1634: The Bavarian Crisis

Chapter 57

Distrahere Dolor Tale Dulcis

Bavaria, between Neuberg and Bavaria

General Franz von Mercy leaned forward in his saddle, squinting at the enemy forces that had just come in sight on the road ahead. "That looks…"

His subordinate, Colonel Johann von Werth, finished the sentence. "Like the new light artillery the Swedes used at Ahrensbok. Yes, sir, I agree. The ones that are said to have devastated the comte de Guebriant's cavalry charge."

Von Werth's head swiveled from side to side, assessing the terrain with an experienced soldier's eye. "And this ground is as bad as you could ask for. The river hemming us in on the right, those woods on our left. No room for cavalry to maneuver, and a good field of fire for artillery on the defense."

Facing them from the other direction, also squinting into the distance, were two young officers of the USE's flying artillery regiment.

"What do you think, Thorsten?" asked Lieutenant Markus Reschly.

The lieutenant next to him made a face. "Well, we certainly aren't going to charge them. Not with only four out of six batteries."

He swiveled in his saddle, looking back down the road. The last two batteries of their company had encountered problems with broken equipment. Their commanding officer, Captain Carl Witty, had stayed behind to deal with the matter while he sent the other four batteries ahead under the command of his two lieutenants.

Thorsten didn't really expect the other batteries to arrive within less than an hour. As fast as the flying artillery had been moving since the assault across the Danube began, they'd outpaced their supply train. It wasn't likely that Witty and his handful of artificers would find wheels and axles that fit the gun carriages in any of the nearby Bavarian villages-and even less likely they'd find a blacksmith. The villages were completely deserted. No civilians in their right mind wanted to remain in an area about to be turned into a battleground. Or anywhere in the vicinity of an army-enemy or "friendly," it hardly mattered-that was on campaign.

Lieutenant Reschly grunted humorlessly. "I wouldn't be any too keen on charging them even if we did have a full company. That'd be playing cavalrymen at their own game, I think. No, better we just take defensive positions across the road and keep that Bavarian cavalry pinned down, until we get reinforcements."

Thorsten wasn't about to argue the point. Certainly none of the battery's sergeants would, either. Those non-coms, with the experience of the Baltic campaign under their belts, already had the guns spreading out and setting up to cover the entire field.

"Right you are," he said. "We'll just wait and see what the Bavarians decide to do."

From the set expression on his face, Colonel von Werth knew his commander had decided that, bad as the tactical situation might be, they simply had no choice. They had to break that artillery, before the noose could close any further around Ingolstadt. No matter how severe their own casualties.

"I don't believe we have any choice," said General von Mercy. "Colonel, I'd appreciate it if-"

He broke off, hearing the sound of a horse galloping up from behind them. Swiveling in their saddles, the two officers saw a courier racing up.

"General! General von Mercy!" The courier was waving his hand in a vigorous manner. Almost a frantic one, even.

"We may as well wait until we see what this is about," said von Mercy.

A few seconds later, the courier drew up next to them. "Ingolstadt is taken," he said, half-gasping the words. "Given up, rather. That stinking traitor Cratz von Scharffenstein surrendered it to Baner not more than an hour ago."

Von Mercy set his jaws grimly. Von Werth leaned over his saddle. "You're certain?" he demanded of the courier. "No possibility this is just a rumor?"

The man had his breath back. "It's certain, Colonel. I was there myself when it happened. If I hadn't been warned by a friend in the garrison-those bastards didn't raise so much as a peep of protest-I'd have been caught by the Swedes pouring in. As it was, I just managed to escape in time to bring you the news."

Von Werth nodded; then, looked at von Mercy. Seeing the expression on the general's face, the colonel turned back to the courier and pointed a bit off to the side.

"Your horse will need water. There's a stream over there."

Once the courier was gone, von Werth turned his eyes back to von Mercy. By now, the two officers were quite good friends, as well as soldiers who trusted each other in professional terms-and this was now, clearly enough, a matter between friends.

"What are you thinking, Franz?" Von Werth's lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "Aside from the obvious fact that we will not be charging the enemy, after all."

The general's expression was every bit as sardonic. "To say the least. Our soldiers are now our sole asset. Yours and mine, I mean-and fuck Bavaria."

Von Werth drew in a long, slow breath. By the standards of the war, he and Franz von Mercy had both been somewhat unusual-in terms of being loyal to their employers, even more than their skill. It was not a reputation that von Werth wanted to give up lightly.

"You really think Maximilian…?"

"Don't fool yourself, Johann. The duke's behaving insanely. It doesn't matter that Cratz von Scharffenstein betrayed Ingolstadt to the enemy, not us. You can bet everything you own that Cratz will no longer be within the duke of Bavaria's grasp. Which leaves you and me-the two most prominent officers left who were encharged with defending Ingolstadt. Maximilian will have our heads off within a day after we get hauled into Munich."

Von Werth didn't really doubt von Mercy's assessment. The arrest and execution of young Horwarth-so transparently innocent of the charges against him-was enough to prove that Maximilian's fury was insensate, no matter how cold it might seem.

He pursed his lips. "You realize that if we flee, he'll strip us of all our possessions."

Von Mercy shrugged. "True. The ones in Bavaria, at least. Which, granted, is most of what either of us owns. But"-here he tossed his head back, indicating the large force of cavalrymen behind them-"we still have our most precious asset, as professional soldiers. Our men."

Von Werth glanced back. "An even split, more or less? That's what it will be, if you allow me to keep the companies I raised." Honesty compelled him to add: "Well… I'd actually have a bit more than half, I think."

His friend smiled. "You'll need them, if I'm guessing right. Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar is a friend of yours. I presume that's where you'll go, yes?"

Von Werth nodded.

"Then you have a tougher road ahead of you than I do," said von Mercy. "You'll have to skirt the Swede's forces in Swabia as well as the Bavarians. But… in this chaos, I think you'll manage. Take the troops with my blessing, Johann."

His friend and subordinate cocked his head slightly. "And you? I'm sure the Swede would hire you."

Von Mercy grimaced. "I don't think I'm quite cold-blooded enough to actually switch sides in the middle of a war. Besides, it could be awkward. I might run into Cratz von Scharffenstein over there-and it would be hard not to shoot the swine down."

"Vienna, then."

The general nodded. "That's what I was thinking. I've met young Ferdinand, who looks to be inheriting the Austrian throne before too long. I think he'll hire me, especially if I bring a sizeable body of cavalrymen with me. And from here to Austria is an easy enough march. Even if I run into some Bavarian troops, I should be able to bluff my way through."

That was it, then. There was no time to dally. Von Werth leaned over and extended his hand. "It has been a pleasure to serve under you, Franz. Hopefully, some day we may serve together again."

There was no point in adding that, given the nature of the war that had engulfed Europe for the past sixteen years, it was just as likely that someday they'd find themselves on opposite sides of a battlefield. Such was the nature of a professional soldier's trade.

The two men shook hands. Then, began trotting their horses toward their cavalrymen, shouting orders as they went.

They'd get no quarrel from the troops, of course. First, because their soldiers were mercenaries also, and went wherever their paymasters told them to go. And, secondly, because any mercenary is delighted to learn that he'll be going away from a battle, thank you very much.

"What are they doing?" demanded Mark Reschly. "Their maneuvers make no sense."

Thorsten Engler hesitated for a few seconds, before answering. "I think they're retreating."

"But… why?" The young lieutenant from the Moselle was frowning. "I can understand why they'd decide not to charge us. But they ought to be setting up their own defensive lines, then. Keep us from moving on to Ingolstadt."

Engler shrugged. "Maybe they know something we don't."

"Could they… be planning to move away and come back on our flank?"

"Possibly. But with these woods-not to mention all the marshland-that'd take them a while. By then, we'll have reinforcements. Not just Captain Witty and the two batteries, either. Within two hours, the whole regiment should be here, along with at least one of the infantry regiments."

He spotted one of the sergeants giving them a quizzical look. Thorsten waved his hand, trying to make the gesture seem as relaxed as possible.

"Just keep having the men dig in!" he shouted. "We're not going anywhere for a while."

Ingolstadt

Erik Haakansson Hand didn't think he'd ever seen Johan Baner in such a jolly mood. The Swedish general was practically prancing in the headquarters of the fortress he'd just captured.

"Ha! Ha! Taken without a single one of those CoC assholes within ten miles of the place! And those useless oh-so-precious world's-best-siege-guns and those fucking snotty up-timers can kiss my rosy Swedish ass! They're still mired somewhere in Franconia!"

None of it could be denied, of course. True, seizing a fortress by suborning a treacherous garrison commander was hardly what anyone besotted of martial myths would consider a splendid feat of arms. But neither Gustav Adolf nor any of his top officers were prone to such nonsense, anyway. It was just a fact, attested to by the long history of warfare, that most sieges were won by that method.

For a certainty, none of General Baner's own troops would begrudge him the honor of having seized Ingolstadt without needing reinforcements. They'd been able to march into the city through its own open gates, without a drop of blood spilt in the process. A good portion of them were already guzzling beer in the taverns and eyeing the waitresses.

The waitresses and tavern-keepers wouldn't even be too worried about the situation, themselves. Troops who captured a city without a fight were usually in a decent enough mood, and not prone to atrocities. Not so long as they remained sober, at least-and by the time they started getting drunk, Baner would have military police units in place. The general was a shithead, sure enough, but he was a competent one. He'd not want Ingolstadt to become a problem instead of an asset.

So, it was time to do the honors, and no stinting. "My congratulations on a splendid triumph, General Baner," said Colonel Hand, bowing.

Baner eyed him intently.

Hand managed not to smile. "I shall send a despatch to my cousin Gustav immediately, informing him of your success. The king and emperor will be most gratified."

Baner grinned. "Have a drink first! It's dry work, writing long despatches."

Hand planned the despatch to consist of not more than two sentences. Three, at most. What more was needed?

But a beer sounded good, actually.

A bit later, halfway through his first mug, the grin that seemed fixed onto Baner's face thinned a little. Not much.

"Only problem now is that I've got to figure out what to do with that fuckhead Cratz von Scharffenstein. He insisted on a job, the greedy swine, as well as a bribe. Don't suppose you'd want him?"

"For what?" Colonel Hand shook his head. "I really don't have much in the way of a military retinue, you know. My cousin mostly uses me for… ah…"

This could get a bit delicate.

"Special assignments." Hopefully, Baner was too full of his jolly self at the moment to press for details. Special assignments like keeping a watch on intemperate and overly-ambitious generals, for instance.

"Too bad." Baner took another swig. "I'd love to fob him off onto Torstensson, but he's a canny one. Maybe Horn will take him."

Hand shrugged. "I really can't see where it's a big problem, Johan. If you'd like, I can add a sentence or two to my despatch, asking the emperor if he has a garrison command available somewhere."

"Better make it somewhere far away from any possible action," sneered Baner. "The treacherous louse."

Hand smiled. "Oh, I'm sure there's something. The garrison at Stralsund, perhaps. He can study the glorious waters of the Baltic all day, keeping an eye out for fish with evil ambitions."

Somewhere in Franconia

Major Tom Simpson and Lt. Commander Eddie Cantrell studied the radio message that their commander Colonel Schmidt had just passed over to them. They were standing just outside the tent that the radio operator had set up for the night.

"Well, fuck. I guess it's Basel after all."

Eddie kept studying the message; as if, by some magic brought on by intense scrutiny, the contents might change. Tom looked up and glowered at the artillery train. The great, huge, heavy, ponderous, unwieldy, break-your-back-before-breakfast-and-rupture-you-by-lunch artillery train.

"Fuck," he repeated. "It seemed like a good idea, a couple of months and a few hundred miles ago."

Schmidt shrugged. "It's the nature of war, that's all. Most of what a soldier does winds up being a waste of time and effort, in the end."

"Please, Heinrich. Don't go all philosophical on me."

"Don't be silly. That's just common sense. It stands to reason that most of war is a useless waste, since it's a wasteful business to begin with. 'Philosophy' is that mess you fall into when you try to come up with a logical reason for war in the first place."

"I said. Cut it out. All I know is that by the time I see my globe-trotting mother again, I'm likely to be smaller than I was when she brought me into the world. More wrinkled, too, and squalling worse than I did then. All squished down by unending toil and wailing from endless trauma."

"Now you're being ridiculous. I'm sure you'll be no smaller than you were at the age of ten. True, you'll be wrinkled. True also, you'll be sobbing like a babe."

He retrieved the message from Eddie and stooped to enter the radio tent. "I shall inform our esteemed sustainers-oh, so very far away from here-that we shall be off to Basel on the morrow."

"Moving as fast as we can't," muttered Eddie.

"Well, fuck," said Tom.

Army camp on the Danube, west of Ingolstadt

"What do you mean, they won't let us into the city?" demanded Eric Krenz. The gunnery sergeant's face was filled with outrage. He flung his arms wide. "They couldn't have taken it without us!"

Mildly, Lieutenant Thorsten Engler replied: "Actually, we didn't fire so much as a shot, Eric."

"Well, sure. That's because those gutless Bavarians were terrified, the moment they heard we were coming. I'm telling you, Thorsten, without us that fat Swedish bastard would still be on the outside looking in."

"That's as may be," said Engler. "But legitimate offspring or otherwise, Baner's in command-and he insists there aren't enough billets in Ingolstadt for us. So here we camp, until we get new orders. Just the way it is."

"Well, fuck," said Krenz.

Munich

It was touch and go, for a few days, but eventually Richel decided he'd escaped the headsman's ax.

Probably.

Duke Maximilian was in a cold rage, and much of his fury was being leveled on the man who'd wormed his way into being the duke's new principal adviser by arguing for a hard line on every question. No proposed execution had failed to gain Richel's immediate support. Many of them he'd proposed himself, in fact.

But…

Even Maximilian had to finally recognize the new reality he faced. He'd severed his ties with Austria, lost Ingolstadt, and had just seen his two best cavalry commanders abandon him for other service. Not even the iron duke of Bavaria could afford to keep executing everyone around him who incurred his displeasure.

Not any more. Not with the Swede's troops pouring across the Danube and a peasant rebellion spreading through the southern districts of the duchy.

Richel had no idea how to handle the first problem. But he had an instant solution for the second.

Behead the peasant ringleaders, of course.

However, it would be prudent not to raise that proposal for another few days, he thought. Any reference to the headsman was probably not a good idea still, around Maximilian.