1637 The Polish Maelstrom Read online

  Mike studied him for a moment. “You don’t seem too worried about it.”

  “It’s not that easy to hit something going more than a hundred miles an hour, especially when it’s close. The one mistake you have to avoid is flying straight for more than a short time. That’s how Hans Richter got killed.”

  Mike pointed at the mic. “‘Straight across,’” he said.

  Eddie smiled. “I’m sure that was just poetic license. We’ll cross the north gate and we’ll exit across the southern wall. That’s straight enough for a poet like Jozef. What we do in between is our business.”

  Mike pursed his lips. “‘My business,’ is what you really mean.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Why do I think I’m not going to like this?”

  * * *

  They were nearing the imposing north gate. Christin couldn’t help but feel nervous. Mieczysław Czarny had assured her that by the time she reached the gate he and his handpicked team of hussars would have seized it.

  Very confident, he’d sounded. But he wasn’t the one who had her ass hanging out in the breeze, figuratively speaking, while she trotted down the street in full armor except for having no helmet so everybody and their great-uncle could see that she was a woman.

  No, correct that. A woman in armor holding a great long lance with a big banner flying from it. Just in case anybody might have missed her at first glance.

  She could count eight—no, nine—people within thirty feet who were gawking at her. Even the big APC rolling fifteen yards behind wasn’t drawing as much attention.

  What is it with you people? You never seen a woman before?

  The problem was that by now the APC was a fairly familiar sight in Poznań, even though nobody had ever seen it decked out like this before. There were riflemen in all four turrets with their weapons ready and huge banners hanging on either side of the vehicle. At periodic intervals the banners had been cut away, exposing the gunports. If you looked closely you could see rifles protruding from them.

  And just for good measure, Jozef had insisted on dyeing her horse blue.

  “In case someone hasn’t raised their eyes yet. A blue horse will catch their attention.”

  For the first time in years, she found herself thinking it was maybe too bad she’d never been attracted to choir boys who went on to become accountants.

  First, a biker. Now, a master spy.

  A deep sort of buzzing noise drew her attention. She looked up just in time to see an airplane flying over the north gate in her direction.

  Jesus, he’s flying low. It looked as if he’d barely cleared the gate.

  The plane swept overhead too fast for her to get a good look at it, but she was sure it was Eddie in the Steady Girl. You wouldn’t think it, looking at him, but beneath that placid-seeming exterior lurked a daredevil.

  He’d done the trick, sure enough. Glancing around, Christin saw that all the people who’d been gawking at her were now gawking up at the plane.

  Which would be true as well, if Jozef and Czarny’s scheme worked as planned, of the men guarding the north gate who hadn’t already been won over to their side.

  The gate was close now. She was about to find out if the plan worked.

  Maybe her parents had been on to something, years ago, when they told her she was an idiot.

  * * *

  In the next few minutes, Mike made an interesting discovery. The hair-raising aerial acrobatics that Eddie Junker indulged himself in flying over Poznań—thisaway, thataway, let’s go back where we came from, oh, hey, why not do a couple of barrel rolls and a loop the loop while we’re at it?—didn’t bother him at all. It was a lot of fun, actually, like riding a rollercoaster in an amusement park.

  Go figure.

  * * *

  Mieczysław Czarny came from somewhere, leading his horse. “Go! Go! Go!” he shouted, waving Christin forward through the now open gate.

  She spurred her horse into a gallop. Just in time, she remembered to lower the lance. Then, felt pretty stupid because the APC was taller than the lance. They’d measured the height of the gate to make sure the huge vehicle could pass through. Which it could, barely.

  Behind her, she could hear the former coal truck’s engine roaring. She winced when she heard Mark Ellis grinding the gears when he shifted. That sort of main-and-auxiliary transmission could be tricky to use if you weren’t used to it. So Buster had told her once, anyway. She’d never driven one herself, although she preferred a stick shift in her own cars.

  She’d gotten that from Buster, too. Automatic transmissions are for sissies.

  Her parents had always driven automatic transmissions.

  She passed out of the gate onto the bare strip of land beyond the walls. Then, turned her horse to the right and started circling the city following the wall, staying just out of rifle range—well, musket range. She slowed down to a canter. They had at least a mile to go before they’d be free and clear of the city.

  One quarrel Christin hadn’t had with her parents was that they hadn’t objected when she’d wanted to learn to ride a horse. She’d gotten quite good at it by the time she was a teenager, even though the skill had no practical application in the West Virginia of the 1980s. She’d been pretty rusty by the time of the Ring of Fire, but riding horses was like riding bicycles or swimming—once you knew how to do it, you never forgot.

  She glanced back and saw that the APC was still following her, although it had dropped back thirty or so yards. Following the vehicle, she could see hussars pouring out of the gate. There would be upwards of two hundred of them, according to Jozef. Their recruiting had gone better than they’d expected.

  The loud sound of the APC’s horn startled her. Glancing back again, she saw Walenty leaning out of the passenger’s window and jabbing his finger at her. He seemed pretty frantic about it. Why—

  She realized that he wasn’t pointing at her.

  Turning back around in the saddle, she saw a group of horsemen—hussars, judging from the armor and saddle wings—who were staring at her. They were maybe fifty yards off.

  Oh, hell.

  The one in the lead lowered his lance and spurred his horse toward her, the other four following him.

  Hell’s bells. Now what?

  A few yards back she’d leapt her horse over a ditch. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time—Christin’s equestrian skills had returned within a year after the Ring of Fire—but now she looked back again and saw that the APC had almost come to a stop. It might or might not make it over the ditch without getting stuck.

  She looked back at the oncoming hussars. Forty yards away.

  The sound of gears grinding again drew her head back around. Mark had apparently decided he couldn’t get across the ditch here and was heading north to a spot where the ditch wasn’t as wide. Which meant—

  You’re on your own, girl.

  She reined in her horse. The hussars were thirty yards away.

  Trying not to get frantic, she threw away the lance and reached down to draw her rifle out of the saddle holster. Thankfully, she’d drawn the line at wearing gauntlets with the armor. For a second or two, her hand fumbled to get a good grip.

  Twenty yards away.

  She got the rifle out and brought it up—

  To a shoulder that didn’t exist any longer, being now encased in whatever they called that stupid shoulder guard. Poltroon? No, that meant coward.

  Her brain was fluttering like a bird. Pauldron, that’s it.

  Fifteen yards away. The lance was completely lowered, the blade coming right at her.

  Concentrate!

  She’d have to shoot from the hip. She swiveled the gun down into position.

  Ten yards.

  She hadn’t even heard the plane coming. A shadow covered her as the Steady Girl passed so low over her head it stripped her cap off.

  The hussar who’d been about to spear her raised the lance, apparently thinking he might be able to spear the p
lane. And, in fact, Eddie was flying so low that the tip of the lance did strike the fuselage. But that just sent it flying out of the hussar’s hand and sailing at the man behind him.

  Who managed to duck, but in so doing caused his horse to stumble and fall. That spilled him onto the ground and tangled up the three men behind him.

  For a moment, at least. Christin had only one opponent. He was bringing his horse around and was drawing out his saber.

  She wasn’t used to firing from the hip, but the range wasn’t more than five yards. How hard could it be?

  You’re terminated, fucker. She’d always loved that movie.

  She wasn’t sure how many shots she fired. Four? Five? Maybe six?

  However many it was, the hussar was down. Down and out, clearly.

  The one who’d spilled was also clearly down and out. Unconscious, badly injured—maybe dead.

  One of the three hussars left was still trying to control his horse. The other two were staring at her.

  For not more than a second, though. The APC might have to find a way around the ditch, but the hussars on her side were just as capable of jumping a ditch as she was. Hearing them coming, she had the sense to raise the rifle and take her finger off the trigger.

  Three—four—five of them swept past her. Their lances took two of the hussars out of their saddles. The third tried to flee but another lance caught him in his armpit, lifted him right out of the saddle and sent him sprawling. Christin didn’t think the lance tip had penetrated the armor, but it hardly made any difference. As hard as the man had landed, he was bound to have some broken bones, at the very least. Falling off a horse was no joke.

  She was feeling a little lightheaded, now. Not knowing what else to do, she looked around to see what had happened to her cap. She really liked that cap. It had a feather in it and everything.

  She was lightheaded enough that, again, she didn’t hear the plane coming. This time, though, the Steady Girl passed overhead at a reasonable altitude.

  More or less. Eddie was still not more than thirty feet off the ground.

  Now there’s a son-in-law worth keeping, she thought.

  * * *

  Mike leaned back in his seat. “Well, that was exciting,” he said. Then, realized that he meant it.

  Eddie started singing. Softly, but Mike could make out the words.

  “Sent from down below,

  Mother-in-law, mother-in-law.”

  Mike chuckled. “You’d better not let Christin or Denise hear you singing that.”

  “Who do you think taught me the song?”

  Chapter 42

  Breslau (Wrocław), capital of Lower Silesia

  As Eddie had feared, Gretchen Richter had stripped most of the equipment and supplies from the Breslau airfield—you could hardly call it an “airport”—when she began her march on Kraków. She’d also taken most of the gasoline, but she’d left two full drums containing thirty gallons each. That would be more than enough to allow Eddie to refuel and resume his assistance to Jozef and the people fleeing Poznań.

  It would have been much easier and quicker, of course, to operate out of Torstensson’s military airfield in Wartheburg. But there were political considerations involved that made that impossible. Everyone involved wanted to keep the USE’s support for the Polish revolutionaries as covert as possible.

  The Steady Girl had made one landing at the USE airfield. That had been unavoidable given that Torstensson insisted on conferring in person with Eddie. But it was quite possible that one landing would have gone unnoticed. And even if it hadn’t, plausible explanations could be advanced. The aircraft had developed mechanical problems, was getting short of fuel, whatever.

  But if Eddie started operating regularly out of that airfield, the fig leaf would get shredded quickly. So, once he and Mike Stearns had done what they could to assist the initial breakout from Poznań, Eddie flew to Breslau to refuel. Kraków would have been much better from a political standpoint, obviously. But Kraków was too far away given the fuel they had left—and Eddie still didn’t know what facilities or fuel would be available there anyway.

  The unexpected problem they encountered when they landed at the Breslau airfield was that another airplane was already there and had drained one of the thirty-gallon drums and was about to start on the other.

  An unexpected problem…and a very complicated one.

  You’d think a husband would recognize his own wife’s aircraft, but no. Mike didn’t have Eddie’s familiarity by now with just about every aircraft in existence. Mike could tell the difference, even at a distance, between a Belle and a Gustav and a Dauntless and a Dragonfly. But the insignia weren’t clearly visible and the subtle differences between the military version of the Dragonfly and the modifications made for the needs of the State Department were too subtle for him to grasp.

  When they passed over the airfield so that Eddie could get a sense of its condition, he realized immediately which plane was parked on the tarmac—grass field, rather—next to the hangar. But he didn’t tell Mike right away because…

  Why in the world would Rebecca Abrabanel be in Breslau now, of all times? Eddie could think of several possibilities, none of which boded well for tranquility and an orderly universe. For a wild, brief moment, he considered flying back to Poznań. He might have even done it except they didn’t have enough fuel.

  Nothing for it, then. He’d have to land.

  Once they were down and taxiing toward the hangar, the insignia on the fuselage of the Dragonfly became easily readable.

  UNITED STATES OF EUROPE

  DEPARTMENT OF STATE

  “Hey!” Mike exclaimed. “That’s Becky’s plane!”

  * * *

  It was even worse than Eddie had feared. He’d hoped to have at least an hour or so of peace and calm before they got into the city and found out what ill news Rebecca had brought with her.

  But it was not to be. She’d just landed herself, as it turned out, and was still in the hangar talking to someone on the radio.

  “Michael!”

  “Becky!”

  An embrace and kisses followed, needless to say. Eddie would have been charitable about it except he hadn’t seen Denise for almost three months and had no idea what had happened to her.

  That last worry got resolved, at least. Sort of.

  Laura Goss was there. She gave Eddie a little wave of her hand and came over.

  “Hey, Eddie.”

  He nodded. “Lieutenant Goss.” Then, spotting the new insignia on her cap, corrected himself. “Captain Goss, rather. Congratulations.”

  Driven by impulse, not really expecting an answer, he asked: “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about Denise?”

  Laura’s eyes got a little wider. “You didn’t know? They all got out of Vienna okay and were headed toward Kraków. That was about a week and a half ago. Don’t know what’s happened to them since.”

  “Kraków? Why in the name of—” He broke off the incipient blasphemy. Despite Denise and her mother chipping away at it, Eddie still had most of his Lutheran habits left, if not all of his former religious beliefs. “Why would they go to Kraków, of all places? It’s about to become a war zone!”

  “Probably why they went. But don’t ask me.” Goss nodded toward Rebecca, who was now speaking intently to her husband, in a tone too low for Eddie to make out the words. “She might know. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’d tell you. Just ’cause you’re Denise’s honey doesn’t give you a need to know what’s happened to her.” She shrugged. “When it comes to callous unconcern for human sentiment, government officials are hard to tell apart from crocodiles.”

  “Need to know” be damned. Eddie headed toward Rebecca.

  But before he could take more than two steps, she and Mike broke off their discussion and looked at him.

  “Change of plans, Eddie,” said Mike. “Turns out—Becky was just on the radio with Gretchen—there’s plenty of fuel in Kraków. So we’re all headed
there—Becky will fly with us, since there’s no reason to take two planes.”

  “Why don’t you take the Dragonfly, then?” Eddie asked. “It’s a two-engine plane and has more room and that way I can get back to what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “That would be unwise. For the time being, at least, we need to keep a distance between the USE and the rebels in Kraków. Gretchen was quite insistent on that point.”

  Eddie all but threw up his hands in exasperation. He did lapse into blasphemy. “For Christ’s sake! She’s already there herself—and she’s been prancing around in that silly armor of hers! How do you expect to keep that quiet?”

  By the time he finished, though, he already knew the answer before Mike put it into words:

  “Gretchen is in a category of her own, especially the way Polish revolutionaries look at the world. Nobody—that includes Gustav Adolf himself—doubts that she’d kick over the official traces in a minute if the needs of the struggle called for it. That’s the way she’d put it, too: ‘the needs of the struggle.’ Yes, she holds the USE titles of Chancellor of Saxony and Lady Protector of Lower Silesia. Doesn’t matter. Whereas if Becky and I land in Kraków in a plane that’s got ‘USE Department of State’ plastered on the sides, that’ll be a different story.”

  “And that is not all,” Rebecca added. “There is no point not telling you since you will find out soon enough anyway. We will be leaving Michael in Kraków while you fly me and a passenger whose identity needs to be kept secret back here. Then Captain Goss will fly him and me to Prague while you can resume your help to the people coming south from Poznań.”

  The machinations of what people euphemistically called “high politics.” Eddie felt like his head was spinning a little.

  “So who’s this mystery passenger? And why does he need to get to Prague so quickly and secretly?”

  “It’s Morris Roth,” said Mike. “Wallenstein is dying.”

  Rebecca, whose expression had heretofore been serious and solemn, broke into a big smile. “Cheer up, Eddie. Gretchen told me that Denise just arrived in Kraków. Well, not exactly. She told me that the rescue expedition to Vienna just arrived. But I am sure that if anything had happened to Denise, she would have mentioned it.”