Except for the incredible racket. Having four un-muffled lawnmower engines yammering at close range was enough to drive you crazy after a while. The noise was so bad that whenever they needed to use the radio or the walkie-talkie they had to shut off the engines and just let the ship drift for a while.
But Heinz had thought of that, too. He’d found linen and had it soaked in some kind of wax. Little strips of it rolled up and stuffed in your ears made pretty decent ear plugs.
The airship crews clapped him on the back. Bonnie gave him another hug. Not a quick one, either.
It did not occur to Johann Heinrich Bocler, then or ever, that it was peculiar for a man headed back to a war zone to spend the entire time worrying about anything else.
But, such was his nature. His background, training and personal inclination led him to be fatalistic on the subject of death and dismemberment. Not so at all, on the subject of right and proper conduct.
What was he to do? By now, his attraction to the American woman was undeniable. Indeed, it was getting feverish. He was having thoughts-images, even-that he was quite sure his father would declare unseemly. His grandfather, should he discover, would be furious.
They were unseemly thoughts. But he could not stop having them.
If the woman in question had been uninterested, Heinz was sure he could have brought himself under control. Unfortunately-well, also delightfully-she very clearly was not. That last hug, especially, had born no resemblance at all to the sort of hugs one occasionally got from a particularly affectionate and free-spirited sister, aunt or cousin.
The fact remained that he was still too young to consider marriage. These past days had been eventful and stimulating; certainly. He would even allow that they had been exciting. But soon enough, the real world would intrude-say better, return to normal. And he would go back to being a modestly paid secretary who was still some years away from having accumulated enough in the way of assets and income to sustain a household.
What was he to do?
Chapter 15
Tom decided to launch the bombing raid just before sundown. By then, the cavalrymen staying in the targeted village would be settling in for the night. Most of them, anyway. But there would still be enough light for the airship’s bombardiers to see the targets easily. Even with a clear sky and moonlight, he didn’t think they could do so very well after nightfall.
So, he stopped the march an hour earlier in the day than he’d stopped the previous two days, and spent the extra time setting up fieldworks to guard the camp. He wasn’t sure how the Bavarians would react to the bombing. He didn’t think they’d retaliate with an attack, because the infantry were the only ones really in position to launch such an attack and they weren’t going to be the target of the bombing.
But you never knew. Relying too much on your own assessment of an enemy’s intentions was a military error that probably dated back to Cro-Magnon times. Naw, those guys won’t do nothing tonight so we may as well get some sleep. And so perishes another little band of hunter-gatherers…
He didn’t use all of his men for that purpose, though. Earlier in the day, once Bonnie explained her plans to him over the radio, he sent Bruno von Eichelberg and his mercenary company on a forced march down the river. Their assignment was to meet up with the Pelican and the Albatross at the landing area the airship crews had selected and provide them with a guard unit. Tom didn’t know yet if he would want to carry out a second bombing run, but he might. So he’d approved Bonnie’s plan to set up an impromptu combination airfield and bomb-making facility.
And, again, you never knew. There was certainly no way that the Bavarian infantry could get down there tonight or tomorrow morning. And he didn’t think it was likely at all that a cavalry unit would either. There had always been at least one airship in the sky above them since early morning. They could keep an eye out for any enemy troop movements within miles, and they’d reported no cavalry any closer than half a mile upstream. But you couldn’t rule out the possibility that some stray cavalry had gone unspotted and were now well down the river. If even a small number of cavalrymen came across the airships on the ground and unprotected, there’d be an outright slaughter.
And now, there was nothing left to do but wait.
“What do you think, Heinrich?” asked Colonel von Schnetter. He passed the telescope he’d been using to Captain von Haslang. The two of them were sitting on their horses atop a small rise near the river bank, studying the fieldworks the Danube Regiment was putting up a half mile or so downstream. From here, they had a good view.
“Can you think of any reason they made camp earlier today, and are taking the time to create fieldworks?”
Von Haslang didn’t reply for a few seconds, while he studied the enemy’s activity through the glass. Then, passing it back to his commander, he got a slight smile on his face. He and von Schnetter had known each other for years and this was not the first time they’d worked together. The colonel’s use of his given name was a subtle indicator that his friend wanted a frank and private discussion.
“Not really, Caspar. It’s not as if you’ve given them any reason to expect an assault.”
Von Schnetter took the eyeglass and slid it back into the case he kept attached to his saddle. He had the same slight smile also.
“No, I haven’t. And as I’m sure you’re figured out by now, I have no intention of attacking them. That American major-and it’s him, for a certainty; did you see the size of the bastard? — has shown himself to be altogether too competent for my taste. Any attack we launched with no cavalry to work at their flanks would be a bloodbath. We’d probably win, in the end, because we outnumber them three-to-one. But that’s more of a butcher’s bill than I’m willing to pay with good troops who’ve been left in the lurch by swine and…”
He let the end of the sentence trail off. The “swine,” of course, referred to von Troiberz. Von Haslang was quite sure that if his colonel had completed the thought, the “and” would have been followed by a very unfavorable reference to General von Lintelo.
He had gotten a good look at the commander of the enemy force. Just now, and also the day before when he and von Schnetter had studied their opponent making camp from another rise in the landscape. The colonel’s eyepiece was superb. He’d only been able to afford it because he came from a wealthy family.
It was conceivable, of course, that the Danube Regiment had two officers as huge as the one they’d been looking at. But it was not likely. The Simpson fellow was rather famous, all across the Germanies. So was his admiral father, but in the case of the son the fame came entirely from his physique, not his accomplishments. That would begin to change, of course, as a result of his exploits over the past few days.
It was said that the young American major had engaged in an up-time sport that required immense men. “Feetball,” it was called, if von Haslang remembered right. He was not clear with regard to the details of the game. His image of it, had he laid it before an up-timer, would have resulted in smiles, perhaps even laughter. Von Haslang’s conception of “feetball” bore a much closer resemblance to mass sumo wrestling than the actual American sport.
But the details were irrelevant. Von Haslang would hate to confront that man in a physical clash, armed with anything but a gun. And now that he’d experienced three days of maneuvering against him, he’d want to fire the gun at a distance.
He and von Schnetter went back to looking at the distant enemy fieldworks.
“Make camp for the night, sir?” von Haslang asked, figuring that the moment for informality had passed.
“Yes, please see to it, Captain. We’ll not be launching any attacks.”
Colonel Johann von Troiberz was planning no attacks of his own that night, either. Not even an attack on the virtue of the woman sharing his bed, since that virtue had fallen many years earlier. Not to him, but to a different officer.
He thought he was the second Bavarian officer for whom she’d become a concubine. In actual fact, he was
