After the Downfall

You did what you could with what you had, that was all. With a couple of machine guns and enough ammo, he could have slaughtered the Lenelli without losing a Bucovinan. With a battery of 105s, a forward observer, and a couple of radio sets, he could have slaughtered them before they got within ten kilometers of him. With experienced German Feldgendarmerie personnel, he could have kept the peasants from mucking up the roads so badly.

As things were, the soldiers had to push through and past the farmers and their livestock. They lost time doing it. They lost less time than they would have with no Bucovinans directing traffic, but more than Hasso liked.

“We will use more gunpowder in front of the Lenelli to slow them down, too,” Zgomot said when Hasso complained. “Things will even out.”

“So they will.” Hasso knew he sounded surprised. He should have thought of that himself. Good thing somebody did. No, no flies on Zgomot. Who was the barbarian, anyway?

One evening, Hasso saw the smoke of Lenello campfires – or maybe of farmhouses the Lenelli were burning – rising against the bright western sky. “Soon now,” he said.

“Yes.” Zgomot nodded. He was never a talky man. The closer the battle came, the less he said. His whole realm rode on this, and he felt the pressure. Well, why wouldn’t he, the poor son of a bitch?

Hasso said, “We put the Hedgehogs in front of the catapults, yes?” The Lord of Bucovin nodded. Hasso continued, “On their flanks, we dig trenches. That way, we worry not so much about other troops protecting them.”

“Bottero’s men will see the trenches,” Zgomot said.

“Ja. So what? They see they can’t get past them. They go fight somewhere else. We want them to do that, yes?”

“Yes.” Zgomot nodded. “We will dig – if we have time.”

More smoke fouled the horizon the next day. The day after that, the Bucovinans came to Zgomot’s chosen battle site. Hasso smiled when he saw it – the Lord of Bucovin could pick ‘em, all right. Well, the German had already found that out the hard way. If Zgomot couldn’t pick ‘em, Hasso would still be fighting for the other side. Falticeni might have fallen. If it hadn’t, it would this time around for sure. And he would still be bedding Velona. Details, details…

Details here looked good. A small river anchored the Bucovinan right – the Lenelli wouldn’t turn that flank. On the left, a forest made it hard for the enemy to get through. Zgomot would have to post some soldiers in there, but not many. If Bottero wanted to get past the Bucovinans, he’d have to come right at them.

And he would. Hasso knew the Lenello king well enough to be sure of that. Down in his gut, Bottero wouldn’t believe a bunch of Grenye savages could stop his knights. Yes, they’d done it the autumn before, but with a trick. He’d have his wizards looking for pitfalls this time. He wouldn’t get fooled the same way twice, and he wouldn’t think the natives could come up with two new things in a row.

By now he would know about gunpowder, of course. Bucovinans swarmed over the field in front of where they would post their line. At Hasso’s direction, they dug dummy mines and planted real ones. A lot of the real ones were nearer the trees, where soldiers could light the fuses without risking their lives … too much. Minefields weren’t made to stop enemies, though. They were made to channel them. These would aim the Lenelli right at the catapults.

That would be great – if the Hedgehogs did their job. Could they really hold off horsemen? Could they, say, hold off a deep striking column? If they couldn’t, Lord Zgomot’s strong position was, in a word, fucked. If they can’t, I am, in a word, dead, Hasso thought.

He spoke to them: “You have to stand fast. No matter what, you have to. If you do, we win. Bucovin wins. If you don’t, you screw us all. Have you got that?”

“Yes!” they shouted. They seemed eager enough. How eager they’d be when Lenello knights on big horses couched lances and thundered down on them, Hasso would just have to see. Even in the fight the Bucovinans lost the autumn before, he’d thought they were plenty brave. Now they had better tools to be brave with. Maybe that would turn the trick. He had to hope so.

Scouts rode out of the west, pointing over their shoulder as they came. Most of them rode donkeys, not horses; the greater part of the horses Bucovin had were under Bucovin’s knights. The shouts the natives let out gradually turned into words, and the words were, “They’re coming!”

The Lenelli reached the field late that afternoon. Bottero’s banner fluttered, big and bright and red in the distance. Velona would be somewhere over there. Hasso spotted several unicorns. The wizards had come in force. Well, he hadn’t expected anything else.