The Left-Handed God (2 page)

In Hof, he reported to General Luszinsky, and presented his orders.

The general had looked at him and frowned. “You’re from the Kurpfalz? Are they so pressed for able-bodied men that they send us children?”

Aware of his new and still much too thin mustache, Franz blushed, but he stiffened his back and said, “I am twenty, sir.”

The general had sighed and smiled a little. “Very well, Ensign. You will join the Seventh Company of the Infantry Regiment Salzburg. Regiment Salzburg is made up of different companies, the Seventh being from the Kurpfalz. Field Marshall Serbelloni has ordered Austrian uniforms for everyone.”

So Franz’s handsome light blue and white Kurpfalz regimentals were packed away. In theory, the Austrian uniform should have been quite as handsome, except that his was secondhand, taken off the wounded or dying, and of summer-weight cotton. But one of the women who followed every army had washed and mended it and made some alterations for a small amount of money, and he was quite content with his appearance. Though he shivered a little in the cold this morning, his spirits were high.

The same could not be said of the men of the Seventh Company, who were discouraged, tired, and sullen, their uniforms dirty and ragged, their shoes and gaiters muddy from marching on rain-drenched roads churned up by wagons, horses, and the heavy guns. They had fought Prussians and Russians all over Eastern Europe and spent the past three weeks crossing and recrossing Württemberg and Sachsen to no apparent purpose. Once or twice they had briefly engaged the enemy, but both sides had parted without decisive action.

Today would be different. Today, two large armies would clash in the open country outside Freiberg.

*

The assassin blew on his cold hands, then checked his pocket watch. Less than an hour until daylight. He was aware of the position of the seventh on the wooded hillside near him and knew their eyes would be glazed from lack of sleep and their mood bitter from lack of proper food. They would not be fed this morning either, and last night’s ration had been a scant piece of rough dark bread. Provisions ran low in a war-ravaged country, and they would have had no time to steal or hunt so close to the enemy.

But neither their discomfort nor the outcome of the coming battle concerned him. He would take measures to stay alive as soon as he had done what he had come to do. His plan was brilliantly simple. All eyes would be on the enemy, the advance action would cover the sound of a single shot, and one more body would attract no interest once the battle had started.

*

Franz, too, was hungry, but his belly was warmed by the excitement of coming battle. He touched the grip of his sword. This day fate beckoned, and Franz wanted glory with every fiber of his body, knew it would be his, saw himself already victorious, carried on the shoulders of his men, congratulated by his commanding officer, promoted and decorated for his valor. He would return a hero, and Mama would shed tears of joy and his sister Augusta would look at her big brother with admiring eyes.

The men were coming awake now and getting to their feet. Some talked, a couple cursed, and someone hacked and spat. He could smell tobacco. The men smoked their clay pipes in lieu of breakfast.

Franz cast another look at the lightening sky, then took up the standard of his flag and went among them, counting every man, making sure they had loaded their muskets and fixed their bayonets. They tolerated this without the usual smirks and muttered comments, but he saw in their faces that they did not respect him. They held his youth and inexperience against him.

He worried briefly about this. But he was an officer, though the lowest ranking of the officers, and they would have to follow him, follow the flag he would carry. They probably feared that, in his inexperience, he would lead them into disaster. There had been the drummer boy’s warning. If they decided to run today, where would be his glory? With God’s help he hoped to prove to them‌—‌and to himself‌—‌that he was brave and a good officer.

When he had finished his inspection, he returned to his lookout. It was much lighter now, and things stirred. Several officers passed at a gallop. A cavalry regiment gathered on the next hillside, and at the unfinished gun placements, the gunners were building some last-minute reinforcements, moving another cannon into place, and carrying buckets of water.

Between the rolling hills and the enemy camp the ground sloped gently downward. The Prussian lines extended from the village Lang Hennersdorf southward. Two roads to Freiberg lay between the imperial position and the Prussian army. One led from Lang Hennersdorf, the other from the hamlet of Klein Schirma through the Spittal Woods. The fields lay fallow at this time of year, but a farm or two, a few stands of trees and some shacks dotted them here and there. Toward the west more hills rose, and toward the east, beyond the imperial positions, lay the small town of Freiberg.

Franz could see troops behind the Prussian lines, reserves, an indistinct roiling of dark bodies among the white tents. The Prussians had dark blue uniforms and were easy to tell apart from the Austrians’ white but not so easily distinguishable from some of their allies‌—‌like the Bavarians and the dragoons and cuirassiers of the Kurpfalz, who also wore blue.

He had not yet learned to identify all the uniforms of troops gathered here under the command of Field Marshal, Prince von Stolberg. The colors were handsome but confusing. The dragoons from Pfalz-Zweibrücken wore red and yellow, but those from Württemberg blue and yellow. The Hungarian hussars had light blue breeches with dark green jackets, or red with dark blue, or with light green, and they had short, fur-trimmed jackets slung over their left shoulders. The hussars spoke hardly any German, drank like fish, and wore their dark hair in long curls or braids on either temple, like girls‌—‌a very strange sight with their large stiffened mustaches.

A number of mounted staff officers rode into Franz’s field of vision and stopped on the small promontory to survey through their telescopes the terrain and the enemy’s preparations. Franz recognized General Luszinsky. He commanded the infantry regiments “Salzburg,” “Würzburg” and “Varell.” With him were Generals Vecsey of the cavalry and Kleefeld of the Austrian advance guard, and their aides.

Sometimes Franz wished he were a dragoon or cuirassier. They looked very dashing on their fine horses. But at least he was not an artillery officer or sapper who could do nothing but point their guns and fire. Once in place they were immovable and, if overrun by the enemy, they had to abandon their positions and run for it. No, the infantry was the place to be. It was the fist that punched the enemy in the belly, forcing them back, separating their columns, and making them easy prey for cavalry swords.

He watched the generals, trying to guess from their gestures what they were planning. He knew the green-coated sharpshooters would begin the battle. They would try to kill the enemy’s officers and thus disable their regiments early on. He had seen one of them pass through their own ranks during the night and wondered about it at the time, but the man would have found his place by now.

Strangely, he still felt no fear at all, not even when the long Prussian infantry columns formed in the distance. God was with the just cause.

*

It was time. The light was not perfect but quite good enough. The assassin crept up behind the fallen oak, gauged the distance once more, and found it still right. He knelt and raised his rifle, sighted, and nodded to himself. It was one of the new wheel lock rifles made by a master gunsmith in Switzerland. He drew a cartridge from his pocket – he carried only two and did not expect to need the second. Biting off the end of the paper cover, he took the bullet between his teeth, then poured a pinch of the powder into the priming pan, and closed the frisson. The rest of the powder went into the barrel, followed by the paper, and the whole thing was tamped down firmly. The bullet went in next – he spit it down the barrel‌—‌and was tamped down again. Then he rested the barrel on the fallen tree, pulled back the cock, and was ready.

Any moment now his man would appear. He slowed his breathing. It would be a tricky shot‌—‌a moving target was always difficult‌—‌but he was close enough and the angle was good. And while he was still in the shadows and hidden by the trunk and branches, his victim would be in the open. In a matter of minutes, perhaps seconds, he would move into his sights.

*

On the promontory, General Luszinsky separated from his colleagues and their aides, and turned his horse to gallop back. As he passed in front of Franz, the general’s eye brushed over him and the soldiers of the Seventh. He swerved to an abrupt halt before Franz.

“You look familiar. What’s your name?” he snapped, looking from the glum-faced, slouching figures of the men to Franz.

His heart beating faster, Franz saluted. “Ensign von Langsdorff, sir. We met in Hof a few weeks ago.”

Luszinsky stared at him for a moment. “Are these men yours, Ensign?”

Franz thought of their disreputable appearance and reddened. “Some of them, sir.”

“Some of them? Don’t you know?”

“I do know, sir. All of us belong to the Infantry Regiment Salzburg, sir. I am with the company from Kurpfalz.”

The bewhiskered face softened slightly. “Ah. Kurpfalz. Right. Some of your dragoons and cuirassiers are also here today. How old are you?”

“Twenty, sir.”

“You look younger. And you have just started your service?”

“Yes, sir. Three weeks ago, sir.” Franz felt a little resentful that he had been forgotten so soon, but then generals were busy people.

The general still stared down at him. “
Ils sont fou
!” he muttered. “
Des enfants
! Children to take men into battle. You have not seen any action, Ensign?”

Franz felt his ears burn. “Not yet, sir. But I completed my course in Heidelberg with honors. And I hope to do well today.”

“
Mon dieu!”
The general gave a sharp laugh, then sobered abruptly. “I hope you do, Ensign. I hope you do. Your commanding officers should have lined up the men. No doubt they will take care of their duties shortly.” He gestured toward the plain. “See those Prussian columns?” Franz nodded. “They will advance against you, and you will exchange fire. Do you know the drill?”

Franz straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then. Just do your duty. Don’t try to be a hero.”

“No, sir. I mean…” Franz broke off helplessly.

The general looked at the men again. “Someone go and get the officers,” he bellowed, “and the rest line up. You look like a damned herd of cattle.”

They scrambled, found their places, and presented reasonably organized lines.

Luszinsky shook his head and turned back to Franz. “Remember, Ensign,” he said in a lower voice, “no heroics. If you desert your place to engage the enemy, you will risk the colors, and with the colors gone, the men will run.”

Franz nodded, ashamed that he had thought to use his sword.

A sudden burst of rifle fire made him jump. On the plain below him strange puffs of smoke blossomed. Franz gaped at them. The general cursed in Polish and spurred his horse to gallop back to the general staff. A cavalry officer crossed in front of him at a trot, and he checked momentarily. Franz heard the crack of another rifle shot from the line of trees to his right and turned his head.

A horse screamed, then someone shouted. When Franz swung around again, the general staff was galloping off in all directions. The cavalry officer’s horse had unseated its rider. His foot was caught in a stirrup as it dragged him away.

Franz was still staring after him when the middle-aged sergeant shouted, “Hurry up, sir. The skirmishers have started. We’ll be moving right away.”

Franz ran. He remembered the colors and pulled them from their leather cover, shaking out the blue silk with the emblem of the virgin as he ran, and fixed them to the standard with shaking fingers. Then he took his place in front of the line. The battle had started.

Riflemen, green-coats from both armies, moved across the open ground toward each other, flinging themselves to the ground to fire, then running again. Where they found them, they used shrubs, ditches, stacks of rotting hay, a tumbled down barn for cover.

They were called
Jaeger
because they were recruited from hunters. Their rifles carried farther and were more precise than the muskets issued to the infantry. They had to take out as many of the officers and ensigns as possible before the columns moved. To protect the colors, each ensign had a sergeant assigned to him to step in his place if he fell.

On the Prussian side, a blare of a trumpet was followed by a rattle of drumbeats, faint at first, then louder as the tambours and pipers joined in. The Prussian advance had begun. Salzburg still waited, listening to the cacophony of musical notes and gunfire. Bullets passed over Franz’s head and flicked into the grassy ground. Once someone cried out behind him. Franz hoped the command to advance would come soon. He did not relish standing there being shot at.

In the town of Freiberg the church bell struck seven. It seemed earlier. The sun had finally come up but could not pierce the thick cloud cover or the brown haze from campfires. The battlefield was cast in a dismal twilight.

Then a strip of cloud broke apart, and a fierce sulfur-yellow light fell over the land. The advancing Prussian uniforms looked green in this light. They were already much closer than Franz had thought.

“Salzburg will advance!”

The command came from the rear, repeated by subalterns and sergeants through the ranks. Franz straightened his back, held the colors more firmly, and glanced down the line of men beside him. The drum struck up, the fifers fifed, and they began to march. They moved in tight formation, in lockstep to the rhythm of the drummers and pipers.

Franz kept his eye on the Prussian column General Luszinsky had pointed out. They were headed toward each other and nothing could stop them, not even the enemy fusiliers. When someone was hit, the others stepped over him and closed ranks.