Chapter 24
Nagybánya (Baia Mare)
A day before leaving Szatmár, Len Tanner finally got his radio signal boost. Effective communication was, once again, established with the main body of the Sunrise.
Eddie Junker had taken his Dauntless—My Steady Girl, he called it—and had flown it roughly half the distance from Kassa to Szatmár. That was enough to boost the signal and bring General Roth up to speed on von Mercy’s plans. Since no effective landing site had been established yet in Szatmár, Eddie was forced to turn around and head back to Kassa after the boost. But Morris Roth made it perfectly clear how things would be going forward: before General von Mercy left Szatmár, he was to establish a landing site for the Dauntless and the Dvoraks there, and then along the march, establish others so that those ultra-lights could be used for his reconnaissance needs. The Dvoraks were small, lightweight, nimble. They only required an open field or a relatively flat, well-maintained dirt road on which to land. Even in such hilly terrain as the Transylvania plateau, landing sites could be found.
Finding good landing sites was not the problem, von Mercy had told Morris. “The problem is protecting and maintaining them once I pull out. I don’t have enough men to establish garrisons to protect the sites, General Roth. If that Moldavian force is out there, I need every—how do you up-timers say it—swinging dick in the field? I can’t afford to lose any man to such tasks.”
Morris sighed at the other end of the radio. “We’ll figure something out, General.”
He, Gáspár, and Len Tanner were now in Nagybánya, waiting in a short field lined by trees on the approach from Szatmár and end-capped with a short stone wall. Denise Beasley would have to do some fancy maneuvering to land properly. The field was too small for Eddie to land his Dauntless safely.
“I don’t see it,” Gáspár said, stretching his neck to gaze through dwindling tendrils of fog. It was going to be a nice, sunny day. Von Mercy was glad of that.
“She’s coming,” he said. “Keep watching.”
They heard the plane’s engine first, and then, like a tiny crow, saw the plane dip out of a line of fog. It wobbled on approach, its wings dipping as its pilot brought the craft down until its landing gear nearly scraped the tree line.
“It’s so fast,” Gáspár said.
Len smiled. “That’s slow for some planes.”
Denise brought the plane into the field, touched its wheels to the ground, and took off again.
“What’s the matter?” Gáspár asked.
“She was going too fast,” von Mercy said, knowing enough about up-time planes now to make himself sound competent. “She’d have hit the wall. She’ll circle back around and try again.”
Denise did exactly that, taking the plane up again into the fog and then circling back until she was dropping the plane into its landing pattern. This time, thankfully, she was going slower.
The wheels touched again, the brakes were applied, and the pilot brought the craft to a halt about twenty feet from the wall.
They took a few steps into the field. Denise taxied the plane to their position.
Gáspár stood back a few paces as Denise drove the plane up, stopped, and killed the engine. A minute later, she was out of the cockpit and greeting them with a generous smile.
“I love this plane,” she said, removing her leather helmet and stepping in front of General von Mercy. She saluted while maintaining her smile. “Pilot Denise Beasley reporting for duty, sir.”
He returned her salute. “Good morning, Fräulein Beasley. I hope your trip was pleasant.”
She nodded. “Pleasant enough, if you take away the wind shear and fog.”
“I’d like to check out your radio,” Len said.
“Have at it.”
There wasn’t much to it, von Mercy noted as he stepped up to the cockpit and looked inside. A delicate frame with canvas skin. No doors, although it looked like some additional canvas was tucked in behind the pilot seat which could be used as such. There was a second seat, but no additional crew. Instead, two metal tanks were strapped into the chair.
“No copilot?” von Mercy asked.
“Nope, sorry,” Denise said, as she stepped into the cockpit and wriggled into the seat. She did not bother strapping herself in. “The original plan, General, as you well know, was to have the Dvoraks follow the main body of the army into Transylvania. But since you deemed it necessary to divert from the original marching order, we have to put one of us into the air now to support your approach to the capital. But since we don’t really know what to expect from the Carpathians—wind and weather-wise—we can’t afford to commit all three aircraft to this, or we risk losing them all.”
She pointed a thumb to the back of the cockpit. “You didn’t bring any fuel with you in your train. This puppy has two ten-gallon tanks built into it and can add two more if we need them. That’ll get you about one hundred fifty miles or so with one passenger, round trip. This puppy can use four ten-gallon tanks. That’ll get you about one hundred fifty miles or so with one passenger, round trip. There’s another couple of tanks right there, which will give us an additional three hours—a bit less—of flight time. That’s roughly another one hundred and fifty miles of range. That’s all the fuel we’ve got, General, so I hope you are not expecting me to conduct long flights.”
Von Mercy shook his head. “No. I’ve sent elements of my second cavalry ahead to Déj for reconnaissance and to find another adequate landing site for you. From there, we are very close to Kolozsvár. As requested, each landing site is no more than fifty miles from another. So, from here to Déj is roughly thirty-seven miles; from Déj to Kolozsvár is roughly thirty.”
“Good,” Denise said, moving her legs out of the way so Len could lean into the cockpit and check out the radio. “I need secure landing sites, as many as you can find. That way, if I get into some nasty weather, I can make an emergency landing.” Denise raised her hand and struck the roof of the cockpit twice. That made no sound, because the roof was also canvas. Except for the metal and wood framework, the whole fuselage of the plane was made of fabric. “She’s a good plane. Well-constructed, good motor, and thank God, good brakes. But she ain’t invincible.” She looked at Len. “How’s my radio?”
Len nodded. “Good. I reset your frequency so you can talk to me now. But I’m not making any promises on perfect communication. You’re right about these mountains: they can play havoc with our radios with all these hills and valleys.”
“Yep,” Denise said. “Transylvania looks both beautiful and terrifying. Dracula chose well.”
The two up-timers shared a laugh. Von Mercy had heard of the fictitious character based on the late Wallachian prince, Vlad Tepes. He had never read the book, however, and had no interest in doing so.
At his side, Gáspár seemed to struggle with the reference, as if he had a notion what they were speaking about, and yet, couldn’t quite place it.
Von Mercy continued, “What can this Dvorak do for us, Denise?”
She stopped laughing and turned serious. “Yes, well, her official designation is Dvorak One, or DV-1, as the maintenance crew likes to call her. I call her the Dixie Chick. She’s modeled after an up-time ultralight called the Hawk Arrow Two. She’s five hundred pounds empty. I add another hundred and thirty. That leaves plenty of room for another passenger, if you or someone on your staff needs to get somewhere quickly.”
Denise held up a cautioning finger. “But—don’t ever forget this—every pound of people subtracts a pound from the fuel we can carry. To keep the tanks full—that’s forty gallons. To keep the built-in tanks full—that’s twenty gallons—you can’t add a passenger who weighs any more than me. It’s best to use only women and small men, if possible.”
She lowered the finger and thought for a moment. Then added: “She has a service ceiling of a little more than two miles. I usually fly low, however, although I’d like to maintain a certain height to avoid snipers and punks who might get lucky with a shot. Her primary role is for scouting, reconnaissance. That’s what I’m charged to do for you. As I said, she’s not an attack plane, although you could, I suppose, put a rifleman in the back seat and take potshots. I’d advise against it, though, unless you have a real sniper like Julie McKay with a good rifle.”
“I’m afraid we’ve no Julie McKays here, Denise,” von Mercy said. “Your service to me will be primarily reconnaissance. We need you to help us find that Moldavian army. That’s the reason I’ve shifted further east, as I’ve explained it to General Roth.”
Denise nodded and climbed out of the cockpit again. “No problem, General. I understand. What’s that up-time expression: ‘No plan survives first contact with the enemy’? You made a decision based on changing circumstances. Morris understands. He doesn’t like it, for it could pose other problems down the line, but he understands.” She looked at Gáspár. “Any sign yet of this Moldavian force you speak of?”
“Just rumor so far,” Gáspár said. “They are somewhere east-southeast of Déj, Fräulein. The city itself is in the Szamos River Valley. It lies at an important crossroad, but it is surrounded by forests and hills and other, smaller valleys that lead into it. A Moldavian army, even a large one, can easily hide its movements as it makes its way there.”
“That is why I have sent my cavalry forward,” von Mercy said, “so that we can try, at least, to ascertain its whereabouts. I’ve ordered them to go no further than Déj. But now that you’re here, perhaps we’ll have better luck in finding that…needle in a haystack?”
Denise nodded. “Well, then, let’s get to work. As soon as your men have a landing site for me in Déj, I’ll be off. In the meantime, General, can you provide me with breakfast and find me a tub? I don’t want to think what I must smell like by now.”
They left the field as the men von Mercy had designated to protect the Dvorak surrounded the plane and stood guard. Denise’s flight over Nagybánya after her first attempt at landing had roused interest. Now, the citizenry began to assemble near the field, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange flying machine that had invaded their air space and landed in their field. Perhaps I should let them draw closer, von Mercy considered as they walked past a group of children craning their necks to get a better view. It would be good to start allowing the Transylvanian population to see what the up-timers had brought to their lives, what the future might hold for them. But not yet. The risk of damage to this aircraft, even inadvertently, was too great right now. The plane needed to be kept safe and in good condition.
As they walked into Nagybánya, von Mercy tugged at Denise’s jacket sleeve and whispered, “Denise, can you find that army?”
She looked as if she was going to say something snide or sarcastic. She seemed to change her mind when she saw von Mercy’s face. “Don’t worry, General. If there’s an army to be found, I’ll find it.”
Moldavian army encampment
Bistriz (Bistriţa)
Sergiu Botnari stared into the flames as his dinner sizzled at the end of a stick. The piece of chicken on its pointy end was small consolation to the rumble in his stomach. He preferred red meat, a nice slab of Hungarian Grey. His men had slaughtered one just this morning as they led Lupu’s flanking army toward Déj, but by the time Sergiu had arrived for the feast, the bovine carcass had been picked clean. He considered ordering another killed, but doing so, even for a man in his position and authority, seemed…excessive. He’d settle for chicken now, but once Lupu rewarded him with his promised coin, Sergiu would dine on only the choicest meats. Dine on anything he liked.
Could he trust the voivode to fulfill his promise? That was a question. No, probably not. There were few men of Lupu’s stature and breeding who could be trusted fully. A man like Lupu had his own agenda, and a cutthroat like Sergiu served a purpose in that agenda, but then, what afterwards? In time, Lupu would probably order Sergiu’s throat cut in order to tie up “loose ends,” as they say. The key to his survival, then, was to do his duty for as long as he could, collect as many coins as possible, and then disappear. Sergiu was good at disappearing. Even sitting beside this roaring fire, he was difficult to notice.
Sergiu rather liked working in Bistriz. There were a lot of Jews and Sabbatarians in the area to terrorize. Terrorize, yes, but not kill. At least not yet. He was trying to abide by Lupu’s directive to be somewhat civil in his march toward the up-time army. Total civility was impossible, of course. That’s not how a terror campaign worked. One couldn’t terrorize a population if one didn’t use terrifying tactics: a murder here or there; beating up an elder or two; raping a daughter or two. But going too far in that endeavor was ultimately self-defeating. Sergiu had learned long ago that you had to always give a population a chance to meet your demands. Apply too much pain and punishment, and the citizenry would have no choice but to fight against you, even if it meant death to them all. There was only so much suffering a community would endure before it snapped. So far, his “Impalers” were doing quite well at convincing the locals to side with Vasile Lupu.
Some Székelys, even Sabbatarians, had joined the ranks of the Moldavian force, despite knowing that the up-time army heading their way was led by an Ashkenazi Jew. But that, too, Sergiu understood quite well. Jews could turn on Jews. Muslims on Muslims. Christians on Christians. There was no true loyalty to one’s clan, tribe, country, or family. One could only be loyal to oneself. “To thine own self be true.” Sergiu liked that line from the English poet. Sergiu couldn’t argue with that bit of philosophy.
He managed to gulp down three bites of his chicken when a rider burst into camp. The horseman slid to a stop, spraying the campfire with dirt. “What’s the meaning of this interruption?” Sergiu asked. “Can’t you see I’m having a meal?”
“My apologies, sir,” the boy said. “But I have important news.”
“What is it?”
“Cavalry has been spotted moving toward Déj.”
Sergiu raised his brow. “Cavalry? I was just told that the army is in Nagybánya and will likely not move for several days.”
“Just a few cavalry companies from the main force,” the boy said, eyeing the chicken as if it were a jewel. “Not a full regiment. Maybe a day, two days away.”
Sergiu snorted and shook his head. “What arrogance. They’re brave enough to send a pittance forward, even though they know we’re out here? They march into Jahannam with no fear? So be it. We will show them fear.”
Sergiu took a final bite and flung the remains into the fire. “Get my horse ready. We’ll beat them into Déj. And inform General Radu that we’re moving. He’ll want to head out at first light.”
The boy nodded, turned his horse, and left. Sergiu took a moment to reflect.
He was happy, despite the bad news. Von Mercy had gotten the jump on the Impalers, but that was, in fact, good news.
I may have to show restraint toward Székelys and Sabbatarians, but I don’t have to do so against arrogant enemy cavalry.