Ring of Fire III

Chapter 10

The next morning, Captain Johann Heinrich von Haslang wasn’t any happier than he’d been the night before. If anything, his misgivings about the campaign were growing.

There were a number of things troubling him. To begin with, as he’d foreseen, there would be no serious effort made to track down the culprits who had caused the failure of the expedition to capture the airship. When he’d reported his findings to von Lintelo, the general had shrugged irritably and said, “These things happen when a city is taken. Assign a reliable sergeant to see what he can find out. I have more important work for you.”

Assign a reliable sergeant was a meaningless phrase, applied to this task. What was one sergeant supposed to do? If he wasn’t from the same mercenary company as the perpetrators, he would have no idea where to start his investigation. If he was from that company, acting essentially on his own, he’d be too wary of stirring up animosity toward himself to do anything but a perfunctory investigation.

So, not only would a vicious crime go unpunished, but the discipline of the troops would degenerate still further. But there was nothing Captain von Haslang could do about it, so he put the matter aside and concentrated on the new orders he was getting from the general.

Those were…also not to his liking.

The one pleasant note was that he would be working under the command of Colonel von Schnetter again. He and Caspar were old friends, and got along well professionally as well as personally. So far as von Haslang was concerned, Colonel von Schnetter was the best field grade officer in General von Lintelo’s whole army.

The assignment itself was straightforward, too-always a blessing in military campaigns led by generals like von Lintelo, who thought of themselves as superb military strategists. In Johann Heinrich’s experience, the phrase superb military strategist meant a general whose plans were invariably too complex and intricate and made too little allowance for the predictably unpredictable mishaps that all military campaigns were subject to. There might be some exceptions to that rule, but the Bavarian commander was not one of them.

On this occasion, however, the mission was clear and simple: Pursue the USE forces that had escaped the city, presumably under the command of Major Tom Simpson, and either capture or destroy them.

So far, so good. But thereafter, everything turned sour.

The first problem was that von Lintelo was not giving them a large enough force to do the job properly. All told, they’d have fifteen hundred men to overcome an enemy force that was probably no more than a third that size-but consisted mostly of artillery. Well-equipped artillery, at that. Two of Colonel von Schnetter’s adjutants had investigated the barracks and reported that Simpson’s artillery unit had taken all of their six-pounders and four-pounders with them, along with plenty of powder and shot. They’d spiked the heavier ordinance and done a surprisingly good job of damaging the rest of their supplies before they left.

They’d have done a still better job if they’d simply blown up the barracks, of course. Presumably, they hadn’t done so because Simpson was reluctant to inflict casualties on the nearby civilian population. Many officers might-no, certainly would-interpret that as weakness on Simpson’s part. They’d think he was either a pewling neophyte or just too tenderhearted to make war his business.

But Captain von Haslang suspected otherwise. That act of merciful restraint was also what you’d expect from an opponent who was coldly determined to recapture the city someday-and quite confident that he would. The American major’s ability to rally his troops so quickly and effectively and lead a successful retreat-one of the most difficult maneuvers of all in war-certainly did not indicate a fumbling, uncertain novice.

Such a commander wouldn’t panic, when pursuit caught up with him. He’d position his men behind good fieldworks and take a stand. With the guns he had, he’d inflict a lot of damage on his enemy before he was driven under.

To make things still worse, most of the companies von Lintelo had assigned to them were infantry companies!

For a pursuit? In Captain von Haslang’s professional opinion, that practically constituted criminal negligence.

Initially, in fact, von Lintelo had assigned them nothing but infantry units. After Colonel von Schnetter protested vigorously, the general had at least given them an explanation-which was unusual for him.

“I need all the cavalry I can muster to send to Amberg,” von Lintelo said. “Above all else, we must rescue the heirs to the duchy!”

Rescue the heirs to the duchy. There was another phrase that begged for a coherent translation.

Duke Maximilian was childless himself, so the heir to the throne was-had been-his younger brother Albrecht. But the uproar that resulted when the duke’s betrothed, the Austrian archduchess Maria Anna, fled before the wedding, caused a rupture between Maximilian and his brother. Who, with his wife and three sons, had also fled Bavaria.

Or tried to. Duke Maximilian and his soldiers caught up with them and in the fracas that followed, Albrecht’s wife Mechthilde and his oldest son Karl Johann Franz had both been killed-Mechthilde at the duke’s own hand.

Albrecht had become separated from his two other sons. He eventually managed to escape and had been given exile in Prague by Wallenstein. The tutor for his two younger sons, the Jesuit priest Johannes Vervaux, had managed to smuggle the boys out of Bavaria by a different route. They’d found exile in the United States of Europe; in Amberg, specifically, the capital of the province of the Oberpfalz. There was still a Jesuit school there, where the boys could continue their Catholic education.

Thankfully, the USE’s formal stance of religious toleration and freedom was actually practiced in the Upper Palatinate. The province adjoined and was heavily dependent upon the State of Thuringia-Franconia, the province of the USE which, along with Magdeburg, took the principles very seriously. So there was no immediate danger of a forced conversion of the two boys-who, since their father had been outlawed, were now Maximilian’s only heirs.

In short, rescue the heirs to the duchy meant bringing back to the custody of their uncle two boys who’d seen him slay their own mother and had placed their father under a death penalty. So that one of them could eventually succeed him as the duke of Bavaria.

Such were the established principles of aristocratic and royal inheritance, as ridiculous as the results might sometimes seem.

But what made the project itself ridiculous was that it had no chance at all of succeeding, anyway. So why waste the time and efforts of good cavalry units, who could be put to much better use bringing down Simpson and his men?

Even before the Ring of Fire, von Haslang was skeptical that such a mission would have succeeded. In essence, a large force of cavalry was being tasked with racing to a city at least fifty miles away, measuring as men and horses travel. In midwinter. They could not possibly arrive in less than a day and a half, and more likely two or three.

Then, upon arriving, they were to assault a well-fortified city garrisoned by a full regiment-with no artillery at their own disposal-in order to reach and capture two boys being held in a school within.

Not…impossible, in the old days. But very close to it.

Today? Almost five years after the Ring of Fire? Did Duke Maximilian and General von Lintelo think there had been no radio in Ingolstadt? Or, even if the attempt to reach Amberg had failed initially, that the retreating artillery unit didn’t have a portable radio with them with which they could try again?

And even if by some near-magic luck the cavalry did manage to reach Amberg before a warning arrived, what then? They couldn’t possibly break into the city in time to prevent the boys from being spirited away again. Von Lintelo was sending no more than five thousand cavalrymen to Amberg. The capital of the Oberpfalz was not a small town, and the surrounding terrain was hilly and wooded. There was no chance they could encircle the city and invest it tightly before any number of people could escape.

That would be true even if the means of escape were restricted to horse and foot. But they weren’t. For the love of God, von Lintelo had seen the airship in the sky over Ingolstadt last night with his own eyes.

Nor was that the only airship at the enemy’s disposal. Leaving aside any airplanes which could only land at the airfield outside of Amberg’s city walls, the State of Thuringia-Franconia was home to a fleet of no fewer than four dirigibles. They could only hope that all of those airships were out of the province at the moment, having flown somewhere to the north.

Finally-it failed only this! — the one and only cavalry company that von Lintelo had finally agreed to provide them was the one commanded by Colonel Johann von Troiberz. Who was probably the most incompetent field grade officer in the Bavarian forces and certainly the most obnoxious.

As it happened, all but one of Estuban Miro’s fleet of airships was out of the State of Thuringia-Franconia that morning. But the one that was in the province was right where it needed to be-at the Bamberg airfield, fueled up and ready to go.

“I’ve got an important mission for you, Estuban,” said Ed Piazza, the president of the province. He nodded toward the third man present in his office, General Heinrich Schmidt, one of the top officers in the SoTF’s National Guard. “Heinrich and his staff can fill you in on the operational details later. But the gist of it is that I need you-or Franchetti, rather-to take the Albatross down to Amberg and get the two young Bavarian dukes out of there. Better bring their Jesuit tutor, too.”

Miro looked at Schmidt, and then back at Piazza. “And bring them here? Or take them to Magdeburg?”

He didn’t bother pointing out that the boys could be flown just as easily to Prague as to Magdeburg, where they could be reunited with their father. The equations of power were what they were. So long as the USE had custody of Albrecht’s sons, they had some leverage over the man who might very well become Bavaria’s next duke without having to wait for Maximilian to die a natural death.

“Bring them back here,” said Piazza. He didn’t elaborate on his reasons for choosing Bamberg over the nation’s capital. Given the near-civil war that had erupted within the USE, the SoTF’s president probably saw no reason to give up any assets, even if he didn’t have any immediate use for them himself.

As a technical exercise, the project was perfectly manageable. Bamberg had an airfield outside the city walls which could handle dirigibles as well as airplanes. But in a pinch, an airship could be brought into the city itself. The market square was big enough to land one of the Swordfish — class airships like the Albatross or the Pelican. Doing so in strong winds would be difficult, though. But the weather today looked good, and Miro presumed that Piazza wanted this mission undertaken immediately.

The news of the Bavarian attack on Ingolstadt had already spread throughout the city, but Miro knew very few of the details. Of course, it was quite possible that no one knew many details yet.

“Do we know if the Bavarians are sending an expedition to Amberg?” he asked.

“Yes, they are.” That came from Heinrich Schmidt. The thick-chested young general had a cold grin on his face. “And if you’re wondering how we know, you’ll be pleased to hear that your Pelican escaped the city last night. With Rita Simpson on board, as well as your survey crew.”

That was a relief. Estuban had been worried about what might have happened to Stefano and the airship.

“They’ve decided to remain in the area, serving Major Simpson and what survives of the Danube Regiment as scouts, while they try to reach safety in Regensburg.”

He didn’t bother to ask Miro-who was, after all, the proprietor of the Pelican and Stefano Franchetti’s employer-whether or not he approved. Estuban was not surprised. He’d already learned that Americans and those like Schmidt who shared their view of things took a very expansive attitude toward the use of private resources in times of crisis. They called it “nationalization.” Being fair, plenty of down-time rulers did much the same thing-and the Americans eventually returned the property and recompensed the owners for its use, which any number of kings and dukes neglected to do.

Estuban had already figured out that the smart thing for him to do was to be very cooperative at such times. Indeed, he satisfied himself with simply billing the government for his expenses, not seeking a profit from such work at all.

Not a direct profit, rather. Indirectly, eventually…ah, the possibilities were endless. The up-timers also had an appropriate name for that. “Most favored nation status.” Estuban saw no reason that term couldn’t be used expansively as well. “Most favored company status” had a nice ring to it, he thought.

“In that case,” he said, “I think it would be wise to plan on bringing more gasoline to Regensburg. If it’s not carrying anything else except the necessary crew, any Swordfish — class dirigible can haul five barrels of gasoline in a single trip. We could operate both airships out of the city, with that much fuel. Not just now but throughout the crisis.”

Schmidt and Piazza looked at each other. Then, the gazes of both men got a bit unfocused as they considered all the many military possibilities that would open up if the SoTF had what amounted to its own air force.

“Oh, splendid,” said Schmidt. His grin widened while somehow not gaining any warmth at all.

“How soon can you leave?” asked Piazza.

Estuban pondered the question for a moment. “I am tempted to say within an hour, but it might require two. The flight itself, depending on the winds, will take somewhere between an hour and a half and three hours.”

The SoTF’s president nodded. “Either way, you’d get there well before nightfall. Would you have enough time to fly back?”

Miro shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if the Bavarians are already investing the city-very unlikely, I’d think-and the situation was too critical to wait until morning, we’d simply take off. Then it all depends on the winds. That’s what the Pelican chose to do last night, after all.”

An airship the size of the Albatross, even with a minimal crew and all cargo space devoted to extra gasoline, couldn’t fly for very many hours without refueling. The problem wasn’t the engines, it was the fuel needed to keep the burners going. That was the great advantage of hydrogen over hot air designs, in addition to the greater buoyancy-you could fly much greater distances before having to refuel. Estuban had chosen the more primitive but safer hot air design for his fleet because the ships were only intended for short-distance runs. And it was much easier to stockpile gasoline supplies where needed than make sure hydrogen would always be available.

But if the winds were light and there was no need to reach an exact destination-nor any way to find it easily, in the dark-it was usually possible to keep an airship like the Albatross afloat until daybreak. Nothing was certain, of course.

Up-timers often had difficulty accepting that reality. They had come from a world in which air transport was a safer form of travel than any. But this world was in the very dawn of the aviation era. Nothing was certain, once you left the ground-and casualties were heavy.

Estuban loved it.