provide lift, but control. In fact, they provided a bit of both. The “wings” acted as elevators at the tail of the dirigible. More were located between the gondola and the motors. They didn’t provide much lift, but by pointing the dirigible’s nose up or down, he could gain or lose a little altitude without having to dump ballast or gas. Or use the emergency tanks to refill the lift bladders.

“They were well made, but by people who had no way to do more than guess about the stresses they would face. It’s steam powered and if they had steam powered dirigibles up-time, we haven’t heard about it. That’s why they built it-to see.”

“So why don’t we have an improved version or one of the airplanes that the up-timers have?” Izmailov sounded impatient and gruff.

“Engines, sir. Ours are both heavy and weak They wouldn’t get a heavier-than-air craft off the ground. There is one engine in Russia that might lift an airplane off the ground. That engine is in the car Bernie Zeppi brought to Russia.” This wasn’t entirely true, as Nick well knew. The engines they had built for the dirigible would get an airplane off the ground just fine. It was the added weight of the water, the boiler and the steam recovery that had so far made down-time-built steam-powered heavier-than-air craft impossible. Without the recovery system, a steam powered aircraft would work fine for a few minutes before the water was all used up. Water weighed a lot.

“So I will have the intelligence you can gather from your Testbed only when and if everything goes right? If nothing breaks on your toy and the weather is just right?” The general glared, then visibly shook himself. “All right, Captain. That’s all.”

The cavalry were equally unimpressed with the intelligence gathered by Nick. And more than a few of the cavalry were resentful. Scouting was a part of their function and, as far as they were concerned, the infantry was looking to take away the other part. They rode out almost gaily for the two days the dirigible was being repaired.

But, just like the dirigible, they found no traces of the enemy.

Chapter 53

July 1634

Sixty miles as the crow flies from Moscow, Nick was ready to try again. Mostly because they were launching from closer to Rzhev, but also because it was, luckily, a still, calm day. Nick made it to within five miles of Rzhev. At five thousand feet, he feathered the engines so he would have a stable platform, pulled out his telescope and started counting outhouses and camp fires.

“Three thousand men, General, more or less. They haven’t burned the town, but it’s not big enough to hold them all. They have built a camp next to it. No walls, not much in the way of defensive fortifications.”

“Did they see you?”

Nick shrugged. “I can’t say for sure. Testbed is big and quite visible, but I was five miles away and a mile in the air. It depends on where they were looking. No one took a shot at me and they didn’t seem disturbed when I looked at the town.”

“Three thousand? Is that all?” Colonel Ivan Khilkov said. “General, we’ve got almost that many cavalry. Send us ahead; we’ll ride them into the ground.” The colonel was not a fan of the new innovations in warfare provided either by Western Europe or the up-timers.

General Izmailov hesitated and Nick knew why. Ivan Khilkov was young, but from a very old family. A very well-connected family, since one of his relatives was Patriarch Filaret’s chamberlain. The general could deny him once or twice, but if he did it too many times, Izmailov would find himself relieved of command and his career ended. Nick prudently kept his mouth shut.

Four days later, General Izmailov could no longer say no. Colonel Khilkov had sent mounted scouts directly to Rzhev.

“They are fortifying the town, albeit slowly. By the time the full column reaches Rzhev, the town will be fully fortified,” Khilkov said. Then he sniffed. “Send us, General. We can get there quicker than this”-Khilkov waved an arm at the wagons-“torturous mess. The cavalry can get there in two days. By the time you can get all this there, we’ll have taken the town.”

“The Streltzi may not move as fast as cavalry, but they are equipped with the new rifles.” Then Colonel Petrov stopped and grimaced. Although the Streltzi were supposed to be the first to get the new rifles, Colonel Khilkov was wearing a fine leather bandolier with twenty loaded chambers across his chest. And it wasn’t just for show. Colonel Petrov knew that Colonel Khilkov had his own AK3, as did quite a number of his men. In fact, the AK3’s that had been sold on the black market were one reason it had taken so long before they were finally issued to the Moscow Streltzi.

Colonel Khilkov casually patted his bandolier. “I’m familiar with the AK3, and quite impressed by them. But it is the shock of cavalry that wins battles. Not footmen plinking from behind a wooden wall.”

There was no way to avoid it, Izmailov knew. Against his better judgment-and with a tiny bit of worry for his future-he agreed. He might very well be ruined either way. If Khilkov won, he’d look bad. If Khilkov lost, his angry relatives would blame Izmailov.

“Khilkov and his forces are about ten miles from Rzhev, sir,” Nick Ivanovich reported.

“Very well,” Izmailov said. “Do whatever it is you need to do with your… Testbed. If he’s that close, you should see the battle tomorrow.” The general paused. “Take Lieutenant Lebedev with you.” When Nikita started to object, General Izmailov held up his hand. “There’s no choice in this. He is from a good family. If things go well tomorrow, it won’t matter-but if they don’t, you and I will need his report.”

By this time, the main column was only about forty miles from Rzhev by air. Which, unfortunately, meant quite a few more miles on foot. Fortunately, it was short-hop range for Testbed. Nick spent the rest of the day doing maintenance and preparing for the overloaded trip to Rzhev. The general consensus was that tomorrow he would have a ringside seat for a glorious feat of victory by Russian cavalry. General Izmailov clearly wasn’t so sure, and Nick shared his doubt. There were probably a few others who were less than sanguine about the outcome. Sergeant Hampstead was one of them; his commanding officer, Captain Boyce, who had joined them on the march was another.

“I’m going with you.”

Nick Ivanovich looked over at the young lieutenant. “So General Izmailov told me. That’s why I’m pulling two of the four hydrogen tanks. We’ll also be taking less ballast water and less fuel.” Nick wasn’t happy with the situation but he rather liked Tim, one of the more innovative young officers in the Russian army. And young was the word. Tim might be seventeen, but he looked closer to fourteen. “Bernie Zeppi said once that the glamour of flying would get to almost anybody. But it’s dangerous up there. A dirigible is a balancing act. Look there…” He pointed. “Those are the lift bladders. They pull the dirigible up but not by a constant amount. There are several factors involved. At night, for instance, the hydrogen gets cooler and loses some buoyancy. Flying one of these things is more like horsemanship than you’d think.”

“A matter of feel and instinct, rather than science, you’re saying.”

“Right. If you gauge it wrong, you’re likely to crash. Fortunately, you’ll probably have more time to react than you would falling off a horse. On the other hand, Testbed here has as much surface area as a three-masted schooner has sails.” Well, not really, Nick admitted silently, but it doesn’t have a hull in the water holding it in place either. “So a sudden change in the wind and we can be a hundred yards away from where we want to be before I can even start to compensate. If we are facing into the wind, or close to it, the engines are enough to move us through the air. But if the wind is from the sides, the wind wins. If it rains on this thing, the weight of the water means even with all the ballast overboard and the bladders at capacity, we don’t have enough lift. We had to drop the radiator more than once in tests at the Dacha and the aerodrome where they are working on the big one. We

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