A spot of bother

Siege operations about Randstadt had reached the third parallel and the batteries had been positioned amid blasts of musketry from the defenses. Mary Amadeus worked as hard as any to site the guns, and she felt pride in the fact they had become operational again within an hour.

The summons to General Rauppen-Schlepper’s pavilion reached her as she came off the line. Repeated salvos from the artillery had rendered her somewhat deaf, and the aide had to repeat himself twice before she understood. She made her way to the pavilion, sited in the headquarters area a safe distance beyond cannon range. Sweeping the tricorn from her head, she checked her hair still stayed neatly in its ponytail then nodded to the aide. He opened the tent fly and she followed him inside.

The General sat at his desk reading a dispatch. Mary saluted as he looked up. “Lieutenant Amadeus reporting, sir.”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.” Rauppen-Schlepper’s time-worn features remained set in a neutral expression, and she wondered why he didn’t greet her with his normal affability. He reached for his pipe and made a show of inspecting it, knocking out the dottle and refilling it with his favorite blend from a tooled leather pouch. The aide stepped forward with a taper. Rauppen-Schlepper took it and lit the pipe. He nodded to the aide. “Leave us, Wilhelm, but stay within call.” The aide saluted and departed, leaving Mary and the General alone.

“Is something wrong, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m afraid there is.” He opened a drawer and extracted two packets of papers, tied with a blue ribbon. He dropped one on the desk in front of her. “Do you recognize the writing?”

She stooped to examine them and blinked. “It looks like my hand, sir.”

“It looks like yours?”

“Yes, but what..?” She sought for words. “I’ve not written to anyone to this extent. I can’t afford the stationary on my salary. To whom are they addressed?”

“Young Philip, heir to the throne.” He dropped the second packet before her. “These are his replies.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know anything about these. Philip and I have never exchanged letters beyond official reports to do with the battery.”

Rauppen-Schlepper pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked weary. “They came into my possession through some anonymous agency. That in itself is bad enough but the content...” He tapped the letters with a stubby finger. “The contents, my dear lieutenant, are explosive!”

“May I read them, sir?”

“Please do.”

Mary picked up the packet, untied the ribbon and read the first letter. Her heart began to pound and her face burned with embarrassment. “They... they’re nothing I would’ve penned, sir!”

“I should hope not!”

“This... this is explicit!” She gestured helplessly to the letters. “I don’t know anything like a tiny fraction of the things herein described.”

Rauppen-Schlepper’s face grew grim. “It gets worse, Lieutenant. The last two letters speak of the possibility of elopement.”

“Elopement!”

“Yes.” His bushy eyebrows came together and he stared at her. “You know full well Professor Knappenburger’s correspondence states our law forbids Morganatic marriages to the future head of state. Such correspondence as lies before you is treason. Graf Philip will not be punished beyond the family’s censure, but for a commoner such as you... The sentence, should you be found guilty, is death.”

Liaisons amoureux et curieux

The now-quiet town of Lehmangraz.

“You’re the second invalid I’ve had to tend this month.” Ursula poured two glasses of white wine and handed one to Horatio.

He grinned and shifted his arm in the fresh sling she’d tied. “Who was the other lucky fellow?”

She sipped and eyed him. “Who says it was a man?”

“Oh, just a guess.”

“Well, it’s a lucky one. It was Konrad. He’s on the mend.”

“I’m glad. Nice fellow.”

Ursula snuggled up alongside him on the bed. From here she had a good view out the bay window. As commander of the gunboat flotilla Horatio had a choice room overlooking the naval yard and the river beyond. Parties of sailors, marines and yard workers moved here and there, clearing up the worst damage suffered in the raid. A miasma of wet burnt wood hung over all. She noticed the marines seemed to move with almost manic energy, as if eager to make up in some way for their deficiency in the recent fighting.

Horatio must have guessed her thoughts. “To be fair they couldn’t help it, my love. They were pressed into action half-trained and the enemy took them by surprise to boot. I think they’ll shape up given time and patience.”

“They should have enough of both. The army of Dunkeldorf-Pfühl took a beating, and Randstadt is under siege. I can’t see an occasion arising where the marines will be needed before the end of the war.”

“I wouldn’t speak too soon, dearest. The light infantry raid caught us all on the hop.”

Ursula set her glass aside and twisted around to press closer against his side. She gazed into his eyes and stroked his cheek. “But their mission ultimately failed – thanks to you.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, I’m quite the hero.” Draining his glass he put it on the bedside table and took her in his arms. “I missed you!”

“And I you.” They kissed, and she stroked his wounded arm. “Will you need to wear this for much longer?”

“Only a week, according to our surgeon. The rascal also wanted to bleed me, but I told him I’d already shed enough blood for the cause.”

She lowered her voice to a sultry tone. “It won’t... hinder you at all?”

His smile widened to a grin. “Not in the least...”

Matters had just become interesting when the sound of pounding feet on the staircase interrupted their idyll. Moments later somebody knocked on the door with a rapid tattoo. “Urgent dispatch from General Rauppen-Schlepper, sir!”

“Can’t it wait?” Horatio called peevishly.

“The courier needs a reply, sir.” The man sounded contrite. Ursula sensed he knew he intruded upon his commander at a delicate moment.

Horatio groaned. “Sorry, my love. I’ll have to take this.”

Ursula dived under the bedclothes. “Schieße! What timing!”

Horatio rolled off the bed, donned his dressing gown and answered the summons. He glanced at the message the man handed him. “I’ll be down directly.”

“Sir!” Footsteps clumped away. Horatio closed the door and returned to the bed. “It’s from the general, all right. It seems one Lieutenant Mary Amadeus has come up with a scheme to shorten the siege of Randstadt and we’re required to render assistance.”

“Mary A!” Ursula sat up and took the message from him. She scanned it. “Old Rauppen-Schlepper doesn’t say what scheme she has in mind of course, but knowing her it’ll be a corker! Ah..!” She read the remainder of the script. “He wants you to lose not a moment in setting out.”

“Such is the life of a naval officer.” He eyed her, his expression one of mixed lust and frustration. Eventually he groaned. “The General summons, and so I must obey. When we set sail, will you come with me?”

“Of course!” She pulled his head down and kissed him soundly. “From what I saw of her the Styx II has a nicely-appointed cabin. Once we’re under weigh, we can resume where we left off...”

* * * *

Paul Ehrgeiziger entered the inn, located on a busy road not far from the border with Hetzenberg. It was an establishment he’d frequented before on clandestine missions, and the innkeeper knew him. The woman nodded as Paul ordered an ale. She served him and leaned close to whisper as she slid his change across the damp surface of the bar counter. “The gentleman awaits you in the usual room, sir.”

Paul thanked her and made his way at a casual pace through to the rear of the near-empty saloon and up the stairs. They opened onto a passage off which were several guest rooms. Paul knocked on the third door and entered without waiting for an invitation. The man sitting by the window stood and bowed as Paul closed and bolted the door. “It’s good to see you, Paul. After what happened earlier this year, I feared all was up with you. Your message came as a great relief.”

Paul returned the bow. “It’s good to see you too, Artur. You look well.”

“As well as can be expected.” Artur sat. A portly fellow, the warmth of the day brought perspiration to his lofty brow, and he mopped it with a large lace handkerchief.

“Thank you for responding to my note. Others might not have welcomed my approach, given the circumstances of my... ah, departure from the Margrave’s service.”

“Oh, my dear fellow, to your ear alone can I sympathize! Our new lord and master – and possible patricide – is a sad burden for our poor state to bear. He has us running ragged in an attempt to find ways of winning this war. The army is licking its wounds and is unable to raise the siege of Randstadt. The Margrave won’t be told to cut his losses.” Artur grimaced. “The near-success of the raid on Lehmangraz filled him with new hope, more’s the pity.”

“I see.” Paul doffed his hat and sat down. “He’s not beyond resorting to skulduggery...”

Artur pursed his lips and frowned. “He’s not – but I have the feeling you refer to a particular incidence of skulduggery.”

Paul put on a bland smile. “You know me too well, old fellow.” He leaned closer. “It has been brought to my attention that someone is trying to stir dissent in the upper reaches of the Hetzenberg court.”

Artur nodded. A knowing glint appeared in his eye. “Ah, that. To be fair, that particular piece of business originated with the Dowager. She hired Bartolomeo Gundaker.”

Paul leaned back in his chair. “You surprise me!”

Artur chuckled. “Why so? You know the old woman. She’s as devious as a boatload of monkeys!”

“She has her own agenda, to be sure,” Paul murmured, thinking over his past experience with the Dowager. He produced the letter given him by Ursula. “Pray examine this.”

Artur donned a pair of pince-nez, took the letter and scanned it. After a few moments he looked up. “It’s plain Professor Knappenburger’s letter dashes any hope of this young woman marrying into the nobility.”

“So it would appear.”

“You suspect this to be a forgery?”

“It has been proven to be so.”

“Then yes, this is Gundaker’s work, I’m sure. It’s all of a piece with his methods.” Artur handed back the letter. “You have a sentimental attachment to this Mary Amadeus?”

Paul hesitated. “Rather, I have a sentimental attachment to her friend, and wish to return a favor.”

Artur nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Say no more.” He mopped his brow again. “Curse this heat! Well, I would advise you discover the late Professor’s real reasoning on the subject. Any halfway competent authority on law would be of help.” He pointed to the letter. “That is merely a delaying tactic on the Dowager’s part.”

“So I surmised.” Paul folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. “But to what end?”

In the siege lines, Randstadt

‘Sister? Sister!’

Mary Amadeus paused in her work and looked around. Nobody in the siege lines had ever called her by her old title. A man stood hesitating at the entrance to the gun park, a smile on his face as he looked at her. He held his hat in both hands and made a presentable figure in well-made traveling clothes.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked, walking over and then stopped in surprise. ‘Bruno!’

The former misérable broke into a grin as she recognized him. ‘I look rather different these days, sister!’

‘I should say you do!’ Mary said, walking over to shake hands. ‘But then, so do I. How are you?’

‘Well settled-in, thanks,’ he replied. ‘The archbishop gave me a place as a general handyman on one of his estates and my wife works in the scullery. It pays a decent wage and we’re treated well.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’

Bruno bobbed his head. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Grafin Ursula.’

‘It’s the least we could do. I trust your family is well?’

‘All well.’ Bruno ducked quickly as the main siege battery let fly a deafening salvo. Mary hid a smile. She had long grown accustomed to the noise, albeit a trifle deaf. Bruno looked keenly at the distant shape of Randstadt’s ramparts. Dust from pulverized stone hung in the air as the salvo struck home. ‘I never thought I’d get so close to my old home again,’ he said. ‘Our hut used to be just over there.’

‘Any regrets?’ Mary asked.

He scowled and shook his head. ‘No. It was a horrible life.’ Glaring at the town he went on, ‘you can burn it all to the ground as far as I’m concerned!’

‘I don’t think we’ll go that far,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Come to my quarters and take a sup of wine.’

She led him to her tent. Her servant had turned back the fly to allow the interior to air in the warm April day, and bedding hung over a line nearby. The woman hurried to fetch a bottle of wine and goblets as Mary invited Bruno to sit with her at the camp table set up outside. ‘Not that I’m displeased to see you, old friend,’ she said as the servant poured the wine, ‘but I’m curious as to why you’re here.’

Bruno waited until the servant went about other business before leaning close. ‘We’ve all been reading about the siege and battles and so on,’ he said. ‘Last week I remembered something which might be useful. My wife and I talked it over and decided you should be told. ‘

‘You came instead of sending a letter?’ Mary asked. ‘It’s a long way from the archbishop’s estates.’
Bruno looked around. The camp bustled with activity but none paid them any attention. ‘We thought it too sensitive,’ he said, leaning close.

‘Now I’m really curious!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘What have you to share?’

Bruno gestured toward the distant gun line. ‘There’s a way into the town from outside. A way few know of.’ He leaned closer. ‘A secret way.’

‘A secret way.’ Mary gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean a secret passage?’

‘Not a man-made one, sister.’ Bruno sat back. ‘They’re more in the nature of caves under the town. They run back from the river bluffs.’

‘Interesting,’ she murmured. ‘How do you know of them?’

Bruno sipped his wine. ‘Two years ago I worked on the docks. A pal of mine fell into the river and got swept away. He couldn’t swim. I can only dog paddle a bit but I grabbed a keg and jumped in after him. I soon caught him but we were carried downstream about a quarter mile beyond the walls. Somehow I managed to push against the flow and guide us to the bank. It’s rocky there, with plenty of hand and footholds. I got us ashore and made sure my pal was safe, then looked around.’
     ‘There’s an overhang. I couldn’t see any way up from the river, but I could see a small cave opening screened by bushes a few feet above where we perched. I doubt it can be seen at all from the river unless a boat gets up close to the bank. My pal seemed half-dead and wasn’t able to move with the fright he’d gotten, so I climbed up and took a closer look at the cave.’ He shrugged and looked grim for a moment. ‘There seemed no hurry to send a boat after us from the docks. After all, we were just a couple of laborers.’
     ‘The opening was big enough for me to wriggle through and so I did. After a few yards I found a place big enough to stand in.’ He struck the ground with his boot heel. ‘There’s a whole series of tunnels and caves under this soil.’

Mary felt her pulse quicken as possibilities flowed through her mind. ‘You explored them?’

‘I explored a few later. Not at that time. My pal needed help and I wanted to be with him when the rescue boat arrived and took us back to town. I told no one but my wife of my find. It took a few days but I went back in secret with rope and a lantern. Those caves run for quite a way. One heads toward the town and under the walls.’

‘You know this for sure?’

‘Yes.’ Bruno grinned, his teeth brown and jagged. ‘I found a disused well shaft sunk into a small water-filled cave. It took some doing but I climbed up to the top. It’s covered with planks and rubble, but I saw enough through the gaps to make out a familiar neighborhood.’

Mary thought for a moment then stood. ‘Bruno, you need to come with me. The general should hear this!’

Some news!

My apologies for the long absence in posting here, but I've been rather busy with an exciting new development.

The Hetzenberg Chronicles has been accepted by Summerhouse Publishing for worldwide release in eformat!

Not only that, as seen above, the cover art for the first volume of the Chronicles, Prelude to War gets a spiffy new makeover! The original version is still available through Amazon subsidiary CreateSpace.

The second volume, The Heat of Battle is now going through pre-production and will appear in print sometime this spring.

Meanwhile, the adventures of Mary Amadeus et al will continue here as I find time.

Watch this space!

In Seinfeld

Bartolomeo Gundaker threaded his way through the crowds packing the market square. Although a war raged it occurred many miles away and the battle lines were currently stable. The good folk of Seinfeld went about their everyday business in the bright sunshine with little apparent concern for powers and politics. Nor should they, Gundaker thought. What concern is it of theirs what their betters do? Smells, of goods and humanity in their wide variety assaulted his nose and he tried not to show his distaste as he walked. He passed from the square into a narrow side road, feeling relief at escaping the press even though he regretted having to leave the sunlight. This damn country is never warm enough!

A hundred yards along the narrow way divided, the V shaped peninsula formed by the two lanes occupied by a tall half-timbered building in the local style. Bartolomeo used his field craft to ensure he’d not been followed then ducked into the doorway and pulled the bell handle. Almost instantly his ring was answered by a servant, who showed him up a set of wooden stairs to a small chamber overlooking the lane down which he’d come.

A handsome woman of middling years and plain but finely-wrought clothing sat there by the window, peacefully engaged in embroidery. Two large mastiffs lay on the plain floorboards, their black eyes fixed firmly on him. Their noses twitched as they took in his scent. The musty scent of the dogs made Bartolomeo’s nose also twitch in irritation but he had no recourse but to endure the reek. He knew better than to annoy the woman who awaited him. She didn’t speak as he entered, merely raising her head from her sewing to look Bartolomeo in the eye. Her eyebrow rose in interrogation.

“The Professore is dead,” Bartolomeo began without preamble. “I had the opportunity to substitute a forged letter for one written by him in reply to an inquiry by the Grafin Ursula. She sought to discover the validity of any marriage prospects between her friend and the heir to the Hetzenberg throne. It appeared a good means to sow discord in your enemy’s hierarchy. I forged the reply to the negative before killing the professore by cunning poison.”

The woman studied her embroidery. From where he stood by the door it appeared to Bartolomeo to be some kind of sampler. After a moment she nodded, and a fine hand gestured for him to continue. “From all I have learned the Graf Phillip is quite devoted to Fraulein Mary Amadeus. I intend to enter the Hetzenberg siege lines disguised as a visiting military observer and gain the confidence of the Graf. When opportunity presents itself I shall place forged correspondence of a most intimate nature in the quarters of both the Graf and Fraulein Amadeus. An anonymous tip-off to the Grand Duke will uncover this reprehensible communication, resulting in a crisis between father and son.”

The woman laid her embroidery in her lap and gazed out the window for several minutes. Bartolomeo waited in silence, very much aware the huge dogs’ eyes had not left him for an instant.

“It is a good plan, Herr Gundaker,” the woman said eventually. For the first time she met his eyes and he fought the impulse to step back, so cold and calculating were they. She gestured to a satchel which lay upon a stool a few feet to his right. “Your payment is in there. The rest you shall receive one discord has been sown in the enemy’s command. That is all.”

Bartolomeo bowed, and sidestepped to pick up the satchel. The dogs followed his movements. One growled; the sound seemed to rise from the basement. Bartolomeo swallowed and carefully stepped back to the doorway, the satchel making a nice heavy weight in his hand. “Farewell, lady. Until next time.”

The woman nodded, her attention focusing on the embroidery once more. Bartolomeo backed out of the room and found the servant waiting silently to escort him from the premises. He exited by the same door he’d come in by, and walked back to the market place.

*
The Dowager Margrafin watched him go from her window. Her servant entered the room. “Prepare for my departure to Schwebende Mühe, Walter,” she said. “We shall be leaving within the hour.”

Hetzenberg Special!

A holiday special announcement!

The print version of the Hetzenberg Chronicles, Volume One: Prelude to War
is now available worldwide at Amazon for just $12.95!

Limited time offer to midnight December 31, 2010!

The Raid on Lehmangraz - part two

The bulk of the new gunboat lying on the slipway concealed much of the compound from Horatio’s eyes as he emerged onto the parade ground. The militia platoon charged with guarding the dockyard was forming-up under fire – but the musketry came not from the road but from a number of enemy troops already in the compound. In the growing light Horatio recognized the enemy uniform, one he had last seen crossing the bridge at Wentwitz. “Jagers, by God!” He turned. “Bosun?”

“Sir?” the man shouted.

“We can’t get to the magazine. The enemy’s already in the compound.” He gripped the man’s shoulder. “Their aim must be to destroy the gunboats. Take the crews to the boats and cast off, quick as you like!”

The Bosun nodded and began shouting orders. Without hesitation the well-trained crews began to rush around the foot of the slipway, heading for the gunboats berthed snugly to their jetties. Horatio turned as a militia sergeant ran up and saluted. “Sir, the lieutenant’s compliments and we’ll do what we can.” He gestured toward the road. The jagers there had opened a brisk fire, but the militia was mostly screened by the palisade. Chips of wood flew from the fence as bullets struck it. “We’re under pressure sir, but we’ll hold!”

“Good man! My thanks to your lieutenant.”

The sergeant saluted and ran back to his unit. Horatio turned away, gripped the hilt of his sword and ran alongside his men. I don’t even know the lieutenant’s name, he thought. It’s something I’ll have to rectify. The snap and flare of musket fire from the farthest boat, Phlegethon, drew him onward. Those jagers have penetrated deep into our defenses! He felt a stab of agony in his heart. The boat guards will be overwhelmed! Will we be in time?

Their feet thundered on the dock planking. Horatio saw a crowd of jagers rushing toward the hapless Phlegethon. All fire from her deck had ceased.


At the farm Lieutenant Horst and his NCOs finally got his men into some semblance of order, after a flurry of confusion over dropped muskets, hats, pouches. All the while the sound of increasingly furious musket fire came from the east, the constant rattle interspersed with crashing volleys.

It’s like bloody Viehdorf all over again, Horst thought. Only now I’m the one in command. He looked back from his position at the head of the company column. Raw recruits, God help us! He hesitated, on the verge of giving a speech, but a fresh blast of musketry persuaded him not to. Instead, he drew his sword and pointed it to the east. “Marines, by the left, forward!”

The new Marine company stumbled into motion, some of the new recruits still having only a hazy idea about which foot was their left. Lieutenant Serle, a fresh-faced boy with some pretensions of military learning strode by Horst’s side. “Should we not put out flank guards?” he asked eagerly.

“We haven’t time for that nonsense,” Horst growled, leading his men down the farm track and onto the road. “The dockyard’s under attack. Speed is of the essence!”

The youth touched his hat and stepped back. “Very good, sir,”

Horst turned his attention back to the road. Speed is of the essence. I just hope we’re in time to foil whatever deviltry’s afoot!
*

Similar thoughts were passing through Schnoedt’s mind as the Lehmangraz militia began to form up in the street. Few men had bothered to pull on even the regulation militia coat. Most stood now in whichever garments they had to hand upon the summons being sounded. Schnoedt regarded them all, nodding thoughtfully. Raw troops, with a little training and a few superannuated veterans. Thank goodness we’ve had some recent experience of soldiering through guarding the dockyard. The now-constant crackle of gunfire drew his attention to the east. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice.

“Men! Our fellow citizens are engaged in battle even as I speak. It is our bounden duty to go to their aid.” He looked over the assembled ranks. “Look to the commands given to you and obey smartly. Good luck and may God favor us all!”

A militiaman stepped forward leading Umbrage, Schnoedt’s horse. Schnoedt swung up into the saddle, and drew his sword. “Forward, Lehmangraz!” he shouted, and urged the mount into motion.

As the militia headed out on the main road Schnoedt saw the Marine company issuing forth from the farm. New troops, and very raw, he thought not for the first time, yet they have a touch of arrogance about them more suited to a veteran unit. The Marine officer stumped along at the head of his men, a set and lowering expression on his face. Schnoedt thought of the few occasions he’d encountered Lieutenant Horst. That one might benefit from being lowered a peg or two. Let’s hope it’s not to all our cost.

The Marines swung onto the road, beating the militia to the junction by a short head. Schnoedt raised a hand to halt his men, allowing the last of the Marines to file by, noticing as he did so that some were out of step. A split second later a crashing volley ripped into the Marines, sending men falling like leaves. Within moments the reasonably ordered formation disintegrated.

Horatio’s feet thundered on the planking as he headed for Acheron. Her boat guards were firing as and when they could see a target, no easy task given the clutter of buildings and dockyard impedimenta in their line of sight. The firing from Phlegethon’s direction ceased even as Horatio reached Acheron’s entry port. He rushed aboard, his thoughts grim. “Let go all!” he roared as his men found their stations. “Helm amidships. Pole her out, don’t wait for anything or anyone!”

Propelled by sheer brawn Acheron began to move, the men detailed to the task sweating. Horatio looked to his left, across Cocytus and saw smoke beginning to rise from Phlegethon’s deck. A second later the first flames appeared, staining the darkening cload with yellow and orange. He felt his heart seized by a brief moment of sadness. His men exchanged shots with the smoke-wreathed enemy, but there would be no saving the veteran gunboat. He felt thankful his own dear Acheron lay in the berth nearest the barracks. And now enemy soldiers were appearing on Cocytus’ deck too!

“Heave!” he roared. Within seconds Acheron slipped free of her confining berth and onto the broad waters of the Adse. With maneuvering room opening up around his command, Horatio breathed a little easier. He glared at Cocytus. “Make ready the main gun!”

The Raid on Lehmangraz - part one

The dawn peace over Lehmangraz - soon to be shattered...
*

The birds had yet to stir in the trees as the jägers filed silently down the slope to the edge of the woodland. Lieutenant Weismuller waited for them in a spot where the trees thinned and the pastureland began, sucking on a straw as he gazed from beneath lowered brows at the distant target. As the jäger platoons came up they were directed into position by the NCOs. Weismuller listened with half an ear, his eye measuring the ground anew, confident his men would follow orders with the minimum of fuss and noise. I’m less confident about what faces us this morning! he thought.

Jagers in the woods

A thin pre-dawn mist filled the Adse Valley but it had already begun to disperse at the touch of a rising wind from the west. The rooftops of the naval dockyard showed indistinct but recognizable in the growing light. Three sets of masts rose above the line of the riverbank, marking the presence of the enemy’s hated gunboats. Weismuller cocked an eye at the eastern horizon where the light grew stronger every moment. Looking to the west he saw his first platoon trotting down the slope and across the field beneath the hill, en route to their ambush position. Thankfully their shadowy figures were unlikely to be seen by any dozy sentry in the dockyard or the village of Lehmangraz away to the west.

The second platoon stood ready alongside him, its sergeant watching for the signal to move. Weismuller nodded, the sergeant saluted, whispered an order and the platoon moved out, heading directly for the hedgerow overlooking the highway and the dockyard beyond. Once the second platoon had moved out the third took their place.

Jagers creep steathily into position, unnoticed by the sentries at the gate.

By now the light had grown to the point where Weismuller could discern the logs of the rudimentary palisade surrounding the dockyard. He could make out the gate with two sentries boxes positioned one either side. Sentries patrolled there, as he’d seen the previous day on reconnoitering the target. Two men only, and local militia to boot. Not much of a threat. Behind him in the woods birds began to chirp the dawn chorus. Time presses; I cannot wait any longer. He drew a deep breath, raised his arm and jerked it forward. With a regular step he moved out, the steady, soft tramp of feet behind and to either side telling him the men of the third platoon followed.

He aimed for the hedgerow about a hundred yards further along the highway from where his second platoon now moved stealthily into position. The line of advance would bring him opposite the south-eastern corner of the dockyard enclosure. Closer-to, the palisade looked even less like a military obstacle than before. It was little more than a sturdy fence, there to deter pilfering of supplies from the dockyard stores. The ‘Bergers will pay for such laxness! Weismuller thought, feeling his spirits lift higher with the prospect of action.

Dew from the long meadow grass soaked his gaiters but he didn’t heed it. The hedgerow loomed up and he saw the gate which let out to the road beyond. Weismuller stopped there, his hand resting on the top bar, and looked around as the men of the third platoon formed up into a rough column. Once they were ready he unfastened the iron hook holding the gate closed and pushed at the bar. The gate swung open, sped on its way by a further push from the platoon NCO. Weismuller drew his hangar and led the way with a rush onto the road.

They crossed the uneven rutted surface at speed, reaching the palisade within three heartbeats. The first jagers begun to tumble over the barrier. A shouted challenge rang out. Weismuller, reaching up to grip the wooden stakes glanced toward the gate. A scant second later the dawn peace shattered completely as a volley of musketry split the air.

The Sobelsburg Jager begin to fire...

*

Horatio tumbled out of bed, nightshirt flapping. Erotic dreams of Ursula vanished in an instant amid the blast of musket fire. Experience and hard-won instinct guided his hand to the hilt of his hanger where it hung in its scabbard on the bedside chair. Shouts and yells sounded throughout the barrack block where the crews of the gunboats slept when ashore. Even as his sleep-fuddled mind focused Horatio heard a renewed burst of musketry from the direction of the road.

Stumbling to the window of his chamber he peered out into the dawn light. The sun rose at that moment, yellow rays spreading across the land. A thin mist, pushed along by the breeze failed to hide the shadowy forms of men emerging from the hedgerow the other side of the road by the dockyard. A militia sentry sheltered behind his box, hands busy with reloading. His fellow measured his length on the road nearby. A broad strip of wasteland separated the hedge from the road. It would take some moments for the evident attack to reach the gate. The lone sentry could not hope to hold it. Should the gate be lost… quite!

Cursing, Horatio threw his sword aside and fought his way into his britches. Some alert soul began ringing the alarm bell by the main door for all he was worth. Finally wrestling his britches on over his nightshirt, Horatio clapped his tricorn to his head, thundered out of his room and down the stairs.

In the main barracks below the men tumbled out in reasonable discipline. Most had cutlasses, dirks and a pistol or two. Petty officers barked orders, and their eyes turned to Horatio for further guidance. “We’re under attack from the road,” he rasped from the stairs. “Break out long arms and ammunition from the magazine then fall-in on the parade ground.”

The petty officers saluted briskly and began to shout new orders. Horatio headed out the main door and saw the local militia platoon appointed to guard the dockyard had begun to form up on the parade ground. They wouldn’t be a moment too soon. A glance toward the gate showed the shadowy forms of enemy soldiers running toward the dockyard.

*

Captain Schnoedt of the Lehmangraz militia company awoke in mid-snore and gazed up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Warm early sunlight lit the room, and musketry sounded somewhere in the distance. It was not uncommon for hunters to be out early in the season, potting wildfowl on the river and marshes round about; but the noises greeting his ears now had a much different sound. Beside him his wife slumbered on. Pausing only to give her a soft peck on the brow, Schnoedt rolled carefully out of bed, rubbed his bleary eyes and padded barefoot to the window overlooking the main road. Wilhelm the carter and a milkmaid stood below, staring eastward into the rising sun, hands shading their eyes. Schnoedt raised the sash and leaned out the window. “Good morning! What’s amiss?” he called to them.

“It’s gunfire, Mr. Schnoedt!” the milkmaid called, bobbing him a quick curtsey. She pointed. “It’s coming from the dockyard!”

“I see smoke over there, Captain!” Wilhelm said. “It looks and sounds like musketry!”
The carter was a military veteran and a militiaman. If he says musketry is on the wind, then musketry it has to be. Schnoedt nodded. “Call out the militia, I’ll be down directly.”

His wife sat up in bed as he turned away from the window. “What is it, dearest?” she asked.

Schnoedt smiled. “A little contretemps down at the dockyard, my darling.” He began to dress. “It seems the militia may have to fight this day.”

She nodded. “I’ll get your pistols and sword.”

Bless her, he thought, tying his cravat. The Knell of Doom could sound and she’d say the same thing...

*

In a farm on the southern outskirts of Lehmangraz, Lieutenant Horst of the newly-formed Riverine Marines urinated copiously into the chamber pot, yawning and smacking his lips as he gazed out the window. Dear God! he thought. What did I drink last night? My mouth tastes like I’ve been licking cow chips!

He still wore his shirt and britches from the previous day. His room stood high in the turret situated in the northeast corner of the farm’s boundary wall. It offered a good view, although it was little compensation for dwelling in the farmhouse proper, his first inclination. The farmer possessed two beautiful daughters, a shotgun and a nasty gleam in his eye. Horst lacked the nerve to attempt seduction – but wouldn’t it be nice?

As he daydreamed a shaft of sunlight pierced the horizon and struck Horst full in the face. He winced and turned away, sending a jet of piss across the floor. Cursing, he finished his business then contemplated the damp floorboards. “Bernhard!” he bellowed in the direction of the door. A scuffling sound came from beyond and a few moments later Horst’s orderly appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Before Horst could direct the man to spread sand on the damp floor the sound of distant musketry resounded from outside.

“What the hell?” Horst exclaimed, turning to the window again.

From his vantage point he could see smoke rising from the area of the dockyard. Even as he watched the stab of yellow musket fire competed with the rising sun. Dumbfounded he continued to stare until his orderly coughed loudly. “Turn out the men, sir?”

“Yes, yes, dammit!” Horst roared. The man sped off, clattering down the spiral stairway to the farmyard. Horst reached for his sword, and realized his hands were shaking the way they had at Viehdorf. “Dear Lord, don’t let me foul up now!” he prayed, buckling the baldric about his waist.

*

To be continued. My thanks once again to "LittleJohn" of the Lead Gardens, who kindly fought out the action at Lehmangraz and supplied the excellent photos.

Ursula and the Baron

“Such a charming town,” Paul Ehrgeiziger remarked to his companion as they strolled along the promenade.

“Isn’t it?” Lady Amelia sighed, clinging to his arm as she gazed out over the lake. “The air here is so very refreshing.”

The summer season was getting into its stride. Bolschen thronged with the wealthy and merely well-to-do, come to take the air and sample the restorative waters of the spa. The promenade made a gay and colorful picture as folks took constitutional walks and the chance to show off their finery.

Paul felt better than he’d done for many months. Indeed, years, he thought. The wound suffered in the messy naval engagement on the river had healed and troubled him no more. He glanced at Lady Amelia and met her warm smile with one of his own. And with a charming companion to help me forget all my previous woes! What could be finer?

“There is a particularly beautiful young lady,” Amelia remarked, gesturing along the promenade with a discrete tilt of her head. “Yet I wonder why she walks unaccompanied?”

Paul glanced in the direction Amelia indicated. His heart lurched. Only long habit and experience in the school of espionage saved him from stumbling in shock. Dear God! Ursula!

The young woman wore a rich day dress in dark green, trimmed with lace and fine silk, along with a matching be-ribboned straw hat with a broad brim. A lacy parasol twirled in her hands in an insouciant manner as she strolled toward them. Paul saw she had him fixed firmly in her gaze.

“It appears she’s coming this way,” Amelia murmured. “Do you know her?” The undertones in her voice spoke of doubt and suspicion.

Paul cleared his throat. “I have that honor. She is the Grafin Ursula von Hetzenberg-Pfalb, niece of the Grand Duke.”

“The Grafin!” Amelia exclaimed. “I’ve heard much about her. Is she truly as… reckless as they say?”

“Bold would be a better description, my dear,” he said softly, for Ursula had closed the distance between them. Paul bowed and Amelia curtseyed. “My dear Grafin, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, Herr Baron,” Ursula replied.

“Allow me to present Lady Amelia Davenport, an English friend of mine, visiting this town for the waters.”

The women exchanged courteous nods. “Charmed, I’m sure,” Ursula murmured. “Herr Baron, I trust I see you recovered from your wound?”

“Fully so, Excellency. The spa waters are most restorative.” He smiled, although the pain in his heart still fluttered. “I must congratulate you on your wedding. Is your husband here with you?”

“Thank you, and no; Horatio is elsewhere, on duty.”

Paul sighed inwardly. Leading his devilish gunboats against my nation, no doubt.

“I wish to consult you on a matter of some delicacy, Herr Baron,” Ursula went on, glancing at Amelia. “It concerns two friends of mine.”

Paul blinked in surprise. Lady Amelia cast a curious glance at him. “I shall walk a little further, to the bandstand on the point, and leave you to your discussion in peace.”

“Thank you, Lady Amelia,” Ursula said. “I hope not to trouble the Baron very long.”

As Amelia strolled away, Ursula turned to Paul. “I won’t beat around the bush, Herr Baron. The future happiness of my friends may well depend on your advice.”

He spread his hands. “I am your servant, madam. Command me.”

Ursula extracted two documents from a fold in her dress. “You remember Mary Amadeus, of course.

“That’s a rhetorical question,” Paul smiled. “How could anyone forget her?”

Ursula chuckled then grew serious. “Quite! She and my cousin Philip are very much in love.”

“Ah.” Paul pursed his lips. “I see.”

“You know the kind of problems that would create. Neither of them wished to follow the traditional route of Mary becoming Philip’s mistress. I sought to remedy the situation with some legal advice from Professor Knappenberger.” She passed Paul a letter. “This is what came in return.”

Paul scanned the writing then examined it in closer detail. “There seems little doubt here. Your friend and your cousin cannot marry.”

“I think there’s plenty of doubt, Herr Baron”

“Professor Knappenberger’s legal acumen was known throughout Europe. If he stated a point, is there not reason to think he would be right in his judgment?”

“Normally, yes. In this case, no,” Ursula said crisply. “Please cast your eye over this.” She handed Paul the second document.

He examined it and furrowed his brow. “This is a deed to land near your capital?”

“The content isn’t important,” Ursula said, waving a hand. “What’s relevant is the fact it’s the most recent authenticated document I could find written by Professor Knappenberger before he left the Duchy.”

Paul looked closely at it then re-examined the letter. After a minute he nodded. Amid the tangle of emotions he felt professional curiosity rising once more. “Hmm! This letter’s a forgery. Clever, subtle work, but a forgery nevertheless.” He looked up and gazed at her for a long moment. “This implies Professor Knappenberger’s legal opinion was other than stated here.”

Ursula sighed. “That’s my opinion also. Someone is attempting to prevent my friends from marrying; but who, and why?”

Paul handed back the documents. “There is a war on between my nation and yours. I’m of the opinion the mysterious someone is seeking to cause disharmony at the highest levels in your government for the purpose of impeding Hetzenberg’s prosecution of the war.”

Ursula stared at him, and he felt struck anew by the pangs of unrequited love. Beyond her in the middle distance he could see Lady Amelia strolling near the bandstand. Every now and then her gaze would come his way. He sighed heavily.

“It’s a pretty low, underhanded scheme to enact, don’t you think?” Ursula said.

“Did not Shakespeare say all’s fair in love and war?”

“No, that quote is from John Lyly’s work Euphues.” Ursula said distantly as she appeared to be thinking hard. “He was a slightly earlier playwright than Shakespeare. He said the rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.” Paul blinked. “I shall have to present this evidence to my uncle the Grand Duke,” Ursula went on. “If nothing else it’ll cast doubt and uncertainty over any ban against Mary and Philip marrying.”

“I think I recognize the hand of the forger,” Paul said slowly.

Ursula cocked her head. “You do?”

“I believe so. It’s a man by the name of Bartolomeo Gundaker, a freelance agent for hire to the courts of Europe.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Few do. He’s a low-level wretch with a propensity for murder.” Paul grimaced with distaste. “All that can be said in his favor is that he’s good at what he does.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Herr Baron, but would Dunkeldorf-Pfühl not employ its own agents for espionage work?”

“In the normal course of things, yes.” Paul frowned. “I’m inclined to believe the murder of Professor Knappenberger and the forgery were commissioned by someone operating outside the normal bounds of my bureau.”

“Would you look into the matter for me?” Paul looked at her askance. Ursula all but batted her eyelashes. “I would consider it an immense favor, for the sake of my friends’ happiness.”

He opened his mouth to reply when a distant commotion drew their attention. An excited buzz flowed along the promenade, moving as fast as feet would carry it as people dashed from one group to another. “Why, what’s amiss?” Ursula exclaimed.

“There’s been a battle!” someone gasped, running along the promenade. “The enemy attacked the gunboat base at Lehmangraz!”

“Oh schieße! Horatio’s there!” Ursula cried.

“Go, Ursula!” Paul said urgently, touching her arm. Even in the midst of the crisis he felt a tingle at just touching her so. “I shall find out what I can. You have my word. Now go find your husband!”

Ursula lifted her skirts and hurried away, all but running back the way she’d come. Lady Amelia walked up to him. “Paul? I heard there’s been a battle?”

“Yes. It seems forces from Dunkeldorf-Pfühl attacked the Hetzenberg naval base, and the Grafin’s husband may have been involved.”

She laid a consoling hand on his arm. “It must be so very difficult, living in the midst of a nation with whom yours is at war.”

He laid his hand over Amelia’s and gave her a wan smile. “You have no idea,” he said, casting a glance at Ursula’s retreating figure.

Ursula on the trail

*

Eschewing the carriage and escort her new status required, Ursula rode to Hetzenberg alone. The journey took a week of moderately fast riding, through weather that grew increasingly warm as she progressed. In the capital she spared time to visit her foster-parents before heading for the State Archives. Luckily they were kept in a wing of the palace well away from the Ducal domestic quarters, where her presence would have been remarked upon, with all the loss of secrecy and freedom it entailed.

The Archivist had been surprised when Ursula requested a packet of secret intelligence documents. Such papers were off limits to all but the most senior staff, especially those documents pertaining to current affairs and operations. However, Ursula had the noble rank and determination to brush aside any restrictions. She spent a fruitful morning perusing a number of papers, both secret and mundane, before taking her leave of the archives and making a brief visit to the university. The next day she departed the capital and headed north, again alone and unescorted.

She rode into the spa town of Bolschen an hour before noon four days later. Wedding bells rang from a church as she passed by, and the wedding party emerged blinking and happy into the bright sunshine. The sight and sound brought fond memories of her recent nuptials with Horatio. Lehmangraz laid not three leagues from Bolschen. I’ll surprise Horatio there! She thought.

It didn’t take long for Ursula to find the address she sought, an auberge located in a quiet street off the main drag. The innkeeper took in the richness of her attire and with many an obsequious bow showed her up to the suite of rooms where Konrad and Liserl Beckenbaur resided. They were surprised to see her.

“Ursula!” Konrad exclaimed, rising from the day-bed in the bay window, where he’d been reading. Liserl dropped her embroidery, jumped to her feet and executed a deep curtsey.

“Good morning!” Ursula said, moving swiftly to embrace first Konrad then his wife. “Please, don’t stand on ceremony. Be comfortable, I beg you.”

“Not that we’re very pleased to see you, my dear girl,” Konrad said, sitting on the edge of the day bed with barely a wince of pain, “But what do you here?”

“I’ll tell all in a moment,” Ursula replied, looking closely at her old friend. “First, tell me how you do.”

“I’m getting better by the day,” he replied with a smile, and indeed she saw his color had improved markedly since she had seen him last in Kimmelsbrücke.

“And he grows more fractious by the day too!” his wife interposed, giving Konrad a look of fond exasperation.

“I grow tired of doing nothing but visiting the baths and walking the promenade.” He gestured to the book lying open on the bed. “I think I’ve read every book worth reading in this town, too.”

“You’re here to get better, my friend,” Ursula said. “From your appearance I’d say that day is not far off.”

“It’ll be good to return to work.” Konrad blinked and cast Liserl a guilty look. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed your company, my love!”

“As I enjoy yours.” Liserl folded her hands in her lap and shook her head with a sad little smile that hid a wealth of meaning. “It’s been rare enough we’ve had time together these last few years, Konrad, the good Lord knows. It’s a treat to have you with me for this long.” She sighed. “Even so, I know you long to be back in action. I won’t stand in your way.”

“I have a hunch that day may be sooner than either of us expected,” Konrad said softly, looking at Ursula with speculation.

She held up her hand. “This is a social call, first and foremost, Konrad. I wanted to know how you fare. Now I’ve happily seen you’re increasing in health, I will concede there is a minor matter of intelligence you may be able to help me with.”

“Name it,” he said, spreading his hands.

“Do you know the whereabouts of Paul Ehrgeiziger?”

Skirmish at Lehmangraz

Reports of a skirmish in and around the riverine naval base at Lehmangraz have reached Hetzenberg army HQ outside Randstadt. Initial details are sketchy but the attackers are believed to be jagers striking from Dunkeldorf-Pfühl. The river flotilla is currently undergoing refit at the Lehmangraz base. Heroic riverine naval officer Commander Horatio Horngebläse is said to be on the scene. More news reports with pictures to follow.

Upcoming skirmish

David Dugas has stepped up and volunteered to fight out the skirmish at Lehmangraz. He anticipates gaming the action within the next few weeks, and it's shaping up to be quite an action! Full report here when it comes in. My thanks also to Steve, and Jeffrey who also volunteered.

Ursula hatches a plan

*

Rain fell in torrents, but the siege of Randstadt continued. As Lieutenant Mary Amadeus trudged back to the artillery park through mud and puddles, the air shook with both thunder and the concussion of heavy guns. She heeded it not. Feeling wet-through and miserable, her only desire now was to reach her tent and rest – and mope over the ruin of her hopes. A particularly vivid sheet of lightning surged through the heavy cloud above, triggering Mary’s latent sense of scientific inquiry. She tipped her head to regard the cloud and was rewarded by a stream of water trickling out the folds of her tricorn and down her back. She huddled into her cloak, thinking but not voicing one of Ursula’s choice curses. The memory of happier if wilder days with her friend buoyed Mary for a while, until the general sense of gloom descended once more.

It lasted until she reached Officers’ Row in the artillery park, at which point she stopped dead in her tracks with surprise. A full-sized officer’s pavilion stood where her small but adequate tent had been. The board announcing her name and rank had been hammered into the ground to one side of the entrance. A thin stream of smoke emerged from a tin chimney pipe extending above the roof. The rain cascaded off the sloping canvas roof into a broad drainage channel, keeping the area under the pavilion dry. It looked like an abode fit for a colonel.

Wide-eyed and curious, Mary splashed her way over to the pavilion and cautiously drew back the fly, to see Ursula and Philip comfortably ensconced on padded camp stools by a pot-bellied stove.

“Ah! There you are!” Philip exclaimed, rising to his feet. Ursula grinned and raised a tankard in greeting. An enameled pot sat on top of the stove, and Mary realized the air inside the pavilion resonated with the delightful aroma of coffee.

She stepped inside, into delightful warmth, and allowed the fly to fall. Philip came up and took her in his arms. “Welcome to your new premises, my dear,” he said tenderly. Over his shoulder Mary saw Ursula smile and look away from their intimacy. She busied herself with pouring a third tankard of coffee.

“Philip, where did this all come from?” Mary asked, amazed. She looked at the stove, and a new camp cot, set within its own screened-off area. The ground underfoot was dry and covered with a mat of closely-woven rushes.

He drew back and held her gently by the shoulders. “It’s my gift to you. A small compensation for the bitter disappointment we suffered.”

“You’re too kind,” she murmured.

Ursula stood and handed her a tankard. “Here you are, get the right side of this.”

Mary smiled her thanks and cupped cold hands around the heavenly warmth seeping through the pewter. “You worked quickly. I was only at the gun lines for half an hour.”

“We had help,” Ursula said with a wink, taking her seat once more.

“How goes it up there?” Philip asked, guiding her to a stool.

“We’re making progress.” Mary sipped the scalding brew. “The Neuburg battery’s taking a pounding from our guns. We should silence it in another day’s work, two at most.”

“My father hopes to have Randstadt in our possession within the month.”

“It may be sooner,” Mary said tersely. Since the confrontation over Professor Knappenberger’s letter, she found it hard to think kindly of her liege lord, Grand Duke Karl.

Ursula must’ve sensed her thoughts, for she set aside her tankard and leaned forward. “What happened is not my uncle’s fault, Mary,” she said earnestly. “He has to be guided by protocol.”

“He didn’t help matters,” Mary replied, giving Philip a sidelong glance. “I’m sorry, Philip. I know he’s your father, but he dealt me – us – a cruel blow.”

“So he did,” Philip sighed, rubbing his furrowed brow.

“And you’re a fine one to talk about protocol, Ursula,” Mary went on, giving her friend a hot look.

“Touché,” Ursula murmured.

“I’m sorry you sent that letter to Professor Knappenberger.”

“Call it another brick in the road to hell.” Ursula gazed at her for a long moment. “I did so with the best of intentions.”

Mary shrugged, sipped coffee as her emotions threatened to rise up and cause a scene it would be hard to retract. “You’re my best friend. I really do believe you,” she managed to say.

“I’m glad of that, Mary A,” Ursula said, reached over to clasp her hand. “And, it so happens I may be able to fix things.”

“How so?”

Ursula took a sheet of parchment from a fold of her dress and held it up. Philip peered at it and blinked. “Isn’t that the reply from Professor Knappenberger?”

“Yes. I filched it from your father’s bureau the last time I went to headquarters.” Philip’s jaw dropped and Ursula clicked her tongue. “Oh, don’t look such an idiot! It needed to be done.” She waved the letter. “This damned thing has already caused my best friend and you a lot of damage. Now I think it’ll help undo it.”

“You stole it from my father’s bureau?”

Ursula gave her cousin a scathing look and addressed Mary. “I asked the Professor to reply to me, so this letter should’ve come to me anyway. Somehow it got addressed to my uncle. Why?”

Mary frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Because somebody wanted to cause mischief.”

“They certainly succeeded!” Philip said.

“Yes.”

“You think this mysterious somebody knew about your inquiry to the Professor?” Mary asked.

“I’m almost certain of it.”

Ursula’s eyes sparkled in a way Mary knew of old. Her spirits began to revive. “What are you planning to do?”

Ursula glanced around at the canvas walls of the tent. “I’m pretty sure no one’s outside snooping on our conversation in this weather,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Even so, I’m keeping my plan to myself for now. I’ll be heading back to Hetzenberg in the morning, then up to Bolschen.”

“Bolschen?” Mary cocked her head. “Why there?”

“I may take the waters,” Ursula replied with a wink.

Into the night

The company of Sobelsburg Jager swam across the Eisenwasser in the dead of night. Two miles upstream stood the small town of Wentwitz. Almost of one mind the company decided to avoid going anywhere near the scene of their rough handling by the Hetzenberg army and riverine flotilla. Enemy troops still patrolled the area, but the agent had said the riverbank here seemed unwatched.

Lieutenant Weismuller led the way across with a powerful over arm crawl, towing a sealed keg behind him by means of a length of yarn. It contained a dark lantern and a tinderbox, along with a dry white kerchief and spare cartridges for his firelock Experience had taught him long ago to be prepared for every eventuality.

Not far behind Private Träger swam like a trout. Kleiner’s massive frame bulled through the water in the manner of a ship of the line, raising a white wake and earning a hissed rebuke from the Old Man. “Yes sergeant, sorry sergeant,” Kleiner burbled, water slapping in his face. The Old Man raised his eyes to heaven and wondered quite what he’d done to deserve to be stuck with such a lumbering brute.

Before long the first swimmers entered the reed beds and set their feet down on the muddy bank. Drawing bayonets blackened with soot and lamp-black, they crept forward, eyes searching the darkness intently for signs of the enemy. The small sounds of night creatures filled the air. An owl hooted somewhere in a copse of trees close to the bank. Waving their fellows on the lead jagers climbed the low rise into the water meadow.

Lieutenant Weismuller shook water out of his ears and gestured to the senior NCOs to gather around. He pitched his voice low. “Our contact should be here. Ensure the men have unloaded firelocks; I don’t want anything giving the alarm, do you understand?” A chorus of assent showed they did. “Good, return to your men.”

“Sir!” a jager cried softly, and pointed toward the copse. A light flickered there, once, twice, once, twice more. The owl had fallen silent.

“That’s the signal. Stand easy, men.” Weismuller unsealed the keg and took out the kerchief. He waved it in the direction of the light, knowing the white cloth would be easily visible in the starlight. The light flickered once then twice in response and went out. Moments later a man could be seen emerging from the darkness under the trees. Stuffing the kerchief into a pocket Weismuller went forward to greet him.

“You’re late,” the man said gruffly.

“And you’re impatient, but this is getting us nowhere.” Weismuller couldn’t make out the man’s features then realized the lower half of his face was swathed in a black scarf. “Is the way clear?”

“Yes. There’s a farm track leading out of this meadow fifty paces in that direction.” The man gestured. “The high road’s half a mile further along. Cross that and head roughly northwest, you’ll come to the wooded hills on the other side of the valley. Skirt around those, keeping northwest for ten miles. You’ll come to a burnt-out windmill. When you reach that, head north. Your target lies nine miles further on.” He drew a folded sheet of paper out of his cloak and passed it to Weismuller. “Here’s the best plan I could obtain of your objective. It’s not well guarded. Good luck.”

Without another word the man walked away, swinging his lantern, heading north along the edge of the meadow. Weismuller watched him go and sighed inwardly. I hate skulking around like this. Give me an honest ambush any day of the week.

He clapped his hands softly. “All right, let’s get going. First platoon, out front, form skirmish order. You others, form on me. Keep your eyes peeled! Move out.”

“What’re we doin’ here anyway?” Kleiner rumbled.

“We’re on a secret mission, is what,” Träger whispered with a sniff. "Or 'ave you forgotten?"

“And you two will find my not-so-secret boot up your butts if you don’t shut it!” the Old Man snarled right behind them. “Now face front and march!”

Both men stiffened and did as they were told.

The owl watched the line of humans until they passed out of sight. If it could sigh, it would have done so. Gradually the noise of human movement faded, and the small scurrying creatures began to emerge from hiding. The owl forgot the intruders and turned its mind back to the matter of hunting.

In the siege lines.

Colonel Wilhelm Schmutzgräber cursed as a young sapper dropped his end of a fascine. “Pick it up, lad! The enemy won’t dawdle if they see you in their sights!”

As if on cue the Neuburg battery fired, blossoms of yellow fire erupting all along the distant embrasures. Lieutenant Mary Amadeus ducked low in the trench as the shot howled overhead. A gabion shuddered and slipped under the impact of a shrewdly-aimed shot. Before the shriek and howl of the salvo faded sappers were already pushing the huge earth-filled basket back into place.

Schmutzgräber slapped his tricorn against his arm to rid it of dust and dirt. He jammed the battered hat back on his head and regarded Mary with calm detachment. “How’re you bearing up, girl?” he asked, pitching his voice low so only she could hear it.

“Well enough, Colonel.” Even though their acquaintance only measured days, she already liked the lanky engineering officer, and could tolerate his use of the word girl in addressing her. “How long will it be before the battery is ready, sir?”

“You don’t like being under fire without the chance to pay the enemy back for his favors.” Schmutzgräber nodded with a glint on his eye. “A day, no more.”

“Good.”

He rubbed his jaw. “You’ll command the new battery, I collect?”

“I will.”

“And what of His Excellency, the Graf?”

“Philip will – uh, he’ll be in overall command of the siege guns.”

Schmutzgräber nodded again. “Good. Between the two of you they’ll be in safe hands.”

Mary felt her face grow warm as she blushed at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

The Neuburg battery fired again. They ducked lower in the trench as the shot hummed and whistled overhead. A sound like a butcher’s cleaver crunching into a joint came from close by. Mary clapped her hand to her hat and stared around. The clumsy young sapper now lay on the reverse face of the trench, minus his head. Bile rose in her throat and she turned aside and retched.

A firm hand took her by the shoulder and she felt herself being led along the communication trench, away from the first parallel. “Go back to the artillery park, lieutenant,” Schmutzgräber said kindly. “We’ll call you when we’re ready for your guns.”

Mary felt a mixture of shame and relief. The shame began to burn hotter when she saw the pity and even contempt in the eyes and faces of the men she passed. I know what you’re thinking, she thought as she headed for the park. Warfare is no place for a woman. Well, I’ll show you!

Philip was standing outside the tent he’d had erected for his use when visiting the artillery park. His place was properly with the headquarters, but he spent an inordinate amount of time around the new siege guns. Mary’s heart gave a pleasant lurch in her breast as she saw him. The smile he gave her filled her world.

That smile slipped somewhat when he looked closely at her. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

“A casualty. In the trench. A young man lost his life.” She closed her eyes and the image of his corpse rose again in her mind’s eye.

“Come inside, please.” His voice sounded so gentle.

She preceded him into the tent. The aroma of canvas, coffee and a plate of fried bacon and potatoes filled the space. Oddly, the combination of scents contrived to settle her queasy stomach.

Philip dropped the canvas fly and took her into his arms. “You’re worried about how you’ll appear to the men.”

“You know me so well,” she said, pressing her hand to his chest.

“I like to think that. I’d like to know much more about you, dearest Mary.”

She managed a smile. “One day.”

“One day.” His smile returned but his expression took on a serious mien. “You’re a capable officer of my uncle’s army. You’re the first of what I’m sure will be many women who’ll follow a military calling. It’s easy to say be strong, but much harder to do.” A tear trickled down her cheek. Philip wiped it away tenderly with his thumb. “It’s a certainty that the vast majority of the men in the siege lines are terrified. Death lies around every corner of every trench, and here in the camps. It lies in wait for us all after our allotted span. The trick is not to show your fear.”

“Are you afraid, Philip?” she asked. “You seem so calm.”

“I’m petrified!” He chuckled ruefully. “Bullet or cannonball or disease cares not for rank or title. As I said, the trick is not to show your fear.”

“Then I shall be calm, too.” I do feel so much better!

“That’s the spirit.” He took her face between the palms of his hand and kissed her. “You’ll be fine. Do your duty and all will be well.”

“I’m sure.”

“Have you heard from Ursula?” he asked, turning to the camp table and pouring two tankards of coffee.

Thankful for the chance to think of more pleasant things Mary sat on one of the folding stools. “I had a letter last night. She and Horatio reached Lehmangraz three days ago. He’s to oversee the repairs to the flotilla and the construction of a new vessel to replace the Styx.”

Philip handed her a tankard. “I hope it won’t take too long. The gunboats will be needed to threaten Randstadt from the river.”

“The new boat will be larger, and broader in the beam. She’s to carry two twenty-four pounders in the bows.”

“Will she carry a mortar?”

Mary sipped her coffee, savoring the brew as it overcame the lingering taste of bile in her mouth and throat. “I think there’s provision for a howitzer.”

Philip shook his head. “A howitzer won’t answer in a siege. The ten inch mortars the other boats carry would be far more effective.”

“I agree. Perhaps we could do something with rockets…”

She let the thought hang in the air. Philip stared into space, his tankard halfway to his lips. “Hmm!”

A polite cough sounded beyond the tent fly. “Your Excellency?”

Philip glanced in the direction of the voice. “Yes, Gideon?”

“A communication has arrived from the Grand Duke, sir. He requires the presence of yourself and Lieutenant Amadeus at once.”

With a puzzled look Philip opened the fly. His aide clicked his heels and came to attention, presenting the message with clean aplomb. Philip read it and looked blank. “It seems we’re wanted at headquarters, my… ah, lieutenant. My father is particularly insistent you should accompany me.”

Mary stood and tugged the hem of her coat straight. Her heart began to pound as a nameless dread stole through her. This can’t be good news…

Headquarters had been set up in an inn back along the road to Kimmelsbrücke. They rode there together and were shown up to the Ducal suite. Grand Duke Karl waited for them, his Chancellor Count Ostenberg by his side. The Duke turned from gazing out the window at the passing scene as they entered. “Good morning, Philip, Lieutenant Amadeus.” They responded. Mary took care not to stare questioningly at her sovereign.

“We have received word that Dr. Knappenburger, guest Professor of International Law at the University of Bearstein, has died.”

“I remember Dr. Knappenburger,” Philip said, sounding puzzled. “He was a most erudite gentleman.”

“It appears the Professor suffered an apoplexy. We do not know for sure. His servant decamped with a sum of money and a number of the Professor’s personal effects. That, however, is beside the point.” Duke Karl’s expression was cold but Mary sensed he was fuming inside. “Apart from being an expert in international law, Dr. Knappenburger also served the Grand Duchy as a legal advisor.”

He crossed to the table and picket up a document. “This was found among the late Professor’s effects. It appears he was working on the case just before he died. I’d like both of you to give an explanation for it.” He set the document on the table where they could read it.

Philip stooped to examine it. Mary followed suit and felt the blood drain from her face as the words sprang out at her. “Oh no!”

With reference to your inquiry as to the validity of a marriage between your cousin Graf Philip von Hetzenberg and a woman of common birth, to whit, one Mary Amadeus.

I’m afraid it is entirely out of the question. Laws on the statute books governing Ducal marriages dating back over two hundred years clearly forbid such a formal union. Matters of breeding and bloodline have to be preserved for the sake of stability in the realm. However, there is no legality preventing the relationship developing along more, shall we say, informal lines.

I remain, Grafin, your humble, obedient servant, I. Knappenburger.

Karl gestured at the document. “It seems my niece is meddling in affairs that do not properly concern her. Even so, Professor Knappenburger’s response to her question is quite clear.” His gaze bored into them. “You are not permitted to marry!”

* * *

As an aside, a friend of mine in England has asked for my help in gathering uniform and organization info connected to the Revolutionary War/War of Independence. There seems to be a dearth of such in the UK. Can anyone point me in the direction of some useful material on the war?