“But they won’t be doing any shooting themselves, that’s for sure.”
He turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted to the orderly waiting on the slope above. An instant later, the man was spurring his horse toward the king’s position upstream.
Torstensson went back to overseeing his guns. “Up to the Finns, now,” he said. Cheerfully: “But those sullen savages won’t be able to whine about their covering fire. Not today!”
He bestowed a look of approval on Tom and Heinrich. “Splendid pieces!” His eyes then moved to the very attractive American woman standing at their side. A similar thought crossed his mind, but he left it unspoken. Lennart Torstensson had already come to the same conclusion as Tom Simpson’s own mates. Not a good idea, irritating a man who could probably lift one of those marvelous cannons.
An idle question came. He leaned over and murmured to Tom: “I’m curious. What would be your weapon of choice? In a duel, I mean.”
The very attractive woman’s husband replied instantly.
“Ten-pound sledgehammers.”
Not a good idea.
“Now, now!” bellowed the king. On the marshy ground below, Swedish engineers led hundreds of soldiers in a rush to the river bank. The “rush,” needless to say, was a slow and sodden kind of thing. The terrain was bad enough, even if the soldiers hadn’t been hauling a multitude of freshly cut logs.
Despite the marshy ground, the engineers were soon throwing a crude bridge across the water. The work was not suicidal, due to the heavy covering fire
He turned, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted to the orderly waiting on the slope above. An instant later, the man was spurring his horse toward the king’s position upstream.
Torstensson went back to overseeing his guns. “Up to the Finns, now,” he said. Cheerfully: “But those sullen savages won’t be able to whine about their covering fire. Not today!”
He bestowed a look of approval on Tom and Heinrich. “Splendid pieces!” His eyes then moved to the very attractive American woman standing at their side. A similar thought crossed his mind, but he left it unspoken. Lennart Torstensson had already come to the same conclusion as Tom Simpson’s own mates. Not a good idea, irritating a man who could probably lift one of those marvelous cannons.
An idle question came. He leaned over and murmured to Tom: “I’m curious. What would be your weapon of choice? In a duel, I mean.”
The very attractive woman’s husband replied instantly.
“Ten-pound sledgehammers.”
Not a good idea.
“Now, now!” bellowed the king. On the marshy ground below, Swedish engineers led hundreds of soldiers in a rush to the river bank. The “rush,” needless to say, was a slow and sodden kind of thing. The terrain was bad enough, even if the soldiers hadn’t been hauling a multitude of freshly cut logs.
Despite the marshy ground, the engineers were soon throwing a crude bridge across the water. The work was not suicidal, due to the heavy covering fire