"Please, Moritz," Amalie interrupted him. "Drop the formalities for now."
"Well, Elsie," he said smiling, "since we're alone. You certainly don't want to hand me the overall command of Kassel's troops on a silver platter. This colonel rank the Swede gave me is completely unearned."
A tiny smile had appeared on Amalie's face when she heard his nickname for her, but it quickly disappeared afterward. "Opposite to common belief," she said, "we are not completely devoid of experienced officers at the moment. However, we lack a leader. Even if you can only serve as a figurehead for the family, you're very welcome in that position."
Moritz frowned. Elsie's idea was not far wrong. There were lots of examples how young, inexperienced nobles had won battles when depending on an experienced staff. And while Mike Stearns wasn't exactly young, or noble, his successful example was still fresh in the Germans' minds.
He cleared his throat. "But what exactly do you expect from me?"
"Oh," Amalie said, sighing audibly, "not very much. Only to save my sorry ass and yours and those of all the people of Kassel and the rest of the landgraviate."
****
Kirchheim, Stift Hersfeld
As soon as Otto von Nassau was in command, as Peter thought, the young man turned out to be a very professional soldier.
The two men had exchanged their uniforms for worn clothes from a group of locals and were leading a "borrowed" ox-drawn cart through the dark streets of Kirchheim.
The invasion troops had entered the town shortly before sundown and not left in the morning. Only a rider, obviously a courier, had departed, most likely on his way back to Darmstadt. So there was a good chance that they now waited for a final order to start besieging Kassel. The colonel's last radio message had confirmed their wish to discover the secret of those weird wagons the Darmstadters carefully hid from prying eyes.
While the small barrels of a volley gun couldn't force Kassel to surrender, they still could wreak havoc among the populace on their way north through the landgraviate. If there was a chance to neutralize this threat and reduce the invasion army to just infantry and cavalry, they had the order to arrange that.
Kirchheim, while not a large town, was still protected by well-built walls, and now had a large garrison supporting the militia. Attacking here was not reasonable, but they really needed to know what to expect, and so Otto and Peter made their way into town.
It was early in the evening, but it was mid-November, and so the sun had set an hour ago, leaving the whole town dark. From time to time there was a window not completely barred to the slowly creeping cold of late fall, which gave them a tiny amount of light in addition to their pathetic lantern, but that was all.
Peter smiled inwardly when he noticed how spoiled he was from living in Grantville. All those gaslights or even electrical street lights made the town from the future visible from afar like a bonfire. Each afternoon tourists even walked the steep road up to Schwarzburg only to watch Grantville below them light up on sundown.
At least his eyes were good enough to notice potholes in the street and navigate the ox around them, while the lieutenant-slash-count followed keeping an eye on their backs.
They rounded another corner and suddenly met an obstacle.
"Halt," a uniformed man ordered them. Behind him several soldiers lifted their weapons. Soldiers, no town militia.
"Brrrr!" Peter brought the wagon to a stop.
The weaponry of those guys spoke volumes. Peter identified a small number of SRGs, but the others still carried old muskets—no ready fuses, so perhaps refitted to flintlocks—and those behind them had honest-to-God pikes. No up-time weapons as far as he could see.
Only the leader of the patrol wore a large first-generation down-time made revolver in his belt. He wasn't a real threat either. If Peter and Otto were forced into a quick retreat, they would be covered by the wagon, and could easily disappear in the dark.
And on the other hand …
"Where are you going to?" the officer asked.
"Th' market place," Peter said, trying to imitate the local dialect. That guy wasn't from here, either, so the difference shouldn't be too notable.
"What is in your wagon?"
"That a load o' yew handles f'r brooms, axes and pikes."
"Why do you arrive so late today?"
"Wheel broke 'n the way."
Peter was relieved that Otto had agreed to leave the talking to him. His noble West-Hessian accent would certainly have aroused suspicion.
The officer slowly circled the wagon. "We could use some spare shafts for pikes," he said.
"You can buy them at tomorrow's market," Otto von Nassau said.
Peter froze. That noble asshole! Why couldn't he keep his damned mouth shut?
"May I 'ffer you," Peter said with a daggerlike side glare to Otto, "couple o' them to show our appreciation for th' people defending our home country?"
"Five!" the officer hit back curtly, but there was a kind of leering on his face.
Peter grinned. Bargaining was far better than shooting. "Can give y' three and an axe handle."
"Deal," the officer said. "It's nice to deal with people who know the ropes."
****
"Can you please keep to our orders, Herr Leutnant?" Peter hissed when they were out of the patrol's earshot. "That could have busted our whole mission."
Otto glared at him. The young noble wasn't stupid, but he would never have admitted that he made an error. At least he didn't start shouting.
"How far do we have to go?" he changed the subject.
"Not far", Peter answered. "In fact …"
They turned around another corner and the small marketplace lay before them. There were more wagons lined up along the edge, awaiting tomorrow's event. A large campfire had been lit to fight the iciness of the night.
Peter's eyes found a corner in the shadow of another wagon. They had to be careful not to blow their cover; traveling merchants knew each other rather well. That had been the reason to catch a local dealer from Eifa instead. Merchants normally had individual and recognizable wagons.
Otto led the ox to the trough in the middle of the square while Peter went to pay the stand fee. Fortunately, he was the only late arrival, and so the clerk was happy to have someone to gossip with.
"These soldiers behave as if they own the town," the clerk lamented. "They blew my whole routine. It took me two hours longer to organize the market layout today, because they had trouble driving their bulky wagons around the corner of Sonnengasse and blocked all the traffic."
"Bulky wagons?"
"Yes, they're a foot wider than normal. I had to shift four merchant wagons around to create enough space for them."
A foot wider than normal. That alone was valuable information for Peter. Furthermore, now he had a lead where to look for them.
"I can't believe," Otto greeted Peter, when he came back to their place, "that you made me lead this murderous monster."
Peter frowned.
"This stupid thing tried to kick me. I nearly fell into the trough."
"Well, you didn't," Peter said dryly. "And I've got information on where we have to look."
They secured the ox and made their way into the darkness, around more corners and finally to the edge of town. There the soldiers had made camp. A number of campfires surrounded a large barn. The "bulky wagons" were nowhere to be seen, so they would have found cover in the barn.
But how could they pass those campfires? Wait until everyone was asleep? But then there certainly would be guards, and any movement would easily be spotted.
"We can make a virtue out of necessity," Otto murmured, pointing to a group of people in ragged clothes similar to those they were wearing. Those people were just unloading a couple of wagons, and hauling the content into the barn.
Peter nodded. Then they went casually closer and lined up with the queue of workers. Peter looked to the left and right, anxious to see one of the faces from the patrol, but there wa
s none.
In the first moment, Otto seemed to collapse under a fifty-pound bag of flour, but then he straightened and followed the man before him into the barn. Peter grinned while accepting his own load. The nobleman wasn't weak, but he hadn't expected how heavy the sacks those scrawny workers carried with ease really were.
Perhaps his view of the world might change a little from now on.
The barn was sparsely lit, and so the two spies had no problem getting lost after delivering their loads.
"There," Peter whispered.
"Shit!" Otto hissed.
Four wagons surrounded by guards. No chance to pass by them unseen. However, there were four more wagons standing unguarded in the near dark.
"Let's check the other wagons," Peter offered. "Perhaps we can get a hint of what we are dealing with."
****
"Rockets, Herr Oberförster," Peter said to Clott. "A lot of rockets made from cardboard."
"Three feet long, three inches in diameter," von Nassau added.
"And they have four of those multiple rocket launchers the Americans call katyusha," Peter continued. "They were covered with canvas, but judging from the bulkiness perhaps a dozen barrels each." He looked to Otto. The noble nodded agreement.
"Four dozen rockets in one volley," Clott said thoughtfully. "That can deliver a lot of damage in a short time, even if only half of them hit home."
"They also have a kind of large frame, perhaps for preparing the next volley. I think they can reload in less than a minute," Otto said.
Clott nodded. "Those are bad news. They can't conquer Kassel without cannons, but they can ignite fires within and kill everyone trying to leave the city. From what I know of the landgravine she won't have that for her people. She'd rather surrender quickly."
"We should take them out before they reach Kassel," Otto suggested.
"What about their conventional arms?"
Peter shrugged. "We couldn't see much, but judging from that patrol we met, less than half of them have SRGs. The cavalry has revolvers. The rest … not really up-to-date, but even pikes can do well in defending a wagon train."
"So that is not an option, Lieutenant von Nassau. I won't bleed my troops to death just to disable some newfangled weapons, even if I were certain that they pose a real threat to the capital."
"Yes, Sir, I understand."
"Nevertheless," Peter chimed in, "Lieutenant von Nassau's assessment is reasonable. Someone should take those launchers out of the equation if possible."
****
Borken, Thirty miles south of Kassel
"I don't think our advance was completely undetected," Gianbaptista Zenno said.
General von Groschlag nodded. "That's a reasonable assessment."
"So why haven't they attacked yet?" Gianbaptista continued.
"Hesse-Kassel has most of its troops in Poland," Captain von Groschlag, the general's cousin said. "Lost in Poland," he added, and the assembled officers laughed heartily.
If Gianbaptista's sources in the USE army were correct—they had been very reliable so far—the Hessian troops in Poland had reorganized by now, and had even been reinforced by the equivalent of two regiments of fresh recruits. Two companies of the Landgrave's own had left three weeks ago with the corpse but they hadn't resurfaced yet, and they consisted mainly of slightly wounded men, anyway.
The landgravine still had the Hessian Hunters, but they weren't really suited to win an open battle. Von Groschlag had made sure that his troops on their way north had used open roads, camped in fortified towns, and avoided forested slopes, which could have been used for ambushes. He'd lost a number of supply wagons, but it was not clear if they really were caught by pursuing Hunters or just deserted with their load.
"They will wait on the other bank of the Eder to catch us when we try to cross." Von Groschlag pointed at the map on the tavern table. "I would do that at least, and our scouts have verified troop movement."
"We can outmaneuver them and stay on the right bank," Gianbaptista said.
"Captain, can you tell our civilian friend why that is a bad idea?"
"Sure, General. Herr Zenno, that is most likely what they expect from us. If we avoid that confrontation, they can follow us on the shorter way inside this large bow of the Eder. We'd have to stay far away from the creek, or they would start to pick targets for their rifles among us. And their proficiency with those guns is well-known."
Gianbaptista nodded. "I stand corrected, but if they wait for us …"
"They probably expect us to lead our men and animals through the icy water of the Eder, but that would be within their range, and they could decimate us easily."
"Instead," the general took over again, "we'll appear on the south side of the creek long before dawn. The banks are muddy during the day, but at night they will freeze to a solid foundation. First we drive them into hiding with rocket volleys. We'll use incendiary rounds to set the forest on fire where they take cover.
"Then we lay those large wooden planks over the narrowest points of the creek and force the crossing quickly. We will flood them with cavalry and stop them from picking easy targets."
He straightened and turned to address the other officers. "I want to give the troops one more day here in Borken to check all their equipment and grease their boots. The temperature at night drops far below freezing at the moment, so I think we have an advantage here over units that need to stay out in the open. Make sure that they are all wearing their best pairs of socks tomorrow."
****
By four o'clock in the morning, the launchers were freed from their canvas camouflage and loaded with explosive rockets. The crews made sure that the wax-covered fuses were connected and were the correct lengths.
Then they made their way under the light of the nearly full moon down to the south bank of the Eder. When they got closer to the creek, fog was starting to rise from the water. Within a few minutes the visibility dropped to zero.
"Perfect," Captain von Groschlag whispered to Gianbaptista. "They can't see us coming, but we have enough local guides so we always know where we are."
Gianbaptista had some doubts. The fog was creeping into his clothes. Even though he wore two layers of the finest wool, his fingers were becoming numbingly cold. How might the soldiers do, if their fingers suffered as much, too?
He looked at the rocket launcher before him. The shiny barrels were covered with hoarfrost, but the crews had used blankets to keep the fuses dry. Everything looked good. So, why did he still have a bad feeling about this?
They reached the meadows bordering the creek on both sides. Here, they should be far enough from the forest on the other side of the meadows, where the landgravine's troops were said to be hiding.
The launchers spread out to the left and right, and Gianbaptista could barely hear the whispering of their crews. Tiny scratching sounds could be heard, when they adjusted the elevation of the barrels.
The pairs of horses carrying the large planks they would use to cross the creek were held back before reaching the meadow, so wouldn't be frightened when the rockets launched. The soft creak of well-greased boots was the only sound as the infantry professionally spread out to the far left and far right.
Everything seemed to be working like clockwork, but still Gianbaptista couldn't suppress his concern. Would this really be the first battle whose plan did survive contact with the enemy?
"Officers, check your clocks," von Groschlag commanded softly. "We'll start the attack in five minutes from … now."
****
At the edge of the forest on the other side of the meadow
The CB crackled softly. Twice. Then a short pause. Then another crack-crack. Then silence. They have arrived.
Moritz could not see anything in that foggy soup. Even his up-time binoculars were useless. Their opponents were professionals. The moon was bright enough for them.
But the message the radio had just delivered told him and the men in his vicinity that the enemy w
as down there. And Moritz had spent enough time during the last days to see a complete image before his inner eye. The Eder creek was flowing in meanders through a shallow valley. A meadow used for feeding the nearby village of Borken's livestock. Forest at both sides. Hills covered with a mixture of fir, oak, and beech.
He'd personally thought they would avoid the confrontation on such slippery ground, but his more experienced staff had been absolutely certain. Von Groschlag was not a man to lead his troops along a path where they could be hit by sharpshooters without a chance to shoot back.
And most likely the general was under pressure to create a fait accompli before anything in Berlin could be decided. The "convention" had started some days ago, and now the cat was out of the bag. Oxenstierna and his minions wanted to take the USE on a path to strong centralized government and Lutheranism, pushing the republicans out of the way.
Not long ago, Moritz would have completely sympathized with this goal. So what had changed to make him think otherwise? Well, the Ring of Fire had happened, and Moritz had had long talks with Wilhelm before his half-brother's demise. Wilhelm was certain that the changes that had happened were beneficial for the future of Germany. He'd read about how his own landgraviate had descended into mediocrity over the following centuries while the Prussians had taken over, forming a military-oriented nation and then led Germany into two devastating wars.
Wilhelm had believed that there was a royal road between democracy and absolutism, avoiding the bloodshed of revolutions like the French one, if—and only if—nobility became noble in the original sense again. Oppression of underlings was outdated. Especially if those underlings could easily exchange their hayforks for revolvers and shotguns when push came to shove.
Well, from his lips to God's ears.
Moritz called himself to order. The fog was moving; a slight breeze had started to push it away. The troops on the south bank of the Eder would certainly start soon with one or more rocket volleys. Then their infantry would advance and secure the crossing. They didn’t know yet that Moritz's engineers had flooded the whole valley with water from an upstream reservoir the day before. He'd made sure that no enemy scout returned to inform their general about this.
Grantville Gazette, Volume 64 Page 11
