CHAPTER 21
Go West
Royal Palace, Ufa
December 15, 1637
Bernie picked up the croissant and took a bite, then sighed in contentment. Then he had a spoonful of the excellent borscht. By now Bernie knew borscht. “This is marvelous, but why are we here?”
Alexi giggled. Bernie and Natasha had arrived on the Koshchey, Hero 4, less than an hour ago. Earlier that day they’d been in Tsaritsyn, accepting the surrender of the city by the new city government. It had taken a month and a half and the fighting in the city near the end had been brutal. None of that fighting had involved Russian or Cossack forces. After they started the bypass route, they’d simply let the city stew in their own juices while Bernie and Natasha negotiated with the Don Cossacks about whether they were going to join the Sovereign States. And even now that wasn’t solid. Colonel Denisov of the Don Cossacks wanted to join, but he was only the leader of one clan of Don Cossacks. They needed consensus, or at least a large majority of the tribes, to approve. It was a delicate and time-consuming negotiation, and one that Bernie wasn’t all that thrilled to be called away from.
Bernie gave the giggling Alexi a curious look before turning back to Czar Mikhail.
“Just another job I have for you and Natasha. We’ll talk about it after dinner.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Artemi Fedorovich Polibin tasted the croissant, sighed and took another to the czar’s pastry chef. That person had been insisting that there was nothing wrong with his croissants for the last month and a half. “Eat.”
The pastry chef ate. Not happily, but he ate. The croissant was light, airy, flaky and buttery tasting. It melted in the mouth. “How?!” he blurted.
“I don’t know, but we are going to find out,” Artemi told him.
✧ ✧ ✧
Back at the main table, Natasha and Bernie were talking over politics while the children talked over dolls and airplanes and other toys. Dessert arrived and almost reconciled Bernie to being called away from the negotiations with the Don Cossacks.
Later, after dinner, in the czar’s private office, Bernie and Natasha got to watch as Alexi and Irina showed them their route from Ufa to Grantville.
“I’m not a pilot, and neither is Natasha,” Bernie said.
“We have pilots, Bernie. We’ve been using and overusing the Heroes for months now. We have pilots, flight engineers, and complete crews. You and Natasha are going to be diplomats. You’ll be arranging things with Cossacks and others along the route to provide wood, charcoal, or, better yet, oil of some sort to run the boiler. And, of course, once you get to Grantville, you will be negotiating with Mr. Ron Stone and Princess Millicent Anne Barnes.”
“Little Milly Barnes is a princess? How the heck did that happen?”
“You know perfectly well how that happened,” Czarina Evdokia said tartly.
They both followed the doings of Grantville and Grantvillers in what Bernie called the “gossip rags.” Bernie had known Ron Stone slightly in high school. They hadn’t run in the same circles, but Bernie had given one of the Stone boys a swirly and had fallen afoul of one of the Stone kid’s pranks. Bernie honestly didn’t remember which had come first. But all that had been before the Ring of Fire. The truth was that Bernie was in Russia before any of the Grantville wealthy had become wealthy, so as much as he knew that things had changed, he didn’t feel it.
He remembered nothing about the Barbie Consortium themselves. The only thing he remembered from Grantville about HSMC was a drunken comment that it would never work, probably after they’d gotten one working. And as for the Stone Family’s prominence in medicine and chemistry, all he remembered was that he’d been pissed that the pot was reserved for sick people. The whole time from the Battle of the Crapper to his leaving for Russia was sort of a drunken haze.
“Vlad would be a better choice, Your Majesty,” Bernie said. “I don’t actually remember Millicent Anne Barnes at all, and I think that the Stoner boys are all going to hate my guts. I wasn’t a very nice teenager.”
“We’re going,” Natasha said. “I want to see the fabled walls of the Ring of Fire. And you’re not a teenager anymore. Besides, Ron Stone and the Barbies—in the person of Millicent Anne Barnes—have supported the Sovereign States from the beginning. We need that support to continue.”
“I want to see home again too, Natasha. The reason I said Vlad and Brandy would be the better choice is because they have relationships with the grown-up Ron Stone and the grown-up Barbies.”
“You’re just going to have to do your best,” Mikhail said. “In the meantime, this meeting is about how we are going to get you there. So pay attention.”
And Alexi and Irina continued the discussion of possible landing places.
“We need Colonel Denisov. He’s well known and respected.”
“You said you have planes and pilots?”
“We have five planes and eight pilots,” Czar Mikhail said. “That is, we have five Hero-class steam planes and eight pilots qualified to fly them. What do you have in mind?”
“I want to make a couple of quick trips with Colonel Denisov,” Bernie said. “To get permission and maybe ship extra fuel. It’s not like we’re short of oil here. Establish a base, maybe two or three bases, where we can land, refuel, and take off again.”
Alexi was nodding vigorously and they spent the next few minutes talking about where to put those bases.
Tsaritsyn docks
December 16, 1637
The plane had Bernie, Captain Irina Novikov and her flight engineer Gregory Petrov, and fuel. That was pretty much it. And, at the moment, not all that much fuel. Tsaritsyn was again a city involved in trade. They landed on the river with Bernie watching and trying not to get in the way, even though he was in the copilot’s seat. As they pulled up onto the shore, he saw that Colonel Denisov was there to meet them. So was Major Kalashnikov of the Sovereign States Marine Corps. Radios were wonderful things. Behind the major was a squad of Marines, their carbines neatly stacked, each of them carrying two jerry cans of fuel oil.
“Come aboard, Colonel,” Bernie said. “We’ll be more comfortable on the plane.”
✧ ✧ ✧
Gregori Denisov looked around the plane then sat in the wicker chair that Bernie indicated. “You think this will convince my fellow Cossacks to join the Sovereign States?” Gregori asked, thinking that it well might.
“Maybe a little bit,” Bernie said. “But all I’m after for right now are landing and refueling stations.”
“It uses fuel oil. Your Major Kalashnikov told me.”
“Yes, but it’s actually more flexible than that. It can use charcoal or even, in a pinch, wood.”
“And you would pay for the charcoal?”
“Of course. In ruble notes or in silver.”
They talked on while the plane was filled with fuel. First the tanks, then jerry cans were tied down against the walls of the plane.
Then they took off. They flew west-northwest for two hours and forty-five minutes and were over mostly open, lightly hilled prairie that at this time of year was coated in snow. They spotted a village, landed, and asked for directions.
The farmers, Cossacks, told them where some other villages were, but the truth was the farmers and herders of the area knew how to get to places like Port Azov. But they didn’t know the direction of Port Azov in more than a vague “it’s south of here, around a week’s travel” way.
They found a slightly larger village that had a stock pond that was plenty big enough for the Heroes to land on, even in summer. They established, as best they could, its location relative to Tsaritsyn.
They made arrangements and unloaded all the jerry cans of fuel oil, and got an agreement from the villagers to make and store charcoal for the planes. Then they flew back to Tsaritsyn. They landed as the sun was setting and the next morning they took another load of fuel to the village of Syromakha. Landed, unloaded, and flew back, then loaded up on fuel and went back to Syromakha, by which time it was too late to get back to Tsaritsyn, so they spent the night.
Syromakha air station
December 19, 1637
It was snowing the next morning and Captain Irina Novikov wasn’t going to take off until it cleared. So they spent better than half the day in Syromakha, which meant “orphan.” Bernie and Gregori Denisov spent the time with the village blacksmith, talking about charcoal and charcoal briquettes.
Finally, about two in the afternoon, it cleared enough for Captain Novikov to agree to take them back to Tsaritsyn. That established Air Station Syromakha, the first air station on the southern route to Grantville.
It took until Christmas to establish Air Station Two and it was after New Year’s before Bernie was satisfied that both air stations had adequate fuel reserves.
Diogenes Club
December 19, 1637
General Tim had been informed by Princess Irina that he just had to have the dessert pastries at the Diogenes Club. That, he could have ignored, but the suggestion was endorsed by the czar. So here he was. Duck à l’Orange, using oranges from the Ottoman Empire, was the dinner, and it was really quite good. It also cost a week’s wages for one of the privates in the army. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but the prices in the Strangers Room were ridiculous. It was getting to be time for dessert when the hostess, Alla Lyapunov, came over to him and quietly suggested that he have dessert in one of the private rooms. “It’s quieter there.”
He got up and followed her into a hall and down it to a room that was equipped with a table. And at that table sat Ivan Borisovich Petrov.
Tim spent the rest of the evening listening to the plans. Then he had a thought. “You need me to be in the target zone, at least close enough to it so that the failure will be seen as chance, not a leak or false intelligence.”
“I don’t think Czar Mikhail will approve of you being risked,” Ivan Borisovich said.
“Well then, it’s fortunate that this is a purely military decision,” Tim said.
“Ah, General . . . ” Ivan started.
“If you feel you need to report this conversation to the czar, go ahead,” Tim said. “In the meantime, we will plan this with me in theater and in such a way that General Birkin and his staff have every reason to believe that they can catch me. And when they fail, it will look like bad luck.” Tim grinned. “It won’t be that hard or all that risky. Birkin knows as well as I do that luck plays a major role in the outcome of any battle.”
They got down to cases and Alla listened as General Tim and Ivan Borisovich planned how they would put the general in a place to be ambushed. Kazan was on the northeast side of the Volga as it bent from flowing east to south. Kruglaya Mountain was on the southwest, a few miles upriver from Kazan. Birkingrad was located just west of Kazan, but on the same side of the Volga as Kazan.
“What we’ll do,” Tim said, drawing on Alla’s table with his finger, which was wet from condensation from a cold beer, “is send me up the west side of the Volga on one of the Scouts to scout the northwest of Birkingrad. As though I was considering a counter-encirclement, using Kruglaya Mountain as one end of a half circle of defensive works that would extend on the north side of the Volga across from Kruglaya to Kazan.”
“Would that work?” Alla asked.
“No, not really. The problem is it would take too long . . . ” Tim trailed off. “I’d forgotten about Ivan’s war train. It just might. And as soon as you leak what I’m doing, Birkin will remember Ivan’s war train. He’ll . . . ” Tim stopped talking and leaned back and just stared at the lines of condensate between the plates on the table. Then he slowly whistled. “No, it still won’t work, but it’s a credible threat, not just me being stupid and arrogant.”
Alla looked at the lines and plates and could almost see them matching the maps of the area that she was familiar with, but had no clue at all about what General Lebedev was talking about. She looked at Ivan, and at first he seemed as confused as she was, then he started to stare intently at the table. “Will someone tell me what you two are staring at?”
“Well, Ivan,” General Lebedev asked, “do you want to explain it to her?”
“I would, General, but as I look at this, it should work,” Ivan said. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”
“The friction of war that Clausewitz was so concerned about,” General Tim said.
“Clausewitz? I remember his famous quote. ‘Everything in war is very simple, but the simplest thing is difficult,’ and I can see that this will be difficult even with the war train. But—”
“You didn’t finish the quote,” said General Lebedev, and he didn’t look or sound like a boy general as he spoke. He sounded like an old and hard man, the sort you didn’t want to meet in a dark alley or, especially, on a battlefield. “The rest of the quote goes, ‘The difficulties accumulate and end by producing a kind of friction that is inconceivable unless one has experienced war.’ It’s not one difficulty, Ivan. It’s the accumulation of difficulties. Way too many nails that might fall from way too many horseshoes. And while it was happening, Ivan would be exposed and so would my army.” General Tim sighed and shook his head, and he was the boy general again, open faced and friendly, regretting that a move on a chessboard wasn’t as clever as it first looked. “It’s tempting. If everything broke just right.” Then he actually grinned. “Tempting enough so that when Birkin misses me, it will push him. Maybe even push him into a mistake. In the meantime, Ivan, include in your report that in my view, it is important that Birkin knows that I have seen the ground. Meanwhile, I need to call Ivan Maslov home, because that’s what I’d do if this were real.”
He stood, bowed to Alla, and left.
Outside Almaliq
December 20, 1637
The war train had a busted axle on the third car back from the engine. Almaliq, before the sack, had been a larger city than Almaty. After the defeat the Zunghars had faced at the pass, the coalition that was the Zunghars had started to fragment, but a group mostly consisting of Derbet tribesmen had decided to hold Almaliq.
When they got the news of the defeat, they figured the coalition was over. But they also figured they were in a defensible position, and as long as they forted up rather than fight the Russians in the open, they would be able to make it too expensive for the Kazaks or even the Russians to take Almaliq back. That way they would get something out of the mess that Erdeni Batur had led them into. Their chieftain was a descendant of Genghis Khan and figured that it was the mongrel’s bad blood that was the real problem.
And, so far, that was proving true. Not because the leader was all that good, but just because the luck seemed to have turned against them for the moment. Ivan wasn’t one to raise on a busted flush, not if he had any choice, and he did.
All he had to do was wait for the axle to be repaired and move the train into position to knock down Almaliq’s walls with his cannon. They weren’t heavy guns, but they were plenty heavy enough for this.
It was while he was ruminating over this that the Hero-class Yuri Gagarin radioed the train that they had a message from Ufa and were landing.
✧ ✧ ✧
Leonid Volodin jumped down from the Yuri’s lower wing. The ground was rocky and frozen, and his pilot’s uniform was fur lined. He saluted. “General, there are orders here,” he said, holding out a folded and wax-sealed sheet. The orders had been sent by radio telegraph as far as the telegraphs went, then flown the rest of the way so the seal was just the military message seal. Ivan opened it to see code groups, rather than a message. The key in the upper right corner of the page told him which code module to use.
“Okay, Captain. Have the cook fix you something. You’re going to have to wait for me to decode this.” Ivan looked over at the Yuri. “You might spend the time replacing that panel.” He pointed to where one of the panels of the air cushion skirt had been ripped by a rock on landing.
✧ ✧ ✧
It took only about five minutes to key in the message and attach the right decoder module.
COME HOME. WE HAVE A NEW GAME. HIGH STAKES LIKE THAT ONE AGAINST ANDY POVOLOV.
Andrei Petrovich Povolov was the younger son of a mainline branch of a boyar-ranked family who was killed at Rzhev in the cavalry charge. Before that, he’d been in the academy with Tim and Ivan and had bet fifty rubles on one of the war games Ivan had managed to convince him that Tim was screwing up by the numbers. Made it seem that Tim was gambling on his doing one thing when it didn’t actually matter. So this had to be a ruse of some sort, but one thing was clear: Tim wanted him back in Ufa ASAP.
That was going to be a little complicated. This was an allied army. There were more Kazakh cavalry than there were Russian troops by a factor of ten, but the Russian troops actually had more striking capability than the Kazakh cavalry did. Or at least, they would once the axle was fixed.
“I’m going to need to speak to Salqam-Jangir Khan. In the meantime,” Ivan got up, “call Colonel Vershinin and Sultan Togym.”
Salqam-Jangir Khan had left Togym in charge of the Kazakh contingent when he’d been called back to Shavgar. Togym was learning about the modern army. He was also an older man whom the Kazakhs would be more comfortable with than they were with Ivan. Ivan’s only concern about the man was that he might rush in to prove his bravery.
✧ ✧ ✧
Colonel Lavrenty Vershinin and Sultan Togym arrived at the same time. They had both been overseeing the work on the axle.
Lavrenty knew the train. Togym knew the local craftsmen and their abilities. This was also not an altogether new issue among the Kazakhs. They used huge wheeled yurts when following their herds. The two men were arguing amiably about the best way to fix the wheel as they came in. Lavrenty Vershinin had ten years on Ivan. Togym had three times that.
“If you could put that aside for a moment, gentlemen, I need to consult with Salqam-Jangir Khan, then report back to Ufa.”
The amiability of a moment before was absent as the two men looked at each other. “Sultan Togym will be the expedition commander until I get back, Salqam-Jangir Khan arrives, or you get new orders. It will probably be Salqam-Jangir Khan.”
“What’s going on, sir?” Lavrenty demanded.
Ivan considered for a moment, then handed him the dispatch.
He read it quickly and looked up. “What the hell does this mean?”
“If I recall the game in question,” Ivan said, “Birkin is about to have a really bad year.”
Togym cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the strip of paper tape. At Ivan’s nod, Lavrenty passed it over.
“How is this going to work?” Togym demanded, then he smiled. “And I thought you were the clever one!”
“We take turns, Togym. Now, Lavrenty, if you don’t mind, I have a few things to talk over with Sultan Togym before I leave.”
Lavrenty left rather stiffly.
“Have a seat, Sultan. You know the politics involved here, I’m sure.”
“Rather better than you do, General Maslov,” Togym said, taking the offered chair. “Your czar can’t allow federal forces to be seen as under the command of state forces.”
“He’s your czar too, Togym,” Ivan said. “But aside from that, you’re correct.”
“Is he? Then why doesn’t he trust me in command of his forces? It’s not like Colonel Vershinin attended your famous war college.”
That was, Ivan realized, a very good point. And a solution to about half of Ivan’s problem if he could get Salqam-Jangir Khan and Czar Mikhail to agree. But only half the problem. “Sultan, there is another problem. It’s not a political problem. It’s . . . ” Ivan wasn’t sure how to put it. The truth was, he didn’t want Togym to do anything. As long as he just sat here and fixed the damn wheel, they were in grand shape. They’d won the war. It was just going to take the other side a while to realize it. But that didn’t mean that if Togym did something stupid he might not lose.
“Just say it, General,” Togym said.
“All right. The thing that concerns me is that you will decide you need to prove to the world, to Salqam-Jangir Khan, or even to yourself, that you can command a modern army as well or better than some jumped-up child, and do something unnecessary to prove you can. If that happens you could waste this army, these men, and leave a mess for me to clean up. And if you do the smart thing, sit out here, fix the wheel, people are going to think you’re afraid to command a modern army.
“But that is the smart move, Togym. It’s what I was planning to do.”
Togym looked at him for a long moment, then he slowly grinned and then laughed. “Do mention your concerns to Salqam-Jangir Khan. He will no doubt reassure you that I’m a timid old man.” There was humor, but also bitterness, in that last.
“I know, and that’s half the reason I’m concerned,” Ivan said. “I’ve examined the battle of Ufa and that first day’s charge. And given what you knew, your reaction was perfectly correct.” That was about half true. On Irina Way, in those first few minutes. A charge probably would have carried the day. But there was no way for Togym to have known that.
“Really, you don’t think a forceful attack would—”
“I said ‘given what you knew,’” Ivan said. “You were faced with unknown numbers and unknown weapons. What concerns me most is that you will, if faced with another situation of such unknowns, remember that day and say to yourself, ‘If I’d just attacked, I could have won the battle and the Kazakh people would own Ufa rather than being part of the Sovereign States.’”
Togym looked at Ivan, and after a moment he said, “You know the most irritating thing about you, General Ivan Maslov?”
“No. What’s that?”
“It’s that I am starting to think you might actually be as good as people say you are.”
“Nobody’s that good,” Ivan said with a half-smile of his own. “On my own authority, I am giving you the acting rank of brigadier general in the army of the United Sovereign States of Russia. I will be asking Salqam-Jangir Khan’s approval and Czar Mikhail to confirm it.”
“You’re only a brigadier yourself. Do you have the authority to do that?”
“I rather doubt it,” Ivan agreed. Then he stood, and so did Togym. He shook the older man’s hand and went to catch the plane.
Almaty
December 20, 1637
The sun was setting as they landed in Almaty. Ivan used the radio in the plane to send radio telegrams to Salqam-Jangir Khan and Czar Mikhail telling them what he’d done, and asking them to confirm it.
He got back messages the next morning confirming the promotion of Togym to brigadier and making him okol’nichii. Then he got on the Yuri and started the trip back to Ufa.