In skating over thin ice, our safety is in our speed. – R.W. Emerson
“Well, there goes that plan,” Larry said, flinging the pointer down on the couch.
Napoleon was philosophical. “They were alone, and you cannot expect them to remain alone. I think it is good strategy on their part to get into such a powerful alliance. But I would say we cannot go through Baden to Austria without passing through Wurttemburg, and if they are allies to Saxony, Denmark and Sweden it will be most inconvenient to fight them all. So we must pass through Switzerland; this we already had planned.”
Mike chimed in with, “Going through Switzerland may be difficult because of the terrain, but it is the strategy France actually used in the 1800 campaign that lead to Marengo. So we know it’s possible.”
“Have you seen our revolt percentages! War exhaustion outside France is 8% and rising! Our government’s more centralized than China, for cryin’ out loud! We have the most centralized government on the planet, and it’s killing us! France has got to have peace!”
Napoleon shrugged a massive Gallic shrug, with hands, arms, shoulders and torso all in motion. “What cannot be cured must be endured. We must bend all our thoughts to bringing Austria to peace and gain for ourselves a respite. We must hold off the revolts until we can bring our soldiers out of England. I know that the revolts trouble you, but they are not quite so serious as they might seem. It may be inconvenient to put down these revolts, but it will be fatal to attack Austria before we have massed our force. Else the Austrians will do to us as we did to the English navy, non? And defeat us in pieces.”
“Yeah. But we won’t be in a position to fight until next year at this rate.” Larry slumped down on the couch himself. “Half of 1804’s gone and we’re still shuffling men around. These armies just don’t move fast enough!”
Napoleon studied the great map on the game floor intently. “I fear you are correct; we must wait until the spring of 1805 to move. We can sail the first shiploads from England directly to Provence. That will be a little faster.”
Larry joined him at the edge of the dais overlooking the big map. “What’s that? Where’s that pointer… there, in Mantua. What’s that? I don’t believe this! How did they get there? How did they get there? Do you see that?”
Napoleon turned and looked squarely into the excited face of his partner. “The map does not lie. There are 32,000 Dutch troops around Mantua.”
Larry did an impromptu jig. “There’s no leader with them! Quick, find me a leader we can ship in there to steal that siege! This is our solution! All of a sudden I love the Dutch!”
“Massena and MacDonald are in Provence, and of the two, Massena would be my choice for such desperate work. But we must warn the poor Dutch about his… habits. He loots from the enemy, which is bad but perhaps forgivable. But he also charges his own men for supplies and robs their payroll, which is beyond excuse. Tell the Dutch he is in command of military affairs only; tell them not to let him near the money,” Napoleon cautioned. “But for all that, he fights like a tiger.”
“Crap,” Larry swore. “Sardinia just revolted. I’ll have to split the Adriatic fleet, get Massena and a couple of thousand infantry to Mantua, and use the rest of the fleet to convoy some troops out to Sardinia. I tell you, like the skunk told the porcupine, I’ve enjoyed about all of this I can stand!”
“What is this, the revolt of the month club? That makes three revolts in Sardinia in four months! What are our guys doing down there? Do those people just like the smell of burning buildings in the morning?”
Mike called across the room, “Welcome to Revolt Club for Men! I’m not just the President, I’m also a peasant in the revolution!” Bad as it was, the joke lightened the frustration a bit. “At least you already had an army down there when the last two revolts hit. Check the revolt risk.” Larry did; it was a whopping 8% in spite of France’s +3 stability.
“Hey, Larry? While we’re waiting for spring so Napoleon can get through Switzerland, let’s ship some more troops around through the Adriatic. We can tackle Lombardy or Istria while the Dutch take on Mantua.”
Larry paused the game. “The problem with sending more troops is that the only armies we have available are defending Provence and Savoy and I hate to uncover the south by moving them. Whatever we do, we’d better move fast. Poland just surrendered.”
All three groaned at the news. “Austria only got 6 gold and Russia got Poland as a vassal, but that means the Austrian armies will be coming back this way soon.”
“All we have at risk right now is Massena,” Mike argued. “Let’s get some guys ashore and take one of those smaller forts in Dalmatia or Istria, then work out a peace treaty.”
“Look! There’s another 15,000 Dutch headed across France toward Italy! Did I tell you I love the Dutch? Man, I love the Dutch!”
They spent hours in the little room, which might have been an office, or a storage-room – or a cell. The windows – barred - were high up on the white-plastered wall; the thick wooden door was unlocked, but two armed men lounged in the hallway.
Major Foster sat huddled on a huge chest in one corner, obviously agitated but focused completely on his own thoughts. Neither Army man had seen Harding since their arrival. What had set Hitchcock’s mind completely adrift was that when they’d been brought in he’d seen clear black letters on a sizable sign stating “East India Company” along with other words he didn’t have time to read. He’d been expecting the gang of toughs to haul them out into the swamps and kill them; the Company office block was as welcome a destination as it was bizarre. Try as he might, he just couldn’t put the pieces of this puzzle together. Finally, he decided that some horrible mistake had been made, and settled down in a chair to wait while the powers-that-be sorted it all out.
As if that had been a signal a young Hindu clerk came to fetch them, and the two – and their guards – went down the long, wooden-floored halls to a small conference room. No elegance or ostentation here; this was obviously a working headquarters for some branch of the Company.
Waiting for them was the same smiling young Eastern man they had last seen wielding a nightstick, now dressed in conventional, clerkish attire. He rose as they entered, and bade them be seated. As the young Hindu served tea and date-cakes, the Parsi studied them both intently. Brilliant sunshine in the courtyard blazed through the windows at his back, making his face all but unreadable in shadow; not accidental, Hitchcock was sure.
“My name is Farroukh Dalal, gentlemen. I am an agent of the Customs Service of the East India Company, and I have been assigned by the Company and the Crown to look into this matter. I regret any inconvenience this may have caused you, but the circumstances of the situation are unique, and I do have some questions I must ask.”
“Where’s Harding – what have you done with him! You cannot kidnap officers of the Royal Army! I demand to speak…” Foster ground to a stop as the Parsi smiled and raised one hand.
“Gently, Major. Gently. Let me tell you the facts as I see them. Your friend Harding – with your help – left Dacca with an immense sum in precious metals and gems. There was tribute from the rajahs, customs fees; rubies from Burma, emeralds from Peshawar, sapphires from Ceylon. There was coin and bullion for the China trade. Harding was acting on his own and completely without authority, did you know? Doubtless you thought he was acting under orders; perhaps he even told you so. But Dacca was in chaos and doomed to fall, and perhaps he saw his duty lay in that direction. It would have been a great misfortune for such a treasure to fall into French hands. Or those of looters and pirates.”
“After arriving here, he made a few inquiries which came to the attention of my own service. This is a small, investigative branch of the Customs; we deal in the strange and unusual for the Company. With discretion, always – discretion is the very Beginning and End for us. So we investigated, but could not persuade friend Harding to unburden himself to us. All that we knew was that he had come from Dacca, whence the treasure had vanished.”
“Given the urgency of the dispatches out of Dacca and the value of the missing materials, we decided that a more direct approach was needed. And so, this morning, we tracked down the ship and the warehouse and seized them both. And then we came for the three of you.”
“Because all of the treasure is gone, gentlemen. That godown contains many fine things, but of your consignment we can find no trace. Not even the imprint of those barrels remains in the dust of the floor. Our office in Dacca has quietly estimated its value at over half a million pounds – ah, you did not know? And friend Harding claims to know nothing of the current whereabouts of the treasure.”
“Which, you see, leaves me with you.”
“So let us begin at the beginning, yes? And do tell me everything, everything that was said, thought or done. For if I believe you, all is perhaps well; and if I do not, be assured your Royal Army will not lift a finger to help men accused of theft on such a scale.”
“He looks like an owl,” Van Driesche muttered. “An owl that can see guilders in the dark,” his compatriot returned, and they both had a quick laugh. “Knock the mud off your boots, Hendrik, before you go inside. You cavalrymen have no manners!” Van Driesche retorted before pushing open the door and clomping into the entry hall of the little manor house.
Major-General Andre Massena looked up from penning yet another protest to Paris, and his mouth worked briefly – very like an owl worrying its prey - as he gazed at the two Dutch officers. Then he stood, greeted them correctly if with an obvious lack of warmth, and motioned them to a large table covered in maps.
Massena had arrived in Italy with a high opinion of himself and a great regard for money, and hadn’t wasted a minute trying to get his hands on the army’s payroll, supply stocks and commissariat. He’d even sent French officers out to notify the Dutch units that they must pay fees to him for the ammunition they expended. And that ammunition came from Dutch magazines, too! A brutal meeting with Van Driesche had resulted, with the Dutchman pounding his fist on the French orders that stated – clearly – that Massena was allowed no authority over anything financial. Van Driesche had been forced to produce the letter from Napoleon authorizing him to have Massena removed, court-martialed and shot before the Frenchman would back down.
Since then Massena had confined himself to having his troops strip the manor houses in the area, but it had all lead to a certain frosty correctness in their meetings. It made for a very awkward chain-of-command.
A bellowed, “LeFarge!” brought Massena’s adjutant out of an adjoining room and an incandescent glare stopped Van Driesche from lighting his ever-present pipe. As much as he resented being treated like a raw recruit, Van Driesche had unequivocal orders to place himself and his men at Massena’s disposal in military matters, and he intended to obey. Massena’s orders had so far been as insightful and professional as his manner was grasping and unpleasant. Van Driesche could therefore justify subordinating himself to the more experienced – and higher ranking - French officer.
Which didn’t prevent him from writing his own protests home, or from indulging in some private speculation about whether his hands really would fit around the Frenchman’s thick neck. Every man, after all, must have dreams and ambitions!
Van Rijs grinned at him behind Massena’s back, and then the three bent over the large map of the city and its surroundings. A local map, judging by the florid ‘Mantova’ scrawled across the top and the place names all inked in Italian. “We have no proper siege train – and we are unlikely to receive any heavy artillery anytime soon. Accordingly, we must starve them out. The positions you have chosen for the artillery you do possess are generally acceptable, but we should move another battery of howitzers across the Mincio to the southeastern sector. I have reviewed your request to assault the Citadelle on the north bank, the one that guards the causeway of the Via Trento. I believe such an assault must fail. We have not breached the fort, and our artillery fire on the causeway is not sufficient to prevent the city garrison from reinforcing it at need. Nor, I think, could we launch an assault across that bridge with any hope of success.”
Van Driesche found himself nodding in reluctant agreement, beard and mustachios waggling as his mouth crimped in a rueful smile. He wished the French general were more likable, or less often correct – it was the combination of abrasive manners and genuine talent that was so difficult to abide. He hadn’t thought it wise to make that assault, although several of his colonels were eager to try it. He could sympathize - it was infuriating to merely sit here, day after day, popping off cannon at the distant walls and digging endless siege parallels. His men were impatient, but better perhaps to use up spades and gunpowder than to spend blood.
Speaking of which… “Our supply trains are arriving regularly from the coast and the Venetians are still turning a blind eye to our use of that little fishing village. The wind has held, and we have enough captured luggers to bring stores upriver faster than the army consumes them. The cavalry patrols report no problems.”
Massena sniffed. “The merchants of Venice hate the Austrians from long practice, but they fear them from recent experience. The Venetians will ignore us for a little time yet, at least while we pay them well. We must prepare then for the day the balance of their terror tilts against us. But my concern today is the Austrian column here, north of Lake Garda. General Van Rijs, do your scouts have current reconnaissance?”
“Yes, General. We believe it to be a small column of six to nine thousand infantry. They were coming down from Innsbruck through Bolzano and Trento, and have pitched camp around the latter city. We have not tried to work scouts around into the valley in their rear to intercept dispatches. There is no other Austrian force in the area.”
“There soon will be.” Massena’s mouth drooped into its usual pouting grimace. “I am informed by dispatch from an agent in Venice that Austria has accepted a peace with Poland, and we can expect her attention to turn to us with the coming of spring.”
He smiled sourly as the two Dutch officers stiffened in dismay. “The Emperor Napoleon is putting together an expedition to come by sea, but it will be spring before it can arrive, if then. So, General Van Rijs, you will give extra attention to reconnaissance, yes? Place some additional scouts in the north and northeast, if you please? And General Van Driesche, please speak to your men. Digging in winter is terrible work, but we should like to be inside Mantua’s walls when the Archdukes come, yes?”
“We cannot afford the losses from assaults on such works, gentlemen; I would not attempt such an assault with less than twice our numbers. We must siege them and starve them. And paradoxically, we must now try to do so quickly.”
“One last thing, General Van Driesche. I believe we should plan now how best to pull our troops from the parallels and mass them to the north for battle. If the Austrians do not come, it will be good practice for the lieutenants; they always benefit from such work. And if the Austrians do come, we will need to redeploy swiftly.”
And Van Driesche could only ruefully nod in agreement again.
Once they were safely outside, Van Rijs caught his superior by the elbow. “The Frenchman is truly worried, isn’t he, Adolph?”
“Yes, he certainly is,” Van Driesche allowed. “He didn’t mention money even once!”
Larry shook his head doubtfully. “Run that by me again?”
Mike was bouncing on his toes with excitement. “Just pick up the other phone, Larry, and talk to this guy!”
“Hi, Larry, this is Owen. I’m on the afternoon shift in Gaming Central. Mike asked me for a judges’ ruling, and here’s the result the computer gave me. If you declare war on Savoy you’ll take a –2 hit in stability and Britain, Spain, Prussia and Russia will almost certainly honor their alliance with Savoy. So you’ll be at war with all of them, plus you’ll take a BB rating increase.”
“If you conquer Piedmonte, which is Savoy’s only province, you’ll have a 100% war score. If you annex Savoy, everyone else in the Alliance stays at war with France. If instead you make Savoy your vassal and demand military access, everyone except Austria will accept the peace too. Austria won’t, because you’re at war with them now.”
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you demand military access when you invaded them the last time?”
Mike answered. “We wanted the provinces of Savoy and Piedmonte, and that pretty much ruled out getting anything else. I think. Mostly I guess we just didn’t think about it. I thought we’d be annexing them if we came back this way. So I guess you never know.”
Larry looked over at Mike. “If it really is this easy, then this is our opening. I’ll get the diplomats moving, and we’ll take the armies in Savoy and Provence and start them east right away.”
Mike hung up his handset. “Shouldn’t we wait for Napoleon’s army to come south?”
“No. I can’t explain it, Mike, but I think we’d better move fast. The Austrians have been so quiet for so long… and now there’s a big, juicy Dutch target on their doorstep with no place to retreat."
"What’s that line from Star Wars? ‘I have a very bad feeling about this.’”
