Chapter 35
Nagybánya
Denise was surprised by her anxiety. It wasn’t from flying in a half-repaired, ready-to-fall-out-of-the-sky-at-any-moment pusher plane, nor was it from her near-death experiences at the Battle of Déj. Her anxiety stemmed from the other little pusher plane that had just cleared the tree line and now maneuvered to land.
“Come on, girlie,” she whispered to herself, “land that mother.”
She resisted the urge to wave lest it distract Tuva from her task. The Dvorak sputtered, dipped, shifted about ten feet to the right from the persistent wind shear that had threatened Denise’s landing a few days ago. By God’s grace, the weather had turned pleasant overnight. The sun was rising. Landing conditions were good. But could the newly trained pilot from Prague do it? Tuva was a Jewish girl from the Josefov—the first in history who had ever tried to become a pilot.
Without a hitch, as it turned out. Her little Dvorak bumped twice upon landing and came to a nice, pleasant stop twenty feet from the short rock wall on the edge of the field.
Denise’s hand shot into the air and she waved vigorously as Tuva brought her plane to a full stop. She then walked up to the little ultra-light. Tuva stepped out. They hugged each other. “Good to see you, sweetie!” Denise said with an ear-to-ear smile.
“You too, Denise. I’ve missed you.”
Denise looked into the cockpit, pointed a thumb to the second seat. “Who’s your passenger?”
Tuva looked at the man sitting in the passenger seat unbuckling his strap. “That’s Lukas Cerny. He’s a member of our repair crew. He’s come to do a proper fixing of your damage.” She winked. “They don’t trust me with the tools.”
Denise nodded. “Did you bring canvas?”
Lukas nodded and motioned to his feet. There, a nice pile of canvas covered his boots. “Good,” she said. “The folk in Déj managed to patch up the wing pretty well, but the short trip from there to here loosened the cloth quite a bit. Some of the stitching has torn open. I considered risking a flight back to Szatmár, but the people here are so nice, they actually urged me to stay and wait.” She smiled. “I’m like a celebrity. The lady from the sky.”
“Now, they have two of us,” Tuva chirped.
“Fräulein Beasley,” Lukas said, “where is the Dixie Chick now?”
She motioned behind her with a stiff thumb. “It’s hidden in a barn up the path here. It was necessary to do so. As nice as these people have been to me, there have been concerns about those fucking Impalers moving into the area.”
Tuva’s face grew still, concerned. “Have you been attacked?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Gretchen did a number on them near Szatmár,” Tuva said while running her index finger across her throat. “Lopped their heads clean off. We’ve not had an incident there since.”
Denise shook her head and huffed. “I love that woman, but she scares the shit out of me.”
Tuva laughed. “You and everyone else. Especially our enemies.”
“But there have been some suspicious folk moving in and out of town,” Denise continued, “asking unusual questions, then leaving abruptly. Not many, but enough to cause concern. Something’s in the works.”
“Morris is giving Lukas twenty-four hours to get you up and running,” Tuva said. “We have to DD by first light.”
Denise suppressed a chuckle and a smile. Minnie’s grasp of American slang was that of a native, by now. Tuva was still learning her way, using it as best as she could. This time, she’d used it correctly. So cute.
Denise leaned into the cockpit. “We don’t have that much time. Lukas, can you get me all patched up by, say, three this afternoon?”
Lukas stepped out with the canvas slung over his shoulder. He reached back into the cockpit and grabbed a satchel of tools. “That depends on the extent of the damage. If it is just wing repair, that should be possible. But if there is damage to the frame, especially fire damage, it will take longer. I also want to check your engine, landing gear, tail. I need to go over the entire craft.”
“As far as I can tell, it’s just wing damage.” Denise moved out of the way to give Lukas ample room to climb out and adjust his portage. “I’ll take you there now.”
As they walked toward the barn where the Dixie Chick lay under guard, Denise asked: “You name it yet?”
Tuva frowned. “Named what?”
“Your plane, of course.”
“Oh.” Tuva had that inquisitive look as if she hadn’t given the notion much thought. “No, I haven’t, actually.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find a good name for it before you take her into action.”
They reached the barn, and Denise could see Tuva’s surprise at how small the structure was. “How in the world did you cram the Dixie Chick into that?”
“Very carefully.”
The guards assigned to its security opened the doors. “As you can see,” Denise said, as the Dvorak came into view, “packed tight like a sardine can.”
“It’ll have to be rolled out before I can work on it,” Lukas said, dropping his satchel and the canvas to the ground.
Erdőd (Ardud)
Two days after Tuva and Denise returned from Nagybánya, General Roth ordered the Grand Army of the Sunrise to march into Transylvania. Jeff Higgins and his Silesian Guard, and Gretchen Richter and her CoC militants, followed.
Eddie Junker and his air force would stay behind until such a time as they could find level ground on which to land. For the Dvoraks, that would be simple. For the Jupiter and the Dauntless, Morris figured they’d have to wait until reaching Kolozsvár, which was just as well. By their maps, the distance between Szatmár and Kolozsvár was roughly eighty miles. A relatively easy distance to travel for the larger craft and quite honestly, given their cargo, made better sense. As much impact as Gretchen’s brutal display of impaled Impaler heads had caused, Morris didn’t want to take any chances of losing so much mercenary pay at the hands of Moldavian and Wallachian thugs. Lose the gold, lose the mercenaries. Then lose the war.
There was some debate as to who would lead the army onto the plateau. Flankers were sent forward, of course, to screen the army’s march and to provide information as to the conditions of the roads and trails. The honor of leading the main body of the Sunrise forward ultimately fell to the Second and Third Regiments of the Joshua Corps, under the command of Colonel’s Velvel Schiff and Getzel Zelikovich. Green men, every one, but they were now all healthy, well-trained, and ready to fight. The best of the Joshua Corps was far up the road and heading to Kolozsvár with von Mercy. Morris would be glad to have his entire army back together again.
The first day of the march went well, though slow. Morris insisted that they maintain tight control over the baggage train, the cannons, and the APCs as they moved onto the plateau, lest these elements trail behind at unacceptable distances. Once the army had a better sense of the country and its people, they could perhaps allow more flexibility, move a little faster, open the formations up and let men walk at a more relaxed pace. But on this first day, they moved slow and tight and made only ten miles.
They bivouacked near the small town of Erdőd in sight of an old, weatherworn fortress that looked down upon them like a weary eye. Morris didn’t care about its eye. He cared more for the eyes of the townsfolk. Upon arrival, some packed up and left. Those that stayed behind to receive the Sunrise either stayed locked in their homes or greeted them warily as regiment after regiment traipsed through their roads, paths, and set up camp wherever they could. From this behavior, Morris could tell that the Impalers had paid a visit.
But the march went well, and no harm came to the Sunrise.
Until they awoke at first light.
* * *
“Who the fuck allowed an entire herd of cattle to be stolen?”
Colonel Reznik Makovec was the commander of all the Brethren. They were organized in what they called the Zizka Brigade, which was more like two thirds of a brigade, since—so far—they only had a little under two thousand men under arms. He stood like stolid granite in front of General Roth in his tent, trying to look cool and calm under the heavy gaze of his commanding officer, Brigadier Higgins, and Gretchen Richter. “It wasn’t the entire herd, General. Only half.”
“Only half!” Morris threw his arms up in exasperation. He wanted to spit further expletives in response to that ridiculous statement. Instead, he said, “That herd is nearly our whole meat supply, Colonel. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“And you also understand that with half that herd gone, we’ll be marching on empty stomachs by the time we reach Kolozsvár.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, what are you going to do about the matter?”
“The men in charge of guarding the herd have been taken into custody by Marshal Lange. They will be disciplined, General, I can assure you.”
Morris had spoken and dealt with Provost Marshal Luthor Lange on several occasions. Assigned to the position by von Mercy, he seemed a decent enough fellow. Though, on the march, what would he do exactly to a group of men at least some of whom must have been paid off by the Impalers to look the other way? Morris made a mental note to speak with Lange before any serious punishments were ladled out.
“And what about your missing cattle?”
Colonel Makovec cleared his throat. “Our cattle are of a different breed than the Hungarian Grey that you find in this area, General. They will be easy to recover.”
“That’s assuming, of course, that they can be found alive,” Morris said, sharing a glance with Gretchen Richter, who rolled her eyes in response, “and if the Impalers haven’t moved them in several different directions, which is most likely.”
Oh, what’s the point of continuing this conversation? Morris sighed. “Very well, Colonel. Do what you can to try to recover our missing herd. But we’re moving forward, and I don’t want the Brethren falling behind. Search for the cattle, but you get your men ready to move out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Makovec saluted and hurried out of the tent.
“You know they’ll never be found, don’t you?” Gretchen asked. “They’ll scatter them everywhere, and I will bet you all the ducats on the Jupiter that they got local support to pull it off.”
“That goes without saying.” Morris sank into his chair, closed his eyes, and let out a frustrated breath. “It would seem that your tough actions in Szatmár met with limited success.”
“Hell, Morris,” Jeff said, coming to the defense of his wife, “what did you expect? We’re moving into a country without radios. Word of mouth, horseman to horseman…that’s how the word of Gretchen’s wrath is going to spread, and that’s going to take a while.”
“I need to keep up the pressure,” Gretchen said as she nodded agreement. She moved forward to stand next to her husband. “I need to concentrate right now on eliminating—well, it’ll be more like diminishing—the Impaler threat, but also begin to get this country in full on our side. Our goal is Kolozsvár, yes, but we’ve a lot of ground to cover before we get there.”
Morris wasn’t married to Gretchen—Thank you, God!—but he knew as well as Jeff that once she had decided on a course of action, trying to recommend caution was nearly impossible. Her blood was up, as was said of up-time American generals who often acted rashly in the face of danger. Neither Morris nor Jeff was going to change her mind. And besides, she was making a good point. They couldn’t afford to allow these Impalers to work unfettered against the Sunrise whilst on the march. And it was abundantly clear now that these thugs, these Moldavian terrorists, were getting local support. Their numbers would continue to grow and grow, and like he always said, “Success breeds success.” A few more successful attacks against the Sunrise, and the Impalers would stop being a nuisance and become a major threat.
There was no one better suited to putting an end to that and convincing the local population to turn its support toward the Sunrise than Gretchen Richter. She was even better at organizing supporters and allies than she was at terrorizing enemies.
Morris stood. “Very well, Gretchen. You do your worst…and your best. But I don’t want you moving too far into the countryside without screening support. You’re tough as nails, Lady Protector, and so are your men, but I want at least a company of cavalry working as escort for you.”
He turned to Jeff. “Would you be so kind, sir, as to speak with Colonel Burkenfeld of First Cavalry and see if he can spare a company?”
Jeff nodded. “Yes, I will do so.”
“Good. Once all that’s in place, Gretchen, do your best to keep us free of Impaler entanglements. Now, let’s turn our attention to Zilah.”