General Izmailov didn't take the bait. Instead, he surrounded the Polish encampment and started fortifying, using the golay golrod. Now it came down to a question of who would be reinforced first.
* * *
"What are those things and what good are they?" Tim looked up at the badly accented Russian. It was the sergeant from the mercenaries. Ivan—no, John was the English form—John Charles Hampstead. He must not have been near Moscow during the testing. The army had been encamped around Rzhev for about five days when they arrived.
The mercenaries of Captain Boyce's company had done a decent, if not spectacular job. "Golay golrod. Walking walls, you might say, or walking forts."
Hampstead said, "Fine. That's what they are. What good are they?"
A group of peasant draftees were pushing one of the golay golrod into position. Tim pointed at them. "They are made of heavy plywood. They let us build fortifications very quickly. In winter we can even put them on skis for ease of movement. Right now, of course, they're on wheels . . ." Tim's voice trailed off. He thought a moment.
It was heavy plywood. The panels were a good three inches thick. The wheels could even be turned a little bit. And that's what the workers were doing now. They were pushing the wall back and forth to maneuver it into a gap in the wall. One of the things that had come out of the testing was that the walls were a lot more likely to stop a bullet if it hit them at an angle, so they were being set up at an angle to the city wall around Rzhev. Since the workers were filling in a gap in the wall, they were quite prudently staying behind the wall they were moving. Even if they had been in effective range of the Polish muskets—which they weren't—all the Poles would be able to see was the wall. Not that the workers seemed convinced of that. They were peasants, not soldiers of any sort. They weren't armed and weren't expected to fight, but were here to carry supplies, set up camp, and other support roles.
Tim realized that the workers were right. If they had been on the other side of the golay golrod, they would have been shot at and, if unlucky, hit. But the way they were doing it they were, if not perfectly safe, close to it. There was a narrow gap, less than half a foot, between the bottom of the wall and the ground. But to hit a target that size with the kind of muskets Hampstead and his men had, would take a lucky shot at ten yards.
That's when the plan began to come together. Not all at once, but in pieces. Tim could see the walls being shoved, one in front of the other . . . making a partial wall between their present position and Rzhev. But how would they get back? More walls. It came together in his mind. A slowly shrinking siege wall. A tightening noose around Rzhev. As the noose got tighter, the dead zone between the siege walls and the city walls would get smaller. He forgot, almost, that this was real, not a war game played at the Kremlin. Forgot, almost, that he was the most junior of aides to the general. Almost . . . but not quite. So it was with great humility and trepidation that he approached General Izmailov.
* * *
The general listened. Why not? It was a siege and he had nothing else to do at the moment. Except for smoothing over disputes of precedence or paperwork that his secretary could do better. After due consideration, he decided that it was the beginnings of a possibly very good plan. They would have to take into account that the golay golrod were less than completely effective when hit face-on by enemy fire. So rather than a tightening noose, it would be more like a spiked collar with the spikes on the inside.
* * *
Back in Moscow, things were not going well. The same people who would have wanted General Izmailov's head for denying Colonel Khilhov the opportunity to rid Russia of the Polish invaders now wanted his head for "ordering" it. Calls for his removal were brought up in both the Zeminsky Sobor and the Duma. Others were afraid of offending the Poles and bringing about a repeat of the events of the up-time Smolensk War by squandering resources. Still others pointed out that the size of the invasion had been grossly overestimated. The close to ten thousand men that General Izmailov had should be plenty. Between the three factions, they blocked any attempt to send reinforcements. And almost blocked resupply.
* * *
Crack!
Janusz Radziwiłł ducked behind the Rzhev city wall, cursing the Russian forces. He wasn't a happy camper. He didn't like that the Russian guns could reach father than his. He didn't like that the golay golrod seemed to be being used in a brand new way. Most of all he hated the Testbed. "I hate that damned thing. Every time it's up there, it's watching every move we make and telling the Russkies just what we're doing."
Colonel Millerov looked up then nodded. "I'm none too happy with it myself. I feel like I'm being watched every minute of the day. But—" He pointed. "—I'm just as worried about the walls they're pushing inwards. And what's going to happen if the Rus get here and get in before our reinforcements get here."
"Help should be on his way from Smolensk." The last messenger had arrived just days ago. He had to swim down the Volga at night and sneak up the bank. But he had reported that the Smolensk garrison was coming.
"They need to speed it up," Millerov said. "Once those forces get here, we'll have them between us and the relief. And there's no way out for them." He paused. "If they get here in time, that is."
* * *
"General Izmailov, sir." Nick paused to think about his report for a moment. "A force of about eight thousand men is approaching from the southwest. From Smolensk, as near as I can tell. They'll be here in a week."
The general looked grim. "Well, we knew it was inevitable."
He began issuing orders. "Tim, now that we've tightened the noose around Rzhev, we've got plenty of wall sections. We'll use them to build our own fortifications between us and the oncoming force. Arrange it." It wasn't a good solution but it was the best he could do with what he had. One thing he didn't want to allow was relief of the siege of Rzhev. Instead his force would be both besiegers and besieged.
"Yes, sir." The young lieutenant—who was looking older by the day—took off toward the peasants and soldiers who were used to move the walls.
Work on tightening the noose around Rzhev was halted while the Russians set about making their own defensive wall. To General Izmailov this was looking more and more like a carefully-laid plan where someone had jumped the gun. Tim was right about the Volga, or at least he might be. If the Poles got a base on the upper Volga, they would be in a much better position to press Wladislaw's claim to the czar's throne. If the enemy got Rzhev and Tver and held them for a while, they could build up supplies and equipment to make a rapid advance by way of the Volga. They wouldn't need to take Moscow, just cut it off from the rest of Russia. Besides, if they held the Volga to Novgorod, they held the mouth of the Muscovy River. Apparently, someone in Poland had realized that Moscow was a false key to Russia.
It was the rivers that controlled Russia, not Moscow. Especially if the Poles had their own up-timer somewhere to make them steam-powered river boats. Russia had steamboats, they were running up the Volga daily bringing supplies. What they weren't bringing were reinforcements. Izmailov wondered if the people back in Moscow were crazy.
Meanwhile, everyone was working to get a second wall up about fifty feet outside the first and to get all their supplies between the two walls. That would give them a corridor that would stretch from the river on one side of Rzhev to the river on the other side. Rzhev was located on both sides of the Volga, but a bluff on the north side of the river commanded the lower city on the south side. For now, Izmailov would cede the lower city to the Poles. He could take it back easily enough once they had the upper city in their hands. There had been a ferry between the two, but that was easily dealt with. The Volga here was a bit over a hundred yards wide, making it impossible to occupy both sides of the river without dividing his force. The good news was the volley guns and small cannon placed at either end of the corridor, could prevent the Poles from resupplying Upper Rzhev by crossing the Volga. That same bluff gave the Russian guns an advantage when protecti
ng their resupply.
"All right, Nick. From now on you base out of Staritsa. I want you well away from Cossack patrols." Starista was about thirty miles as the crow—or the Testbed—flew, a bit over fifty miles along the river. And it had enough defenses to keep the Testbed safe. "Do you really think the blinker lamps will work in daylight?"
"They should, General. The lamp on the Testbed is located in shadow, so as long as we stay out of the sun, you should be able to see the flashes. You have the grid map and we got a good enough look at their army to give a good read on their units. They have been designated A through K. We'll send an offset for the code wheels at the beginning and end of each message."
"What about us sending you messages?
"Should work about the same. Blink at us from a shaded spot." Nick said. "What really worries me, General, is . . . well, they will know that we are telling you their locations. And we can't stay up all that long. They can just wait for us to leave, then move their units and attack where you're not expecting it."
* * *
"Pity about that," Aleksander Korwin Gosiewski said. In general, Gosiewski was quite pleased with the way things had gone since his forces left Smolensk. He wouldn't have done what Janusz Radziwiłł had, but since Janusz had opened the way Gosiewski was fairly sure that he was safe from the political repercussions. And if it increased the size and power of Lithuania within the Polish Lithuanian Commonwealth, that was all to the good.
"Our eight thousand and three thousand in Rzhev . . ." He felt confident that he could rout the Russians. His force was a modern army, six thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry. "But I would have liked to capture that balloon. I doubt it will return; I suspect the Rus commander has sent it away to keep it out of our hands."
He nodded to his subordinates. "But it doesn't matter that much. There is a time for subtlety, gentlemen, and a time for more direct means. This is the latter."
"Sir!" Colonel Bortnowski said.
"As soon as their balloon is out of sight, Colonel, you will take the Seventh Fusiliers. . ." Gosiewski continued with a list of units designated to attack the east downriver edge of the wall. "We will hold here until the artillery has produced a breach in their golay golrod. You will then advance. Our situation is simple. Once we get within their outer wall, at any point, they are done and we can roll them up. The Russian soldiers don't have the stomach for a standup fight. They carry walls with them, so they'll have something to hide behind. Take that away and they're like sheep among wolves."
It took another hour to work out all the various details, including a skirmish against the upriver edge of the wall to pull the defenders away from the planned breach point.
* * *
"General, the Poles are moving," Tim said as he entered the tent.
"What?" the general had been taking a nap. He sat up on his cot. "Their cannon?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Very well. Give me ten minutes."
By the time General Izmailov got to the walls, the Russian corridor was acting like a disturbed ant bed. Izmailov didn't rush. He strolled. Exhibiting no hurry, he listened to reports as he went, stopped and greeted people. And, to an extent, the ant bed calmed. Actions became less frantic and more purposeful. When it was reported that the Polish cannon were moving into position, he quickened his pace and started giving orders.
"Get those guns in place!" The small, rifled, cannon of the Russians were moved into position, set up and loaded behind sections of wall. Ropes were attached to those wall sections so that they could be quickly moved out of the way.
"We'll give it to them now, boys," General Izmailov shouted. "Before they realize what hits them."
The order was given while the Polish cannon were still out of effective range. Their effective range—not the effective range of the rifled breach-loading Russian guns.
The men on the ropes strained and the walls moved out of the way.
"Aim them! Don't just point them randomly!"
The gunners took a moment to refine their aim.
"Fire!"
Boomcrack! Boomcrack! Boomcrack!
The small cannons sounded like they couldn't make up their mind whether they were cannon or rifles. The rounds they fired were small, just under an inch across and three inches long. But they exited the Russian guns in a flat trajectory and went precisely where their gunners told them to go. Two rounds hit the outer wagon of the Polish gun train. The third missed; it hit a wagon wheel which was shattered. Pointlessly, since the exploding powder wagons would have destroyed it a tenth of a second later anyway.
***
A Polish gunner lay on the ground, blown off his feet but otherwise uninjured, shaking his head less to clear it than in confusion. They were half again out of a cannon's effective range. Even as he lay there, another boomcrack and the gun carriage of one of the six polish sakers, or nine-pounders, shattered as a smaller but faster round ripped though it. The gunner, after due consideration, decided that where he was, was a rather good place to be. Much better than standing up next to the guns.
Aleksander Korwin Gosiewski was not so sanguine. In the midst of disaster, he saw what he wanted to see. The Russians had opened a breach in their wall to allow their cannons to fire. He decided that if he moved fast enough he could exploit the breach. He rapped out orders to Colonel Bortnowski and sent off the messenger. "Attack now. Go for the breach. Charge damn it! Charge!"
Much against his better judgment Colonel Bortnowski charged. Sort of. The charge of a pike unit is rather akin to the charge of a turtle. Slow and steady. Which may win the race and may even win a battle when it's charging another pike unit. But when charging a wall two hundred and fifty yards away and when that wall is manned by troops with rifled breach-loading AK3s that can be fired, have the chamber switched, then fired again several times, the charge of a pike unit becomes an organized form of suicide. Eventually, of course, the pikes broke. But not nearly soon enough. Their casualties were much worse than the casualties the Russian cavalry units had suffered just weeks before. Colonel Bortnowski was among the dead. They really should have used the Cossack cavalry, but it was in the wrong place.
The Polish force withdrew, but it was only temporary, as General Izmailov knew quite well.
* * *
"Gentlemen, our situation is untenable as it stands," General Izmailov said. "We must take Rzhev and soon. Tim, I want you to coordinate with the unit commanders, start tightening the collar again. Get us salients as close to the to the walls of Rzhev as you can. . ." The general described what he wanted and work began again. The plan was to get several points right up against the walls, such as they were, of Rzhev. Which would still leave the problem of defending against a potential attack by the Polish relief force while at the same time using most of his force to breach the defenses of Rzhev. To attack effectively—and just as important, quickly—they would need overwhelming force against the troops occupying the town. To get that, they were going to have to virtually strip the outer golay golrod of fighting men. And like any fortification, no matter how temporary or permanent, the walking walls needed to be manned be effective.
Two weeks later they were in position and as ready as they were going to get. At the closest point the inner golay golrod was only twenty feet from the makeshift walls around Rzhev and there were five points where they were within fifty feet.
* * *
Nick gave a bit more steam to the right side engine to turn the Testbed left. The winds were gusty. He had gotten word a week before that they would be making the attack on Rzhev today. His job was especially vital because to make it look real they had to know where the Polish forces were attacking long before it happened. He looked out and noted the position of a Polish cavalry unit.
Rrrrriiiipppppp!
Nick looked up and swore.
The gas bladders on the Testbed were made of goldbeater skin. Ever have knockwurst? Well, goldbeater skin is basically the same stuff they put around the sausage, the intestines
of large animals. For goldbeater skin, the intestines are cut open and glued together a couple of layers thick. The sheets of goldbeaters skin are mostly self adhesive and formed into short, fat sausage shapes rather than round balloons. It had never occurred to anyone to wonder what would happen if you applied steam.
Granted, by the time the steam reached the steam bladder it had cooled quite a bit. On the other hand, the steam bladder on the Testbed had by now been slow cooking for several weeks. A little bit of extra steam pressure was all it took. Of course, it gave along the seams. As soon as the rip happened, the steam spread out still further and turned into mist, then started condensing onto the other gas bags in the Testbed where it did comparatively little harm. But the steam cell was gone; its lift was gone.
The gondola lurched. Nick swore again and reached for a lever to angle the thrust that remained to him.
The steam bladder, when filled and functioning properly, provided about five hundred pounds of lift to the Testbed. The semi-rigid airship had just gone from neutral buoyancy to five hundred pounds negative buoyancy. Which didn't mean it dropped like a five hundred pound lead weight. It was more like a five hundred pound feather. The steam bladder was located three-quarters of the way to the front of the Testbed, just above the gondola, so naturally it nosed down. Which meant that the engines were pushing down as well. Airships dive like they do every other maneuver. Slowly. A similar disaster in an airplane would have given the pilot less then two minutes to fix the problem, as the plane nosed over and accelerated to over a hundred miles an hour straight down. Nick had a good five minutes before he would hit the ground.
First, reverse thrust on the steam engines. Nick shifted a couple of levers. Then, angling the thrust—he shifted more levers as he continued to lose altitude. Shift the trim weight. More work. He had to crank it back to the tail of the Testbed. In doing these things, Nick lost about two thousand feet of altitude.