Eric Flint: Ring of Fire III

But something, whatever subtlety of movement or posture, led her to think Luca was right.

He shook his head. “She might make it through the night, if she can find one of the abandoned villages and get inside. Probably not, though.”

Rita stared at him. Then, down at the woman below.

That was a woman, she was almost sure now. But even if it wasn’t, that person certainly wasn’t a Bavarian cavalryman.

“Fuck that,” she muttered. She turned to Franchetti. “Take the Albatross down, Filippo. All the way to the ground.” She pointed to the figure herself. “We’ll pick her up. We’ve got room and plenty of weight allowance, now that the bombs have all been dropped.”

“But…signora…”

“Oh, stop worrying! There’s nobody else down there. Not within half a mile, at the very least. We’ve got plenty of time to get down, pick her up, and get back in the air before anyone’ll be able to come at us.”

“But… signora…”

“ Just fucking do it!”

She took a deep, ragged breath. “Please, Filippo.” She had tears in her eyes. “I am so sick of killing people.”

In the end, what saved Ursula’s life was her own despair.

She ran from the monster. Ran and ran for a while. But it kept pursuing her, coming closer and closer to the ground.

Eventually, partly from exhaustion but mostly from too many years of seeing her hopes all scraped away, she just stopped. Then, sat on the ground, holding her knees. Ignoring the cold seeping into her buttocks. Just waited for her death, the way prey run to the ground waits for the predator.

If she’d kept running, she could have escaped the Albatross. It was dark now and she could have slipped away into the shadows any number of times, if she’d been thinking clearly.

Rita had almost given up hope herself.

The monster had the face of a young woman. Ursula hadn’t expected that.

Quite a pretty one. Black hair, blue eyes. The color was very clear, even in twilight. A slender build, she thought, although it was hard to be sure. She was wearing a peculiar, puffy sort of jacket.

The monster extended her hand. “Come on, girl,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

Some time later, looking out at the moon from the gondola, Ursula finally spoke.

“I’m flying,” she said, wonderingly. “I’m really flying.”

A while later, she added, “Away.”

On the fourth and final day, the Bavarian infantry made no effort to close with the Danube Regiment. In fact, by late morning they’d let the distance between the marching armies stretch to two miles. By mid-afternoon, to three miles.

Colonel von Schnetter’s couriers had come across several survivors of the bombing raid and two of them had been to see the village ruins themselves. So the infantry commander had a pretty good idea of what had happened.

The ever-growing distance between his forces and those of Major Simpson’s were no longer due to simple caution, but outright worry. His infantry was moving more slowly down the Danube because he needed to be sure, at all times, that he could get the men away from the river if the need arose. Airships that could destroy a village could also destroy a tightly-packed infantry column.

Von Schnetter was no longer concerned about General von Lintelo’s reaction to the events of these past four days. First, because Colonel von Troiberz had certainly died in the fire-and who better to take the blame for disaster than a man already dead? Second, because not even von Lintelo was so thick-headed as not to understand that the introduction of these infernal airships onto battlefields created many new problems.

And third, because he had better things to do than fret over a general’s possible peeves. Such as spend his time discussing new tactical possibilities with his friend and trusted aide, Captain von Haslang.

It was quite pleasant, actually, that last day’s march down the Danube. Vigorous conversations with an intelligent man were one of life’s high points. Even when the subject was grim.

Twice, Tom almost ordered another bombing run. Not because of bloodlust, or because he feared that the pursuing Bavarians posed a threat any longer. They were making it very clear that they had no intention of fighting before he reached Regensburg. You could almost call them an escort of sorts, in this final stretch.

No, it was because he too was beginning to consider tactical options in the light of new developments, and had started discussing them with his own trusted aides.

“It’d be interesting to see,” pointed out Bruno von Eichelberg, “how an infantry column marching down a road handles an attack from the air.”

Both times, what stopped him was his wife’s face. Rita was slender almost to the point of being skinny. Now, though, she was looking downright gaunt.

Every night since the first, the nightmares had brought Rita awake. Sweating, frightened, tight of breath. Always that same boy’s face.

This morning, though, she’d been able to look at a woman’s face that she thought might start easing her soul.

She could hope so, anyway.

When the Danube Regiment entered Regensburg, they discovered that a parade was expected. Right through the town to the square. Where apparently speeches would be inflicted upon them.

Ah, well. Even tired soldiers respond to applause. And they were getting a lot of it. An awful lot.

“This was mostly Heinz’s idea,” Bonnie told Rita. They were watching the parade from one of the stands set up on the side of the square. Overhead, the Pelican came into view. The crowd in the square burst into cheers again.

“You know what city officials are like,” she continued. “I swear, frogs have more imagination. All they could talk about-fuss and fuss and fuss about-was where they would find enough billets for all these additional soldiers. But Heinz set ’em straight. ‘First we make them welcome,’ he said, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. As usual.”

There was a certain tone in her voice. Proud, you might call it. Proprietary, too.

Bocler was watching the festivities from the officials’ stand. He would have much preferred to be with Bonnie Weaver. Mostly because he liked being around her, but partly because he wouldn’t be at the center of everyone’s attention. He disliked that rather intensively, he’d come to discover.

He’d also come to understand some things about his former employer, Ernst of Saxe-Weimar, that had been unclear to him before, as well as gaining a better understanding of the advantages that Caesar and Thucydides had had, when they turned themselves to the historian’s trade.

The front ranks of the Danube Regiment entered the square. At the fore marched the figure of Major Simpson. Impossible to miss, of course.

The cheers erupted again.

Or Xenophon. Bocler had read the Anabasis. But he decided he should read it again. He thought he’d get more out of it now. He was quite sure he would, in fact.

He looked toward Bonnie. She was standing next to the major’s wife, and, as it happened, she was looking in his direction.

She waved at him, very cheerily.

Anxiety, in the midst of celebration. Doubt, where certainty also tread.

The cautions were all in the Bible, of course. He’d known that for years, although he hadn’t understood them so well until these past few days.

In his own way, he too had been marching upcountry.

And still was.

What was he to do?