The Saxon Uprising(109)

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ernst asked.

Tata and Joachim looked at each other. Then Joachim turned and pointed toward a long table near the back wall. Half a dozen youngsters were gathered around it, arguing about something.

“Yes, if you would. Go over there and put them in order. Make sure they get their job done.”

“What are they doing?”

Tata sniffed. “They’re supposed to be organizing supplies for the wounded.”

Ernst looked back over. The oldest of the group looked to be perhaps sixteen.

Pity the poor wounded. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, heading toward them.

Eric Krenz felt his spirits pick up, when he caught sight of Gretchen Richter coming onto the bastion.

His spirits had been rather high already, as it happened. He didn’t have much doubt, any longer, that they’d be able to beat off the assault. Banér had gambled, Eric was pretty sure he’d lost the gamble—and there’d be a high price to pay for it on the morrow. Mercenaries were tough, up to a point. Very tough, in fact, as you’d expect from professional soldiers. But they reacted more poorly to heavy casualties in a failed assault than regular soldiers did—and regular soldiers didn’t react well. It would probably be at least a fortnight before the Swedish general could marshal another major attack.

Still, he was glad to see Richter, and so were all the men on the bastion with him. That was obvious from their pleased expressions. It was like having their own angel pay a visit.

No sweet cherubim, either. This was a sword-bearing angel from the heart of God’s fury.

Good-looking, blonde, and she was actually unarmed. But none of them were fooled.

“Gott mit uns!” one of the men suddenly shouted, in the old anti-imperialist war cry.

“Gott mit uns!” roared the soldiers on the bastion. In an instant, the call was picked up and racing down the curtain wall. It sailed out over the snow and the darkness and the blood-covered ice of the Elbe.





Chapter 33


Magdeburg

At the end, their pilot chose to fly all the way around the field—and right across the whole city of Magdeburg—before he brought the plane down to land. Prince Ulrik was surprised. Egidius Junker had behaved like such a stolid and unimaginative fellow up until then, from the first moment they met him. Who would have guessed such cunning lurked beneath?

After the plane was down and was taxiing toward the crowd waiting for them at the airfield’s terminal building, Ulrik leaned forward. “That was well done, Herr Junker,” he said, over the pilot’s shoulder.

“Yes!” agreed Kristina. She was sitting in the other seat in front, next to the pilot. “It was a wonderful flight!”

Junker glanced back and smiled. There was more intelligence in that glance and that smile than the prince would have expected, too. The pilot’s expression managed to convey, simultaneously, his appreciation for the compliment; his understanding that it was really a compliment on his political and not piloting skills; and his amusement—not derision, simply amusement—at the nine-year-old princess’ misunderstanding.

Ulrik spent the rest of the time until they came to a stop wondering how much an airplane like this would cost. Surely it would be within the budget of a prince?

They’d need to support a pilot as well, he realized. This was only the second time Ulrik had ever been aloft in an airplane. The first time had been a brief ride during the Congress of Copenhagen, whose sole purpose had been thrill-seeking. The truth was, he hadn’t particularly enjoyed it, because he’d been too nervous. Now that he’d flown a second time, as part of an actual journey with a real purpose, he had a much better sense of the business. It would be far better to have a regular pilot, especially one who was no dullard when it came to political affairs.

Junker brought the plane to a stop. Again, Ulrik leaned over his shoulder. “I am giving some thought to buying an airplane. Would you be available as a pilot?”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Ulrik!” Kristina clapped her hands.

Junker gave him another smile full of subtleties. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness. I’m rather committed to my current employer.”

The smile faded a bit. “And I had to leave my betrothed behind in Dresden. Now I’ll need to figure out a way to get her and her friends out of there.”

“Ah.” Ulrik glanced out the window. The crowd of notables was still waiting. Probably for the propeller to stop spinning, he imagined. He certainly would have waited. That thing could carve a man up like a warrior out of legend. Of course, you’d have to walk right into it—but in the press of a crowd, such things could happen.