Conrad's Last Campaign (29 page)

After I had relaxed with little horizontal exercise, I tried to plan out the battle strategy. It was hard. I was bored stiff. How many leaders have to plan out a battle that both sides know is a fake? The Mongols obviously weren’t going to try hard to hold Karakorum, and aside from its symbolic value, we didn’t really want it.

After a lot of well lubricated thought, I decided to continue my “stand off and kill the bastards” policy. We could probably smash our way into the city and back on the road to
Poland tomorrow, and the idea was very tempting, but I reminded myself over and over that there were no extra points for playing war the hard way. We had the time and ammo to soften them up nicely before we attacked, so I stuck with the plan I had given to Kowalski.

We had thousands of artillery rounds with us and one small city to take. We had a thousand rounds of ammo for a five-inch gun that that I didn’t want to move after the battle, so we would do our best to use up that ammo here. That was almost enough to put a five-inch shell though every door in
Karakorum.

There would be a few surprises. Even though the Mongols were preparing for an artillery siege, I doubt that they realized the power of modern shells. We weren’t firing stone balls or grapeshot. It was late when I got to sleep.

The first surprise, however, came from the Mongols. At first light I was awakened by a committee. I was used to being awakened by gently massage from my delectably naked bodyguards and instead my aide, Baron Kowalski, one of our Chinese translators and some other people I was too bleary to recognize insisted that I had to get up, now! I managed to rub my eyes, look at Kowalski and ask through my dried out lips, “Aren’t you supposed to bombing a city this morning?”

“Yes, your grace. But I had to delay it. There’s a Chinaman in the way.”

“Well. Shoot him. Then he won’t be in the way. Let me sleep a little more.”

“I can’t shoot him, your grace. He’s sitting under a canopy flying white flag. They want to negotiate.”

“Well, shoot him anyway and then we won’t need to get up so early and talk so much.”

“Your humor is appreciated, Sire, particularly at this early hour, but when you are fully awake, you will realize that we have to meet with him first, and kill him later.”

I was still in pain when we reached the observation post. Sure enough. There was a Chinaman sitting under a little tent about halfway between ourselves and the city. He was dressed like a rich version of Fu Man Chu and flanked by four assistants, two sitting at his side, two standing behind him, and all richly dressed but apparently unarmed.

By this time Sir Wladyclaw and two Chinese looking translators had joined us. I wondered only for a moment where the translators came from before I remembered the Chinese that we had recruited in Sarai.

I straightened up in my chair and said, “I’ll go down to meet him. Get me a lance to go along. Make certain they’re polished up and presentable.”

One of the translators cleared his throat and bowed very deeply. He said in very bad Polish “Excuse me, Lord, but must tell that is not how it is normal done. You are a king and kings only speak with kings. One send messenger to find his rank. Then send right size man to speak.”

I motioned for some hot chocolate from the sideboard someone had thoughtfully set up, and tried to think clearly. “Okay Sir Wladyclaw, You’re as handsome as any of us. Take this translator and a lance with you. Find out what they want, and then don’t give it to them.” Looking at the translator who had spoken, I asked, “Do you think you can understand the Chinaman?”

He bowed so deep I could barely hear his answer. “Yes, your grace Sir, I study Polish all winter with Baron Sir Ivanov, and that man speak Cantonese or Ubuntu. I speak both.”

We brought up a couple of snipers to cover the party and then Sir Wladyclaw made a properly pompous approach to the Chinaman. He left his knights about thirty feet short of the canopy and went ahead with only his two translators. There was a lot of bowing and talking that I couldn’t make out and after about twenty minutes he returned to our position carrying a scroll. The Chinaman sat passively awaiting his return.

He handed me the scroll and motioned to the translator, who took so long to praise me, flatter my talents, and praise my ancestors that I damned well nearly made him an ancestor before he got down to business. “Your grace, the Chinaman he wants two days.”

I was still digesting that comment when the translator continued, “He say he not know why you want Karakorum, but he will fight you if you want. But city have thousands of your people in it. He want time for them to leave.”

“My people are back in camp. Who is he talking about?”

He gestured to the scroll, “Paper list this. Four thousand Muslim, nine hundred Christian, Ambassadors from your countries, other people. He want time for them to leave the city.”

“Why the Hell aren’t they already gone. We haven’t exactly tiptoed up on them?”

The translator I was talking to looked confused and exchanged a couple of sentences with his companion.

“They not left because they know you kill everyone. Traders have friends in Sarai and
Africa and they know when Christian Army march, everyone die. They afraid leave unless you swear they not be killed on the road.”

There it was again. I was so angry my vision went red, my fists clenched, and I had to hold myself back from killing the damned translator. We were facing Mongols who made mountains of skulls at some cities, massacred other cities just because they didn’t want to leave anyone in their rear, and killed so many people that some areas were depopulated for hundreds of years – and they were accusing me of war crimes, making us out to be killers.

I was already haunted by a little girl’s eyes and now I have to listen to charges of wanton murder. It was too much.

“Fuck ’em. They chose their friends. Let ’em die with them. Negotiations are over!”

No one moved. No one spoke or moved for a long time. I concentrated on calming down and tried to stop pacing around the observation post. Finally, Sir Wladyclaw motioned to everyone to leave, “Wait outside until we call you.”

When we were alone, he turned to me and said, “Your grace, when you calm down, I think you will change that order. Your reputation has already suffered grievous harm from the battles in Sarai and in
Africa. How would you explain knowingly slaughtering thousands of innocents?”

I still couldn’t stand or sit still “I am the Hetman! I explain to no one, and I don’t care what anyone thinks. These people are Mongol sympathizers and they deserve what they get.”

The bastard just wouldn’t shut up. “Your grace, you are so angry at merely being accused of such a murder that you almost cannot speak. Do you want to meet your maker someday and tell him you were so angry about being accused that you made the accusation truth?

I’ll be outside waiting for your final decision."

It must have been an hour. I paced. I cursed. I drank hot chocolate and pounded my fists on a table. I wanted booze, but I was too stubborn angry to tell someone to fetch it for me. I sat on a bench and fumed. The bastards had me. The Mongols didn’t give a crap about the people in Karakorum. This was just a delaying tactic, but it would work. Sir Wladyclaw was aggravatingly right. Murder wasn’t Christian Army tactics. I dreamed of someday thanking Sir Wladyclaw by putting a knife in his ribs, but I gave in.

When I left the outpost, the Chinaman was still sitting patiently waiting. I gestured toward him and told no one in general. “One day. Tell the bastard we will give the civilians one day, from now until this time tomorrow, to leave the city. They can leave by the southern road. We’ll have a checkpoint set up to verify that they take no modern weapons with them. They have my word that they will not be harmed.

Someone make it happen. I’m going back to bed.

Someone tell Ivanov to get his cannons ready. He’ll need them tomorrow."

And I did go back to bed until noon.

By
noon my anger had cooled and my mind was working clearly. By the time I did my morning rituals and finished grooming Silver my head was crystal clear.

First, I needed more information then I needed a staff meeting. I trust my own decisions more than anyone else’s, but I wanted people to bounce ideas off.

I called terry over to take message to my radio cart. “To Captain Stanislaw: You are promoted immediately to commodore and given command of the Easter Flotilla. Your choice of officers is to be promoted to captain of
Flying Cloud
immediately. Your command will consist of all airships and aircraft in this theater of war. Your first order as Commodore: Determine the status of both detached Mongol armies, with particular attention to any defensive measures currently under construction. Acquire all possible intelligence on Mongol activity as far as two hundred fifty miles south with emphasis on the rail line.

If your schedule permits, you are invited to a staff meeting at nine hundred hours. Will understand if you are unable to make it. "

Then I gave her a list of people to invite to the staff meeting. Some people were entitled to come because of their status, but there were others who’s thinking I trusted, so it was not the usual top officers only meeting. “This will not be the usual staff meeting. We will need a few tables to sit around during the first part of the meeting, but I want a big buffet waiting when they get here and I want cushions and pillows set up for after dinner along with some cigars and some of my private stock of whiskey.”

Everyone except Captain Stanislaw was waiting respectfully when it was time for the meeting. However, as my adjutant was escorting the men in, there was a whooshing sound outside. We all ran out to be greeted by the sight of a man swinging down the road in a sedan chair. He seemed to be having some trouble stabilizing himself because the chair was on the end of a thousand foot cable running up to a rigidible overhead. On his second swing past us, he released the bar holding him in and stepped out at our feet. Well. Close to our feet when he was able to stop hopping, stand upright, and do a snappy salute.

“Captain Stanislaw reporting, your grace. I hope I’m not late. It’s actually easier to be picked up than to be dropped off.”

I couldn’t help it. My engineer side took over as we walked back into the tent. I looked back the rapidly rising gondola and commented “Maybe you should add some control surfaces to the basket. A simple rudder would make it more controllable.”

“An excellent idea, your grace. I’ll pass it on to the crew.”

It wasn’t until later that I realized I had been so impressed with Stanislaw that I gave him a suggestion instead of simply ordering a rudder. Either I was slipping or he was one Hell of a soldier.

I deliberately waited until everyone filled their plates with mutton and beef and roasted vegetables and their cups with cold water or beer. “You probably all know that we are not bombarding Karakorum today because of an unusual treaty request by the Mongols. For those of you who are not on the grapevine, the Mongol administration of the city told us that there are several thousand Europeans in the city who are craftsman, traders, priests, ambassadors and their families and even a Jewish rabbi. They requested two days truce so that the bystanders could leave the city. We gave them one.”

I looked at the Chinese translator who had met with the Chinaman, “You served in the Mongol army at Sarai. Do you see anything unusual about what they wanted?”

“I never in battle with Mongols, but my father say when they attacked our city, they put Chinese people in front of their army to protect themselves. Men, women, even children pushed out in front to die and then bodies ridden over by Mongols. I hear they do that every time. No way they care a turd about Europeans. Sorry, no know how to say it polite.”

Gentlemen, Ahmed is here because he has traveled these lands for years and has seen what the Mongols do. “Ahmed, from what you have seen and heard about the Mongols, what would you expect them to do with the Europeans in the city?”

“My lord, the history is clear. They would either chain them to the walls to die as padding or they would put them behind the gates to take the first arrows from invaders. In no case would they let them live. I heard that when they were besieging one city, they took living captives, covered them in oil, lit them on fire, and catapulted their burning bodies into the city.”

“OK, we know that the Mongols don’t give a rat’s ass about the Europeans, so we now know what they wanted. They wanted the two days. They wanted us to sit here in front of this city for two more days. What’s going to happen two days from now? We’ve been working on the assumption that they wanted us to attack a worthless city so that their reserves could flank us while we were bogged down in the city. Unfortunately that doesn’t make sense now. They’re maintaining a huge army in the field waiting for us to do something and the best thing for them would be for us to move as soon as possible.

Commodore Stanislaw, are the reserve Mongols moving our way yet?"

“No sign of movement this way, your grace. Zephyr overflew the easternmost camp this morning and she was able to reach the khan’s camp about an hour after sunrise. The Mongols aren’t moving this way, but both armies are bee hives of activity.

The khan’s contingent has been on the move down one of the silk roads, but he isn’t coming this way. He’s headed south and slightly west with his entire force. They’re moving fast as they can go with a caravan full of yurt wagons. It looks more like his annual vacation trip than a move toward war.