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Chapter 51

Headquarters

Grand Army of the Sunrise


General von Mercy’s tiny room had been converted into a temporary HQ until a more permanent one could be constructed. Now, between his bed and the door was nothing but a steady stream of staff moving in and out with this request, that request, every kind of request one could imagine, and much of it having to do with supply, mercenary payment, and capital security. These matters were tangentially related to the impending battle, of course, but not directly. What he wanted was peace and quiet to consider the battle at hand, but from his bed or wheelchair—depending on the day—he greeted everyone with as much patience as his aching leg would allow.

General Renz burst into the room, followed by his aide-de-camp. They waited until Major General Luthor Lange, who had grudgingly accepted security of the streets of the capital, finished his business with von Mercy. When he was out the door, General Renz stepped up.

“Busy morning, eh, General?”

Von Mercy groaned, rolled his eyes. He pointed to the door. “The Impalers have been giving Lange hell. He lost two police last night from gunshot wounds. The night before, one was strung up by the neck. Perpetrators have been apprehended, but it’s getting ugly out there.”

General Renz nodded. “This is what happens when your prince has been murdered without a clear successor.”

“There is a clear successor,” von Mercy said. “His son, George Junior. But half the Diet believes he’s too young to take charge in a time of war. The other half doesn’t know what to do. Some of them want to see the late prince’s brother Pál as prince; others want his brother Zsigmond to return from Hungary and take command.” He rubbed his face. “It’s a mess.”

“Well, success on the battlefield can solve a lot of problems for these poor people. Allay a lot of their fears.”

“Indeed.” Von Mercy nodded. “That’s why I’ve called you here, General. It’s time to plan the battle. General Roth and Brigadier Higgins will arrive directly. We want to discuss what Morris calls ‘the big picture’ before we have a larger, more detailed, discussion with our regimental commanders about troop deployment and timetables.”

So, they waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, Morris and Jeff arrived, alone, with Ellie following them in while bringing Morris up to speed on Len’s progress. “He’s ornery, complainy,” she said, “but surviving.” She looked at von Mercy. “He wants to get out of the room, General. Can I borrow your wheelchair and give him the dime tour of the college?”

Von Mercy nodded. “Of course. It’s not the best chair in the world, Frau Ellie, but it’ll do. Watch the right wheel. It’s got a constant wobble. And take a guard or two with you. The building is pretty secure, but you never know.”

Ellie grabbed the chair and wheeled it out. General Renz shut the door behind her, and they got to work.

“What’s the status of General Hatmanu’s delaying action against the Moldavians?” Morris asked.

Von Mercy shook his head. “No word yet. The Székelys aren’t using the radio we gave them.”

“Why not?” Morris asked. “Hatmanu was the one who requested it.”

Von Mercy nodded. “I know, but they aren’t responding. Ellie has tried all morning to rouse them, and no word. I’ve sent runners. We should know something soon, God willing.”

“Why not send in one of the Dvoraks?” General Renz asked.

Morris shook his head. “That’s why we gave him the radio, so we wouldn’t have to constantly put them up and expend fuel. Now that the Jupiter and Dauntless can fly in at any time, fuel issues have been lessened, but still: we’re going to need Denise and Tuva in the air round the clock when the battle starts. Hatmanu just needs to use his damned radio, and problem solved.”

Morris and Jeff took seats. Everyone was now huddled up close to the bed. Von Mercy felt a little self-conscious of their closeness. He was dressed; he made sure that his aides helped him in that regard before the meeting. But he didn’t like lying in bed with everyone around him. It felt like they were waiting for his passing, like Prince Rákóczi on his last night. Well, he wasn’t going to die; not today, anyway. He couldn’t take to the field, but by God, he was still in overall charge of the Sunrise. Lying in front of them, propped up with several pillows, he felt weak. He now regretted allowing Ellie to seize his wheelchair.

Morris drew a map from his satchel and laid it out over von Mercy’s covered legs. “Forgive me, General. You don’t mind if we use you as a desk, do you?”

Von Mercy rolled his eyes and adjusted his legs to steady the map. “Oh, no, not at all. Be my guest…General.”

Jeff Higgins chuckled. “Here’s our battlefield, gentlemen. Roughly, a five-, six-mile stretch of hills, woods, and farmland in front of the Maros River.”

“That’s if we take an offensive posture,” General Renz said, “and prepare to attack. There are still officers in the army, sir—Colonels Shalit and Makovec, specifically—that will continue to howl for a defensive posture. They want to set up a ring of defense around the capital and let the enemy come to us.”

Morris shot a quick, wary glance at Brigadier Higgins, who chimed in with a shake of his head. “No, Morris and I have already discussed this. My Silesian Guard are not suited for a siege. We function best on a field of battle. My Hangman Regiment, specifically, are shock troopers. One of the most elite forces in the world. And that isn’t hyperbole, gentlemen. They’re damned good. Sitting in a siege is a waste of their talents, and quite frankly, I don’t know just how long I can keep them in the field before Tata or Thorsten start screaming from Silesia to get them back.”

“There’s also a larger political issue to consider,” Morris said. “The USE is under siege at Linz. I don’t think we want to give Sultan Murad another ‘siege’ on which he can declare victory. Fighting two up-time armies to, in effect, a stalemate, is the kind of message he wants to give the world. The kind of message that says, ‘See here, these sons of bitches aren’t that tough; they can be stopped.’ And it may well embolden other countries to try their hand at chipping away at what we’ve accomplished.

“Plus, as you’ve noted, General von Mercy, the Sunrise is primarily a mercenary army. And I’m not made of money, contrary to popular myth. My coffers will dry up under a long siege, I’ll become a pauper, and Murad will just keep pouring more and more men into the theater until we can no longer hold them. No, we must meet them in the field and defeat them now.”

“Then we have to cross the Maros,” General Renz said, “and take control of the field before they arrive.”

Brigadier Higgins shrugged. “Well, maybe, maybe not. Morris and I have some thoughts on that.”

In turn, Jeff and Morris laid out their ideas one at a time. Von Mercy was grateful for General Renz’s presence, for he wasn’t shy about holding up his hand and playing devil’s advocate to shoot down any ideas that seemed far-fetched or downright dangerous. There weren’t many, von Mercy had to admit. General Roth wasn’t much of a strategist when it came to war—and he’d be the first to admit it—but Jeff Higgins seemed to have a keen mind when it came to planning. There was, however, a kink in their plan.

Von Mercy raised his hand. “Brigadier, you are assuming that the enemy has decided to conduct a two-pronged attack: the Moldavians from the north, the Wallachians from the south. It’s a fair notion, since we know from aerial reconnaissance that the Moldavians are now pushing to the Maros above the capital and the Wallachians are in Meinbach to the south.” He raised off his pillows and pointed to the center of the proposed battlefield. “But you are leaving the center almost entirely empty, save for a few Szekler infantry companies and some Hajdu mercenaries.”

Morris nodded. “Yes, we are. You’ve stated yourself that the Maros is difficult to cross there. One bridge and only a couple narrow fords, so we defend those to ensure any attempt to cross the river is difficult at best. Everyone else, we send north and south.”

“Based on intelligence,” General Renz said, “both the Moldavian and Wallachian armies have grown in their march to the capital. Not all, but some Transylvanian troops, even some Saxons, have joined their ranks, fearing more the reprisals of the Ottomans than our Grand Army of the Sunrise. Both armies will, in time, regardless of our deployments, push across the Maros. Once they do that, there’s nothing that will prevent them from pushing into our weak interior lines, linking arms, and marching into the capital as one force.”

Morris smiled, winked at General Renz, and said, “That’s where the Silesian Guard and the Zizka Brigade come in.”

“Yes,” Jeff said, “we’re going to hold my men and the Brethren in reserve and then deploy them like Napoleon used to do his Old Guard.”

“Napoleon, sir?” General Renz said.

Jeff nodded. “An up-time French general. One of the greatest in the history of the world.”

“A Frenchman?”

Von Mercy was as surprised as General Renz, but he said nothing, and instead, allowed Jeff Higgins to explain who Napoleon was and how he deployed his so-called “Old Guard,” his finest soldiers, in a battle.

“So you see,” Jeff said, continuing, “if the Wallachians break through in the south, I move my men and volley guns there in force. If the north suffers a breakthrough, the same. If both fronts begin to waver, I go south, the Zizka Brigade and its APCs go north, or vice versa. We’ll be fresh and ready to go.

“And remember, we have aerial reconnaissance that can be in the sky pretty much all day if necessary. We’ll be able to keep a good eye on their movements and be ready to act immediately.”

“Don’t forget, General,” von Mercy said, adjusting his sore leg to relieve the pressure. The map slid a little to the left. “The enemy has its own aerial asset. It’ll be up in the sky as well, assuming the weather behaves.”

“Yes, I know,” Morris said rather curtly, “and no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. I know the adage, General von Mercy. But it is a plan, and I believe it’s a good one. So, overall, what do you think of it?”

No plan ever survives first contact… Von Mercy wasn’t sure if he had ever heard that one, but it was quite appropriate. Morris’ and Jeff’s plan would not survive either. Von Mercy had already fought a battle in Transylvania, and although it had gone well, it could have gone very badly. The Transylvanian terrain, its cool, foggy weather, and with winter coming on, who knew what natural impediments they might face on the morning of the fight? Radio contact might be spotty; rain and wind might ground the Dvoraks; the APCs might get mired in mud. A million things could, and would, go wrong on the day of the battle. But, General Roth was correct. It was a plan, and honestly, a pretty good one given their current situation.

“Okay, General,” he said, “I accept it. General Renz?”

The newly appointed field commander of the Sunrise scratched his hairy chin, cleared his throat, and said, “It’s a good plan. But for it to work, we really must make a strong show of force both north and south. And soon. If we commit in a strong way, the enemy will be forced to do the same, and maybe we can stack them up before all their columns clear the river. That will buy us time, and if we’re lucky, they may not be able to cross at all.”

Morris nodded. “Then let’s gather all the regimental commanders together tonight and talk deployments and timetables. Eight o’clock.”

“We cannot meet in here, General,” von Mercy said. “Not enough room.”

“We’ll move the meeting to the library,” Morris said, “but this has to be a secure conversation.”

General Renz nodded. “I’ll ask Major General Lange to post guards inside and out—”

The door opened, and in walked a young cavalryman, out of breath, covered in splatters of mud and smelling of horse. His hard boots and stirrups clicked as he walked toward the bed. “General von Mercy, sir.” He bowed and held out a scrap of paper. “A message for you, sir.”

“Read it, General,” von Mercy said.

General Renz took the message and unrolled it. He read it once to himself, and von Mercy could see the man’s rather upbeat demeanor turn sour.

“What does it say, General?”

Renz rolled the message up and handed it to von Mercy. “It looks like our plan is already beginning to unravel.”


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