But she didn’t correct him, so apparently she was. “Hold on, I’ll look.” She was off the air for a few seconds. “No, dammit, I can’t see you. The moonlight’s just not bright enough and I guess we’re up pretty high. Over.”
“You’re not really all that close, either.” He hesitated for an instant. “Uh...what are your plans? Over.”
“We don’t really have any. Get out of Ingolstadt was about as far as it went. We were thinking about flying to Amberg, but Stefano—he’s the pilot—thinks that’s going to be a problem. We don’t have much fuel because they weren’t able to refuel in Ingolstadt, and he says the wind is blowing the wrong way. He’s not sure we can make it before we run out of fuel. Then he says we’re at the mercy of the winds. Over.”
Von Eichelberg had that intent look on his face again. “Isn’t there gasoline in Regensburg?”
Tom held up a hand to interrupt him, nodding and talking into the walkie-talkie at the same time.
“There’s plenty of gas in Regensburg, Rita. They’re storing it up for the spring, when they hope to get that ironclad working again.”
Working for the first time, would probably be a better way to put it. The small ironclad in question had been designed entirely by down-timers, whose enthusiasm had outrun their experience. The thing was so top-heavy it almost capsized the one and only time it had been put in the river, and was so awkward that the oars which were supposed to drive it through the water couldn’t compete with the current. It was lying up in drydock to be fitted with an up-time engine as soon as a suitable one became available. But, hope springing eternal, the enthusiasts had somehow managed to sweet-talk the powers-that-be into providing them with several barrels of gasoline.
“And we could sure use your help while we’re trying to get there ourselves,” he added. “We’ve got no scouting capabilities worth talking about and within a day the Bavarian cavalry will be all over the place. Over.”
“Hold on a minute, hon. I’ve got to talk it over. Uh. Over.”
She was off the air for about a minute before she came back on. Tom was surprised, actually. He’d figured Hank Siers would make a fuss and it would take Rita at least five minutes to bully him into it.
That she’d succeed, he didn’t doubt at all. When his wife wanted to be, she was pretty ferocious.
“Okay, Tom. We’re on. Stefano thinks it’s a good idea and so does everybody else. What do you want us to do? Exactly, I mean. Over.”
She made no mention at all of Siers. Tom wondered what had happened to him. Had the surveyor been killed?
But that wasn’t something he needed to worry about tonight. Tom studied the distant airship for a few seconds, wishing he knew more about the devices than he did. How easy were they to land and take off? And what did they need in the way of space and facilities?
For sure, they’d need plenty of space. The Pelican was as long as half a football field, and at least fifteen yards wide. There was no way it could land in a small meadow.
Von Eichelberg and his men had been stationed in Ingolstadt longer than Tom himself. So Tom turned back to him.
“Is there any large open area in the next few miles?” He pointed up at the Pelican. “It needs to be big enough for the airship to land. Say, a minimum of a hundred yards.”
The young mercenary captain pursed his lips thoughtfully. After a moment, he said: “Two, that I can think of. Luckily, the nearest one is the largest.”
He turned and pointed toward the Danube. “It’s a big clearing alongside the river, perhaps two miles downstream from here. We could be there in an hour.”
That was pushing it, Tom thought. In an hour, a man could walk two miles quite easily. Five hundred men, with six-pounders and supply wagons? In the middle of the night, to boot, with just moonlight to guide them? He thought they’d be doing well if they made it within two hours.
Still, that would get them to the clearing before dawn, which was what mattered. The Bavarians wouldn’t be sending out any large cavalry force until morning.
He got back on the walkie-talkie. “How much room do you have in that thing? Can you carry another man, with—”
He looked at Corporal Baier, quickly gauging the weight of the radioman himself as well as that of the equipment he carried.
“Say, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, all told. Over.”
Rita’s answer came immediately. “You’re not talking about yourself, obviously. Yeah, I’m pretty sure, especially because we can subtract my weight from the equation. Your guy gets on, I get off. That brings it down to a net gain of less than a hundred pounds. Hold on, I’ll check with Stefano.”