After the Downfall

She kissed him. “I should hope you are, sweetheart. But you’re a gift from the goddess, too.” He wasn’t sure he liked that. He wanted to count for himself, not for any … theological reasons. By the way she said it, though, he didn’t get a vote.

King Bottero’s mounted lancers and archers were pretty good. Hasso enjoyed watching them practice on the meadows outside of Drammen. The lancers tore bales of straw to shreds. The archers pincushioned targets. He wondered how he would handle the Schmeisser from horseback. He could ride, but he was no cavalryman.

“Lancers tear hole, then archers and foot soldiers go through?” he asked Lugo, who was also watching the soldiers drill. Panzers opened the way for infantry in his world. He figured knights would do the job here.

But the Lenello didn’t understand what he was talking about. “Lancers fight on the line,” he said. “Archers on the wings, to harry the enemy. Infantry in the rear, to try to protect if things go wrong.”

Haven’t they ever heard of the Schwerpunkt? Hasso wondered. The French had scattered their panzers all along the line. They’d paid for it, too, when German armored divisions punched through them. Hasso thought the same thing could work here, too. Why wouldn’t it?

He tried to explain, using pebbles and twigs to show what he meant. Lugo looked at what he was doing, looked at him, and shook his head. “This is how we’ve always fought,” he said. “I don’t see any reason to change.”

That pissed Hasso off. “You not want to win? You not want to beat Bucovin? You not want to beat other Lenello kingdoms? Why not?”

“This is how we’ve always fought,” Lugo repeated. “It works fine.”

For ten pfennigs, Hasso would have blown his brains out, assuming he had any. To Lugo, Hasso was a no-account foreigner to be tolerated as the goddess’ bed-warmer but not taken seriously. Maybe letting the Lenelli think the goddess sent him wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “We see what the king thinks,” he said.

“If his Majesty wants to let you waste his time, that’s his business.” The marshal looked down his nose at Hasso. Since he was a short Lenello, he had to tilt his head back to do it, which didn’t stop him.

“I hope he listens. Why not? You not win with what you do now. Maybe you win with a different thing, a new thing,” Hasso said.

“And maybe we lose, too.” By the way Lugo said it, that blew up a mine under the idea right there.

“Maybe,” Hasso said, and the Lenello gaped in amazement that he would admit the possibility. He added, “How are you worse off to lose new way, not old way?”

Lugo didn’t answer him. Hasso chose to believe that was because he couldn’t answer him. The marshal took himself off, leaving the twigs and pebbles behind like untranslated hieroglyphics. Hasso wanted to kick him in the ass to speed him in the air, but feared giving him a brain concussion if he did.

What would the lancers think of being used as a breakthrough group? Only one way to find out, he thought, and walked over toward them. Their leader was a captain named Nornat. Captain, here, more or less equaled lieutenant colonel. The Lenelli had soldiers and sergeants and lieutenants – who were kids getting their feet wet – and captains and marshals, and that was about it. Who ranked whom depended far more on prestige than on a table of organization. The system caused more friction than Hasso liked, but he had more urgent things to worry about.

Where he fit himself was an interesting question. He was a captain of sorts, but only of sorts. Velona’s favor helped. Surviving against Orosei – who, like a lot of very senior noncoms, had more clout than most captains – helped more. Whatever he was, he wasn’t just someone who’d fallen off the turnip wagon.

Nornat led another charge. After his line of lancers shredded some more bales of straw, he guided his dappled gray up to Hasso. Mail jingled on his shoulders. Sweat ran down his face from under his conical helm. The bar nasal on the helmet didn’t protect his face as well as the German would have liked. “What do you think, foreigner?” Nornat asked. By the pride in his voice, Hasso had better not think anything bad.

“Strong. Tough,” Hasso said. Nornat’s grin showed a couple of missing front teeth. A scar twisted his upper lip. No, a bar nasal didn’t cover everything. We shredded Polish lancers, went through Hasso’s mind. You wouldn’t have lasted any longer. But that didn’t matter here. Hasso cast his line: “Want to be more tougher?”

Nornat snapped like a trout. “How?”

“I show you,” Hasso said.