Chapter 33
Déj
Isaac’s wagon paused before moving into the central square to allow the First Regiment of the Joshua Corps time to move ahead and form ranks. First Alpha Company, then Baker, then Charlie. Two hundred men each in ranks of twenty-five. Their rifles were loaded and half-cocked; their swords ready at their belts. The regimental drums tapped staccato notes to a Yiddish song about bravery. Isaac had never heard the tune before, but as the men formed their lines, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. These men wore cuirasses over their white shirts, and helmets over their yarmulkes. Some had initially forgone wearing their helmets to show the enemy who they were, what they were, but sergeants within the ranks boxed their ears for such stupidity. “Wear your yarmulkes if you must,” Isaac had heard one sergeant yell at his men, “but I’ll beat you where you stand if you join battle without your helmets on!”
Isaac fished around in the pocket of his scrubs, pulled his own yarmulke out, and fixed it to his scalp. “What’s going on?” he asked a sergeant of Baker Company passing by.
The man paused, said, “Enemy cavalry has breached the eastern fortifications. Tatars!”
Radio reports through Len Tanner had indicated a large enemy attack on the eastern side of the city, but Isaac had only gotten drips and drabs of the reports, enough to know that he had to don his scrubs and get ready for the inevitable casualties. He watched as the Joshua Corps assembled and then, to the sound of drums, trumpets, and officers barking orders, began to move through the streets of Déj in one massive sea of humanity that terrified and excited him at the same time. His people, his brothers, marching to battle.
“Hello, Isaac.”
Isaac turned in his wagon seat and smiled. “Hello, Christian. How have you been?”
Christian shrugged. “I’ve had better days, but I’m alive, so I guess that counts for something.”
Isaac nodded, chuckled, and climbed out of the wagon. “When they are out of the way,” he said to the driver, “move up to the tent and begin unloading.” He turned back to Christian. “Is it safe here?”
“Not as safe as the northern approach, but safe enough. Assuming, of course, the corps prevails.”
They paused a moment to listen to the sounds of gunfire echoing through the town. Isaac’s instinct was to duck, to move out of the street and into a building, but the wagons passing by with the rest of his medical supplies gave him comfort.
He noticed the cut on Christian’s cheek. “That’s a nice cut. Are you wounded elsewhere?”
Christian shook his head. “Other than exhaustion, no. I was lucky. A lot of my men were not.”
“How many did you lose?”
“Twelve, for sure, and it could well be more. I’m not entirely sure of the exact number yet; things are still a bit chaotic. A quarter or more wounded, but most of them superficially, like my cheek. Some men just threw down their arms and fled. Not many, but a few. The regimental provost marshal is out looking for them.”
“Why bother?” Isaac asked, taking hold of Christian’s arm and guiding him toward the medical tent. “What are a few fleeing men?”
“And allow even more to abandon the company later? I understand the nature of mercenaries, Isaac, but I cannot allow such insubordination to fester. A captain who cannot maintain good order is not a captain for long.”
“Yes, but—” Isaac didn’t say the rest out loud…push too hard, and you’ll lose them anyway. There was no point in arguing. Now was certainly not the time. Instead, he said, “May I have a look at that cut?”
Christian nodded. “Certainly.” He pointed around the square. “By the way, I have my company guarding all the approaches to the medical tent.”
Indeed he did. With all the Ashkenazi soldiers moving through the streets, Isaac had not seen the cavalry in a tight ring around the plaza. “Thank you, Isaac.”
Before they stepped into the tent, Christian said, “Oh, one thing. Before you tend to me, I have one groggy patient who needs your attention.”
* * *
Distant cannon and musket fire sounded. General von Mercy had set up his guns on a ridgeline on the western side of the town and was answering Moldavian cannon fire with his own. The sound of clashing steel and shouting men seemed closer.
“Don’t worry, Isaac,” Christian said. “Those sounds are not as close as they seem. We’re safe here.”
Isaac wasn’t so sure. He wouldn’t feel safe until all guns stopped firing, all swords stopped striking, and men stopped dying.
The first casualties from the Joshua Corps’ assault against the Tatars began arriving.
Isaac did a quick check of the wound on the back of Lieutenant Enkefort’s head. “We’ll need to shave the area around the wound to check it completely. He’ll probably need stitches. I’ll have Devorah do that as soon as possible. How do you feel, Lieutenant?”
Enkefort nodded. “I’m fine, Isaac.”
“Good. You know my name. Do you know yours?”
Isaac went through a few concussion protocols with the lieutenant, then laid his head back down. “Devorah! Get someone to shave this man’s head, and then when you are able, please stitch his wound. And have someone look at Christian’s face.”
A badly wounded man stumbled through the flap and fell to the ground. “I’m sorry, Christian,” Isaac said, standing and turning away. “I can’t take care of you right now.”
Corps casualties began arriving in clusters of twos and threes, but in truth, Christian liked those numbers. There weren’t as many as he had feared. He figured that the wave of fire being delivered by the corps’ ZB-1636 rifles must be keeping casualties low. Casualties on their side of the battle line, anyway.
He turned to his lieutenant, but Enkefort had fallen asleep. “Well, Denise, it looks like it’s just you and me. Why don’t we—”
She was gone, and he figured she’d probably run off to check on her plane. Christian shook his head and sighed deeply. She could have at least allowed me to escort her there safely. The Dixie Chick wasn’t too far away. Captain Keller had taken up its security, but still: the streets of Déj were not safe right now and wouldn’t be until the last ball was fired.
He turned toward the flap to go out and check on his men. A young lady blocked his path.
“Excuse me, Fräulein, I didn’t see you—”
“My name is Andreea Hatmanu. Frau Devorah has asked me to look at your face. Come,” she said, motioning toward the flap. “Let us go outside. We are in their way.”
Christian followed her. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before,” he said, stepping out. The sun was high, the smell of drifting black powder strong. Cannons and muskets were still firing. Wounded men were still arriving. “Did you join the army on the march?”
Andreea shook her head. “No, I live here. I felt it my duty to assist in the care of wounded.”
Christian nodded, impressed.
“You speak excellent German.” He took to a chair she pointed to, then raised his face and closed his eyes. The sunlight was warm and welcoming on his skin.
“That surprises you?” Andreea asked. “Székelys know a lot of languages. We’ve had many…visitors…come through our lands, Herr von Jori. I know Yiddish and some Turkish as well, if you’d prefer—”
“No, thank you. German will be just fine.”
She pushed on his chin to raise his head higher. She then pressed a wet cloth against his cut and began to wipe gently. “Ah, not so bad. I do not think you will even need stitches.” She paused, then: “But I see that you have other wounds, fresh scars.”
Christian nodded. “Yes. Many months ago, from a different fight. Doctor Kohen can tell you all about those if you’re interested in knowing.”
She finished cleaning his wound and let his head down. He opened his eyes, and he spent several seconds looking at her face.
Her dark hair was tucked underneath a green bonnet. Errant strands of it covered her smooth cheeks. She was sweating, of course, with a bit of odor about her of both blood and bile, though it wasn’t unbearable or unpleasant to him. Her eyes were brown and large. Her mouth thin and pale. She was in her twenties, Christian assumed, though he couldn’t figure her exact age. Older than he was, by a few years at least. She was thin, but not skinny or malnourished. He found himself very attracted to her, as much by her obvious skill and intelligence as her appearance.
“You may go now,” she said to him finally, nodding and flashing a quick smile. “I wish you good health and safety, Captain von Jori. May God bless you.”
She turned to reenter the tent. “Thank you, Andreea,” he said. “I hope to see you again.”
She nodded and disappeared into the tent.
Don’t be foolish, Christian, he said to himself. You’ve no time for this right now. She isn’t Young Greta.
And yet, Christian couldn’t help himself from stepping to the flap and pulling it aside to take another long look at Andreea Hatmanu as she joined Isaac and Devorah to save a patient.
At the eastern approaches into Déj
The Joshua Corps had broken the back of the Tatar charge and had reinforced Captain Kinsky’s much beleaguered eastern defenses. The Moldavian attack had breached Kinsky’s wall in three places and then hit an immovable wall itself when the Ashkenazi soldiers countercharged with fixed bayonets. They were still pushing the Tatars back down the valley when the trumpets called to halt, fall back, and defend the wall. There wasn’t much of a wall left to defend, but General von Mercy was pleased. The Moldavians had hit them with everything, and with a much larger force, and still couldn’t tip the scales. A good sign of things to come.
“I must attend to the dying, General,” Rabbi Gotkin said as he rode beside von Mercy. He pointed to the casualty collection site that the corps’ medics had created about fifty feet behind the wall. There, a line of dead lay alongside a gathering of wounded. Some of them, von Mercy could see, were very badly wounded. Expectant, in fact.
“Of course, Rabbi,” von Mercy said. “Do your service.”
The rabbi climbed off his horse and joined a group of Ashkenazim who were huddled near a wounded fellow soldier. The wounded man was crying, begging for prayer. Rabbi Gotkin knelt beside him and began speaking to him in Yiddish. Von Mercy had no idea what he was saying, but the boy calmed immediately, began reciting what Rabbi Gotkin had said to him. A couple of minutes later, he died.
Colonel Renz and his staff rode into view. The colonel reined his horse, saluted, and said, “Congratulations, General. It would appear that Déj is yours.”
Von Mercy turned his ear to the wind. Distant cannon fire still erupted, errant muskets sounded near the southern approach, but otherwise, all was quiet, save for the commotion around them as the Joshua Corps began redressing its lines and gathering wounded. “How are Callenberk’s men doing?”
Colonel Renz nodded. “Well, sir. He’d like to get them back in the saddle and give pursuit.”
Von Mercy shook his head. “No, Colonel. He will withdraw from those defenses, reconstitute, and gather in the field near the Dvorak landing strip. I want all cavalry to do so. The Brotherhood will take command of the southern approaches. Our infantry will hold this town, not the cavalry.”
“Sir, the Moldavians are in full retreat. If we strike them now, we could deliver a serious blow from which they will have difficulty recovering.” Colonel Renz pulled a small map from his satchel, rolled it out, looked at it, and said, “Szamosújvár is the next town along the march. They will most certainly reconstitute there to try to hold the line.”
Von Mercy nodded. “It’s our understanding that a Transylvanian force marches to Szamosújvár right now. They may already be there.”
“Yes, General, but if we strike them hard on retreat, we could annihilate them. Hammer and anvil.”
Von Mercy considered. It was a sound strategy. Callenberk’s men were certainly capable of delivering such a blow, and they weren’t completely worn out from the fight. But…
“Fine, Colonel. But not Callenberk. I’m not going to push my finest dragoons out into a salient that could collapse on them at any moment. Send Hanau’s company, or Ulfsparre’s. They’re light, but far more capable of pulling out of a scrap than our heavies. Our Dvorak isn’t in the air, Colonel. We don’t really know what’s out there. We don’t know where the Impalers are, who, by the way, are the ones who grounded our pilot. Let us not be lethargic, but let us not be rash either. A little prudence right now is beneficial, Colonel. You have permission to send your lights, but Callenberk pulls back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel Renz was gone. Von Mercy continued to pick his way through the remnants of Kinsky’s eastern defenses.
A shot fired from the ridgeline overlooking the city. The ball hit the cobbles near the left hoof of von Mercy’s horse.
Corps soldiers returned fire, and the ridgeline quieted.
“General,” Rabbi Gotkin said, “I beg you: please return to headquarters. It isn’t safe for you and your staff to be here.”
His aide-de-camp grabbed the reins of von Mercy’s horse and guided them into an alley away from any further opportunistic assassination attempts. Von Mercy removed his hat and wiped his brow, letting his heart slow its pace.
Here I am speaking of prudence with my ass hanging in the wind, he thought as he allowed his staff to guide him through the narrow street and out of harm’s way. Wake up, General. Or you’ll be dead before you reach the capital.
Déj
Two of the four deserters from Captain von Jori’s company were found. The regimental provost marshal recommended that they “ride the donkey” to set an example, not only for the company, but for the entire regiment. And then they would be hanged by the neck until death.
Colonel Renz had no objection with either punishment but left the decision to Christian. “They’re your men, Captain,” he had said. “Do as you will.”
Christian overruled the first recommendation. The second, however, would stand.
Thus, ropes were strung into trees, and nooses placed around their necks, as they sat with hands tied behind their backs on their own horses. The Catholic chaplain gave the condemned their last rites and took their confessions. Christian then slapped his own hand against the hind quarters of each horse to make them bolt and watched until the deed was done.
“Are you okay?” Denise asked as they broke bread together in the regimental field kitchen hours later. She had come by to have supper with Christian’s company, the fourth time in as many days.
“I’m fine,” he said, stabbing a piece of horse meat and placing it on his tongue. A little tough, but it tasted wonderful, especially peppered with local seasoning. “I did not enjoy the sentence, but it was necessary. They had abandoned their company, their brothers, putting us all at risk.”
“Isn’t that what mercenaries do? Leave the battle when it gets too hot or switch sides when a better deal comes along?”
He nodded. “Sometimes, yes, and when unengaged, such conduct can be expected. Mercenaries most often desert for lack of pay, which, in our line of work, is paramount for our services. But in the middle of a fight? At the height of the battle? Abandoning their posts was tantamount to treason. They put my life—your life—at risk. That was unacceptable.”
Denise said nothing, but Christian could see that she was trying to reconcile her up-time sensibilities with down-time reality. Clearly, she did not like the idea of execution. Neither did he. But the alternative was even worse: losing his company altogether for his lack of leadership. His men had defended the southern fortifications well, but they had taken a beating, had suffered losses, and losses that could not be replaced until the full Sunrise gathered at Kolozsvár. Morale was low. They had not been paid since departing Kassa, and soon, they would saddle up and head to the next town. They needed to see that their captain was strong and capable, and not burdened with excessive sensitivity. Christian’s previous captain, Tideman, had taught him that, and it was advice worth respecting.
Christian finished his meal then waited for Denise. His long, deliberate stare obviously made her uncomfortable. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She smiled. “Don’t get any ideas, Captain von Jori. I have a boyfriend.”
“No, no, no,” he said, waving her off. “I have no desire for that. Trust me: my eyes are for someone else.”
He stood and brushed himself off. “But, if you are finished, there is something we must do.” He offered his hand. “Will you accompany me to the Dixie Chick, my up-time friend?”
* * *
“I thought you were going to tell me that story tonight.”
Christian nodded as the Dixie Chick came into view. “I will. I will. But first, Lieutenant Enkefort and I have a surprise for you.”
The Dixie Chick had been fully repaired. Or, at least as well repaired as it could be, given the fact that no one in town possessed the kind of canvas used in its construction or the exact skills necessary to do the work. A more flexible but thinner fabric had been found for the wing, and all the minor tears had been sewn shut. Denise knew about all this. She had coordinated the repairs herself and was scheduled to leave in the morning to return to Nagybánya. What she didn’t know about was waiting inside the cockpit.
“Okay, what’s the surprise?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll see.”
He brought them to a stop behind the plane’s tail. He dismounted and then helped her down. Together, they walked to the front of the plane. Lieutenant Enkefort stepped out of the cockpit.
“Hate to break it to you, Christian,” Denise said sarcastically, “but Enkefort is no surprise. Nice fellow. Injured knee A little woozy with a big bump on his head, but good with a radio.”
Christian sighed and motioned to the cockpit. “Look inside.”
She did so. At first, she didn’t see it, and then her gaze went to the canopy. Her mouth dropped open.
“I was able to find some quills and ink in town,” Christian said, moving up. “All the men in the company have signed their names. Those who can’t write marked themselves with an X or a scribble of some sort. But everyone in the company has signed it in appreciation for your service to us and for saving Lieutenant Enkefort in the line of duty.
“Denise Beasley!” he said, almost shouting her name. “Stand at attention!”
Shocked at the abruptness of his order, Denise turned and stood straight, allowing one tear to roll down her cheek. “For showing unfaltering courage in the face of the enemy and for saving Karl Enkefort’s life, you are hereby given honorary membership in Captain Christian von Jori’s cavalry company, Second Regiment.”
Lieutenant Enkefort unbuckled the sword on his back and handed it to her. “Denise Beasley,” he said. “Please accept this sword as the symbol of your status in the company. Keep it with you at all times, and may God keep you safe in the air and on the ground.”
Denise stood there silently, holding the scabbarded sword in her trembling hands. She let another tear fall down her face, and Christian could see that she was fighting the strong emotion to break down and cry. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.
She dropped the sword, cried like a baby, then pulled Lieutenant Enkefort forward in a strong embrace.
“How about a hug for me?” Christian finally said, hands on his hips. “I’m the one who’s actually bestowing the honor.”