Two feet of snow was two feet of snow. When your only method of transportation was leg muscles—yours or a horse’s—you didn’t move that fast. Not one man—and certainly not ten thousand. When temperatures were this cold, you had to move carefully and take a lot of rest. You’d damn well better eat, plenty and regularly. Armies of thousands of men with seventeenth century equipment do not zip in and out of fast food joints. Just cooking and eating took hours, and if you skipped those tasks too often you would quickly find yourself in a world of hurt.
The supply trains were taxed even worse. They depended heavily on oxen, and oxen do not move quickly even in summertime. And while large powerful animals like oxen and horses could plow through snow more easily than men could, the corollary was that the huge critters ate a lot more. For every ten pounds of food hauled to the front lines, eight or nine were going to be eaten by the livestock—and you couldn’t shave that very much, or your livestock started dying on you.
You could forget about “living off the countryside.” Saxony had been sheltered enough from the wars of the past seventeen years that an army might be able to do that in the summer and fall. But not February.
Slow, slow, slow. Everything moved slowly.
Johan Banér was in a good mood today. His mood had been improving every day since they pulled away from Dresden.
So had the mood of his soldiers. Siege lines were miserable. Maneuvering in the open in the middle of winter was miserable too, of course, but it was a different sort of misery. As long as it didn’t last too long, it was a pleasant relief. Well, not “pleasant,” exactly. “Less unpleasant,” perhaps.
At first, Banér had been worried that Stearns might retreat south to the Vogtland. That would have been his most sensible course of action. But he’d moved his army to the west, instead, circling Dresden rather than escaping from it. By now, the two armies were approaching the town of Ostra, originally founded by Sorbians.
Again, Stearns was surprising Banér. Had he been the American swine, Banér would have passed to the west of Ostra, but Stearns looked to be passing east of it. If he did, he’d have his army almost at the outskirts of Dresden.
Banér would follow him, wherever the bastard went. That would get difficult, if Stearns chose to flee into more open country. Grudgingly, after several days of maneuvering, Banér had accepted the fact that Stearns’ troops could move faster than his own. Not much faster, but no one moved quickly in winter.
So far, that hadn’t made a difference, because Stearns was such a novice that he’d wasted his advantage by circling Dresden. That gave Banér the advantage of interior lines since he’d begun the maneuvering just outside of the city. As Stearns had moved west, Banér had been able to keep his own forces in step, just a mile or two closer to Dresden.
That was the fumbling of a neophyte—either that, or stupid arrogance. Either way, once Banér could come to grips with him, Stearns was done.
Done as in dead. Banér had received private orders from Oxenstierna the day before, sent in code over the radio. However it was done, the chancellor wanted Stearns removed completely from the political arena. Killed in battle would be best, but “shot while trying to escape” would do well enough. If need be, Stearns could hang himself in a cell in a fit of despondency after he was captured.
The instructions had been another example of Oxenstierna’s annoying habit of lecturing people on the obvious. Banér had had no intention of letting Stearns survive. Had the chancellor instructed him to do the opposite, he would have ignored the instructions. The American troublemaker had been a plague in Europe for quite long enough.
Berlin, capital of Brandenburg
Axel Oxenstierna finished pulling on his gloves. “How much longer, then?”
Colonel Reinhold Wunsch pursed his lips. “It’s a bit hard to say, Chancellor. The problem is rounding up enough wagons. We’ve got the horses and oxen we need.”
Oxenstierna nodded. “We’re in Brandenburg. Miserable place. I’m not surprised there’s a shortage of wagons. So how much more time will you need?”
“Another two days, at least. More likely to be three.”
“That should be soon enough. We’re not really in a hurry and won’t be until we get word from Banér that Stearns is dealt with. The way the up-timer is evading battle, that’s likely to take several more days. But at that point, Colonel—” His expression became stern. “I want the army ready to march, and no excuses. I want to be on the outskirts of Magdeburg by no later than the Ides of March.”