1635: The Eastern Front (assiti shards) Read online

  He, too, now looked a bit dubious. "Tricky timing, though."

  But Locquifier's doubts had vanished. "It's the only way," he said firmly. "The instructions from Michel and Antoine were very precise. We must succeed in the full task. This is the only way to do it."

  Once Guillaume Locquifier came to the conclusion that a given plan was ordained by Michel Ducos, he would be unyielding in his determination to stick to it. Under other circumstances, Mathurin Brillard had often found that annoying. But under these, he didn't mind at all.

  He began giving some thought, for the first time, to methods of escape. It was unlikely he could do so, of course, given the ambitious scope of the project. But perhaps not impossible. Especially since the others would draw most of the attention, as numerous as they were and coming out in the open to fire pistols. He hadn't come up with the plan for that reason, to be sure. Mathurin was cold-blooded, but not that cold-blooded. Nonetheless, the plan having been agreed to, there was no reason he shouldn't take advantage of its unfortunate but inevitable results.

  Part Four

  September 1635

  The light of setting suns

  Chapter 21

  Berlin, Capital of Brandenburg

  Mike Stearns had never visited Berlin up-time. But he had a distinct memory of a collection of photographs he'd once seen of the city, especially the Brandenburg Gate and the magnificent tree-lined boulevard Unter den Linden.

  Neither was here, now. The Brandenburg Gate didn't exist at all. And where Unter den Linden would be in a future world, in this one there was nothing more than a bridle path that led to the elector's hunting ground in the Tiergarten.

  There was really no part of Berlin in the year 1635 to attract sightseers, beyond a couple of churches built during the later middle ages. Those were the Marienkirche near the fortified city gate called the Spandauer Thor, and the Nikolaikirche near the Spree river. The Spree divided the two parts of Berlin, the city proper-what Mike thought was called the Mitte-and its adjoining sister city of Colln.

  Both churches were impressive enough, by the standards of the north German plain. But they didn't really compare with such Gothic masterpieces as Notre Dame or the cathedral at Chartres. Of the two, Mike favored the Marienkirche because of its warm brick construction-which was just as well, since that was where Gustav Adolf had chosen to hold his war council.

  Mike found the situation a little amusing, given the religious fervor of the seventeenth century. He'd noticed before that the self-professed profound devotion of people of the time-princes and kings, certainly-never stopped them from trampling their very profane boots over holy ground whenever they found it convenient.

  Mike wasn't really complaining, though. The only alternative venue for such a large war council would have been to hold it in the elector's palace. But that had been badly burned by a fire that swept through it the night before Gustav Adolf marched into the city. It would take a month to clear away the damage.

  The fire hadn't been caused by the Swedes, though. Apparently it was the product of arson committed by persons unknown, but presumed to be acting on the instructions of the Brandenburg elector himself.

  In the end, George William hadn't tried to match Gustav Adolf on the battlefield. He'd stayed in his capital until the last minute, and then left with his entourage and his army to seek refuge in Poland.

  Mike had found that out the day before he arrived in Berlin. Immediately, he'd understood the implications. There would now be no possibility whatsoever of persuading Gustav Adolf to refrain from launching a war on Poland. There hadn't been much chance of it anyway, of course. Torstensson had made quite clear to Mike that the emperor was determined to do so, even if he had no better pretext than the presence of a small contingent of Polish hussars fighting with the Saxons at Zwenkau.

  Now, Gustav Adolf had the sort of pretext that almost anyone would accept-at least, if they thought the way rulers did in this day and age. Being fair about it, probably any day and age. If Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee had somehow managed to take their government and army into Mexico in 1865, wouldn't Lincoln have sent Grant and Sherman in pursuit? And if that meant war with Mexico, so much the worse for Mexico.

  When Mike entered the vestibule of the church, he found Gustav Adolf there. Waiting for him in order to have a private conversation, clearly enough. None of the Swedish king's subordinates were standing nearby. He was giving Mike the sort of look an eagle might give a hawk who ventured into its territory.

  Mike was a skilled and experienced negotiator and had learned long ago that beating a dead horse accomplished nothing but sullying the reputation of the carcass-whacker. He went up to the king and said: "I still think it's a bad idea, but I won't dispute the point any further. George William pretty much pulled the rug out from under me."

  Gustav Adolf frowned. "Pulled the rug-? Ah. I understand."

  The frown was replaced by stiff nod. "Thank you, Michael. I would like to be able to concentrate on our military plans at this meeting and not get diverted by quarreling over political issues which are"-he cleared his throat-"no longer matters for debate."

  Now, Gustav Adolf smiled. A very friendly smile, too. "Lennart tells me you accounted for yourself extremely well at Zwenkau. My congratulations. I will tell you that I was not surprised, however."

  "The soldiers did all the work. Mostly, I just sat on a horse and did what my staff suggested I do. And tried to look suitably generalish."

  "Do not make light of it, Michael." The emperor shook his head. "I have some skills at this myself, you know. Being a good general is much harder than it looks."

  He took Mike by the arm and gestured toward the door leading into the nave. "But let us look to the future. We will face Koniecpolski now. I've fought him before. He's no commander to take lightly."

  Magdeburg

  "Good news, finally," said Matthias Strigel, as soon as he entered the room. The governor of Magdeburg province closed the door behind him and came over to the large table in the center. Rebecca, Constantin Ableidinger, Helene Gundelfinger and Werner von Dalberg were already seated there.

  Strigel pulled out a chair and sat down. "I have it on good authority that Wilhelm Wettin has decided to postpone introducing the new legislation his allies have been demanding. Specifically, the bills dealing with citizenship and an established church."

  Rebecca leaned back, her eyes widening a little. "That is good news."

  Ableidinger was more skeptical. "What 'good authority'? And postpone for how long?"

  "As for the first, as good as such authority gets." Matthias' expression was on the smug side. "I heard it directly from Amalie Elizabeth von Hanau-Munzenberg."

  "The landgravine herself?" von Dalberg asked sharply.

  "Yes. Herself."

  Now, all five people in the room leaned back in their chairs. The landgravine of Hesse-Kassel was, along with her husband Wilhelm V, the recognized national leader of what the people in that room thought of as the moderate wing of the Crown Loyalist Party. Nowadays, in fact, Amalie Elizabeth held that position alone, for all immediate purposes. Wilhelm V had taken the army of Hesse-Kassel to join Gustav Adolf's Swedish forces and would presumably be marching into Poland soon. No doubt he and his wife stayed in touch using the emperor's radio resources, but those resources were still limited enough that the landgravine would be operating on her own for the most part.

  That was fine with the leaders of the Fourth of July Party, certainly. No one would be so impolitic as to say so aloud, but it was the private opinion of all the people sitting in that room that Amalie Elizabeth was considerably more astute than her husband.

  The ramifications were…?interesting, to say the least. If Amalie Elizabeth was prepared to go so far as to impart such delicate information to one of the central figures in the opposition…

  "She's trying to keep the peace," said Rebecca. "She must be quite worried."

  Ableidinger snorted. Like every sound issued by the former Fr
anconian teacher, it was loud. "No shit, Sherlock, as you up-timers say."

  Rebecca looked serene, as she could do so very well. Helene Gundelfinger issued her own snort, which was a far gentler and more ladylike thing. "There is not a single up-timer in the room, Constantin."

  "Well…" Ableidinger might have been slightly-oh, so very slightly-abashed. He waved his hand in a vague sort of gesture. "Well. Rebecca, you know. She always seems…"

  "I was born in London, actually, and spent most of my life in Amsterdam. All of that, moreover, in this century. Not-" Her own gesture was equally vague. "That other, much later one."

  Then, just as serenely, she added: "However, as you say, no shit. It is obvious that the landgravine thinks it unwise to risk stirring up unrest-"

  Ableidinger snorted again. "Say better, riot, rebellion and revolution."

  Rebecca ignored him. "-while most of the reliable military forces available in the USE are off fighting the Poles and what is left of Brandenburg. And she must have persuaded Wettin of that, as well."

  She cocked her head slightly. "As for the question of 'how long,' I think the answer is the same. Wilhelm will stall his allies until he feels he has a secure military force at his disposal."

  Werner von Dalberg grimaced skeptically. "I don't know, Rebecca. Given the realities of the USE's own army, 'secure military force' means Gustav Adolf and his Swedes. And I need hardly remind anyone here that the"-he took a dramatically deep breath-"king of Sweden, emperor of the United States of Europe and high king of the Union of Kalmar does not take orders from Wilhelm Wettin. His chancellor Axel Oxenstierna may be a resolute supporter of aristocratic privileges and power, but Gustav Adolf himself is not."

  Helene made a little face. "It would probably be more accurate to say that while Gustav Adolf agrees with Oxenstierna in the abstract, he is far more flexible in the concrete."

  Ableidinger looked back and forth between them. "Meaning? Please remember, I'm a simple country boy."

  "What it means," Rebecca interjected, "is that the king, emperor, high king etc. etc. is far more interested in maintaining his position as the preeminent monarch in Europe-which he certainly is today, even if the Habsburgs might shriek to hear it-than he is in supporting the petty perquisites of every nobleman and patrician in the Germanies."

  "Not so petty as all that," said Ableidinger.

  "They're petty from Gustav Adolf's standpoint, Constantin," said Dalberg. "He simply doesn't have Oxenstierna's rigidity on the matter. It's obvious, especially if you watch what he does rather that what he says. Is Gustav Adolf going to risk losing his control over the USE-which is now the heart of his power, don't forget, not Sweden and certainly not Denmark-because a pack of Hochadel and Niederadel and city and town patricians can't bear to lose their right to lord it over their lessers? I don't think so."

  For all his frequent claims of being a rural bumpkin, Ableidinger was just as politically astute as anyone else in the room. "What you're suggesting, in short, is that the Crown Loyalists are at an impasse. Tied up in knots, as I believe the up-timers say." He smiled. "None of whom, of course, are in the room to correct my possible misquotation."

  "That has always been the logic of the situation," said Rebecca. "But it is nice to see that the landgravine has apparently been able to get the prime minister to finally see it."

  "To put it another way," said Strigel, "you think there will be no major changes in the political equation until something gets resolved on the military front."

  "Precisely."

  Rebecca's normal serenity seemed perhaps a bit frayed at the edges. Her hands were now clasped on the table in front of her.

  "I understand that congratulations are in order," said Constantin. "With regard to your husband's exploits at Zwenkau."

  "Hardly that." She unclasped her hands long enough to make a little wiggling gesture with the fingers of her right. "Michael tells me he did very little except to avoid doing anything stupid."

  Ableidinger studied her, for a moment. He didn't miss the speed at which the hands got reclasped. "Perhaps so. But I suspect being a successful general is not as simple as it seems."

  Berlin

  "We are agreed, then," Gustav Adolf concluded. Standing at the head of the long row of tables that had been set up for the conference, he nodded to Mike Stearns, who was seated four chairs down on the king's left side. "As soon as we defeat the Poles and Brandenburgers in a major battle, General Stearns will take his division to Bohemia. Wallenstein has been requesting our support for months. He fears the Austrians will soon invade."

  Gustav Adolf smiled, a bit crookedly. "Personally, I think his fears are excessive. On the other hand, by stationing the Third Division in Bohemia we will certainly forestall any possibility the Austrians might send troops to aid that bastard Wladyslaw."

  The last phrase was spoken with real venom. There was a long-standing grudge between the two branches of the Vasa family. The one that ruled Poland felt-with some justification-that it had been swindled out of its rightful claim to the throne of Sweden. For their part, the Vasas who ruled Sweden resented the accusation with the bitterness felt by all usurpers who have convinced themselves they are the rightful heirs. It was a large part of the reason Mike had found Gustav Adolf so unrelenting on the subject of restarting a war with Poland.

  As the Swedish king moved on to recapitulate some of the other major decisions made at the conference, Mike pondered the decision that affected him directly.

  He was sure that the decision had been dictated by political considerations more than military ones. The Achilles heel of the new USE regime was the allegiance of the military. A very large portion of the soldiers in the army, possibly even a majority, had been recruited by organizers from the Committees of Correspondence. And while the navy and air force had much less of a CoC influence in the ranks, a disproportionate role was played in their leadership by up-timers. In fact, the commanding officers of both services were Americans.

  That meant that if the Wettin regime tried to force through the reactionary program demanded by most of its factions, it ran the risk of provoking an open rebellion which, in turn, might very well trigger off a mutiny in the armed forces. The only reliable military units that would leave Wettin would be the king's own Swedish troops-most of whom were actually mercenaries, and most of those from the Germanies-and the forces fielded by some of the provincial rulers. Hesse-Kassel, for instance, had a rather powerful army.

  But Hesse-Kassel was here in Berlin, not in Magdeburg-and so were most of his soldiers. In fact, he was sitting across from Mike at this very table, two seats up. Wilhelm V had left just enough troops at home to provide his wife Amalie Elizabeth with a minimal military force.

  From the standpoint of the Crown Loyalists and their Swedish allies centered around Chancellor Axel Oxenstierna, the situation was close to intolerable. But so long as the Swedish king himself refused to support any drastic measures, they did not have many options.

  They did have a few, though. Mike couldn't prove it, but he was certain that his future assignment to Bohemia was a bone that Gustav Adolf had thrown Oxenstierna and Wettin. He'd remove one-third of the USE's unreliable army from the equation by sending it off to Prague-or Ceske Budejovice in the south, more likely-and the one-third commanded by the most notorious leader of the opposition, at that.

  "-quiet situation in the Oberpfalz, we will transfer Ernst Wettin and Johan Baner to Saxony to take charge of the province until its final disposition can be decided. They are an experienced and proven team."

  And there was another politically-motivated decision. It was true, in and of itself, that Ernst Wettin as political administrator and Johan Baner as the commander of the military had done a good job of stabilizing the Oberpfalz and beating back the Bavarians. But while no one would have any objections to the prime minister's younger brother being appointed the political administrator of Saxony, the same was not true of Baner.

  Ernst Wettin was a judicious, fa
ir-minded and reasonable man, by all accounts Mike had ever heard including from Ed Piazza. The Swedish general, on the other hand-also by all accounts he'd heard, including from Americans who'd dealt with the man-was a pigheaded, narrow-minded militarist whose openly-stated opinion on how to deal with the CoCs was to execute the lot of them.

  Sending him to Saxony, given the inevitable turmoil that would soon ensue in the province, was not much different from pouring gasoline on an open flame.

  Gustav Adolf was perfectly aware of Baner's characteristics and limitations. Baner was the kind of general whom any sensible ruler placed in positions where his undoubted military skills would be of use but which were not politically sensitive. Again, Mike was sure Gustav Adolf was tossing Wettin and Oxenstierna a bone.

  Mostly Oxenstierna, actually. All the Wettin brothers except the renegade Bernhard were pretty close. By now, Mike was sure Ernst had privately made clear to Wilhelm his opinion of Baner. It was no secret that Ernst Wettin and the Swedish general had frequently clashed in the Oberpfalz.

  Amberg, capital of the Oberpfalz

  Ernst Wettin set down the letter he'd just received from his older brother Wilhelm. It might be more accurate to say it slipped from his loose and nerveless fingers onto the desk.

  "Saxony?" he groaned aloud. "Me and Baner-to Saxony? Have they gone mad?"

  Chapter 22

  Chemnitz, in southwestern Saxony

  John George's face was almost literally red. The elector of Saxony's eyes were bulging, too. Half in disbelief, half in fury.

  "What?"

  That was the third time he'd said that since Captain Lovrenc Bravnicar had returned and given his report. The young Slovene officer had been told the Saxon ruler could be difficult, but this was his first personal experience dealing him.

  "What?" He shrieked the word this time. All traces of disbelief had vanished. The elector's mood was now one of pure rage.