Tim nodded, tears blurring his sight. He kept seeing little cavalry units being picked up off a playing board while he looked at the clumps of bodies on the field. It was too far to distinguish individuals but he knew some of the cavalrymen whose bodies made up those clumps. “The general’s not going to be happy.”
The little boyars with their fine horses had left the field, those that still could. Routed by soldiers who worked for pay, not glory.
* * *
By the time they got back to the column, it was crossing the Volga at Staritsa and Tim had himself well under control. He made his report and the general discussed the way the battle had gone. Whoever had commanded the Poles had kept his Cossacks in reserve. Which was a bit of a surprise; since probably the greatest Russian weakness was in tactical mobility. Of course, a Russian army that was mostly cavalry was unusual, too.
“I am concerned about the loss of the cavalry,” General Izmailov echoed Tim’s thoughts. “The cavalry units were most of what tactical mobility we had. We can’t afford to be caught away from the Volga. We’ll need it for supply. It’s a hundred miles along the Volga from Tver to Rzhev. I am going to take the main force straight to Rzhev. But I am sending Captain Boyce and his people along the river to grab up every boat they can find.”
Tim said, “But the supplies are coming up by steam barge, aren’t they?”
“They’re supposed to be,” General Izmailov said. “But the latest steam barge is overdue. The steam barges don’t work that consistently yet. So I want regular boats to fill in the gaps. I also want to deny them to the Poles. So, you’re going with Captain Boyce and his troops, Tim. I don’t really think they’ll run again, but better safe than sorry.”
“Yes, sir. What do I do if they do run?”
“They won’t. That’s why you’re going. I’m sending a squad of Streltzi with you, but they are just to keep you safe. Captain Boyce knows that if his company fails in its mission, you’ll take the Streltzi and come tell me about it. Then he and his people won’t get paid.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim said. “I’m sure the steam barge will arrive soon.”
Chapter 55
On the Volga River
“God cursed piece of crap!” Shorty shouted as the pressure valve started screaming again.
Ivan couldn’t really blame his brother. Besides, it wasn’t really blasphemy, more a statement of fact. The new barge that they had received had a real pressure-relief valve. The pressure-relief valve blew a whistle when it let off excess steam. The whistle wasn’t removable. Whenever the steam got a little strong, the thing started screaming at them like some sort of demented banshee and didn’t stop till the steam pressure had dropped to what the builders in Murom thought was a good pressure. Which, they had told Ivan Mikhailovich, was about thirty pounds per square inch.
When they had gotten to Murom they had been informed that they weren’t going back to Moscow. They were instead taking supplies to “our gallant troops,” which meant they were going up the Volga almost all the way. Except, of course, the Volga wasn’t their river. Never mind. It didn’t matter. They had the most experience with steam barges. So they were given this brand new and improved steam barge with a donut boiler. Which wasn’t quite a tube boiler, but better than a pot boiler since the chimney for the fire box went through the boiler. It had better, more finely worked, cylinders and pistons and worked at higher pressure, so used less fuel and went faster. It had two propellers, one on either side. What a glory of Russian engineering!
Crap!
There had been four explosions of steam barges since Ivan and Pavel Mikhailovich had taken out the first one. Four out of the thirteen barges that had been launched. Each and every explosion had been blamed on the barge’s engineer over-pressuring the boiler. Maybe that was the cause. The engineers weren’t here to argue the point. The experts at the Dacha and Murom hadn’t actually said that a dumb peasant couldn’t be trusted to manage the steam pressure, but the brand new release valve didn’t have any sort of adjustment that the engineer on the barge could make.
They were going up an unfamiliar river in a brand new barge. So far this trip they had lost two seals on the right piston and run aground once.
“What is it this time, Shorty?” Ivan shouted. He had to shout. The god-cursed pressure valve was still screaming. The passengers had retreated to the front of the barge.
“What?” Shorty shouted back holding his hands over his ears. “I think the release valve is getting looser. If we had the sort of head of steam we should need for it to go off like that, we’d be going twice as fast.” Shorty banged the boiler with his wrench and it finally stopped screaming.