whose prospects had just received a mighty boost.
Gustav swiveled his head toward Torstensson, as if to bring the artillery commander under a gun himself.
“Corpus Evangelicorum,” 中古車 the king stated boldly. “What say you now, skeptic Lennart?”
Chapter 48
Rebecca and Ed Piazza remained in the farmhouse the next day, while Gustav Adolf prepared to move against Tilly. They would spend the entire day, and the next, working with the king’s quartermasters to organize the new Swedish logistical base.
The rest of the delegation went with the Swedish army. Tom and Rita and Heinrich, who had spent the previous weeks working with the machine shops to get the cannons ready, went with Torstensson. Insofar as the new United States had anything resembling an “artillery officer corps,” those three were it. Mike and Frank had urged them to take whatever opportunity they might find to get acquainted with the artillery practices of the current day—the best of which, by universal acknowledgment, was embodied in Torstensson’s Swedes.
“The key is the hostlers as much as the artillerymen,” Torstensson informed them, as they watched the Swedish guns being brought into position. “My horses and wagons are owned by the artillery stable.”
The information meant nothing to Tom and Julie, but Heinrich started. Unlike the two Americans, he was quite famil SMS iar with the practices of the day. “You mean—?” He pointed to the hostlers guiding the horses forward and unhitching the cannons.
Torstensson nodded. “Army men. Mine—all of them, to a man.” His lip curled in a magnificent sneer. “Not a single one of them is a misbegotten wretched coin-counting—” The rest trailed off into muttered obscenities.
Heinrich chuckled. He turned to Tom and Julie and explained.
“Every other army I know uses civilian contractors to handle the horses and wagons in the artillery train.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “That’s crazy!” he grunted.
As always in the field, whenever possible, Tom spoke in German. Torstensson, hearing the words, grinned. But his humor vanished at once, seeing the American guns being brought up to the earthworks. A moment later, he was bellowing new orders, seeing to it that the new cannons were properly placed. Right in the center of the line, under his watchful eye.
Torstensson intended to test those guns today. He had had his men selecting cannonballs since daybreak. He wanted to take advantage of those perfect bores by using the best cannonballs in his arsenal, the ones which were the roundest and made the best fit.
“Half again the range, I’ll wager,” he said softly, staring at the enemy entrenchments across the river.
Gustav Adolf was studying the same entrenchments, from a position
Gustav swiveled his head toward Torstensson, as if to bring the artillery commander under a gun himself.
“Corpus Evangelicorum,” 中古車 the king stated boldly. “What say you now, skeptic Lennart?”
Chapter 48
Rebecca and Ed Piazza remained in the farmhouse the next day, while Gustav Adolf prepared to move against Tilly. They would spend the entire day, and the next, working with the king’s quartermasters to organize the new Swedish logistical base.
The rest of the delegation went with the Swedish army. Tom and Rita and Heinrich, who had spent the previous weeks working with the machine shops to get the cannons ready, went with Torstensson. Insofar as the new United States had anything resembling an “artillery officer corps,” those three were it. Mike and Frank had urged them to take whatever opportunity they might find to get acquainted with the artillery practices of the current day—the best of which, by universal acknowledgment, was embodied in Torstensson’s Swedes.
“The key is the hostlers as much as the artillerymen,” Torstensson informed them, as they watched the Swedish guns being brought into position. “My horses and wagons are owned by the artillery stable.”
The information meant nothing to Tom and Julie, but Heinrich started. Unlike the two Americans, he was quite famil SMS iar with the practices of the day. “You mean—?” He pointed to the hostlers guiding the horses forward and unhitching the cannons.
Torstensson nodded. “Army men. Mine—all of them, to a man.” His lip curled in a magnificent sneer. “Not a single one of them is a misbegotten wretched coin-counting—” The rest trailed off into muttered obscenities.
Heinrich chuckled. He turned to Tom and Julie and explained.
“Every other army I know uses civilian contractors to handle the horses and wagons in the artillery train.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “That’s crazy!” he grunted.
As always in the field, whenever possible, Tom spoke in German. Torstensson, hearing the words, grinned. But his humor vanished at once, seeing the American guns being brought up to the earthworks. A moment later, he was bellowing new orders, seeing to it that the new cannons were properly placed. Right in the center of the line, under his watchful eye.
Torstensson intended to test those guns today. He had had his men selecting cannonballs since daybreak. He wanted to take advantage of those perfect bores by using the best cannonballs in his arsenal, the ones which were the roundest and made the best fit.
“Half again the range, I’ll wager,” he said softly, staring at the enemy entrenchments across the river.
Gustav Adolf was studying the same entrenchments, from a position