Chapter 165: Alemannia Arrives
A blaring blast of brass horns shattered the silence.
Count István and General Kovács scrambled up the steps to join Farkas on the watchtower.
"The Emperor!" Count István roared, a hysterical laugh bursting from his chest as he pointed his finger toward the ridge.
"The riders got through! The Austrians have arrived!"
Farkas immediately swung his Venetian spyglass toward the northwest, focusing the ground-glass lenses on the approaching banners.
The banners were indeed there...
The black, double-headed eagle of the Holy Roman Empire fluttered in the autumn wind, alongside the red and white colors of the Austrian Archduchy.
Thousands of traditional Landsknechts and heavily armored knights were cresting the ridge, deploying into a battle line that stretched for miles.
However, as Farkas adjusted the magnification of his spyglass, the blood instantly drained from his face.
The Holy Roman banners were not leading the vanguard. They were serving as auxiliary support.
Marching at the absolute center of the relief force was an entirely different breed of soldier.
"What is it, Farkas?" General Kovács demanded. "Are they deploying the Imperial artillery?"
"They are not Imperial troops," Farkas whispered, his voice catching in his throat.
Through the lens, Farkas saw a sea of dark-grey uniforms.
He saw thousands of infantrymen marching in rigid formation. They carried precision-machined grooved rifles.
Rolling alongside the dark-grey ranks were dozens of wagons carrying proprietary, hand-cranked Gatling carts, their multiple rotating barrels gleaming with oiled steel.
And behind them, drawn by teams of draft horses, were the horizontally bored field cannons of the new world.
Fluttering proudly above this engine were the banners of the sovereign Kingdom of Alemannia.
Count István grabbed the spyglass from Farkas’s hands, pressing it to his own eye.
The Hungarian Count gasped. "Alemannia," Count István breathed. "The Swabian King has come."
Down in the valley, a hundred thousand men turned their heads toward the northwest, watching as the Holy Roman Empire and the might of Alemannia formed an impenetrable wall of steel and rapid-fire ballistics across the horizon.
Konrad spurred his destrier forward, breaking from the marching columns of the Ironstorm Jaegers with his generals in a wedge formation.
Their destination was a muddy knoll a half-mile ahead, where the Austrian vanguard had halted.
The Austrian commanders, General von Harrach and Count Trauttmansdorff, were huddled around a wooden campaign table in gilded plate armor.
As Konrad’s contingent approached, the Austrian guards nervously gripped their halberds.
General von Harrach looked up from a hand-drawn map.
"King Konrad," von Harrach greeted. "We were discussing the deployment of the pike squares. The Ottoman encampment is massive. Count Trauttmansdorff believes we should construct a fortified palisade here, anchor our flanks, and wait for the Janissaries."
Konrad did not dismount. He looked down at the two Austrian generals. "You want to build a wooden fence in the mud and wait for a hundred thousand men to surround you?" Konrad repeated. "If you halt here, the Ottoman siege bombards will atomize your vanguard from a mile away."
Count Trauttmansdorff’s face flushed beneath his helmet. "We cannot charge them in the open field! Their light cavalry will tear our flanks to ribbons!"
"We already have a defensive perimeter," Konrad countered, pointing toward the walls of Veszprém looming in the distance. "It is occupied by eleven thousand Hungarians who lack the firepower to hold it."
Konrad leaned forward over the pommel of his saddle. "We are not stopping in the mud," Konrad dictated. "General Kaelen has calculated the optimal firing elevations for our artillery. We will march the combined column to the castle gates and secure the high ground. With my Gatling carts mounted on the battlements, we will possess an exponential multiplier on our output."
General von Harrach swallowed hard. "If we march for the gates, we expose our supply lines. It is a massive risk. We do not know the composition of the Sultan’s center."
"I am aware of the logistical variables," Konrad replied, turning his horse back toward his lines. "Order your men to double-time their march, General. If your knights cannot keep pace with my artillery train, I will leave you behind to face the Sipahi cavalry alone."
As Konrad and his generals rode back toward the Alemannian vanguard, the King’s mind continued to crunch the numbers.
He had shown confidence to the Austrians, but deep down, Konrad was deeply hesitant.
A fortress wall was a force multiplier, but the mathematics of extermination had a saturation point.
If Suleiman the Magnificent had brought a hundred thousand men, the walls of Veszprém could hold.
But if the Ottoman logistical train had supplied a hundred and fifty thousand, or two hundred thousand, the sheer mass of the enemy would overwhelm the cooling tolerances of his Gatling barrels.
He needed quantifiable intelligence before committing his artillery...
Konrad reined in his horse, turning to a detachment of heavily armored riders under General Voss.
"Captain Brandt!" Konrad called out.
A cavalry officer spurred his horse forward and saluted. "Your Majesty."
"I require a precise logistical audit of the Ottoman encampment immediately," Konrad ordered. "Take a dozen riders. Skirt the eastern ridge and use the Venetian spyglasses to penetrate their smoke lines. Do not engage. I need to know the exact density of their Janissary squares and the depth of their siege train."
Captain Brandt nodded. "We will return before the vanguard reaches the castle gates, Sire."
"Go," Konrad commanded.
...
For the next two hours, the column of Alemannian steel and the disorganized Austrian vanguard force-marched across the plains.
The walls of Veszprém grew larger on the horizon as distant reports of Ottoman siege bombards echoed through the valley.
Konrad rode in calculated silence, his pocket watch ticking in his hand. Suddenly, from the northeastern flank, the drumming of exhausted hooves tore through the ranks.
Captain Brandt and three surviving riders burst through the lines of the Ironstorm Jaegers, their thoroughbreds lathered in white foam.
Brandt’s uniform was torn, an Ottoman arrow snapped off in his shoulder pauldron.
Brandt reined in his mount before the King, his chest heaving.
Konrad looked down at his bleeding scout. "How many?"
Captain Brandt swallowed hard. "Nearly eighty thousand, Your Majesty," he reported. "We penetrated the smoke lines of their central encampment. The Janissary squares are massive. Their bronze bombards are localized opposite the western gatehouse of Veszprém, but the bulk of their infantry and Sipahi cavalry are fully entrenched."
Grand Marshal Eckhard let out a breath... Generals Richter, Kaelen, and Voss immediately began calculating the density of an eighty-thousand-man force.
Konrad closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.
On one side: Eighty thousand Ottoman soldiers — a professional standing army with matchlock muskets, bronze artillery, and fanatical morale.
On the other side, his own localized assets: 9,000 Alemannian professionals — Ironstorm Jaegers, specialized artillerymen, and Gatling operators armed with precision grooved rifles and solid-cast artillery.
Behind his elite core marched the Austrians: 20,000 men under General von Harrach and Count Trauttmansdorff — obsolete knights and pikemen, but a heavy wall of absorption.
Trailing them were 15,000 Imperial levies contributed by the squabbling Dukes of the Holy Roman Empire, carrying shields, crossbows, and halberds.
Finally, inside the stone masonry of Veszprém, were 11,200 Hungarian defenders.
Konrad opened his eyes, a smile touching his features.
"Fifty-five thousand," Konrad calculated. "We possess fifty-five thousand men against their eighty thousand. In an open field of mud, the Sipahi would envelop our flanks, and the Janissaries would drown our reload cycles in blood. The Austrians would break, and my Jaegers would face an impossible war of attrition."
"But we are not fighting in an open field, Sire," General Kaelen interjected.
"Exactly, Kaelen," Konrad agreed, gesturing toward the walls of Veszprém. "We possess the ultimate force multiplier. The castle."
Konrad turned to Eckhard and his generals. "If we secure the fortress before their bombards shatter the gatehouse, the dynamic of this siege inverts," Konrad dictated. "We funnel the 20,000 Austrians and 15,000 Imperial levies into the outer baileys and courtyards. Let the feudal lords hold the breaches with their broadswords."
Konrad’s eyes darkened. "My 9,000 Jaegers and artillery will take the highest elevations," Konrad continued. "We mount the Gatling carts on the battlements and position the field cannons on the towers. Any Janissary square that attempts to march on those gates will be atomized before they can shoulder their muskets."
Eckhard nodded slowly.
Konrad looked toward the walls of Veszprém. "If the Ottoman Grand Vizier possesses patience, he will look at our battlements and refuse to attack," Konrad deduced. "They will pull back their infantry, dig their trenches deeper, and maintain a perimeter. With fifty-five thousand mouths to feed and no agricultural output, we will exhaust our calories in less than two weeks."
General Voss tightened his grip on his reins. "And if they do not have patience, Sire?"
Konrad’s smile returned. "The Sultan’s generals are arrogant. If we goad them into believing we are a fractured alliance, they will lose their patience."
Konrad drew his Swabian saber. "If they have patience, we starve," Konrad declared. "If they don’t, and they order their men to charge those walls... they die. Every single one of them."
Konrad spurred his warhorse forward.
"Surgeon, see to Captain Brandt," Konrad ordered over his shoulder. "Generals, accelerate the cadence. We take the high ground."