1635_ The Eastern Front - Eric Flint [70]
One was not, of course. As Mike looked to his right he could see the ranks of the 2nd Brigade moving forward. Somewhere among them—they should be right about in the middle—was the Black Falcon Regiment, and somewhere in that regiment was its 12th Battalion, now commanded by the newly-promoted Captain Jeff Higgins.
Mike was feeling doubly guilty today. First, because he'd thrown Jeff into the deep end of the pool by putting him in charge of a battalion. Technically, Brigadier Schuster had made the decision, but Mike had gone along with it.
Second, because he was planning to use Jeff as part of the bait.
No, trebly guilty. He also hadn't told Jeff what he was going to do. He'd been tempted, but from a security standpoint there was really no justification for telling all the battalion commanders what he'd planned for their divisions. He'd told the brigadiers and the regiment commanders, and that was enough. They'd pass along the information to whichever other officers in their units they thought needed to know. Mike was sure that didn't include mere captains, even if they did command battalions.
Mike had known Jeff since he was a kid. He hadn't known him well, since they weren't related and Mike had been a teenager by the time Jeff was born. Still, Grantville was a small town and few of its residents had really been strangers.
And now, he might be responsible for getting him killed.
"Like I said," he murmured again, "there's more to this general business than meets the eye. And a lot of it sucks."
"What was that, sir?" asked Christopher Long.
Jeff never had time to contemplate the strange beauty of armies maneuvering into battle. He was neither a top-hat general who could lounge around on a saddle and let his flunkies handle everything nor an experienced volley gun battery commander who'd been through a big battle before and could afford to let his mind wander.
No, he was a fledgling battalion commander in charge of four hundred men, most of whom were even younger and greener than he was.
Well. Younger, anyway. Maybe not greener. At least half of them were veterans of Ahrensbök. Jeff didn't know if that made him feel better or worse.
And he was just a pitiful captain, to boot. A battalion was supposed to be commanded by a major. A dinky little captain was just supposed to take care of a hundred men in a company.
Jeff could have handled that easily enough, he though. Well. Handled it, anyway. But he was finding that running a battalion was downright nerve-wracking when the fireworks were probably going to start within an hour.
Fortunately, Eric Krenz turned out to be a very good adjutant. That was armyspeak for right-hand man. What the Navy called an executive officer, if Jeff had the protocol straight.
Jeff was a little surprised, actually. Krenz made so many wisecracks and disparaging remarks about all matters military that Jeff hadn't expected much from him once the shooting started. He'd figured Eric would hold his own well enough. But he hadn't expected him to be the very helpful and quick-thinking officer he was turning out to be.
Thankfully, the worst was over. Sure, there was still the actual battle to go though. But they were in position now and Jeff thought he had everybody pretty well set.
The bugles started up again. That always startled Jeff for an instant. He still thought there was something a little ridiculous about using Stone Age musical instruments—okay, Bronze Age—to signal soldiers on a battlefield. They did have radios, after all. Admittedly, given the rather small scale dimensions of a seventeenth-century battlefield, a commander could probably signal more of his soldiers quickly with a bugle than with radio calls. Still, it was . . .
The signal itself finally registered on Jeff. Right oblique, MARCH.
Jeff's mouth fell open. They were already in position—a damn good position, too, with a little rise ahead of them that could give them a bit of cover once the shooting started—already set up, ready to go, everything set—
And some damn fool of a—
Jeff looked around quickly. He'd been