The Flying Warlord

by Leo Frankowski

  By dawn of the second day we had passed Cracow, and still I had no word of Boleslaw.

  Chapter Eighteen

  FROM THE DIARY OF CONRAD STARGARD

  The battle was not going as well as it had at first. As Tadaos said, they were learning.

  They took out their first riverboat with a tree. During the night, they had chopped almost through the trunk of a huge pine tree right on the riverbank, then made a demonstration around it. When the RB14 Hotspur attacked, they dropped that tree right across her deck, which nearly smashed her in half Then they swarmed up the trunk and overpowered the crew.

  By the time the RB12 Insufferable got there, the Mongols were learning how to use the swivel guns. After an exchange of gunfire, I ordered the Insufferable to bum the Hotspur with its flamethrower, and she went up quick. I pray to God in Heaven that all our men were dead before that happened.

  They had mostly stopped using arrows on us, but they were still using the catapults, and still mounting them on hilltops. We kept on mowing down their crews and they kept on replacing them with a seemingly complete disregard for the lives of their men.

  The RB21 Calypso got snagged on an underwater obstruction directly in front of one of the catapults. She took more than a dozen direct hits before her crew was taken off by the RB10 Not for Hire. By that time, the Calypso was completely out of ammunition, and her crew burned her before they left.

  We got to avoiding the catapults as much as possible, and at full speed, zigzagging, it wasn’t likely for a boat to be hit. It took a very tempting target to get one of our boats to slow down and stay near one spot, a temptation like a concentration of twenty thousand Mongols.

  And seeing this, the enemy provided us with targets just to sucker us in! They were willing to spend ten or twenty thousand men just to kill one of our boats with less than three hundred men aboard! Madness!

  Then they learned the best way to take out a riverboat, and we lost six boats in front of Sandomierz in less than an hour. Instead of rocks, they started throwing sewn-up ox hides filled with burning oil. The seasoned wood of our boats went up quickly, and usually we weren’t able to save many of the crew. They were hurting us.

  Yet we killed as many of them that day as we had on the first. I knew the ammunition we were using up, and I knew the conditions under which we were using it, mostly firing into packed crowds at pointblank range! Even the most conservative estimates still came out that we had killed over a million enemy troops! Yet they still kept coming!

  We got to spraying our boats with water, inside and out, and this helped some. Wet wood burned more slowly and sometimes it took three or four fire bombs to destroy one of our boats. Fighting an oil fire with water is the wrong thing to do, but we didn’t have any alternative. Sometimes enough oil could be flushed off the deck to save a boat. Sometimes not.

  But the battle was on, and nobody ever suggested that we should quit. Even if we lost the Vistula, if we could kill enough of them, the rest of the army might have a chance. By midnight of the fifth day, we were down to nineteen boats.

  We couldn’t patrol much that night. All of the boats had to go back to East Gate to replenish supplies, and our crews were exhausted, physically and emotionally. At dawn, we found three bridges more than half completed across the river, and we lost four more boats taking them out. The enemy had found a target that we couldn't refuse.

  But after that, they were back to throwing rocks at us. Our best guess was that they had simply run out of oil.

  Yet there seemed to be as many Mongols as ever, despite the fact that there were long stretches of riverbank strewn with their dead. Near Sandomierz, the enemy dead were more than ten yards deep in some places, and still they kept coming, like lemmings to their deaths.

  We were hardly patrolling north of Czersk at all, since our boats were generally more than half out of ammunition by the time they got there. Our strategy, if it could be called that, was no longer to hold the Vistula. We knew we couldn’t. It was simply to kill as many of the enemy as possible, and that was easier to do near our base.

  Every night, I sent a message to Duke Henryk, begging him to advance with whatever men he had available. And every day, I waited for his reply, in vain.

  Interlude Four

  I hit the STOP button.

  “Tom, I just can’t believe the numbers of Mongols he's fighting.”

  “Believe it. At the time, those tribes of herdsmen had a population of over eight million, of which three million counted as fighting men. It wasn’t as if they had to leave most of their men home to run the factories. Many of the Mongol warriors were on garrison duty, but they got most of their front-line troops from their conquered subjects. Most of those men Conrad was killing weren't Mongols. They were Iranians, Bactrians, Chinese, Russians, and what have you. Conrad mentions that they didn't seem to care if they lost men. They didn't. The troops they were losing were subject populations that were just surplus to them. Throwing them at the Poles was just another way of killing them off. Conrad's estimates were too conservative. All told, he killed over two million men at the Vistula.”

  “Those Chinese catapults had crews made up of prisoners, many of them Polish peasants. I suppose it’s a good thing that Conrad didn't know the truth. He couldn't have done anything but what he did, but it would have been rough on his conscience.”

  “Wow. I’d always thought that the Mongols won so often because of superior tactics and strategy.”

  “It didn’t take much to have tactics superior to those of the Europeans of the time. Like the Japanese of the same period, Westerners simply never trained as groups. It was all part of the mystique of knighthood. All their training was purely individual training, and one to one, the Europeans were inferior to no one. But their only group tactic was to get in a line and run at the enemy, mostly all at the same time.”

  “Also, it’s a normal human thing to praise your enemy to the skies. It makes you look better if you win and not so bad when you lose.

  “I don’t know how many times I've heard Americans praise the fighting ability of Germans, for example, despite the fact that in all the time that there was a country named Germany, the Germans won only one small war, fighting little France alone, while losing a lot of big ones that they were foolish enough to start. In fact, the Germans were lousy fighters and their strategy was always absurd. It just feels better to say that you conquered a race of heroes than to admit that you blew away a bunch of damn fools.”

  “Huh. Another thing. Why didn’t the Mongol delegation look Mongolian?” I said.

  “Because the Mongolians were originally a Caucasian people, not an Oriental one. They only became Oriental after the conquest of China, thirty years after the time of this story, in our timeline, when for a hundred years, five or six generations, every Mongolian man came home with a dozen Chinese wives. A thing like that changes the blood lines pretty thoroughly. The Mongol of later centuries was racially and culturally a totally different animal. Devout pacifists, most of them.”

  “Oh.”

  I hit the START button.

  Chapter Nineteen

  FROM THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR VLADIMIR CHARNETSKI

  Finally, we know where we are going! My riders didn’t find Duke Boleslaw's army, but Count Lambert's flyers did. They were proceeding up the Vistula from the north, and it looked as if we could meet up with them near Sandomierz.

  When we were within a day of getting there, I collected a dozen of the Big People and set out ahead of my troops to talk to the duke. We got there at dusk, and were eventually escorted in to see the young man.

  “Who were you, again?” Duke Boleslaw said.

  “I am Baron Vladimir Charnetski, your grace. We haven’t met, but we are related. Two of my aunts married two of your uncles, and one of my second cousins married two of your aunts, once removed, one on your father's side and one on your mother's, after the first one died. Surely you remember your Aunt Sophy and your Aunt Agnes. Well, they're my aunts
as well.”

  Reminding him of our family ties seemed like a good idea. Actually, it was no big thing. I occasionally think that I must be related to everybody. Coming from a vast family helps, sometimes.

  “You are the nephew of my Aunt Sophy? I haven’t seen the old girl in years! How is she? And what of my Uncle Albert?”

  “Just fine when I saw them last, a few months ago. They have thirteen children now, with another on the way.”

  “Thirteen! How is that possible? Two years ago, they had only nine!”

  “Twins, your grace. Two pairs of them.”

  “No! That’s amazing! And my Aunt Agnes?”

  “Not so good, your grace. She’s had a bad cough for almost a year now, and we're all worried about her.”

  “I shall include her in my prayers. But look, things are rushed just now, Vladimir. What can I do for you?”

  “I think it’s more what I can do for you, your grace. I am Hetman of Count Conrad's army. I have a hundred and fifty thousand men coming to join your forces.”

  “That was true, then? It wasn’t some kind of silly joke? He really does have that many men?”

  “Of course, your grace! Who could joke about such a thing? Anyway, they’ll be here in a day and you can see for yourself.”

  “Here in a day? That’s disaster!”

  “How can that be, your grace? We’re on your side, after all.”

  “It’s disaster because I can't feed the men I've got now! The food merchants have not come! The cowards have all run away! Even the peasants have gone, and they've taken most of the food with them! I can't feed the twenty-five thousand men I have now! How am I going to feed a hundred fifty thousand more?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, your grace. We have food for a month with us, and all the grain we could ever need at the granaries in the Bledowska Desert. In fact, I can easily feed your entire army. I can have tons of grain here in a few days. Until then, we can feed your men and horses with what we have with us, but more food can be on its way here in an hour.”

  “How is this possible?”

  “Easy. I brought a radio and a radio operator with me. We can send a message in a few minutes to the granary. They have mules and carts there. Why, four dozen carts a day can feed all your men and animals well. It has to come by rail instead of by boat because the boats are busy right now.” I sent one of my men out to attend to it.

  “Yes, I’d heard there was a battle going on at the Vistula. That's Conrad's riverboats, isn't it?”

  “Yes, your grace, and Count Conrad is with them. They are slaughtering incredible numbers of the enemy, but it doesn’t look as though they can hold out much longer. They say that tomorrow or the next day, the enemy will break through. Already, more than half of our men on the rivers are dead.”

  “Half dead? And still they fight?”

  “Yes, your grace. They’ll fight until they are all gone, every last man of them. I know. I trained them.”

  “On boats, perhaps. But what can footmen accomplish on a battlefield? Everybody knows that battles are won by men on horses! A footman can do nothing but get trampled.”

  “Wrong, your grace. Horsemen can do nothing against a mass of trained men with pikes! A pike is six yards long and can knock a knight out of the saddle before his lance can touch the footman. Believe me! We’ve practiced the very thing many times in the last five years. Furthermore, I have more than twenty thousand guns coming with my troops, and they can kill an enemy at a mile! What I don't have is a force of horsemen, but you do. If we can work together, we cannot be beaten!”

  “Vladimir, we’ll have to talk more on this. For now, do you swear that food supplies will be here by this time tomorrow?”

  “I swear it by all that’s holy, your grace.”

  “Then I’ll believe that much at least. I must go and give orders that the last of the food reserves are to be handed out and eaten. That will give the men one good meal, and after that we are at your mercy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  FROM THE DIARY OF CONRAD STARGARD

  Of all the mistakes I’ve made, the most serious was to set the number of riverboats at only three dozen. We needed six times that number!

  Of course, at the time, I wasn’t sure if we would be able to use them at all. The river might have been frozen over, the water level could have been too low to get by some of the rapids, or any one of a number of things could have gone wrong. I don't know. I needed sleep, and there wasn't much of that to be had.

  There came a time when we were the only boat north of Sieciechow, on a sector that hadn’t been patrolled in days, and we found that the Mongols had completed a bridge across the Vistula. Thousands of enemy troops were rushing across it.

  “Baron Tadaos, we’ve got to take that bridge out.”

  “Sir, we’re out of Molotov cocktails and Halman bombs. We're out of peashooter balls. The flamethrower is exhausted. We have maybe a thousand rounds of swivel gun ammunition left and those troops outnumber ours by hundreds to one. How are we going to do it?”

  “We’re going to ram it. Captain Targ! Prepare to offload your men and your war carts!”

  The captain gave a few orders that had his men scurrying, then ran up to me.

  “We’re going to attack that bridge, sir?”

  “We are, but you are not. We’re going to ram that bridge, and doing that will likely sink us. There is no point in your company going down with the boat. It would accomplish nothing, and you are needed elsewhere. You will get your men ashore and fight your way south to Sandomierz. Once there, you will join the garrison and help defend the city.”

  He stared at me for a long minute.

  “Yes, sir. What about my wounded?”

  “Take the walking wounded with you. The others will have to be left behind. There’s nothing else we can do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I could see that he wanted to say more, a lot more, but he turned and went to obey his orders.

  “Tadaos, I can handle the helm alone, but I’ll need one man in the engine room. See if you can find a volunteer, a good swimmer. Then get the rest of your men ready to join Captain Targ.”

  He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Pig shit!”

  Then he spat on my boots.

  “Nine years I’ve been working for you and you don't know me any better than that? You might have taken command of this battle, and done some dumbshit things, but I am still master of this boat and baron of the whole damn River Battalion, or what's left of it anyway! Three-quarters of my men are dead now, and you expect me to turn around and run away? This is my damned boat and this is my damned duty station and I will damn well stay here until we've won or we're dead! And if you think that any man of mine feels any different, you can damn well ask them yourself!”

  Then he turned his back to me and put a new string on his bow, his hand shaking with anger.

  I stood there, not knowing what to do. Then I turned to the helmsman, a young kid who looked to be fourteen.

  “Get out of here, boy.”

  “No, sir.” His face shield was open and he was crying, tears running down his cheeks. “No, sir,” he repeated and continued to stand his post, though the tears must have blinded him.

  I turned and went below.

  “Baron Piotr, get your men together. I’m going to take out a bridge by ramming. You and your men are going ashore with Captain Targ.”

  He didn’t get up from the map board.

  “Yes, sir. We heard something about that. But the fact is that we really don’t know whether the boat will sink or not. Ashore, well, we wouldn't be able to do that much good for Sandomierz, since most of us here have been sitting at desks and radio sets for years. We are way out of training. But if the boat does stay afloat, we're going to be needed here to continue coordinating our efforts. We still have eleven boats on the river, after all. So, begging your pardon, sir, but we're staying.”

  “Damn you, Piotr, that was a direct order!�
��

  “Sir. I am a Radiant Warrior, blessed by God to do His holy work. I am not going to run away now.”

  I looked around the room. All of the men were trying to look busy.

  “This is mutiny!” I shouted.

  “Yes, sir, I suppose it is,” a mousey-looking radio operator said. “But it’s really for the best, sir. Our place is here.”

  “Damn you all,” I shouted and went down to the cargo deck.

  One of the crew was flooding the odd-numbered watertight tanks, to give the boat more weight, he explained, and never mind about the buoyancy. He wanted to make sure that we hit the bridge as hard as possible.

  “It’d be a shame to waste our last blow at the bastards, wouldn't it, sir?”

  The troops were jamming the war carts up against the forward drawbridge, again to increase the impact.

  Captain Targ came up to me.

  “I regret that I have to report a mutiny, sir. I was afraid that this might happen, but the men won’t leave. We're down to less than four full platoons now, and they've seen too many friends die to run away at this point. It would be like dishonoring the dead. Anyway, if the boat hangs up on the bridge, you'll need us to repel boarders, so it's for the best.”

  “God damn you all to hell! But that bridge still has to 90 !:”

  “Of course, sir. Speaking of which, we’d better all get up on deck or we'll miss the show. Tadaos won't be waiting for orders, you know. AH platoons! Report on deck! Pass the word!”

  “You are all crazy people!” I shouted.

  “Yes, sir,” a warrior said as he brushed by me, heading for the stairs. “I suppose we are.”

  I got on deck when we were less than three-gross yards from the bridge. We were going full-speed downriver and the helmsman had us aimed dead center.

  The bridge was built rather high for such a temporary thing, and the top of the roadway was higher than the deck of the boat. It-was built on wooden tetrahedrons made of oversized telephone poles that looked to be simply set on the river bottom, with the roadway strung on ropes above them.