1635_ The Eastern Front - Eric Flint [96]
Finally, Morton's brain got around to the core of the matter. "How much you say you'll pay me?"
Poznań, Poland
The grand hetman of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth peered down at the object in the hand of his nephew's agent.
"Amazing," he said. "I thought they needed huge towers to work."
The agent shook his head. "That was a lie that the Americans spread at first. They call it ‘disinformation.' It's true that radios work better with big towers, especially transmissions, but they're not necessary." He hefted the receiver. "I can only use this effectively in the morning and evenings. What they call the windows. But I'll be able to get the boss's transmissions."
Stanislaw Koniecpolski nodded, and dismissed the agent with a motion of his hand. He then turned to face young Opalinski, who was seated in a chair in the small salon. Lukasz still had a haunted look on his face.
"It is no crime to be defeated, young man," the grand hetman said gently. "Especially not when you return with such useful information."
Opalinski made a face. "It may not be so useful as all that."
Koniecpolski shrugged. "Anything will help. Gustav Adolf will bring some fifty thousand men into Poland. I will have perhaps forty thousand with which to oppose him, ten thousand of whom are Brandenburgers." He scowled. "I'm not counting Holk's men, assuming the king ignores my advice and hires the swine. Making things still worse, half of the Swede's infantry will be armed with rifled muskets, where I have but a thousand of the French breechloaders."
Opalinski perked up a bit. "You got them, then?"
The grand hetman nodded. "Yes, and I think I'll have at least two thousand SRGs by the time we confront him. They've made enough of those by now to create a sizeable black market and for once"—the scowl came back—"the Sejm isn't being miserly."
He took a seat near Opalinski. "Finally, Gustav Adolf will have his airplanes and his APCs. The first, from what I can determine from the reports I've gotten, have a somewhat limited capability as weapons. On the other hand, they provide superb reconnaissance."
"In good weather," said Lukasz.
"As you say. In good weather. Much like the APCs, which you describe as being invincible war machines against men—"
Lukasz completed the thought. "But by no means invincible against terrain and weather. I warn you, though, I got that mostly from listening to Lubomir Adamczyk and some of the other hussars who survived the battle." His face tightened. "I did not see very much myself, after . . ."
"After you led an almost successful charge with only two hundred hussars against the same flying artillery that crushed the French cavalry at Ahrensbök. Stop flagellating yourself, young man. We're Catholics, not heathens." A smile removed the sting from the last words and turned them into a jest.
The grand hetman signaled a servant standing by a far wall. "Some wine," he said, when the man came over.
As the servant went about his task, Koniecpolski turned back to Lukasz. "Regardless of who made the observations, I think they're accurate. The only way I can at least partially nullify the Swede's many advantages is to refuse to meet him on terrain and under weather conditions that favor him. I will have to maneuver as long as necessary"—his expression became bleak—"and allow as much ravaging by the enemy as I must, in order to fight a battle under those conditions which favor me. Or, at least, counter some of the enemy's strengths."
The servant returned, with a bottle and two goblets. After he poured the wine and retreated, Koniecpolski raised his goblet.
"Once again, my precious nephew has done right by us. A toast! Here's to drenching rain and blinding fog and the Swedish bastard's downfall."
Chapter 23
Dresden
Dresden was chaos. The cavalrymen escorting the ambulance wagons to the army hospital were making no more headway than an old woman pushing a cart.
So it seemed to Eric Krenz,