, and he has assured me that they are en route and can be easily diverted to Kassa in order to accommodate our departure.”
Colonel Makovec shook his head. “That is not acceptable, General. I am concerned that the additional travel time to Kassa will stress the carriages to such an extent that, by the time they reach Kassa, they will be less than useful. So, we either wait for them to arrive here so that my men can take control of them to ensure their survivability of the march, or we await them in Kassa and hope for their safe arrival. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take on such delicate, and expensive, machinery. We must wait another full week before we strike out.”
Morris shook his head. “No, we can’t afford a delay. General von Mercy,” he said, turning to his second-in-command. “Any tactical concerns with leaving the Brethren here in Krakow while we move forward?”
Von Mercy considered. “Negligible, assuming we receive little resistance in Kassa. We can manage it for a few extra days.”
“Very well.” Morris turned back to Colonel Makovec. “Leave just enough crew behind to await your new APCs, but you and the rest of the Brethren will come with us. Understood?”
Colonel Makovec paused before nodding agreement. Isaac couldn’t help but smirk. Makovec was a good officer, but he bristled at being bossed around. He preferred to do the bossing, and while he was never openly insubordinate to superior officers, he did not like being put into situations where his manhood was challenged.
Isaac had heard about this from some of the nurses tending to wounded Brethren. It is amazing what men will tell women when they need mothering.
“Rabbi Gotkin,” Morris said. “How goes the chaplain corps?”
Jason Gotkin bowed humbly. “Very well, General Morris. I have tried to attend to the spiritual needs of the Joshua Corps as best as I can, but we need additional rabbis, sir, if applicable. I’m afraid that my meager support is not sufficient for the thousands in camp.”
“Understood,” Morris said. “I was unable to convince any in Prague to come with me. You’ve had no success in Kazimierz?”
Jason nodded. “Three have volunteered, but two of them are elderly, and I fear that they may not survive a long move. The third is very young, younger than me. His family, unfortunately, refuses to let him go. I’ll be speaking with his mother tomorrow. Maybe I can convince her.”
“Don’t take the boy away from his mama,” Ellie said to a fair amount of laughter. “It would break her heart.”
When the laughter died away, Jason said, “I promise I’ll be kind, Ellie. I understand their concern, but I need help. I just need to convince her that her son will be doing righteous work.”
“I’m sure they know that already, Jason,” Morris said. “Ellie’s right. Don’t force the issue. If they refuse to give him up, let it go. We’ll find you additional support in Kassa, someone not so old, or so young.”
That did not seem to put Rabbi Gotkin’s mind at ease, and Isaac wondered why Morris was being so impatient and so unwilling to offer sympathy. He stared at Morris as he had a brief, private conversation with General von Mercy. The up-timer was tired, exhausted actually. Isaac could see it on the man’s face. The weight of the world is on his shoulders.
Isaac made a mental note to recommend to Morris that he and Isaac and Jason spend some private time together in prayer. There was need for all three of them to give pause and ask God for strength.
The rest of the chaplain corps told roughly the same story as Rabbi Gotkin. They too would like more pastors and priests to cover the army. Morris made the same promises to them.
“General von Mercy,” Colonel Shalit said, raising his hand, “if I may ask you a question, sir, before we proceed?”
Von Mercy nodded. “Yes, Colonel. What is it?”
“What decision has been made about artillery distribution? How many cannon are we likely to receive?”
“The artillery will model the USE method of six guns per company,” von Mercy said, “with two companies combined to form a twelve-gun battery. For now, each regiment within the Joshua Corps will receive one battery each.” He motioned to Colonels Burkenfeld and Renz. “The cavalry will provide teams to deploy the guns as needed. When our supply of barrels and ammunition increase, the number assigned to each regiment will increase.”
Colonel Shalit nodded. “Thank you, General. That will be fine.”
Morris paused to ensure no further discussion on the matter. Then he continued. “Okay, Isaac. Your turn. How are we set for medical supplies?”
Isaac looked to Doctor Oberheuser in deferment, got a nod, then spoke. “Yes. Like everyone else, sir, some supplies are low. We need more pain medication, more sanitation equipment and PPE, but we have eight wagonloads of supplies—one of which will have to be thoroughly scrubbed before we leave”—he shot a hard glance as Christian—“and I hope to have two more wagonloads before we depart. That is no guarantee, unfortunately, but we’ll try.”
Doctor Oberheuser then gave a final assessment of medical staffing, which to Isaac’s relief, was coming along well. On the nursing and orderly side of the equation, they had plenty of women—and some men—volunteer for those positions. But his hope of having a field medic assigned to each company was not possible before Kassa, and probably not afterward either. Each regiment would have two, and they would be deployed as its commander saw fit.
In order for that system to even work, he and Doctor Oberheuser had implemented a strict triage program wherein the field medics had absolute authority to decide who was expectant (who would die) and who would be removed from the field for “priority” medical care. The walking wounded would have to deal with their own wounds and would not be admitted into the tent unless their condition worsened. And this system would be in place until the surgical staff was increased to sufficient numbers.
To that end, they had acquired two volunteer surgeons from Kazimierz. Isaac was grateful for that, but neither had any up-time medical training. They were old school, down-time physicians who could provide basic medical services only: conduct simple sutures, reset broken bones, remove a limb with assistance. Simple stuff. The rest fell on him and grumpy old Oberheuser.
A few more questions, a few follow-up answers, a few random conversations, and the council was concluded.
“Thank you, lady and gentlemen,” Morris said. “I appreciate your frank, honest assessments. But we are, as Len Tanner might say, and Ellie can attest to, one piece in a larger game of chess. An important piece, and dare I say, the most important. But there will be no delay in our departure, despite your concerns. We will deal with these supply and training deficiencies as we go along. We move to Kassa in seventy-two hours. Make your preparations. We will meet again in forty-eight for a final review. Thank you all. God bless you all.”
Isaac found Christian outside. “Couldn’t we have spoken about this, my friend, beforehand? Shouldn’t you have confided in me first before making such a snap decision?”
Christian put up his arms. “I didn’t know the chance would come up.”
“I realize that. But there was no reason to blurt it out there, in front of everyone. You could have waited for us to discuss it afterward.”
“And what would you have said?” Christian’s expression grew tense. His face reddened. “You would have said no, insisted that I stay in your service, and for how long? Days? Weeks? Months? No. I’ve got to get back in the saddle, Isaac. I’m bored. I’m restless. My place is with my men. My company.”
Isaac paused, saw the sincerity, the desperate need to return to service, in his friend’s eyes. He did not like it, but he understood it. Christian was experiencing the same call to duty that Isaac had felt on that stone bridge in Prague four years ago.
“Fine, fine,” he said, relenting. “Just promise me that you will keep the eye patch in place. Your eye is much better, but it still needs time. It’s still very sensitive to bright light. You work it too hard, you strain it, and it may get worse. Please, keep the patch on, and come to see me from time to time, so that I can check on it. I’ll tell you when you can remove it for good. Agreed?”
Christian smiled and nodded. “Agreed.”
✧ ✧ ✧
That night, after Morris examined the contents of the package Eddie had brought to him from Prague, last-minute changes in plans were made. The army would still make its departure to Kassa in seventy-two hours, but Morris himself wouldn’t be playing a direct role in the preparations. He had to fly back to Prague immediately to do something he was not at liberty to discuss. Eddie would fly him.
Since they had to make a refueling stop in Breslau anyway and the Dauntless could carry three passengers, they could drop Jeff off so that he could coordinate the effort of getting the Silesian Guard to Kassa with Eric Krenz. Jeff had considerably less than half of the guard with him in Krakow. More than a third, but probably not over forty percent. But since that portion consisted mostly of what used to be the Hangman Regiment and was comprised of the guard’s veterans, Jeff had to get them into Transylvania as soon as possible. Krenz—Colonel Krenz, now—would bring the rest from Breslau…whenever he could manage it. That was likely to be a ragged affair.
You fought a war with the army you had, not the one you wished you had.