The Colombian provinces along the Isthmus of Panama were beautifully tropical – impressively rugged mountains of emerald green. The region through which the 4th Bremeners traveled looked like God had riven the land with an enormous cleaver, then clothed it with a dense overgrowth of lush vegetation. Naturally, the heat was not so welcome as the landscapes to the Prussian soldiers, most of whom hailed from the North Sea coast, accustomed to a coolish climate.
Travel overland in the western provinces was most difficult. They were restricted to a few trails which clung to the sides of mountains overlooking deep ravines where, far below, brownish rivers flowed beneath a roof of trees. And so it was that the 3rd regiment of the Bremeners, under the command of young KronPrinz Friedrich Wilhelm, was winding its way through the passes toward Almirante, en route to Boquete, in the central highlands. At the request of his Father, the 16-year-old KronPrinz had left behind his political training – tutoring, planning, attending meetings of the cabinet and Reichstag – to gain military experience he would find valuable as Kaiser.
“Herr Major, we lose our cover ahead.” Feldwebel August Mőller was a husky, old-time veteran who, by mutual agreement with KronPrinz Friedrich, was allowed to skip the required honorifics and refer to his commander as if he were only a military officer. As the unit’s ranking non-com, he was at least twice Fritz’ age, and spoke with the voice of experience in a gravelly baritone. “I estimate between 150 and 200 meters of exposed trail. There’s no telling who might be hiding on the far slope.” He pointed through the trees, across a river valley. It was distant, as evidenced by a slight film of humid haze. But Colombian snipers with high-quality Mexican or Brazilian rifles had been known to harass Prussian troop movements from like ranges.
KronPrinz Friedrich peered out at the opposite ridge, considering. Then he accompanied Mőller forward to scope out the treacherous passage. Indeed, the incline of the slope was at this point so steep that no trees could find root. Only the trail could adhere, and that only just. “To keep our footing,” he assessed, “we can’t risk moving very quickly.” He imagined what it would be like to slide down that scree slope to his death. “We’ll have to take our time. What a perfect place for an ambush,” he noted, then looked across the valley again. “Though I would greatly admire any sniper determined enough to dig through the undergrowth of that hill.”
Leutnant Adalbert Korenyi-Both had sidled up close enough to hear, and presumed to join the conversation. “What a pickle, eh? That’s just where I’d set up if I were the enemy. Not like we have much choice in going forward.” Mőller glared sideways at Korenyi, and moved two paces away so he could evaluate without distraction. This was common behavior for Adalbert, who hailed from a Viennese noble family. He got away with his informal chatter with the KronPrinz because they had grown up as friends – he and the two elder princes, who bracketed him in age.
Korenyi had recently graduated from the Academy in the same class as Prinz Waldemar. Friedrich, as usual, was barely paying him mind. Nevertheless, he went on. “I’d bet if I could run across there I could set up on the far side for some crossfire.” Adalbert had always been a crack sharpshooter with superior vision for minute details. “If there’s somebody over there, maybe I can pick them out and give them a scare. Plus see if there’s anybody waiting ahead. That would be just our luck to get pinned here. But there’s not much chance of them having troops right here, right now, I suppose. Just a sniper. If that. I hope we weren’t set up. I wonder where he would come from… That’s the best way to figure where he would end up. Maybe high on the ridge, so he could shoot down on us…”
“Al!”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“What’d I say?” Adalbert blinked, innocently, at the KronPrinz, but at a warning glare he decided to be quiet.
“Well… If you think you can do it, go for it.”
