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Chapter 61

Central battle line


Brigadier Higgins watched the airship slip through the clouds, heading north. If he had a good up-time sniper rifle, one like Julie Sims carried, he’d put it to good use and bring the mother down. Cause it a lot of trouble, at least.

The airship was using said clouds to screen its movements. Like using smoke to block line of sight on the battlefield. Jeff nodded, impressed. Whoever was piloting that thing knew what they were doing.

Colonel Makovec of the Brethren appeared at his side. “Brigadier, Tuva has just reported difficult times for the Joshua Corps. They are being pushed hard.”

Jeff nodded. “Perhaps we should throw your APCs into that fight.”

Colonel Makovec shook his head. “I do not believe that they would get there in time to make much difference, if what Fräulein Tuva says is true. Sending footmen would be more appropriate. Faster, too. Perhaps a regiment of your Silesians would suffice?”

Jeff stared at the Brethren colonel. Makovec was a closed book, nothing but a rigid, dirty chin sharp with gray stubble and scars. He couldn’t tell whether the man was being prudent or cowardly. More likely the former, although Jeff wondered if the man wasn’t a bit apprehensive in putting his untried APCs into the fray for fear of failure. As per the plan, Makovec had already committed one of his regiments to Captain Guth’s defense of the center, so it wasn’t as if the man balked at a good fight. But, your APCs will commit one way or the other, Colonel, Jeff thought. Why not now?

“Any word from the north?” Jeff asked. “Where’s General Renz?”

“As far as I know,” Colonel Makovec said, “he is moving there to deal with the Moldavians. They, too, are pushing hard. The general is most concerned.”

Jeff grunted into a half burp, tasting his breakfast. He cleared his throat. “Squeezed like a grape. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“No, sir.”

“The center’s going to pop.”

In truth, he and Morris had hoped that, by keeping the center relatively weak, both the Wallachians and Moldavians would seize the opportunity and divert more forces there, thus alleviating the pressure in the north and south. Such hope had yet to materialize, and Jeff was beginning to think that perhaps it never would. Perhaps it was a mistake not to send his men and the Brethren right into the fight, especially his Silesians. The enemy’s superior numbers at the focal points of the battle were beginning to have a serious effect. Well, he thought, at least we’re three armies to two. He scratched his chin. Hmm…like in The Hobbit. The Battle of Five Armies. I wonder if Hollywood ever made a movie of that book.

Jeff cleared his throat again. “I want to get more information before I commit anywhere. I don’t want to send my men south, then hear that the north has collapsed. Or vice versa. But I agree with you, Colonel Makovec. We should at least get the men up and ready to move…in one direction or another.”


Northern battle line


Christian could not believe what he was hearing. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said to General Hatmanu. “The Moldavians are withdrawing?”

Hatmanu nodded. “It would appear so.” He adjusted the map laying open on a makeshift table constructed of empty wooden supply boxes. The wind was up, the tent they were in was flimsy, so his assistants held the corners down lest the map blow away. Hatmanu ran his finger across the sketched-in battle line. “Withdrawing along this line here.”

Christian studied the map, muscling his way in between Colonel Callenberk and Kinsky who seemed, rightfully so, put out by this abrupt order to waste time with a tent discussion.

The battlefield that their men were fighting on was relatively flat, given the nature of the Transylvanian landscape. The flattest that Christian had so far experienced. The battle line that General Hatmanu was pointing at lay on the left flank. Székely forces were fighting hard along that line.

“That makes no sense to me, General,” Colonel Callenberk said. “The Moldavians are in a good position, with strong interior lines. Why would they retreat?”

Hatmanu shrugged. “I cannot say. Nevertheless, they are. And we must exploit that foolish decision.”

Callenberk nodded. “If they are indeed retreating, then I agree. We should attack immediately.”

As they discussed a plan, Christian remained silent. He studied the map, the terrain that, if accurate, concerned him greatly. Finally, he broke his silence. “Sirs, if I may?”

The tent grew silent as all turned their attention to Christian. “You have something to add, Captain?” General Hatmanu asked.

“Yes, sir.” He moved his finger from the Székely battle line and down a road leading north between two wooded hills. “This is where the Moldavian retreat will likely lead your men, General. Right between these two wooded hills. If they get riflemen into those hills, it’ll be—oh, what do the up-timers call it?—a turkey shoot. I think this drawback is a ruse, sir, to get us to follow them here.” He pointed at the map again. “I recommend that we not give chase, and instead, hold the line. After all, it is their charge to attack us. Not the other way around.”

Hatmanu huffed. A slim, derisive smile crossed his mouth as he shot a glance at Colonel Callenberk. “It would appear, Colonel, that one of your officers has seen enough battle for the day. I never thought I’d hear a cavalry officer call for defensive battle over pursuit.”

Kinsky jumped in. “Sirs, if I may?”

Hatmanu paused, sighed, then nodded.

“I’m the first one to always agree with attacking. But, in this particular case, I agree with Captain von Jori. We saw this in Déj. On a smaller scale, admittedly, but a similar tactic, when the Impalers set up an ambush on a wooded hillside and cut to pieces scouts from Neuneck’s company. If Captain von Jori is correct, you’ll be cut to pieces in a crossfire.”

If he is correct,” Hatmanu said. He turned to his aide-de-camp. “Any indication from our scouts that the Moldavians have moved into those wooded hills?”

“No, sir,” the aide said.

“Any word from our aerial reconnaissance to that effect?”

“No, sir.”

“General,” Christian said, trying to contain his impatience. “Those hills are heavy with trees. The Dixie Chick can see a lot from the sky, but not everything. Denise cannot see through the canopy.”

“Then all we have is just yours and Captain Kinsky’s speculation and—how do you say it—hunch?” Hatmanu shook his head. “No. This is an opportunity to beat these people once and for all. If we can force a full retreat and swing around behind their central and right lines, then we can destroy the Moldavian army. I made a promise to Princess Lorántffy to defend the capital, to avenge the death of Prince Rákóczi. I owe that to my country and to my countrymen.”

Hatmanu turned to Colonel Callenberk. “Sir, will you assign at least three companies to my advance?”

“Marius,” Christian said, discarding proper military protocol, “I implore you to reconsider. I’m telling you now, officer to officer: this is a trap. There is absolutely no good reason for them to withdraw their left line at this time. They are doing it to pull you into a dangerous salient and then pick you apart.”

Hatmanu ignored Christian’s final warning. “Colonel Callenberk? Will you assist in this attack?”

“Yes, I will,” the regimental commander said, glaring at his two captains. “You will have Truckmuller, Horst, and Hanau. They will lead the attack.”

Hatmanu nodded. “Very good. That is all, gentlemen. You may return to your—”

“Sir,” Christian blurted, his anger a slow boil under the surface, “if you refuse to take my and Captain Kinsky’s counsel on the matter, then why were we summoned?”

Hatmanu closed his eyes to slits. “Because I wanted to see if you would volunteer to lead the charge. I wanted to see if you were…man enough to do it. I was wrong. And so, since you are not the man I thought you might be, then my order to you, Captain, is to return to your command and maintain good order on the right flank. And see to it that they do not, as you say, turn around and enclose my advancing men into a slaughter pen.” He moved around the makeshift table to stand in front of Christian. “Can you do that, Captain? Can you and Kinsky and all the other company commanders do that much? Or have you and your Sunrise come to Transylvania simply to loot and exploit its people?”

Christian fought the urge to draw his sword. He’d make short work of this little cretin, and who would blame him? He then thought of Andreea and his hand stilled. Sweet Andreea. She deserved a better husband, a better man, for sure, but not a dead one. At least not at the end of Christian’s sword.

“Can you do your duty, Captain?”

Christian swallowed his anger and forced himself to nod. “Yes, sir. I will.”


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