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Chapter 41

The battlefield survey


Len Tanner hated riding a horse on his best day, especially with a cumbersome radio pack strapped to his shoulder. It was ten times worse with a hangover pounding Beethoven’s Fifth in your brain with a ball-peen hammer. God-god-god-damnnnn… That, plus an incessant stream of Ellie’s giggling, lecturing tone in his ear. “I told you not to drink so much…didn’t I tell you not to drink so much?” She had, but how could one pass up all that free food and free wine. Hell, there was so much left at the end of the night that one of the good lady servants at the dinner allowed him to leave the palace with a full glass. What a thoughtful person!

Now, however, he wished he had begged off this little soiree to survey the battlefield. Trotting behind General von Mercy’s horse, watching it drop shit with every step…well, he was ready to puke booze with every clop. But, he had been asked to attend, and he had agreed. Besides, the day always started well when he could hear Ellie’s voice, even if she were cursing at him.

“Are you all right, Len?” Gáspár asked as they trotted down a narrow wagon path along the Maros River.

Len nodded and tried not to look up into the sky toward the rising sun. Though burning off quickly, there was still enough fog skirting the forest around them that he couldn’t see much of anything even if he wanted to. “I’m fine, Gáspár, thank you. I just have to make a mental note never to drink Transylvanian wine again.”

Gáspár chuckled and patted Len on the back lightly. “It can be strong, my friend. Last night’s was particularly strong, perhaps the strongest I’ve encountered in a long time. It’ll wear off, trust me, and when it does, you’ll remember the good flavor and not the aftermath.”

In attendance were General von Mercy, his staff and security retinue, Colonel Renz, and Colonel Shalit. As promised, Prince Rákóczi rode amidst his own security and staff, his brother Pál, Colonel Hatmanu and a mercenary fellow named Guth. Len had greeted them all before they had let out, but his mind was in no mood to remember details right now.

The clump of officers in front of him halted. Prince Rákóczi sidled up to von Mercy to have a chat.

“This tree line would be good for skirmishers,” von Mercy said, pointing down the trail. “We can have snipers lined up along the river, pickets further down the line here to report any enemy movement, if they choose to cross the river a mile or two away and attack the capital in full.”

“The Maros River here at Gyulafehérvár is wide, General,” Prince Rákóczi said. “I don’t think they would dare cross it, even further down.”

“With Ottoman engineers erecting a bridge, they might,” von Mercy said. “We cannot discount the possibility. Plus, now that I’ve seen more of the ground, I realize that even though the capital is on a hill, it’s not as steep an elevation as I first thought. The ground runs a nice, smooth slope to the valley floor. You’ve walls for protection, but they won’t stop determined armies with Ottoman support.”

“All the more reason,” Colonel Shalit said at von Mercy’s side, “to keep our forces on this side of the river and force them to attack. In my opinion, it’s dependent upon them to seize ground, not the other way around. We set up a strong defense of the capital and let them attack…sir.”

In the past few days, it had become clear to Len that von Mercy’s lieutenants were in serious disagreement about how to conduct the coming battle. Obviously, Colonel Shalit preferred a defensive posture. Colonel Renz, however, judging from the hostile glare he was giving the infantry officer at the moment, disagreed. As did Captain Guth and Colonel Hatmanu, Len could see.

Colonel Renz’s attitude surprised Len. Hadn’t the good cavalry officer just thwarted a strong Moldavian army at Déj with a defensive stance? And with cavalry, no less. Now that Len thought about it, however, Colonel Renz’s disagreement with the idea did make a bit of sense. He and his men were mercenaries. Mercenaries who had not been paid since they had entered Transylvania. Morris Roth was going to rectify that problem once he reached the capital, but how long could he keep mercenaries in winter quarters? Morris was rich, but his resources were finite. From Colonel Renz’s point of view, victory needed to come before the first snows of winter hit the ground.

Len relayed their heated conversation in whispers to Ellie.

“Gentlemen,” von Mercy said, raising his hand, “let us delay these arguments until we’ve seen the full field.” He turned to the prince. “Is there a way to cross the river?”

Prince Rákóczi nodded. “Just a ways up the road is a ferry.”

“Very good. Please guide us, sir.”

“We’re crossing the river now,” Len whispered to Ellie as he nudged his horse forward.

“Don’t fall off and drown,” she replied with a chuckle.

Aboard the Chaldiran

As anxious as he was, Sergiu immediately understood Vasile Lupu’s excitement being on the airship. The wind was wonderfully cool against his sweaty face, exhilarating, and life-affirming. The Chaldiran floated through low-hanging clouds and fog, and the sunlight was so brilliant, so white, it seemed that he had died and gone to heaven.

He dared release his white-knuckle grip on the gondola and walk over to the line of muskets leaning against the starboard side, waiting for use. He ran his hand over the stocks. Nice, clean, loaded muskets. “To do this right,” he said, “I need to be as close as I can. How close to the ground can you fly?”

Mordecai Pesach shrugged. “Very low, if need be. But we must try to stay at an altitude outside their effective range. The bottom of the gondola is most vulnerable to gunfire.”

Sergiu raised an eyebrow. “The most vulnerable part of the ship is the bottom of its gondola?”

Again, Mordecai shrugged. “I don’t believe that our Sultan imagined them being vulnerable from the ground. He was more concerned about facing USE airships.” And indeed, the rest of the gondola was well protected with shields.

Sergiu sighed. “Very well. That means, however, that we will not be able to fly low for long.” He lifted one of the muskets, checked it, and put it back down. “First two or three shots, they will be disoriented, confused. After that, we’ll start drawing fire.”

“Then take only two, three shots,” Vasile said from the stern. “I added additional guns just in case.”

Sergiu tried not to imagine grabbing Vasile’s legs and hoisting him overboard. He smiled instead. “As good as I am, Voivode Lupu, I will miss. We are not moving very fast, but a moving target is always difficult to hit. I will miss, so I’ll need to take all six shots.”

He cleared his throat and shivered at a cool gust of wind. He pulled his coat together at his chest and looked into the sky. No chance of rain, Allah be praised, but the seasons were changing. The air was growing colder, the days shorter. He shook the cold away and said, “So, just the prince?”

Vasile shrugged, then smiled. “He is our primary target, yes. But you have six guns. Kill as many around him as you can.”

The battlefield survey


Len was beginning to enjoy Transylvania. It reminded him of up-time West Virginia, with its mountains, rolling hills, and river valleys. The sun was still trying to work its way over the Carpathians to the east, but the fog had burned off nicely. Now, he could see all the precious farmland and humble little homes that marked the ground he and the others were surveying. The people living on the land, though very different ethnically than those he had known up-time, were quite pleasant, nice. Toiling in their early-morning labors, they paused to greet their prince, gave directions, information, whatever was asked of them. A lady even came out of her home with a basket of bread and shared the loaves. Len took one bite and fell in love. He needed a full stomach to ward off the alcohol-laden pounding in his head.

He downed the bread quickly, then whispered more data to Ellie as von Mercy and the rest of the military men spoke. Now, they stood at a crossroad, debating about the viability of massing the infantry along the segmented stone walls lined up against the cart path winding its way over the hill.

“This would be a good defensive position, Colonel Shalit,” von Mercy said. “If we pushed the army across the river and lined up the Joshua Corps here, guns forward. They’d have a hell of a time breaching your line.”

Colonel Shalit nodded. “I would be concerned with the flanks.”

“I’ll protect the flanks,” Colonel Hatmanu said, stepping his horse forward so that he was in everyone’s line of sight. “My Székelys can hold and wheel into battle and crush them.”

Len didn’t like Colonel Hatmanu. He wasn’t sure what he didn’t like about the man. Pretty much everything, he supposed. His arrogance, for sure; his narcissistic need to attract attention; his face. Yep, pretty much everything.

“There will be plenty of infantry on both flanks,” Prince Rákóczi said. “Ours and theirs, Colonel Hatmanu. The issue before us, though, is if we do wish to defend these walls, then we must capture the field before they do. Otherwise, they’ll do exactly the same.”

Von Mercy turned in his saddle and pointed to the rising slope of land up to the capital. “If we set our batteries up there, we can pound their approach.” He turned to Len. “How’s your radio working?”

Len nodded. “Not bad, not bad.”

“You think you’ll be able to maintain radio contact throughout the battle?”

Len shrugged. “This is as good a ground as any we’ve experienced in Transylvania to date.” Len pointed to the capital. “If Ellie and I can set up our comm tent safely in the capital, away from cannon and rocket fire, we should be able to maintain contact with the companies.”

“Herr Tanner,” Colonel Hatmanu said, almost spitting. “May I have a radio for the battle?”

Len looked at von Mercy, who said nothing in return. “I’ll check with my wife when she arrives and see what we can do, Colonel Hatmanu. If we have some to spare, we’ll try to distribute them to other Transylvanian units as well. It’ll require some training, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Why the hell did you tell them you’d give them radios?” Ellie asked over the radio.

Len whispered, “I said ‘if we have some to spare.’ I didn’t make promises.”

“We ain’t got a damn one to spare. Tell them that.”

Aboard the Chaldiran

“Can you shut off the engine?” Sergiu asked. “It would be best to go in quietly.”

Moshe Mizrahi looked at Mordecai Pesach, then shook his head. “We could, but that would be a mistake. If they do return fire shortly after your first few shots, then we need to accelerate fast, and we need the engine for that. The Chaldiran is slow, but she can pick up speed quickly for a better escape.”

In truth, the engine wasn’t too loud, and because they were sailing into the wind most of the sound wouldn’t carry forward. Nor was he planning to fire from any closer distance than he needed to. Still, quiet was always preferred when sniping. If he didn’t get his first shot off successfully, the sound of the airship’s engine would indeed attract attention. Then, it might be impossible to finish the job. The first shot would have to be on point. The good news in all this: the first shot was always the most accurate. Hit the main target and get his staff scrambling to save him.

“We’re here,” Vasile Lupu said.

The Chaldiran dipped below the cloud it had been riding in for several minutes. Sergiu grabbed his spyglass and brought it into focus.

Tiny, yet colorful dots moved on horseback down a trail. Many, many colorful dots.

“That’s George Rákóczi,” Vasile said, pointing across Sergiu’s line of sight. “The one with the long black hair, no hat.”

Sergiu fixed his spyglass on the target. Near the front, sandwiched between two other riders, was the man Vasile pointed out. Sergiu smiled. Easy to see.

He put down the spyglass. “We cannot go in on the side, my lord. We must approach them from behind or from the front. From behind is preferred. If we approach from their side, I will have to fire and then run to the other side of the gondola as they pass underneath. That’s too much time lost. We have to go in from behind.”

Vasile sighed. “Very well.” He pointed his thumb toward Chaldiran’s envelope. “Take us up and around and bring us down as he requests.”

The battlefield survey


Len thought he heard something, looked up. Nothing but clouds. The sun was behind it now as well. The world grew darker.

“You hear anything?” he asked Ellie.

Her cracking voice said, “What are you talking about? All I hear is you, and not as well as I did a few minutes ago.”

Indeed, they had traveled beyond the wall and fields and farmhouses and were now quite a ways away from the looming shadow of Gyulafehérvár. “Never mind,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

Pál Rákóczi was pointing out a series of wagon trails leading out of the farmland and into foothills and forests. He was indicating that those paths were the most likely ones to be used by a Moldavian army upon its approach. Colonel Hatmanu was commenting that those pathways were very narrow and thus, could be easily defended by Székely skirmishers. Colonel Renz was discussing cavalry tactics with Captain Guth. Colonel Shalit was still talking about the defensive use of the walls with his staff. The conversation was chaotic and everywhere, a clear sign that the tour had gone on long enough. It was time to bring the matter to a close.

Len heard a pop! He almost missed it in the haze of voices. It sounded like a piece of wood snapping, but hollow, as if it were far away.

Then Prince Rákóczi fell off his horse, hard. His left leg caught in his stirrup. His head hit a stone near the pathway.

Another pop, and one of Colonel Hatmanu’s aides grunted and slumped over in the saddle.

Len dropped from his horse, careful to keep his radio open and safe.

He dared look to the sky, and there it was.

“Airship!” he screamed, keeping his horse between him and the ship. “It’s attacking!”

Another shot, and this time, Len could tell that it was gunfire. Len glanced quickly at those up the trail, the confused and chaotic mass of bodies scrambling to save the prince, save Hatmanu’s man, save themselves.

Another, and this one seemed to miss. Four shots. God, he wondered, how many more?

Finally, the men who had gotten off their horses began to return fire, but the airship sped up and pulled away.

A fifth shot, and again, it seemed to miss.

“I’m hit!”

Von Mercy!

Len didn’t care anymore about saving himself. He came out from the protection of his horse and ran to the general’s side, catching him just before he fell from his horse.

“Where are you hit, General?” Len asked frantically as he and Colonel Renz helped the general down.

“My leg!”

Indeed. Blood covered his pant leg from his boot down. A lot of blood.

They laid him down carefully, and Len pulled off the general’s boot. His eyes widened.

“Jesus Christ! Someone get a tourniquet…now!”

Aboard the Chaldiran

The bottom of the gondola suffered gunfire, and Mordechai Pesach had been hit in the thigh. Not life-threatening, but he was on the gondola floor being cared for by the Janissary guard, who looked like he too had taken a sharp scrape across his chest. Moshe Mizrahi manned the rudder. No one else seemed to have taken any wounds, including Vasile Lupu, who crouched like a coward at the stern.

Sergiu still had one musket to fire. It wasn’t necessary. The mission had been a success. The prince had been hit. And yet, why not take that final shot?

With musket in hand, he stepped to the stern and stared through his spyglass. Chaos. Men scrambling over Prince Rákóczi’s limp body. Men near General von Mercy…wait! Who is that?

A man crouching next to von Mercy held a radio. Sergiu recognized its wooden box well from the ambush near the Szamos. He smiled.

He dropped his spyglass, raised his musket, cocked the hammer, and aimed.

The battlefield survey


At first, Len didn’t feel much pain; just a pinching bee sting. Then his left shoulder began to bleed, and suddenly a wave of nausea overtook him.

He fell backwards, reaching for his shoulder. Where his shoulder used to be. Now, it was a mangle of wool fabric and blood.

“Len’s hit!” he heard someone say.

He reached with his bloody hand to retrieve his radio. Someone put the transmitter in his hand. He pressed the button and screamed, “Mayday, mayday! Send help!”

“What the fuck is going on, Len?”

Ellie’s voice was sweet. Even when she was cussing, he loved her voice.

“I’m down! Von Mercy is down! The prince is down! WE’RE ALL FUCKING DOWN!”


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