Chapter 58
Northern battle line
Elements of Mitzlaff’s, Truckmuller’s, and Christian’s companies fired their pistols in caracole, then charged into the massive block of Moldavian infantry on the right flank. This was the first time Christian had charged into battle since early spring. The thought of it made his weak right eye ache.
This wasn’t Déj, however, where he had fought against an inexperienced army with little knowledge of up-time weaponry. This infantry block had rifled muskets that fired Murad mini-balls.
The first line of cavalry fell almost instantly as the Moldavians fired into the charging cavalry. The second and third lines, however, reached the infantry flank and slammed into it, whipping their swords through the air, firing pistols. Horses, inflamed with fear and rage, bucked and bit equally enraged footmen on their flanks. Alphonse reared up on his hind legs as a pike was thrust toward his neck. Christian drew his second pistol and put the man down before the tip of the pike could puncture Alphonse’s throat.
Christian holstered his spent pistol and pulled his sword from its scabbard. A footman on his right tried raising his musket and firing. Christian yelped and brought the blade of his sword down on the man’s arm, cutting through his buff coat and hearing the crack of his arm as he screamed and fell. A rider from Truckmuller’s company galloped over the falling man and disappeared into a swirling morass of swords, pikes, and pistol shots.
Christian pushed further into the mass as well, bringing his sword down left, then right, left and right. Another pike was thrust his way. This time, it struck meat, slashing his left leg and cutting Alphonse as well. The horse reeled backward, and Christian fought to maintain control.
“Whoa, Alphonse,” he shouted, “whoa now!”
It was difficult to regain control in the midst of battle. For a moment, Christian considered dismounting, but Lieutenant Enkefort, on his own horse, appeared at his side. He grabbed Alphonse’s reins and helped get the horse under control.
“Thank you,” Christian said quickly and rejoined the fight.
The ground was becoming sloppy with mud, blood, dead and wounded men. The Moldavians, under reasonably good command, managed to fall back and reform their lines. Christian knew exactly what to do under these conditions.
He waved his sword in the air, and the company trumpeter sounded the retreat.
General headquarters
Grand Army of the Sunrise
Morris Roth paced back and forth as he wiped the unending flow of sweat from his brow. Ellie Anderson finished her radio communiqué with Tuva, put the phone down, and said with as much sincerity and grace as she was able. “Morris, please, calm the fuck down. You’ve got to pace yourself. The battle has just started. It’s going to be a long day.”
General von Mercy, who sat in his wheelchair studying maps and speaking with General Renz via radio, wasn’t sweating. The messengers moving in and out of tent headquarters weren’t sweating. Nobody in the tent was sweating except him, as a matter of fact, and why the hell not? Didn’t they understand the magnitude of this engagement? Couldn’t they see what was at stake here? If the Sunrise lost, then what did that mean for the Anaconda Project? And what did it mean for the thousands, the tens of thousands, of Jews who had put their trust in him? To see the Joshua Corps reel back in defeat? And right now, according to Tuva’s report, they weren’t doing very well. I should have sent the Silesians in. Should have sent them in.
“Shut up, Ellie!” Morris snapped. “I’m busy here! I’ve got a battle to fight!”
“Hey, boss,” Len said, “don’t be so harsh. Ellie’s just worried about you, is all. We’re all worried.”
Morris threw up his arms. “She can tell me to ‘calm the fuck down,’ but I say ‘shut up,’ and it’s an issue? Both of you just do your duty, goddammit, and leave me alone.”
All conversation in the tent halted as Morris stepped around the map table and to the flap. He did not step outside. He stood there, by the entrance, looking out toward the hospital and beyond it to the central battlefield. In the distance, he could see the Silesian banners waving in the wind, Brethren banners just beyond them. A massive number of men just waiting. And such a foolish thing to do.
No. He couldn’t start second-guessing his decisions again. He had made his final decision with von Mercy. Ellie was right. The battle had just started. He had placed his trust in the plan and in his command staff. He needed to stand down, wait, and let them work.
Yes, Morris…calm the fuck down.
The Dixie Chick
Denise felt like she was in a tag team wrestling match. The airship was the opponent, and she and Tuva kept tagging in and out like twin sister lady wrestlers. The airship moved north, and Denise tagged in. South? Tuva. Unfortunately, their big, brooding hulk of an opponent didn’t want to be dropped to the ring’s canvas, and she couldn’t get close enough to try a strong flip over the shoulder, even if she had the weight and wherewithal to do it.
But this time, she did fly closer, for her opponent had flown over the capital and was now circling the airfield. Fortunately, the Jupiter and the Dauntless had been moved to Koloszvár, and so, there was little or nothing to see down there. But given its propensity to drop firebombs, Denise was concerned. If it struck the radio tower with one of them, that could cause significant communication problems.
She flew under the craft and past it. She circled around, minding some wind shear, as men from the gondola tried taking shots at her. They all missed, as she expected, but the residual fire did distract them from attacking the radio tower.
The good news was that her harassment did force the craft to move along. The bad news was that, while she was trying to keep it from striking the tower, the Moldavian infantry that had been gathering in the hilly woods to attack the airfield were no longer there.
Where did they go? she wondered. They’d probably been called back to the main line. Why attack an empty airfield?