In the Gaming Area
Hitchcock found himself playing the game in slow speed, using the ‘Pause’ button liberally as he tried to explain events to his guest. He didn’t want to admit it – she was a married woman – he knew her son! – but he was powerfully attracted to her. She moved in smooth flowing motions, uncontrived but infinitely graceful. And her smile! Her smile…
He jolted back to awareness and flicked the datawand to pause the game. Methodically, he began paging through the announcements. “The Ukraine defects to Poland – that’s an alternate history, for certain. Lwow falls and Galicia is ours… Holstein puts an army on Cyprus, which is bad, but it’s only two thousand men, so there’s no real harm done there. Poland offers 70 gold for peace… I’ll take that and smile all the way to the bank. That’s the end of 1547.” He restarted the clock.
Sue stirred on the other end of the couch. “It’s late, and I am distracting you. No, it is true. And also true that I must return to our room and get some sleep before tomorrow.”
Hitchcock rose and took her hand. “Are you certain you can find your way back to the hotel? I can ring for Guest Services if you like, and they’ll bring a buggy.”
“No.” She smiled warmly and slipped her hand from his. “You are a perfect gentleman, but I will enjoy the walk. And I know the route well. One of the yetis sent me a map.”
“The yetis aren’t out at night!” Hitchcock protested.
“Oh, no. I met him in the administration building earlier today. It was such a shock, we just turned a corner and there he was! He is Korean; a university basketball-player, of all things. And homesick, poor boy. He emailed a map of these areas to our hotel computer.”
“Then I suppose I will wish you a good night, and I hope you and your husband have a pleasant visit with Kevin.”
“We are not departing for several days,” she said, a little doubtfully. “I did not wish to impose, but Mister Minter has been insistent.”
“I understand you and your husband are old friends of his,” Hitchcock ventured. Her face went smooth and her voice flattened into careful neutrality. “We knew him when we were all in Hong Kong, but that was many years ago… Good night, Hitchcock.”
He mumbled a goodbye and watched her float across the room. The Gaming Area door opened – shut – and she was gone. He turned back to the game, only to see a gleaming crimson banner: Corruption! He cursed pungently and bowed to the inevitable, taking out a loan to cover the debt. He made a mental note of the date, July of 1548, so that he would remember to have money on hand when the loan came due.
Idly he paged through the centers of trade, and he had to smile at the results. Barbara’s insistence on building up a strong mercantile class had certainly paid dividends. Imperial merchants dominated the trade in Novgorod, Astrakhan and Anglia, with a strong presence in Spain. Strenuous efforts couldn’t keep much of a presence in Mecklinburg and penetrating Genoa or Venice was hopeless. Maybe someday Constantinople would be rewarded with a Center of Trade of its own, but he didn’t plan on holding his breath until that happened.
1548 floated by with no more distractions and 1549 was trickling rapidly past. He got up and walked to the refreshment area and snagged a soda from the refrigerator. Behind him, the game gave out a soft chime, and he stiffened, unopened can in hand. The banner announcement was good news when he spun around, however – a reformation of the navy. He flicked it closed, popped the top and chugged a good swallow of soda.
The chime sounded again: August of 1549, Austria declares war!
And Hitchcock – eyes wide in disbelief, caught in mid-swallow – spewed soda from his nose.
In the Gaming Area
Austria, the Palatine, the Papal States and Modena: a wealthy, populous and powerful alliance, geographically compact and mutually supportive. On the other side were ranked the Empire and Serbia, backward in military technology, poor and friendless, their only assets being naval supremacy, the rough terrain of the Balkans, and the open Hungarian plains that were a cavalryman’s heaven.
Hitchcock finished wiping up his mess, dumped the paper towels in the trash and wearily took his seat. He pulled up the budget window and pushed the army and navy to full funding – paying that while keeping inflation down was going to be difficult. He shrugged; the Empire could afford those expenses now, and later would have to take care of itself.
He juggled the fleets – one to guard the Aegean and the other to patrol off the heel of the Italian boot. There weren’t any sizable Austrian armies that he could see, but they were drafting and training troops throughout Hungary. He thought carefully for a moment, shrugged and waved the army forward into Banat, and released the ‘Pause’.
As the days and weeks ticked by, he sat tensely, eyes scanning the map. No Austrian forces appeared, and the first of their new troops began marching west. 1550 rolled around; Banat fell. He pushed the army farther, into Pest, hoping that at least the fog of war would lift and allow him to see what was happening. He swung the army – some 19,000 cavalry and infantry by this time – into Maros, where an Austrian force of some 4,000 had popped up.
“That’s the ticket,” he muttered. “Find some little penny-packets of troops, hammer them with overwhelming force and ring up enough cheap victory points to get out of this war.”
Then the armies collided, and his spirits sank. Admittedly, the Imperial troops had crossed a river line, and Maros was wooded – but cavalry superiority mattered, and the Empire had all the cavalry. At nearly five-to-one odds, what should have been a cheap and decisive victory was playing out to be a virtual draw. The strong morale that had sustained the Empire in past wars was matched here by the musket-wielding Austrian infantry, and that was very bad news.
It looked worse than bad. In fact it looked like the Austrians would win, or by losing so cripple the Imperial army that continuing the war would be hopeless. The Empire didn’t have the technology to stand up to Austria, but neither did it have high manpower or the funds to purchase mercenaries. This highly-motivated, professional force was an asset that could not – must not – be wasted in attritional warfare. If we can’t win at five-to-one odds, Hitchcock thought, our goose is well and truly cooked!
He lifted the datawand to order a retreat, then froze. The balance swayed, swung… and the Austrians broke. In retreat, their infantry was harassed by the Imperial cavalry and dissolved like sugar in hot water. Hitchcock paused the game, looked hard at the battered condition of his expeditionary force, and looked harder at the surrounding provinces for any more Austrian troops.
The map pulsed, strobed and died. His head jerked up in surprise to see the monitors flare with static and go black. Around the perimeter of the room the emergency lights began to glow, and in the sudden silence – the fans must be off, too – he realized he wasn’t breathing.
Hitchcock let out a lungful of air and cursed blackly. He flung the datawand down on the sofa and heaved himself to his feet. “Ah, hell,” he muttered. “They’re back!”
