The Eastern Front(55)

All Stearns' division had to do, once the enemy attacked, was simply hunker down and fend off the Saxons until the rest of the army came up and broke them. There was no place in all that and certainly no need for the division's commanding general to be gallivanting about on a horse near the front.

No, at the front. Stearns and his officers had now passed the lead battalion and were trotted slightly ahead of them.

"What is he doing?" repeated the aide.

But Torstensson knew. His monarch had predicted this would happen. The essence of it, at least, if not the specific details.

"I know that man," Gustav Adolf had told Lennart, some weeks ago. "He's a lot like me, you know, in some ways."

So it seemed. Lennart took off his hat and gave the general in the distance a little tip of recognition.





Chapter 17



"It might be a ploy, sir," said Colonel Carl Bose.

Hans Georg von Arnim continued to examine the peculiar maneuver being undertaken by the enemy's right wing. He'd lowered the eyeglass, though, after he'd confirmed that the commander was the newly-made general Michael Stearns.

"A trap, you mean?" Von Arnim had spent the past few minutes pondering the same problem. But now, he shook his head.

"I don't believe Torstensson would be so reckless. Stearns is a complete novice. If he loses his head—not even that; simply becomes confused and loses control—this could turn into a complete disaster for them."

He wasn't entirely certain of his conclusion, but . . . what choice did he really have, with the odds so heavily against him?

"Tell von der Pforte to move up his troops. But before all else, we have to get Hofkirchen's cavalry engaged." Von Arnim pointed to a creek in a distance, barely visible because it was so narrow. "If at all possible, we have to keep Stearns' division from anchoring its flank on the Pleisse."



"He might decide it's a trap," said Colonel Schönbeck. He was leaning forward in his saddle, intently studying the center of the Saxon lines where von Arnim was stationed.

Torstensson, who was almost slouched in his own saddle, gave his head a little shake. "I'm sure he's considering the possibility. The key is Stearns. I wouldn't have tried this maneuver with Brunswick-Lüneburg or Knyphausen. But I'm betting von Arnim will decide I wouldn't have chanced it with such a novice as Stearns."

His aide eyed him sidewise. "It is a bit risky, General."

Torstensson shrugged. Like the headshake, the gesture was minimal. "Stearns may be new at this, but his soldiers aren't. Most of the units in the Third Division were at Ahrensbök. So were the flying artillery companies I lent to him. As long as Stearns doesn't panic, they'll be able to fend off the counterattack. Long enough, anyway, which is all that matters."

Schönbeck was still eyeing him sidewise. Torstensson smiled. "I've seen Stearns in a crisis, Colonel."

"The unrest in Magdeburg after Wismar? But there was no real fighting there, sir."

Again, the USE commander shook his head. The gesture, this time, was not minimal at all. "That's not really what matters. The great danger in a crisis is not that a commander collapses from fear of being hurt or killed. Most men are not cowards, certainly not most soldiers. No, the real danger is that they simply can't think clearly. Their brain freezes. They exude uncertainty—and that's what begins to create panic in their subordinates and soldiers. Relax, Colonel Schönbeck. Stearns won't lose his head."



Losing his head never even occurred to Mike Stearns.

Although he had no experience with military battle, he had been a prizefighter for a time when he was a young man. Young and stupid, as he liked to say. He'd been quite good at it, too, especially the mental side of fighting. He'd won all eight of his professional bouts. The reason he'd quit—other than a sudden and unexpected lapse of youthful imbecility—was because he'd come to realize that his reflexes simply weren't good enough. Mike was very strong and had superb reflexes. Even now, despite spending the last several years as a sedentary executive, he was still in far better physical condition than most men half his age. But "very strong" and "superb reflexes" were one thing, measured against normal values. Measured against the values of professional boxers, they were something else entirely.

So, he'd quit. Almost twenty years ago, now. But as he moved toward his first battle, Mike felt the familiar mindset closing back in.

The key thing was not to lose your head. To stay in control of the adrenaline rather than letting the adrenaline control you. Ignore the blows. Accept them as inevitable. Concentrate on the enemy. Above all, watch. The natural response of a man in a fight was to flail away. To let the fear and rage fuel his physical abilities, so that he might overpower his foe. In essence, to let the animal try to save the man.