Unlike several days in the previous week, this was a peaceful morning. Chill, but quiet. Leutnant Sobczak’s cavalry horses crunched their hooves on a crisp layer of snow as they scouted to the east of Ljubljana.
“The way I hear it, the whole of Russia’s frontier is in turmoil,” Leutnant Sobczak said. He had spoken to his superiors regularly, and gotten various news updates. He shared the latest news with Feldwebel Skiedweza because he was Polish… And because they had become friends, of a sort. Krysz was someone easy to talk to, in any case. They had enough in common. “For that reason, the Russians haven’t been able to respond effectively against the Polish uprising. They are busy, instead, in the Ukraine, and in Wallachia.”
It was now the end of November, and General Schwedt’s main body had engaged several pockets of resistance near Ljubljana and Trieste. Reinforcements had arrived by sea, also, and the rebels had been mostly forced underground or scattered to wander home. Sobczak and his horses had been sent to test the loyalty of some of the mountain towns to the south and east. Though they had been ambushed twice, with the loss of two to wounds, most of the countryside remained unruffled by political considerations.
While both Sobczak and Skiedweza spoke Slavic languages – of some kin and like sound to Slovenian – Krysz had demonstrated the worth of ten-months experience stationed in the region. He not only knew the lay of the land, and the customs. He also had come to understand the local dialects, which had proved invaluable at every town they’d come through.
“Perhaps the Russians won’t have to crush it,” Krysz suggested, cynically. “Everyone keeps saying that Prussia won’t allow a free Poland. That they…” he caught himself. “…we, will send the Army and… And crush the Poles.” Skiedweza had wandered into uncertain territory without even realizing how each little thing might be taken. By a Prussian Czech? Where did that leave Sobczak? Krysz felt he was understanding. Perhaps sympathetic, but…
The leutnant made a skeptical noise in the bottom of his throat. “People will talk. Fools as well, and sooner.”
“You don’t believe them?” Krysz asked, half inquiring, half disbelieving.
“Herr Skiedweza,” Sobczak said – he was one of the few non-Poles who could say his name with some ability – “I do not see it. I have been stationed in Prussian Poland for many years, to keep the peace. And in the time that I have served, our instructions were always to tread lightly, and to respect the Polish people. I know it for fact in my own homeland. Praha has been a place of relative peace for many years. Only the socialists cause trouble. And I believe that is mostly the case in Poland as well.”
A long silence was punctuated only by a few hoofbeats. “Not all of them.” Krysz hesitated at the end, unsure whether to go on. But Sobczak looked at him and held his gaze. Krysz’ eyes shied away. “My brother was killed in one of the revolts. Breslau. Many years ago. He was a nationalist. But I can see what you say, today. The socialists are the ones who cause trouble today.”
Sobczak nodded. “And, of course, there was von Moltke, when he went to crush a much smaller rebellion in Poland. More than a decade ago.” More hoofbeats. “But I’ve sensed no inherent hostility in recent years. The world has changed, I think. And the Kaiser has changed.”
Skiedweza started when they flushed a trio of birds from a tree along the path, lofting a spray of snow with them. He was conditioned to treat any sudden noise as a potential danger. But it was only birds. They winged away quickly. Gracefully. Peacefully.
“I have hope,” Sobczak said. “That the future will not be as bad as we fear.”