Considering that we’re four hundred kilometers west of Corona and he doesn’t know fuck-all about where the enemy’s main force is, I’d say that was just a little over-optimistic, Raj commented dryly.
“Brigadier Count Damiano del’Ostro,” the portly cavalryman said, extending a hand. “At your service, signore.”
John shook the plump, beautifully manicured hand extended to him in a waft of cologne and garlic, and looked up. The Land dirigible was gliding away on a curving pathway that would take it miles to the east, down the road to the capital and then back towards the Pada River near Veron. According to the newspapers, a strong Imperial garrison was holding out in that river port, preventing the Land’s forces from using it to supply their forward elements.
You could believe as much of that as you wanted to. John did know that at least ten Imperial infantry divisions and two of cavalry were concentrating—slowly—at a rail junction about fifty miles east; he’d driven through them that morning. The dirigible was doing about seventy-five miles an hour. It would be there in three-quarters of an hour, and reporting back in two. John looked back at the cavalry commander, who was supposed to be locating the Land’s armies and screening the Imperial forces from observation.
“You’ve located the enemy force, Brigadier del’Ostro?” he said.
The brigadier twirled at one of his waxed mustachios. “Soon, soon—our cavalry screen is bound to make contact soon. The cowards refuse to engage our cavalry under any circumstances. Why, their cavalry are mounted on mules, if you can believe it.”
“The Land doesn’t have any cavalry, strictly speaking,” John pointed out gently. “They have some mounted infantry units on mules, yes. One mule to two men; they take turns riding. They march very quickly.”
Del’Ostro laughed heartily and slapped a hand to his saber. “Without cavalry, they will be blind and helpless. Desperate they must already be; do you know, they let women into their army?”
John smiled politely with the chorus of laughter. I hope you never meet my foster-sister, he thought. Then again, considering that you’re partly responsible for this, I hope you do meet Gerta.
“Come, I’ll show you how my men scout!” del’Ostro said.
He threw the napkin to the table and strode out, buckling his tunic and calling orders. He and his staff headed towards four Santander-made touring cars, evidently the mechanized element of this outfit. Guards crashed to attention, a drum rolled, a bugle sounded, and Brigadier Count del’Ostro mounted to the backseat, standing and holding the pole of a standard mounted in a bracket at the side of the car.
“Hate to think what those spurs are doing to the upholstery,” John murmured to himself—in Santander English, which the driver did not speak. “Follow,” he added in Imperial. “But not too close.”
“Si, signore,” the driver said.
John opened a wicker container bolted to the rear of the front seat and brought out his field glasses; big bulky things, Sierra-made, the best on the market.
“Halt,” he said after a moment.
Steam chuffed, and the engine hissed to a stop. The car coasted and then braked to one side of the road, under the shade of a plane tree. John pushed up his driving goggles again and leaned his elbows on the padded leather of the chauffeur’s seat.
Brigadier del’Ostro had forgotten his foreign audience in his enthusiasm. His party swept down the long straight road in a plume of dust and a chorus of loyal cries; the mounted units using the road scattered into the ditches, not a few troopers losing their seats. One light field gun went over on its side, taking half its team with it, and lay with the upper wheel spinning in the cars’ wake. John ignored them, scanning to the west over the rolling patchwork of grainfields and pasture. There weren’t any peasants in that direction; he supposed they were too sensible to linger when the Imperial cavalry screen arrived.
There were spots of smoke on the skyline: burning grain-ricks, perhaps, or buildings. He didn’t think that the Land’s forces would be burning as they came, too wasteful and conspicuous, but fires followed combat as surely as vultures did.