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Chapter 36

Zilah (Zalău)

“I’ve got it!” Denise shouted into her radio.

“Got what?” Tuva asked as they both flew, side by side, over the Grand Army of the Sunrise as it made its slow, deliberate way into Zilah.

“The name for your plane. How’s about…”

“How’s about what?”

The answer hung on the tip of Denise’s tongue. She bit it back as they both flew their little pushers up and over a crest of wooded hills skirting the field on which they were required to land. The weather had been pleasant, but now, Denise eyed a low rolling series of nimbus clouds moving quickly into the area.

“Five thalers says I land better than you.”

The name she was going to propose was now completely out of her mind as Denise turned her attention toward the challenge. “You’re on.”

Denise couldn’t recall if she had ever seen a Blue Angels routine up-time. Probably not, save for glimpses of them on the TV. She imagined now that she and Tuva were pilots in that distinguished group. Sure, their Dvoraks lacked the speed, performance, and sheer strength of those up-time jets, but in the here and now, no one would make the comparison.

She shifted further right, moving away from Tuva a tad to give them both ample room for the landing and for the possible need to pull up and have another go at it if necessary. Tuva increased her speed, and Denise considered signaling caution, as the field below was short, and who the hell forgot to remove their cattle? Instead, she increased her own speed as she now understood why Tuva had done so: to avoid slamming into that same herd.

“If my landing gear gets all funky with cow shit, I’m—”

“Don’t worry, Denise,” Tuva said. “I’ll guide you in.”

Guide me in? Who does she think she is? Better than me?

Tuva had grown extremely competent in piloting the Dvorak, much to Denise’s chagrin and delight. Any more time behind the stick, and the young girl would replace her as the premier pusher pilot of the Sunrise.

Denise slowed the Dixie Chick and maneuvered to fall behind Tuva. It didn’t matter who landed first; what mattered was the manner in which they landed. And besides, let Tuva hit all the cow patties.

The first droplets of rain struck Denise’s windshield, and a burst of wind pushed the Dixie Chick left. She considered ditching her plan to follow Tuva down, but managed to regain control and slide back into place.

Down, down, down, both planes dropped to align themselves with the hastily assigned landing crew who, waving dirty cloth flags, guided them in.

Tuva touched down first, bouncing three times before her landing gear found the proper purchase. Denise waited for that third bounce before she too set down.

Their speeds were such that it was difficult to know at a glance whether or not Tuva was plowing through cattle waste. Denise couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?” Tuva asked over the radio.

Denise followed her lead and slowly set on the brakes to bring the Dixie Chick to a complete halt, just ten feet behind her.

“Not at all,” Denise said as she ran a quick check of the cockpit and then killed the engine. “I thank you for clearing a path for my perfect landing.”

Tuva huffed. “Mine was better!”

Denise climbed out of the cockpit, removed her leather helmet, tossed it on the pilot seat, and met Tuva in the middle. “You did good, girlie. You did good. Pretty soon, you’ll be as good a pilot as me.”

“Already am.” Tuva winked. “It took you four bounces to settle. I got it in three.”

Denise shrugged. “Three, four. What does it really matter? I tell you what: you buy me lunch before we meet with the boss, and we’ll call it a draw.”

Denise almost burst out laughing as she saw Tuva struggle with whether or not that was a fair deal. Finally, she snorted and wrapped her arm around Tuva’s shoulders. “Oh, never mind. It’s on me.”

Tuva blew Denise a raspberry, bumped her with her hip, and allowed herself to be led from the field. A large number of soldiers took up guard around the Dvoraks. That was good, Denise thought. There’d been a lot of Impaler activity during the march, though Gretchen had lowered the boom on much of that. Still, security around all aircraft was essential now that they were further into Transylvania than they had ever been. How long they might stay in Zilah was a question that might or might not be decided later today at their meeting with Morris. Right now, however, sustenance called.

“Say,” Tuva said as they walked from the field, stepping carefully through the cow patties, “what’s the name you were going to say?”

“Name?”

“For my plane.”

“Oh yes. How about…” Denise groaned and scratched her head. “Damn. I plumb forgot.”

* * *

“So what do they want?” asked Werner Ruppel, after Gretchen returned from her discussion with the small group of people who had been awaiting them in front of the wooden church that was more or less the center of the small town of Zilah. The church was fairly good-sized. Its most notable feature was a narrow conical steeple topped by a crucifix.

“It seems this area, including Zilah itself, is governed by a council of elected officials they call ‘senators.’” She nodded her head back in the direction of the church. “The short, plump one with the plumed hat is the mayor. This group of five senators has been given the authority to negotiate with us.”

Werner squinted in their direction. “Negotiate with us? About what?”

“The Impalers have been terrorizing the area for the past couple of weeks. They heard about what we did at Szatmár and would like us to do the same for them.”

Werner sniffed. “And what help do they offer us?”

Gretchen smiled thinly. “They will cheer us on most loudly and fervently. After we succeed, they might even give us a parade.”

Werner sniffed again. “As long as we cover the cost, I presume.”

Gretchen’s smile turned into a genuine grin. “As it stands, their proposal is ridiculous. But there might be something useful we could do, given that we do now have official sanction and approval.”

Gretchen looked around the open space that served Zilah as a “town square.” There appeared to be no Rathaus which would have a convenient cellar restaurant and tavern, but down the street a ways and across from the church, she saw a large two-story building—made of wood, like the church—which was probably a local substitute for a Rathaus. They could get some food and perhaps even some lodgings for the night, at least for some of their group.

“Down there,” Gretchen said, pointing.

* * *

Happily, it did turn out to be a tavern with some rooms available. The tavern was spacious enough for all of them to eat together and even had a few rooms available. Most of them would have to make camp in the square—no, better make that all of them. The dilapidated nature of the tavern made Gretchen think that the bedding would already be well-inhabited with small multilegged wildlife.

Once her eyes got accustomed to the dim interior of the tavern, she saw that it already had three people sitting at a table toward one side—all of whom she recognized.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she said, heading their way. “A coincidence running into them here? I doubt it.”

After she and Werner took a seat at the same table, they ordered ale but no food. All the tavern was serving was a stew of some sort, and judging from the only half-eaten bowls in front of their three new companions, she thought they’d all do better to have lunch prepared by the CoC expedition’s two cooks.

“I assume meeting you here is not accidental,” she said, after ordering the steins of ale.

The Saxon “notable” they’d first met in Szatmár, Ignaz Honterus, smiled and shook his head. “Not entirely, no. As it happens, my friends and I had been planning to make a trip to Kolozsvár in the near future. We arrived here in Zilah the day before yesterday and decided to stay until you appeared. There are things we’d like to talk about.”

“Are you the ones who persuaded this delegation of senators to ask us for our help against the Impalers—which amounted to us doing it alone?” asked Werner, his tone bordering on belligerence.

The answer came from one of the two men accompanying Honterus. “No—in fact, we told them you’d insist on an alliance. You’re not mercenaries.”

Unlike Honterus, for whom German was his native tongue, this fellow’s was heavily accented. Gretchen assumed he was a Szekler, who grew up speaking Hungarian.

“We haven’t been introduced,” she said.

“My oversight,” said Honterus apologetically. “This is Elek Ferenc, one of my Székely associates.” He nodded toward the third man. “And this is a fellow Saxon, Christian Sommerus.”

“We’re willing to help,” said Gretchen, “but only under certain conditions.

“First, we can only leave four of our people here. We will need the rest for our operations in Kolozsvár.” Here, she smiled. “I will leave unsaid the precise nature of those operations, at least for the moment. We can also leave behind ten of our Hocklott rifles, and…”

She looked at Werner. “A thousand rounds,” he said. “More later, if we can prevail upon Morris Roth to lend us the use of one of the Jupiters.”

Now she looked back at Honterus. “The Hocklott is the USE army’s newest rifle, a .406 caliber breechloader, and probably the best rifle anywhere in the world, at least for the moment. You’ll be far better armed than the Impalers.”

She paused for a moment. “We will require at least ten, preferably fifteen or twenty, of your own people. All of them should have some military experience—and all of them must be willing to accept the direction and orders of our people. The man we will leave behind in command is Heinz Anckermann. He was a platoon leader in the USE army and fought at the battle of Ahrensbök. Perhaps more useful was that he later led one of the CoC columns during Operation Krystalnacht which scoured the Rhineland of anti-Semites. There’s not much difference between such folk and Moldavian Impalers.”

Honterus and his two companions looked at each other.

“Given the preponderance of Szeklers in this area, it might make sense for me to remain behind,” said Ferenc.

Honterus shook his head. “No, I’ll need you to deal with the Szeklers in Kolozsvár.” Here he bestowed a thin smile upon Gretchen. “I will leave unsaid the precise nature of those dealings, at least for the moment.”

Gretchen laughed.

“I think Christian can handle the situation here,” he added. “Don’t forget that there are now a lot more Saxons here than usual, who fled from the Wallachian invasion.”

“And many of whom are furious about the situation,” said Christian. “Some of them are bound to find the prospect of killing Moldavian invaders appealing. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble getting recruits.”

Gretchen rose from the table. “We’re done, then. Heinz will introduce himself later today. Tomorrow, the rest of us will be on our way to Kolozsvár.”


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