"Tom Purdom-Dragon Drill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Purdom Tom)

The first twenty-three years if Frederick's reign had been, for all practical purposes, a struggle for
Silesia. In 1740, his soldiers had crossed a border for the first time and seized the province from the
young heir to the Hapsburg domains, Maria-Theresa. Between 1740 and 1747, he had fought two wars
in defense of his conquest. Between 1756 and 1763, he had fought for it again, in a grinding seven year
struggle that had nearly destroyed his house. And all the while, the Hapsburgs had known that this thing
came out of the east once every fifty years. Three times in their history a member of their family had
saved the province from destruction. Before that, the firebreather had been appeased with the daughters
of the local princes and barons.
Frederick flicked his sleeve at the third man in the room -- the plump boy-in-an-officer's-uniform he
had introduced as Dietrich Jacob Alsten. "Monsieur Alsten has prepared a memorandum on the
characteristics of these creatures, based on the reports that have survived as legends. I am preparing a
carriage equipped with sleeping accommodations. You will leave tonight -- after we've shared some
refreshment and entertainment. Your detachment will consist of two battalions of infantry, one battalion of
grenadiers, several squadrons of hussars and cuirassiers, and whatever artillery we can muster."
The King's sleeve flicked again. "I think you can understand the difficulties we will face if the people of
our new province feel they have been rescued by a Hapsburg who offered herself as a sacrifice. You
must show them that Prussian discipline -- and Prussian firepower -- are a better defense than the skirts
of a Hapsburg princess."
***


They had been camping on the little hill for two days when the lone hussar rode toward them with his
sword raised above his head -- the agreed-upon signal that the "Polish animal" was drawing near. The
major who had the watch shouted the first orders. Drums took up the beat. Infantry trotted to their rows
of neatly stacked muskets and began assembling in formation.
Von Wogenfer descended from his carriage at a deliberate, calculated pace. On his left, Princess
Costanze Adelaide had already been standing by her own carriage. Two grenadiers grabbed her
shoulders as he turned their way. The captain who was in charge of her guard snapped an order and the
grenadiers hustled her toward the stake planted halfway down the slope. A bayonet had been lashed to
the top of the stake. Just below the bayonet, a small regimental flag quivered in the early summer breeze.
Costanze Adelaide was a small, pleasantly round woman in her late twenties. The two grenadiers were
men who had been chosen for their size and fighting ability -- like all the soldiers in the grenadier
battalions. Their tall, pointed hats deliberately magnified the effect of their stature. The princess looked
like a child between them.
Von Wogenfer lifted his hat and bowed to her back. "Good luck, mademoiselle. My apologies."
The princess halted her guards with a toss of her hands that proved she was, without doubt, a
Hapsburg. "I shall pray for your soul, general."
The king would have noted the long hours she spent in churches and dismissed her as a religious
fanatic. Von Wogenfer had discovered she was a theologian who had absorbed the most sophisticated
instruction the Roman priests could offer. The logic that guided her behavior had been as lucid as a
mathematical proof.
He bowed again. "And I shall do my best to keep you alive, your highness."
She stared at him for a long moment. "If that is your primary concern, general, you can save yourself --
and your sovereign -- a great deal of trouble."
His horse appeared at von Wogenfer's side. His body servant handed him a clean pair of white gloves
and he systematically inspected both sides of each glove -- as he always did -- before he slipped them
over his hands. He didn't place his boot in the stirrup until he was certain every soldier within thirty paces
had seen him run his eyes over every detail of the saddle and the leopard skin saddle cloth.
The troops had fallen in and started tramping to their positions. Snare drums were tapping the
cadence. The standards of the regiments and the halberds of the sergeants swayed above the bayonets of