He nodded toward yet another cavalry officer in the room, Captain Heinrich Benno von Elsenhaim. “Von Elsenhaim has been preparing the mission. All of you cavalry commanders should discuss the details with him. Now, please, there’s no time to lose. Colonel Münch, I’m placing you in charge of the expedition.”
The cavalrymen began collecting around von Elsenhaim in a corner. The general turned back to von Schnetter. “Are there any other problems I need to be made aware of?”
“Ah...” Whenever he thought he might have bad news to report, von Schnetter seemed incapable of speaking without that annoying preliminary noise.
“What is it now, Colonel?” The general made no effort to disguise his irritation. He rarely did, when dealing with subordinates.
“Nothing specific, sir. But... We don’t have as much control of the troops as I’d like.”
Von Lintelo stared at him. Von Schnetter had been an officer long enough—more than long enough—to know the realities.
“Of course we don’t,” he snapped. “They’re in the middle of sacking a city—which, I remind you, I gave them express permission to do if they succeeded in taking Ingolstadt. The legitimate spoils of war.”
“Yes, I know. But...”
Another officer came into the chamber. Also an unexpected one—Captain Johann Heinrich von Haslang, whom von Lintelo had sent to find out what had happened with regard to the airship. That hadn’t been more than five minutes ago! He couldn’t possibly have any news this soon.
“I think you’d better see this for yourself, General,” said von Haslang. He pointed to one of the windows on the northern side of the room. “It’s quite visible from there.”
Von Lintelo went over to the window and looked down at the city. The chamber was on the third floor of the Rathaus, so he had a good view of the square below.
There was nothing to see, beyond some soldiers plundering a shop.
“Up in the sky, sir. You can see it clearly in the moonlight.” Captain von Haslang came next to him and pointed up and to the left.
The general saw the object immediately. Even at what was clearly a considerable distance, the airship seemed enormous. The moonlight glistened off one of its flanks, as if it were a leviathan that had just leapt from the sea.
Von Lintelo had seen diagrams of the things, but had never actually seen one in person. It was...impressive.
Also infuriating.
“What happened?” he demanded. “My orders were clear. I wanted that airship seized at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was in charge?”
“Von der Felt, sir. As you instructed.”
Von Lintelo glared at him, and then glared at the airship. He had, in fact, specifically placed Captain Andreas von der Felt in charge. The former Catholic League officer was a reliable man. But he didn’t appreciate the near-insolence involved in being reminded of it by von Haslang.
So, he shifted the issue. “What happened?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Of course you don’t know! I specifically assigned you to find out what happened and here you are, back again almost immediately with no explanation. You won’t find out anything here, Captain. Attend to your duty.”
After von Haslang left, the general went back to glaring at the airship. There would be no way to capture it now, of course. Or even destroy it. The craft was already at least a thousand feet high, beyond the range of any gun except cannons—and no cannon was designed to fire almost straight up.
That was something that would have to be attended to, as soon as possible. Realistically, there was no way Bavaria would be able to match their enemy’s capabilities in the air in the foreseeable future. That would have been true even if they’d succeeded in taking the airship. Von Lintelo would urge the duke to devote resources to developing guns which could strike down aircraft instead. Such guns were quite possible, he’d been told.
The general’s foul mood didn’t last for long. Every campaign has its shortcomings. Taken as a whole, however, this campaign had succeeded splendidly. Ingolstadt was theirs again.
* * *
When Captain von Haslang finally found Captain Andreas von der Felt, he still had no answers. The captain’s body was cold—ice cold, as you’d expect in the middle of a clear night in January—and the first signs of rigor mortis were setting in. He’d been dead for hours. His body was half-sprawled against the wall of a shop that had been broken into. A general store, from the looks, which sold foodstuffs and other items. Von Haslang was pretty sure the captain had been dragged there from somewhere else, though, judging from the trail of blood leading out into the street. That was where he’d probably been struck down.