custody of Albrecht’s sons, they had some leverage over the man who might very well become Bavaria’s next duke without having to wait for Maximilian to die a natural death.
“Bring them back here,” said Piazza. He didn’t elaborate on his reasons for choosing Bamberg over the nation’s capital. Given the near-civil war that had erupted within the USE, the SoTF’s president probably saw no reason to give up any assets, even if he didn’t have any immediate use for them himself.
As a technical exercise, the project was perfectly manageable. Bamberg had an airfield outside the city walls which could handle dirigibles as well as airplanes. But in a pinch, an airship could be brought into the city itself. The market square was big enough to land one of the Swordfish — class airships like the Albatross or the Pelican. Doing so in strong winds would be difficult, though. But the weather today looked good, and Miro presumed that Piazza wanted this mission undertaken immediately.
The news of the Bavarian attack on Ingolstadt had already spread throughout the city, but Miro knew very few of the details. Of course, it was quite possible that no one knew many details yet.
“Do we know if the Bavarians are sending an expedition to Amberg?” he asked.
“Yes, they are.” That came from Heinrich Schmidt. The thick-chested young general had a cold grin on his face. “And if you’re wondering how we know, you’ll be pleased to hear that your Pelican escaped the city last night. With Rita Simpson on board, as well as your survey crew.”
That was a relief. Estuban had been worried about what might have happened to Stefano and the airship.
“They’ve decided to remain in the area, serving Major Simpson and what survives of the Danube Regiment as scouts, while they try to reach safety in Regensburg.”
He didn’t bother to ask Miro-who was, after all, the proprietor of the Pelican and Stefano Franchetti’s employer-whether or not he approved. Estuban was not surprised. He’d already learned that Americans and those like Schmidt who shared their view of things took a very expansive attitude toward the use of private resources in times of crisis. They called it “nationalization.” Being fair, plenty of down-time rulers did much the same thing-and the Americans eventually returned the property and recompensed the owners for its use, which any number of kings and dukes neglected to do.
Estuban had already figured out that the smart thing for him to do was to be very cooperative at such times. Indeed, he satisfied himself with simply billing the government for his expenses, not seeking a profit from such work at all.
Not a direct profit, rather. Indirectly, eventually…ah, the possibilities were endless. The up-timers also had an appropriate name for that. “Most favored nation status.” Estuban saw no reason that term couldn’t be used expansively as well. “Most favored company status” had a nice ring to it, he thought.
“In that case,” he said, “I think it would be wise to plan on bringing more gasoline to Regensburg. If it’s not carrying anything else except the necessary crew, any Swordfish — class dirigible can haul five barrels of gasoline in a single trip. We could operate both airships out of the city, with that much fuel. Not just now but throughout the crisis.”
Schmidt and Piazza looked at each other. Then, the gazes of both men got a bit unfocused as they considered all the many military possibilities that would open up if the SoTF had what amounted to its own air force.
“Oh, splendid,” said Schmidt. His grin widened while somehow not gaining any warmth at all.
“How soon can you leave?” asked Piazza.
Estuban pondered the question for a moment. “I am tempted to say within an hour, but it might require two. The flight itself, depending on the winds, will take somewhere between an hour and a half and three hours.”
The SoTF’s president nodded. “Either way, you’d get there well before nightfall. Would you have enough time to fly back?”
Miro shrugged. “Perhaps not. But if the Bavarians are already investing the city-very unlikely, I’d think-and the situation was too critical to wait until morning, we’d simply take off. Then it all depends on the winds. That’s what the Pelican chose to do last night, after all.”
An airship the size of the Albatross, even with a minimal crew and all cargo space devoted to extra gasoline, couldn’t fly for very many hours without refueling. The problem wasn’t the engines, it was the fuel needed to keep the burners going. That was the great advantage of hydrogen over hot air designs, in addition to the greater buoyancy-you could fly much greater distances before having to refuel. Estuban had chosen the more primitive but safer hot air design for his fleet because the ships were only intended for short-distance runs. And it was much easier to stockpile gasoline supplies where needed than make sure hydrogen would always be available.
But if the winds were light and there was no need to reach an exact destination-nor any way to find it easily, in the dark-it was usually possible to keep an airship like the Albatross afloat until daybreak. Nothing was certain, of course.
Up-timers often had difficulty accepting that reality. They had come from a world in which air transport was a safer form of travel than any. But this world was in the very dawn of the aviation era. Nothing was certain, once you left the ground-and casualties were heavy.
Estuban loved it.
Chapter 11
To Tom’s surprise, the Bavarians didn’t attack them until late in the afternoon-and then, it was no more than a brief skirmish between a cavalry patrol and two platoons from Geipel’s company. From what Tom could tell, the cavalry unit seemed to have stumbled upon the platoons by accident.
“There’s a large force of infantry coming after you,” Rita told him that evening. “ I figure at least a thousand men. But they’ve already camped for the night. I don’t see how they could catch up to you until tomorrow afternoon.”
By then, Tom would be within fifteen miles of Regensburg. That distance could be covered in a day, with one long hard march. That assumed they didn’t have to stop and fight, of course, which was probably wishful thinking.
“All told, I think there’s another five hundred or so cavalry on your tail,” she continued. “They’re a lot closer, but they’re hard to count because they’re scattered all over east Jesus. I can’t for the life of me figure out what their commanding officer thinks he’s doing. Over.”
“They’re probably foraging,” Tom replied. “We haven’t been leaving anything behind for them.”
He was feeling a little guilty about that, but only a little. His troops were taking all the foodstuffs they could find as they marched down the Danube, and burning everything behind them. That wasn’t much, in midwinter, but it was enough to keep his men and-most important of all-their horses going. They hadn’t been able to bring much fodder with them when they left Ingolstadt. If they lost the horses, they lost their cannons, and without those guns they didn’t have much chance of fighting off a force as big as the one pursuing them.
That was hard on the population, of course. But if Tom’s soldiers hadn’t taken the stuff, the Bavarians would have. At least the Danube Regiment was passing out promissory notes for it. What was probably more important, from the immediate standpoint of people living in the towns and villages they passed through, was that Tom’s rump regiment provided them with an escort. Refugees were now streaming away from the Bavarian onslaught, but these were the only ones who had military protection.
A lot of the refugees were coming out of Ingolstadt itself, according to Rita, some of whom were being savaged by Bavarian cavalry as they tried to flee. Her voice had been tight when she reported that; taut with anger.
Tom’s own fury was near a boiling point. It was a near-constant struggle to keep his temper under control. The Bavarians were clearly making no effort to restrain their troops. The reports he got from Rita on the Pelican kept reminding him of the horror that the collapse of the Danube Regiment had allowed to spill over the inhabitants of Ingolstadt and stretches of the Oberpfalz near or on the Danube.
Some of his rage was sublimated guilt. Whatever the reasons might be, in the end he and Colonel Engels had been responsible for the regiment. He was by no means blind to that reality. But most of Tom’s anger was not directed at himself. It was not even directed at Duke Maximilian. The ruler of Bavaria had only been able to suborn the 1st Battalion because of the political crisis produced in the USE by the actions of the Swedish chancellor, Axel
