I think it’s in the hands of fate, really. If Romeyko can come up with skis, I’d prefer the skis. If all the Germans can find for us are snowshoes, snowshoes it will have to be.
And then there’s that request for poison gas. I can certainly see the use of it. And Dr. Botnikov says we could make it ourselves with the right materials. Why bother with that, though; the Germans and Austrians have plenty and would likely lend us some.
But how would we use them? A cylinder? Oh, hell, no; the wind is far too unpredictable. There are no shells small enough for our infantry guns and, even if there were, there wouldn’t be enough gas in one—or fifty—to do much good. Grenades? Similar problem with the added disadvantage that, if we did manage to get enough in one, my own people would be too close. I suppose we could take in a couple of dozen larger shells with us and put some explosive in where the fuse normally goes. But then what? We push them through a window into a basement full of Bolsheviks? What’s the gas do that the high explosive wouldn’t already? And if we’re using high explosive, alone, we can rely on the concussion in a closed space and don’t need the weight of the shell.
So I think, screw it; no poison gas.
On the plus, we don’t have to take two good men and put them to work making white smocks. The Germans asked the Austrians and they’re providing us what we need, along with trousers. As for shortening the coats, the Germans suggest pinning them up. I think that works for me.
Meanwhile, apparently the Bulgarians mine a good deal of coal and have plenty of those carbide lamps Ilyukhin suggests. May even be here by now…
Quartermaster’s Office, Camp Budapest
“I asked for two hundred,” the rat-faced Captain Romeyko said, apologetically. “They sent me one hundred and forty. Of those, after he looked them over, Ilyukhin tells me sixty-five are good, and he might be able to fix up another forty or so from parts. To be fair, they did sent us a fair number of parts, flints, gaskets, even some reflectors and nozzles.”
“How long before we have these one hundred and five, give or take?” asked Daniil.
“Three days to fix that many up, sir. I’ve gotten Ilyukhin a couple of helpers.”
“So long? No!” Kostyshakov shook his head, emphatically. “We need those things in the hands of the assault platoons and their immediate attachments immediately. Yesterday, Sunday or not, would have been better.”
Said Romeyko, “Takes a certain amount of training, the coal miner’s son says, to use them safely and to get the best use out of them. And most of them still will need work.”
“Okay, fine,” Daniil agreed. “Today, late today, Ilyukhin trains the grenadier company to use them, as well as the officers and senior noncoms of the other three companies. Issue is to the grenadiers’ assault platoons and engineers, plus the company headquarters. As he fixes more, they’ll be issued to the other three.”
“Why should Number One Company get any, sir? I’m not complaining, just asking.”
“It’s a good question, Romeyko. In the first place, because I want to have one. In the second, because being able to see your hands in front of you at night is useful to you, to the adjutant, to the heavy machine gun section, to the infantry gun section, and even to Kaledin, leading his horses and mules…”
“Okay, sir. Ummm… speaking of horses and mules, we have some problems.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been working with the liaison noncom—I think he’s a noncom—Captain Bockholt sent us, Mueller’s his name, trying to figure out loads. It’s tough. You want to see, sir?”
“Yeah, show me.”
Romeyko pulled up a cloth to reveal a couple of chalkboards. “Sir, I started with the presumption that we’ve only got about nineteen tons per load. That’s more than they took to Africa, and assumes we’ll be able to load some heavy equipment and supplies low, to make up for ballast, plus that they’ll be able to reduce fuel a good deal. It also means we’ll have to land near a body of water and cut a hole in the ice for them to pump in more water for ballast. I think you knew that.
“It’s also a five- or six-day round trip. That’s got a couple of different implications. One is that the first troops on the ground will start eating carried rations on Landing Day minus three, and will not stop eating carried rations until maybe twenty-seven days later. That means that for every man we send in the first lift, we have to provide over eighty pounds of food. And, in this weather, that means probably one hundred pounds would be better. So our nineteen tons of lift means also that we can only carry a maximum of one hundred and thirty-nine men.”
Kostyshakov looked over the calculations on the upper left hand corner of the chalkboard and said, “Okay, but…?”
“But I don’t think we should do it that way. Instead, we should go in as light as possible, in manpower, and carry extra food for later lifts. So, sir, I suggest that the first lift should be nothing but the Fourth Company and a small slice of your staff, no more than ten men, say. That means we can bring in an additional six tons, plus a little, of food and fodder.”
“Speaking of fodder, the very last ones to come in should be Kaledin’s mules and horses.”
Kostyshakov held up one hand. “Stop right there. I need at least six horses to come in early, with the first lift, to mount some of the grenadier company for local security patrolling.”
“Ugh,” said the quartermaster. He began scribbling on the chalkboard. “That seriously screws up my calculations. But… okay, off the top of my head, six horses, about four tons, just in themselves, and then twenty-seven days of oats and hay… at twenty-six pounds a day, plus water for three days, at eighty pounds a day, minimum, for the three days of flight. Let me think… that’s just under two tons for fodder, three quarters of a ton for water…
“Sorry, sir, but that’s not doable. We need to leave behind maybe two horses, or maybe seven or eight men.”
“No,” said Kostyshakov. “Short the horses’ fodder. We’ll bring in more with later lifts. Hmmm… I thought the captain said twenty-one tons of lift.”
“He did, but once we figured out the modifications we would need to store the gear, the supplies, the equines, and the troops, we came up with about two tons of wood, chain, rope, buckets, and hay to spread under the horses and mules when they let go, which they will.
“Okay, sir, so we’ve got one lift and one company on the ground, with a half dozen horses. The next lift…”
The sun was still up, though it hung low in the west. The men of Fourth Company, plus another twenty from the other three companies, sat in a natural amphitheater between the camp and the ranges.
Ilyukhin had never spoken in front of a crowd before, let along one the bulk of whom outranked him. Still, he had the commander’s backing, both commanders’, as a matter of fact, and the courage of a coal miner to guide and guard him. If he was nervous, it was tolerably hard to see it.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “oh, and you, too, Corporal Bernados, if I can have your attention.”
The joke at Bernados’ expense went over well, even if it was a tired joke in a dozen armies already. The engineer corporal shut up, since talking was what had made him the butt of the joke, then gave the coal miner’s boy the shish, the Russian version—thumb between index and middle finger—of the universal, one fingered salute. This got more laughs, still.