Read Online Conrad's Last Campaign by Leo A Frankowski, Rodger Olsen, Chris Ciulla - Free Book Online Page B
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a very peaceful year since Lord Conrad, my true love, my master, and my soul mate was lost at sea. Now the bastard is sending some more of his whores home for me to baby-sit. At least we all get along. When you have all been screwed by the same man, in more ways than one, you have something in common. I have heard that there is a woman in Cracow that my husband has not bedded, but if so, she must be over sixty, under sixteen, or grossly ugly.
The meeting of the executive council went well today, considering that the hetman is back in business. King Henryk has gotten used to being his own man again and is starting to make firmer decisions – and he is firm in bed for a man his age.
Henryk has been under Conrad’s thumb virtually since his coronation. Now Henryk and the crown prince are showing their impatience. Conrad claims that his fortune is modest compared to the crown, but as long as he is Hetman of the Christian Army, he commands more wealth than Midas. His fleet is a hundred times the size of the Polish fleet; he effectively controls all of the railroads and most of the factories, and the crown is increasingly jealous.
Sir Piotr will continue to be a problem. He has an unfortunate amount of influence among the officers paired with unwavering loyalty to my bastard of a husband.
On Campaign with Conrad
The next morning, I discovered that my boots had been polished, my weapons had been attended to, and my clothes had been cleaned. It seems that my lovely bodyguards, who didn’t have to sleep any more than the Big People did, and had decided to make themselves useful. My messengers, the radio operators, and the camp workers had gotten similar services.
“Thank you, ladies,” I said. “But, if you have time tomorrow night, try to do something for my senior officers as well. It is important for morale that they look decent.”
I gave Silver a decent currying down. This is something that every warrior always does himself, every morning, no matter what his rank is. She is your partner, after all.
At midmorning, we got the word that the head of the column had reached the cut off point near Osmaniye and things started slowing down.
I rode on ahead, to see how the resorting was going on.
The army had rented a large, recently harvested wheat field for the operation. Yesterday, our engineers had added a pair of switch tracks to the railroad, and our carts were being pulled into the field. As they went in, they were being sorted into some two hundred separate lines. Ammunition of various sorts were in some lines, food in others, and other things each in their own lines. Things had been well planned, and were going smoothly.
With the steel rims that let the carts run on the railroads still on their wheels, they were making a mess out of the field. Or perhaps, they were just giving it an early, free plowing.
Once they were in line, crews of men were jacking the carts up, removing the rims, and then setting the carts down on their pneumatic, off-road rubber tires. And repairing a few flats.
Someone was supposed to come by later and collect up the steel rims. We wouldn’t need them for the rest of this mission. We’d be going far beyond where the Tracks of Civilization ran.
In the distance, I could hear the engineers, backed up by twice their numbers of mounted infantry. They were improving the road ahead with shovels, star drills, and dynamite. When they were through, the carts would be able to go through without hindrance.
Dynamite is easy enough to make, once you know the formula. Nitroglycerine is first made by treating refined animal fat with concentrated nitric acid and concentrated sulfuric acid, in a five-to-six ratio. It is then added to wood powder, compressed into sticks, and dried. The less wood powder you use, the stronger it becomes, but also the more dangerous.
As I watched the cart sorting operation, one of my captains rode up to me.
“Sir, there is a Prince David here who wants to speak to you.
The meeting of the executive council went well today, considering that the hetman is back in business. King Henryk has gotten used to being his own man again and is starting to make firmer decisions – and he is firm in bed for a man his age.
Henryk has been under Conrad’s thumb virtually since his coronation. Now Henryk and the crown prince are showing their impatience. Conrad claims that his fortune is modest compared to the crown, but as long as he is Hetman of the Christian Army, he commands more wealth than Midas. His fleet is a hundred times the size of the Polish fleet; he effectively controls all of the railroads and most of the factories, and the crown is increasingly jealous.
Sir Piotr will continue to be a problem. He has an unfortunate amount of influence among the officers paired with unwavering loyalty to my bastard of a husband.
On Campaign with Conrad
The next morning, I discovered that my boots had been polished, my weapons had been attended to, and my clothes had been cleaned. It seems that my lovely bodyguards, who didn’t have to sleep any more than the Big People did, and had decided to make themselves useful. My messengers, the radio operators, and the camp workers had gotten similar services.
“Thank you, ladies,” I said. “But, if you have time tomorrow night, try to do something for my senior officers as well. It is important for morale that they look decent.”
I gave Silver a decent currying down. This is something that every warrior always does himself, every morning, no matter what his rank is. She is your partner, after all.
At midmorning, we got the word that the head of the column had reached the cut off point near Osmaniye and things started slowing down.
I rode on ahead, to see how the resorting was going on.
The army had rented a large, recently harvested wheat field for the operation. Yesterday, our engineers had added a pair of switch tracks to the railroad, and our carts were being pulled into the field. As they went in, they were being sorted into some two hundred separate lines. Ammunition of various sorts were in some lines, food in others, and other things each in their own lines. Things had been well planned, and were going smoothly.
With the steel rims that let the carts run on the railroads still on their wheels, they were making a mess out of the field. Or perhaps, they were just giving it an early, free plowing.
Once they were in line, crews of men were jacking the carts up, removing the rims, and then setting the carts down on their pneumatic, off-road rubber tires. And repairing a few flats.
Someone was supposed to come by later and collect up the steel rims. We wouldn’t need them for the rest of this mission. We’d be going far beyond where the Tracks of Civilization ran.
In the distance, I could hear the engineers, backed up by twice their numbers of mounted infantry. They were improving the road ahead with shovels, star drills, and dynamite. When they were through, the carts would be able to go through without hindrance.
Dynamite is easy enough to make, once you know the formula. Nitroglycerine is first made by treating refined animal fat with concentrated nitric acid and concentrated sulfuric acid, in a five-to-six ratio. It is then added to wood powder, compressed into sticks, and dried. The less wood powder you use, the stronger it becomes, but also the more dangerous.
As I watched the cart sorting operation, one of my captains rode up to me.
“Sir, there is a Prince David here who wants to speak to you.
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