"Bernhard may try to force a battle. He is that kind of an opportunist."
"It is a direct order from the king, General."
"I know. Give the orders to move. First priority to the miners, sappers, engineers, and anyone else who may be able to assist with the preparation of this 'emergency landing field.' Cavalry ahead; dragoons. Infantry and baggage train to follow as fast as they may. I had not been planning to go into winter quarters on the Swiss border, but it looks as though I may have to, if we cannot pull out before autumn changes to winter. And Knut…"
"Yes, General."
"Start drawing up contingency plans for a fighting retreat, if need be."
"Fuel convoys are already starting from both Mainz and Grantville, in the general direction of Rheinfelden. Once we know exactly where the army will be located after the advance forces arrive there-once we know where the landing field will be, that is-we will need to notify them. The hope is that at least one of them will arrive soon enough to refuel Colonel Woods' plane for take-off as soon as Don Fernando's party arrives from Basel with the ladies. Weather permitting, of course."
Horn grimaced. "Then send the radio and its operator with the advance forces. And tell the king that you have done so. That way, he will stop using it to send me orders. Because he will have to. Until I catch up with it, at least. And Knut…"
"Yes, General."
"Start drawing up contingency plans for what to do if the fuel does not arrive. Or if the weather holds the plane on the ground and we have to stand Bernhard off for a week or more."
Gustav Horn was a pessimistic man.
The Spanish siege lines, outside Amsterdam
"Would you like to see the radio?" Rebecca asked. "You could hand the message to the operator yourself."
"I would, very much," Don Fernando replied. He looked around the table. "However, I do not think my advisers want me to come into Amsterdam right now. Not, at least, without a rather substantial company of bodyguards."
Rebecca glanced at Fredrik Hendrik. "Would you mind?" she asked.
"Oh, no, not at all. What are a few Spanish troops in Amsterdam, after all?"
There may have been some sarcasm underlying the Stadtholder's statement, but Rebecca chose to take it at face value.
"It would be also interesting," Don Fernando said rather wryly, "to see the famous Gretchen Richter again. The Trojan Amazon. I have Rubens' painting of her hanging prominently in my headquarters, you know. In fact, I have purchased a copy of it from his studio for my office in Brussels."
"Er," Mike said in a rather strangled voice. "Why?"
Don Fernando looked at him calmly. "As a reminder that if I do not succeed, she is waiting." He smiled. "And, of course, she has a very impressive bosom."
Thus all of them, Fredrik Hendrik, Mike and Rebecca, Gretchen and Jeff, managed to crowd into the radio headquarters and watch Don Fernando send out his reply to Maria Anna.
Most honored cousin. Stay put. I'm coming. Be there day after tomorrow. Fernando
Chapter 67
Nuntius Optatissimus
Basel
"Day after tomorrow?" Mary Simpson asked.
"How?" That was Maria Anna.
Diane handed her a piece of paper. "Tony says. This is what Don Fernando sent to you. It is the first that came this evening. There is more coming, that Mike sent to me. Tony will write it all out as soon as the radio window closes."
"How?" Maria Anna persisted.
Diane shrugged. "We wait and see. What else?"
"There is no way he can come that fast from Amsterdam," Veronica proclaimed. "Not unless he flies. Young fool. He must be as reckless as Hans."
"Flies? How would he get hold of a plane and a pilot? The treaty was just signed last week," Mary said.
"How long did it take him to capture back most of the Dutch?" Diane asked. "Fast worker, that boy."
General Horn's headquarters, outside Rheinfelden
Gustav Horn was scarcely pleased to be preparing a full military welcome for the Cardinal-Infante. For the Infante who had formerly been a cardinal and was now "king in the Low Countries." Whatever he was calling himself these days, Don Fernando was still a Habsburg and still the brother of Philip IV of Spain.
Horn did it, though. On the orders of Gustav Adolf. As well as he could, given the harum-scarum nature of his headquarters at Rheinfelden. The airplane taxied in and halted. Horn's scraped-together ground crew, consisting of anybody in his army who had ever been at any other USE air field and had at least once before seen a plane land, ran forward with chocks and a ladder. Two men climbed out, taking stations at either side of the foot of the ladder; then the guest of honor.
As soon as the Spanish prince reached the ground, he turned and looked at the people waiting for him. Spanish? By his looks, he might as well be Swedish or German. Or Dutch. Waving his hand in a quite dramatic gesture at his two bodyguards, he called out-in German first, then in a half-dozen other languages, including English.
"These are the only troops I have brought with me, gentlemen! Who else would like to write his name on the pages of history by being part of the rescue of Archduchess Maria Anna?"
Horn restrained himself from groaning. "Not another one," he muttered under his breath. "Not another Essence of Captain Gars. The European stage has no need of a second flamboyant, exuberant, overwhelmingly self-confident monarch."
Standing behind him, the up-timer Whitney spoke, just loudly enough that only Horn and his immediate aides could hear: "We call it charisma. And, believe me, I don't like it one bit better than you do. Particularly since this kid is fifteen years younger than Gustav Adolf. Has to be. Where's a nice plague epidemic when you need it?"
Every one of the up-timers assigned to Horn bounced to the front at once and volunteered. Every up-timer in sight, Horn noted sourly, including Whitney, no matter what his personal opinion of Don Fernando might be.
Somehow, Horn was not surprised. The up-timers appeared to have a strong tendency to volunteer for quixotic undertakings. Idly, he wondered if Cervantes' novel had been part of the ordinary up-time school curriculum. He would have to ask someone, when he had the time.
With the exception of the pilot, of course, who had gotten out of the plane at last and was now gathering up the impromptu ground crew for what looked likely to be intensive training. Perhaps getting the plane off the ground was more difficult than landing it appeared to be. That seemed only reasonable.
Plus, there were a lot of other volunteers. Practically every cavalry officer. A good half of the infantry officers. A scattering of others.
"Do you have any contacts at all inside the city?" Don Fernando's aide asked.
"Not since they closed the bridge," Horn answered. "Naturally, there are businessmen in Basel who have been selling to the army, but that does not mean that they wish to be involved in this. Nor can we reach them at the moment, even if they did."
"Does this mean that we are going in blind?"
"Well, there are people available who know the city," Burt Threlkeld answered. "The militia on this side, in Riehen, the place is called, have been watching Bernhard's people. They sent messages over to the general and said they will be glad to help. Their Landvogt got caught in the city; he's a member of the city council, too. I have no idea how they plan to get in touch with him, though. The bridge has been closed off for several days."
The aide was looking very dubious.
"Give orders to saddle up," Don Fernando said. "I promised her 'day after tomorrow.' This is 'day after tomorrow.'"
Basel
"I see them," Cavriani said. "This is a pretty good telescope." They were standing on the roof of the building that the University of Basel used for an astronomical observatory.