1632

The Finn snorted. "It was a bloodbath. If the Swabians weren't so stupid they'd have run away after a minute."

"No chance they can take Suhl?" The scout's only response was a magnificent sneer.

Captain Gars nodded. "Not our concern, then. But this other-"

He twisted his enormous body in the saddle and looked toward the small group of Lapp scouts sitting on their horses a few feet away.

"Two thousand, you say?" As with the Finn himself, the captain spoke in Finnish. Few Lapps knew any other language beyond their own.

The head Lapp scout grimaced. "We guess, Captain. They follow narrow trail. Way ground chewed, must be two thousand. More. Maybe."

"And you're sure they're Croats?"

Again, the Lapp grimaced. "Guess. But who else? Good horsemen."

Captain Gars peered into the distance, looking slightly east of north. The Thuringenwald was a dense forest in that direction. Largely uninhabited, by the Lapps' accounts. The kind of terrain that good light cavalry can move through unobserved, as long as they carry enough provisions. The Lapps had spotted the trail less than two miles ahead. If their assessment was accurate-and Captain Gars thought Lapps were the best trackers in Europe-a large body of cavalry had broken away from the army marching on Suhl, moving into the forest east of the road.

Croats were good light cavalry. The best in the imperial army. Captain Gars decided that the Lapp was probably correct. Who else would it be?

The captain was not familiar with this particular area of the Thuringenwald. But, even given the roughness of the terrain, he estimated that a cavalry force of that size could pass over the crest of the low mountains within two days. Certainly not more than three. In straight-line distance, the heart of southeast Thuringia was not more than forty miles away.

Or Saalfeld, possibly, if the Croats angled further to the east. But the captain did not think Saalfeld was their target. Saalfeld could be approached far more easily from the opposite direction, following the Saale river. With the king of Sweden's army concentrated in Nьrnberg, there was nothing impeding Wallenstein from sending an army directly against Saalfeld.

There was only one logical reason for a large cavalry force to be taking this route.

"They're planning a surprise attack on Grantville," he stated. "A major cavalry raid. Not to conquer, but simply to destroy."

Sitting on his horse next to the captain, Anders Jцnsson heaved a sigh. He had already come to the same conclusion. And, what was worse, already knew for a certainty what Captain Gars would decide to do.

"We'll follow them." The words seemed carved in granite.

Anders appealed to reason. "Two thousand, the Lapp says. We've only four hundred."

"We'll follow them," repeated the captain. He glared at Jцnsson. "Surely you don't intend to argue with me?"

Anders made no reply. Surely, he didn't.

Captain Gars spurred his horse forward. "And move quickly! The enemy is already half a day's march ahead of us."

Chapter 52

Mike decided to take out the field guns first. His confidence as a military commander had grown enough that he didn't wait to check with Frank. The Spaniards, in the manner of the day, were moving the artillery into position ahead of the infantry. Smoothbore cannons firing round shot needed a flat trajectory to be effective in a field battle. There was no way to do that with a mass of infantry standing in front of them. Mike understood the logic, but he still found the idea vaguely absurd.

"Talk about being exposed," he muttered. He lowered the binoculars.

"Orders, chief?" asked his radio operator.

Mike grinned. "I'm never going to get used to that expression coming from you, Gayle." He extended his hand and took the radio.

"Harry, this is Mike. Move out the APCs. Take Route 4 and then turn south onto Route 26. The Spanish are positioning the field guns east of the road. You can cut right between the artillery and the infantry."

Harry Lefferts' voice crackled out of the radio. "What about the cavalry?"

"We'll worry about them later. Frank can hold his ground easily enough, even if he doesn't use the M-60. We've got a chance to nail the artillery right now."

Lefferts' response, like the entire exchange, was sadly lacking in military protocol.

"Gotcha. Will do, chief."

In the distance, coming from the grove northwest of that stretch of Eisenach's walls, Mike could hear the sound of the APC engines firing up.

His grin came back. "And I'll sure as hell never get used to it coming from Harry."

Gayle matched the grin. "Why not? Ain't you just the proper budding little Na-po-lee-own?"

"Give me a break," snorted Mike. "The day I become a military genius is the day hell freezes over." He handed the radio back to Gayle. "Call Frank and tell him about the change in plans. I want to go talk to Alex."