geopolitical terms, two-thirds of the city-state’s border adjoined the SoTF. Ed had always made it a point to stay on good terms with the Nürnbergers and they’d been just as punctilious returning the favor.
So, he didn’t expect any problems. But these were uncertain times.
On a positive note, he finally managed to get in a complete sentence. Heinrich tended to be abrupt under pressure.
“I’m inclined to think we should accept the loss of Ingolstadt—for the moment—and concentrate on defending Regensburg.”
“I agree,” said General Schmidt.
“Let’s settle on that, then. Take the division to Regensburg.”
“What are the latest radio reports coming from the city?”
“Nothing, oddly enough. A few clashes with Bavarian skirmishers south of the Danube, but nothing worse. And there’s still no sign of any attempts to cross the river. Not even probes.”
“Not so odd as all that, Mr. President. Duke Maximilian still hasn’t built his army back up to strength. He’s gambling right now—obviously, because he thought traitors had given him a particularly strong hand.” Darkly: “Which, indeed, they did. But he still would have concentrated all his forces at Ingolstadt. He would not have taken the risk of launching two simultaneous attacks so widely separated. It’s more than thirty miles from Ingolstadt to Regensburg—on those roads at this time of year, at least a two-day march. Separated units could not reinforce each other in case of setbacks.”
“In that case, how soon—”
“At least a week, would be my estimate. He’ll want to assemble a large fleet of barges before he comes down the river toward Regensburg.” Heinrich smiled, in that thin and humorless way he had. “No easy task, squeezing barges out of Danube rivermen. They’ll hide them in places you’d never think of—burn them, sometimes, rather than give them up.”
“That should give you—”
“I’ll have the division in Regensburg long before then. We’ll hold the city, Mr. President, never fear. How long it will take to recover Ingolstadt, on the other hand…” He shrugged again. “I would say that mainly depends on how the political situation here in the USE resolves itself.”
“Yes, you’re right. If all goes well—”
“The emperor recovers, Oxenstierna hangs, Wettin hangs—ask me if I care the swine got himself arrested—every other stinking traitor in Berlin hangs, we catch the traitors who sold out Ingolstadt—disembowel those bastards, hanging’s too good for them—proper order is restored, the Prince of Germany is back in power where he belongs, and Maximilian is food for stray mongrels in the streets of Munich.”
Ed stared at him. Heinrich could be…harsh.
“That seems perhaps a bit—”
“Yes, you’re right. Munich’s street curs are innocent parties to the business. Unfair to poison them with such foul meat. We’ll feed the duke to his pigs instead.”
After the general left, Ed dilly-dallied for a few minutes before finally accepting the need to take care of the business he most desperately did not want to take care of.
He’d have to write messages to be radioed to John Chandler Simpson in Luebeck and Mike Stearns in Bohemia. Telling the admiral that his son had vanished into the chaos of war and telling the general that his sister had done the same. Rita Simpson, née Stearns, had been living in Ingolstadt with her husband Tom. God only knew what had happened to her when the Bavarians came pouring in.
Worst of all, he’d have to tell Mary Simpson, Tom’s mother. And this would be no brief, antiseptic radio message. As luck would have it, she was in Bamberg at the moment, raising money for one of her many charities or cultural projects.
The Dame of Magdeburg, they called her. But before the day’s end, she’d just be one of many anguished mothers.
There was something to be said for Heinrich Schmidt’s simple remedies, all things considered. A Swedish chancellor throttled, a Bavarian duke munched on by hogs.
Ed could live with that. It’d still be nice to complete more than every fourth sentence, though.
Luebeck
Princess Kristina was reading the newspaper in Ulrik’s hands by leaning over his shoulder. Most likely, because she found it comforting to rest her hands on his shoulders. It certainly wasn’t because they could only afford one copy of the Hamburg Morgenpost. The money sent by King Christian had arrived the day before. Here as elsewhere, Ulrik’s father had been profligate. If he wanted to—and he was tempted sometimes—the prince could now afford to launch his own newspaper.
The temptation wasn’t as great at the moment, though, as it would have been at most times. Luebeck’s own newspaper was wretched, but the city got quite regular