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Chapter 21

Szatmár (Satu Mare)


They marched across the Hernád and onward east-southeast to the Tarca, which was, to their great joy, running low. Fording was easy, and they made good progress. Then they marched through all the small villages along the way with little to no resistance. Then they reached the Tisza, and the sky exploded with rain.

Its banks were overflowing such that fording was nearly impossible. Thus, most of the cavalrymen had to cross the river individually, holding onto a rope tied to both banks, while guiding and swimming alongside their horses burdened with saddles, firearms and accoutrements, satchels, and knapsacks. A couple horses spooked, broke away from their riders, and were found drowned a mile downstream.

The infantry fared better, moving in constant lines from one side of the bank to the other, holding a series of ropes and pulleys that brought them and their personal equipment across wet and disheveled, but in relatively good form. The baggage train, however, was not so lucky.

There was simply no way for the wagons to cross the Tisza where General von Mercy had decided to take his army. Thus, the train was diverted several miles downriver to a small village with adequate fords. Even then, the river was too high in most places for a safe crossing. So, the supplies were taken off the wagons and placed on boats which, if the citizenry refused to loan them, they simply confiscated. A makeshift pontoon bridge using three boats and warped slats was hastily bound together just to get the empty wagons across.

In the end, one wagon and one teamster were lost. The wagon tipped and broke apart in the rushing water; the teamster was crushed under the weight of his own wagon as it slipped through the warped slats of the pontoon bridge and pinned him against the damaged boat beneath.

Crossing the Tisza took two days for the army, five days for the baggage train. But now they had reached the northern town of Szatmár by following the relatively straight and calm Szamos River. The rain was still falling, but lightly, and nothing and no one else, had been lost.

General Franz von Mercy was glad to be out of the rain and into his tent. “I apologize for the accommodations, Herr Veres,” he said, taking a moment to remove his coat, belt, and sword. He placed all on the small table near the back of the tent. “But I cannot, in good conscience, commandeer better accommodations for your visit, nor would I ask that you do so for me in the name of your prince. We won’t be staying here in Szatmár for long.”

The man bowed humbly. “Then allow me to officially introduce myself in the name of George I Rákóczi, prince of Transylvania.

“My name is Gáspár Bojthi Veres. I serve as a member of my master’s court, and I and my small entourage have been sent here to officially welcome you to our humble garden. I apologize that the prince himself could not attend you, but…” He paused, and von Mercy saw a twitch of concern cross the man’s face. “…for the prince to travel from the capital beyond the border of our northern country would be dangerous. We have just recently learned that there is a terror group comprised of Moldavians, Turks, and Bessarabians conducting strikes against our beloved country and its citizenry. The ‘Impalers’ it is called, harkening back to a darker period in our history. If this group were to learn that the prince travels north, I’m certain that these monsters would not hesitate to find and seize, if not kill, him.

“So, I have come to you as his liaison. I am here to welcome you and to guide you on your march to the capital…if that is still General Morris Roth’s intention. As his field general, will you fulfill his and Prince Rákóczi’s agreement to provide military aid to our country?”

Von Mercy could hear the anxiety in Herr Veres’ voice. Obviously, communication between Morris Roth and the prince—or his brother Pál—had been nonexistent since they had agreed to the alliance back in Prague. Transylvania did not have radio communication, so they had no idea when, or if, the Grand Army of the Sunrise would arrive. The fact that this liaison had appeared so quickly here in Szatmár to welcome them meant that he was already bending the truth. Herr Gáspár Bojthi Veres hadn’t traveled from the capital in lieu of the prince: he had already been stationed here, waiting.

“General Roth wishes to convey his apology for not arriving in full,” von Mercy said. “Various issues—mostly related to supply and aerial resources—has forced him and the rest of the Sunrise to remain in Kassa until such a time as those matters can be resolved. In the meantime, he has sent me in with an advance force to make it clear that we will fulfill our agreement. We’ve agreed to render military assistance to Transylvania, and that is what we will do. Please, take a seat.”

Von Mercy had acquired a few up-time aluminum folding chairs, so he grabbed one, opened it, and set it near the table. The liaison seemed reluctant at first to sit down. Then he relented and sat with a leery, but excited, grin on his face.

“Compliments of the future, Herr Veres,” von Mercy said. “The up-timers have designed a lot of clever things on which to sit. You like?”

Gáspár wiggled his backside into the fibrous, plastic straps. “Comfortable. Very comfortable.”

“Far better than a three-legged wooden stool, at least.” Von Mercy grabbed another for himself and took a seat across the table. “Now, let’s have a discussion. What is your military situation?”

Gáspár rubbed his Vandyke and sniffed loudly. He seemed congested. His eyes were watery, his nose runny. I wonder if he has a cold? I’ll call in Doctor Kohen afterwards.

“As anticipated, Moldavian and Wallachian forces are on the move,” Gáspár said. He lowered his face and sighed deeply. “Csíkszereda has fallen in the east near the Moldavian border. Voivode Lupu’s army, perhaps seven, eight thousand strong, moves toward the capital. Wallachian forces are prepared to march to Hermannstadt in the south. This will be a difficult endeavor for Voivode Basarab, but not impossible, especially now that Ottoman forces have arrived.”

“They have arrived?” von Mercy asked, not liking the sound of that. “Have they been deployed?”

Gáspár shook his head. “Not as far as we can see. For now, the fighting east and south of Gyulafehérvár are of matching armies. Prince Rákóczi has put into the field his personal guard comprised of elite cavalry and artillery. Székely infantry and cavalry from Sees along the Moldavian border. Saxons from Sees south. And thousands of Hajdus from the Partium.”

“Only Hajdus? No other mercenaries?”

“No, General,” Gáspár said, again looking despondent. “It would seem that all other good mercenaries are fighting against us.”

“Can you be more specific about troop types and numbers?”

“Alas, I cannot, General. I am a scholar, not a warrior.”

Wonderful! They send me a teacher…“I see. And what is the state of your forces here in the north?”

“Not as well armed or equipped as those south and east of the capital, I’m afraid,” Gáspár said, adjusting his position on the up-time chair. Von Mercy could hear the embarrassing squeak and groan of the chair as the man shifted his position. It seemed as if Gáspár heard it too and immediately stopped moving.

Von Mercy gave a small chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, Herr Veres. I’ve heard much worse with other up-time chairs. You get used to it.”

Gáspár accepted the general’s assurance, nodded, and continued, “Many from our northern towns have answered Prince Rákóczi’s call and have gone to the capital to help defend it against the invaders. This did not seem like a problem when the order was given, for we were expecting General Roth’s entire army to arrive.”

Von Mercy could hear the rebuke in Herr Veres’ words. He let it go. If he were in the man’s boots, he might say and feel the same thing. Transylvania was, in effect, under heavy siege. Von Mercy couldn’t blame the man for being a little—how did the up-timers say it?—miffed about the situation and the slow pace under which aid had arrived.

“When can we expect the entire Grand Army of the Sunrise to arrive, General?”

Good question…but do I tell the truth? I don’t know. “General Roth will be moving within a week, two weeks at the most. And they will follow the same path toward the capital that we will take.”

“I see,” Gáspár said and again, clearly unhappy with the answer. “And what route will that be?”

Von Mercy rose from his chair and rummaged through his sizeable stack of maps bundled together with cord. He pulled out one and rolled it across the table. Gáspár assisted in holding down one side of the map to give von Mercy ample room to indicate the route.

“From here,” von Mercy said, moving his hand south along a series of trails and dirt roads hastily sketched onto the rough surface of the map, “we move to Erdőd, to Zilah, and into Kolozsvár. Once there, I’m to await further orders.”

Gáspár looked at the route carefully and sighed from time to time, which proved most annoying. “Is there a problem with this route, Herr Veres?”

“No, General,” he said, “not at all. It is the most logical route for an army to take. It is a move straight into the plateau and it avoids the most egregious peaks and valleys of the Carpathians. It is a wise course. However, I do not believe that it will suffice under the current circumstances.”

“Oh? And what circumstances are those?”

Gáspár stepped away from the map, sniffled again, seemed to suppress a sneeze, and said, “That terror group I spoke about? Those damnable Impalers? They are screening a sizeable Moldavian force that has broken off from Voivode Lupu’s main army and is moving to get behind the capital and, perhaps, take Kolozsvár. I do not know their exact destination, but that would be the most prudent thing for them to do under the circumstances.”

Von Mercy nodded. “Thus establishing a defensive position along the most likely road into the capital, and thus evening the odds a little in their fight against a more modern army.”

Gáspár nodded. “You see the truth of it, General. I’ve been told that you are a most excellent commander. It is a delight to see how your mind works.”

Von Mercy appreciated the compliment, but he proceeded nonplussed. “Do you think this Moldavian force can actually seize Kolozsvár?”

Gáspár shrugged. “By itself, no. Kolozsvár is close to the capital. Prince Rákóczi will defend it as well as he defends his own home. But, it is clear that the Impalers are having an impact on the population as they screen the advancing force. They are calling the Grand Army of the Sunrise a heathen army, filled with godless Jews, whose true purpose is to kill and rape the country and turn Transylvania into a Jewish nation. They have killed Jews and Sabbatarians and have threatened to spit their babies up onto pikes to warn the rest of the peasants in that area not to support the Jew’s army or suffer the consequences. Already, there are reports of scores of Transylvanians joining the ranks of the Moldavian force. If they are allowed to persist in this campaign of fear, General von Mercy, they may well have enough in the end to take Kolozsvár. If they do…”

The man did not need to finish his statement. Von Mercy knew the answer. “Then what direction to Kolozsvár, Herr Veres, do you recommend?”

Gáspár leaned over the map again and pointed in a more southeasterly direction. “From here, I recommend Nagybánya, then Déj, then Szamosújvár. I will guide you personally. It is in this direction that we believe the Moldavian force is headed.”

Von Mercy nodded. “In order to get above Kolozsvár and cut us off before we arrive.” He ran his finger along the entire route. “This will take us through more hazardous terrain, Herr Veres. Put us closer to the Eastern Carpathian range.”

Gáspár nodded. “As I say, I will be your guide. I know the way. And, as Prince Rákóczi’s liaison, I can settle nerves and the apprehension of the citizenry as we go along. And it may be that I can convince many of them to join your cause.” He looked up and smiled. “That area is filled with Sabbatarians and Jews, General. You should find allies along the way.”

Von Mercy had no desire to gather up peasants as he marched, regardless of their political or religious affiliations. Right now, his army was lean and mean, as up-timers might say, and with good up-time weaponry, it was an elite force, capable of holding its own against an army twice its size. Adding more mouths to feed, more bodies to train, was not part of the plan. Then again, if the Moldavian force was gobbling up recruits along the way, it would not hurt to add a little fat around the midriff to absorb some of their gunfire. A brutal thought, von Mercy admitted to himself, but then again, war was brutal.

The key to pulling off this change of route would be good intelligence, both on land and in the air. If at least one Dvorak plane could be put on reconnaissance duty, and if at least a few good cavalry companies could move ahead of the column and scout the way forward, then this relatively minor change of direction would go smoothly.

Von Mercy was less concerned about this reported Moldavian army trying to outflank him than he was these Impalers. Irregular warfare was aggravating, debilitating, and if allowed to continue, could break down the cohesion of an army in good time. One important purpose of such military tactics was to buy time, and like General Roth was fond of saying on occasion, time was not on their side.

“Then that is how it will be,” he said, returning to his chair. “We will spend a couple days here. My men need a little time to recover, to get their bearings, and then we will strike out to Nagybánya, with you as our guide. I will radio General Roth and tell him of our plans.”

“Radio?”

“You have never seen a radio, Herr Veres?”

The man shook his head and finally, in one large, tent-shaking breath, sneezed. He produced a handkerchief and wiped his nose and mouth. “My apologies for that, General. This weather has brought me down. I’ve heard of radios, but have never seen one in action.”

“Ah,” von Mercy said, “then I invite you to accompany me while I send a message. My communications chief is an expert. He can answer any questions you may have. In the meantime, I will ask my personal surgeon to take a look at you. He’s trained in up-time medicine. He might be able to knock that cold right out.”

Gáspár nodded. “Many thanks, General. But it may be that the only thing that can knock out this affliction is a mallet.”


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