Black Skies Ch. 02

=========CHAPTER TWO==THINGS GET STEAMY==========

Prague, Kingdom of Bohemia, Austrian Empire

October 1853

Antonín Čapek (pronounced Cha-peck) was an engineering apprentice, working under the moderately famous Heinrich Hahnrei, owner and proprietor of Hahnrei's Hydraulics. Heinrich, the fifth son of a minor Austrian noble family, used what little capital he inherited from his parents to start up a machines shop in the bustling city of Prag, or Praha as it was known to its Czech majority. He picked up skilled workers like Antonín for pfennigs on the mark, and kept them using deceitful contracts that delayed release from apprenticeship indefinitely, excusing himself from paying them a full salary and expecting them to be grateful for the opportunities he supposedly provided them.

"You don't know it yet, my boy, but people will associate you with the fine name of Hahnrei. What is a couple of Kreuzers a day compared to that? Why, you could even land a job in Vienna! Not bad for a Bohemian," Antonín clearly recalled his words from the first time they met.

Unfortunately, the illustrious inventor was not as accomplished as he made himself appear. Heinrich's improvements to Schluyter bodysuit were stolen from a Polish associate who was tricked out of the patent and ended up penniless. Antonín knew that any innovations he brought to the shop's machines would be taken from him, with all credit going straight to the fat Austrian who now didn't even spend an hour a day in the shop.

But the lack of his master's presence was a blessing, for Antonín loved working with the machines undisturbed. He was fascinated with making the designs smaller and more efficient, for which Heinrich did give him the wages and autonomy to do. Still, every increase in the shop's sales and reputation only gave him the money to buy slightly better clothes, and a fuller sandwich at the delicatessen, while netting Hahnrei a small fortune, almost all of which he spent on his wife.

Oh that horrid bitch!

Heinrich was married to Änna von Leopold-Junge, the daughter of a disgraced Prussian Junker and twenty-six years his junior. Her German was even haughtier and more arrogant than the Austrians who lorded around Praha like it was their city which the Czechs just happened to be squatting in. And she had a disgusting habit of insisting all of Heinrich's employees refer to her as 'Prinzessin', something that would have made her a laughingstock around true nobility, but was even more disgusting to the shop's multi-ethnic crew, giving them another reminder that they were being lorded over.

She took out her insecurities on Antonín, as his German was less guttural than hers and didn't make him stick out like a sore thumb around Heinrich's distinguished friends and company. His talents were obvious to all around him, and Heinrich even jokingly referred to Antonín as 'his little nephew'. To the status-obsessed former noblewoman, it was intolerable how much her husband spoke positively about the dark-haired upstart.

On the other hand, Antonín never took pride in the fact that his German was less accented than hers: to him it was a constant reminder that the Czech language and people were suppressed. Considering that the Minister of the Interior was cracking down on dissidents everywhere, limiting freedom of the press and sending thousands to political prisons without public trial, he had no desire to stick his neck out and draw undue attention. His refusal to acknowledge her antagonism to her face only made her more vexed.

Whenever the Prussian walked by the young Czech, she'd have her nose upturned and her eyes closed. Every 'hmph!' grated on his nerves, making him grip his wrench tighter and silently fill his head with black thoughts.

The only amusement she provided him was in the way Heinrich would fawn over her and enable her bratty behavior. She would insist he buy her fine ermine coats even during Summer, and would throw food on the floor if it wasn't to her liking. She even made Heinrich give up alcohol as it was the cause of her father's ruin and many nights of drunken beatings at his hands.

Änna especially hated the fact that she had to live in a small house in the city instead of a palatial estate, surrounded by the varied nationalities of the Austrian Empire, living with a man of 'low riches' instead of a handsome military officer in a Prussian estate.

"Boy, she's so tart that you can make Sourdough out of her if you just ground her into bread," Josif quipped as he swept the floor.

Änna had just walked by the front window, but not before she tossed another disdainful look at the workers inside. Her blue eyes were pale and hateful.

"I could certainly grind her up," Antonín grumbled through his teeth. He was sorting the day's leftover bolts and wingnuts by size to put them back.

"Ohhhh, I didn't know you liked her, Toník. She is cute, though. In a spiteful kind of way," Josif laughed, causing Antonín to spill his bolts onto the floor.

"I didn't mean it like that, you hound! I meant that I would wring my hands around her neck!" Antonín shouted murderously, trying to pick up the bits of metal under the dim light. The shop's light bulbs were made of carbon filament and only generated a weak, yellow-orange glow. Trying to read a manual under such light would make a man go blind.

"Oh, Anton, how good your burly hands feel around my delicate goose neck!" Josif said, mocking the Prinzessin's accent and high voice. He was doing a little dance in place with his broom. Antonín had to admit a chuckle at his friend's silliness.

"Sziasztok-" a familiar, musical voice came in through the front door.

Josif dropped his broom to the floor and fell on one knee, thrusting his hands out.

"Margit, my darling! Have you come to accept my proposal?"

The Hungarian flower-girl only laughed, presenting the two workers with a basket of roses. "They're fresh from my mother's garden. Four pfennigs each," she said, lifting the basket handle up with both of her hands as if it were heavy. Her big green eyes and waifish gait always melted a man's heart.

Antonín bought two pity roses and put them in an empty cup, electing to finish his work. Josif lingered on, flirting with her. She playfully danced around his invitations and proclamations, always remaining open-ended and making no commitments to spend time with him.

"So, Tóni," she called out to the wealthier man in the shop, her voice clearly conveying interest, "Perlman's bakery is having a fire sale today. Maybe you two boys can accompany me and get some cheap bread for yourselves as well."

"I have bread enough in my pantry. Anymore and it will only go to feed the rats," he replied with a wave of his hand, not even turning around to face her. His casual lack of interest was not enough to discourage the impetuous Magyar.

"Come on! You've spent all day working in this stinky shop! Come get some air!" She yelled teasingly, loosening the straps on his leather apron, making him almost spill his nuts and bolts again.Women never take no for an answer, he grumbled internally.

"Fine, fine, I'll waste my money on some hard, crusty bread," he said, tossing his apron on the workbench and jangling the store keys from his pocket. Josif was already out the door.

The three paced hurriedly down the cobbled streets to the corner bakery, standing in line among Czechs, Slovaks, Hungarians, Serbs, Croats, Jews, Rusyns, Romanians, Ukrainians, Poles, Italians and Slovenes. A hodgepodge of languages could be discerned from idle conversation, but most people were talking to each other in German.

The green-eyed, petite brunette left the two to hold her place in line as she sold the rest of her flowers. Antonín viewed her antics with some admiration, wondering how she could be so cheerful and friendly during such gloomy weather. She had just turned eighteen a week ago, yet she still rocked back and forth on her heels like a young girl, exposing her calves from underneath her green dress. Her brown, braided hair fluttered animatedly underneath her white headscarf as she darted around.

She walked back to the two dark-haired Czechs, proudly fondling the copper coins in her delicate hand before stowing them in her dress pocket.

"I can buy a lot of bread with this," she said with pep in her step. She looked at her empty flower basket, picturing it filled with loaves.

"A lot of bad bread," Antonín retorted, before hushing himself. Why did he have to be so negative all the time?

"We're still quite early," Margit turned her head to the long line behind them. "There should still be some soft ones."

When they stepped inside, there was a mad frenzy of people rifling through the bread on the shelves, trying to get the most edible loaves. Antonín, with his long frame, managed to reach the ones higher up using his long arms. He walked out with five big sourdough buns and a baguette. Josif could only grab two, though that may have been all he wanted to purchase.

Margit emerged from between the shoulders of two big gentlemen pushing their way into the bakery, cradling her half-full basket protectively to her chest. She had about four buns.

"See? You were against the idea but you've got the biggest haul of any of us!" She joked, pointing at Antonín's silly appearance. He had them all under his arms like cheese wheels. He would have to walk with his arms stiff to avoid dropping any.

"Here," she raised her basket to him. "I can carry some for you."

Antonín looked down at the innocent girl, dropping two of his softest (on the inside) loaves. "You can have these."

Josif saw the exchange and looked down at his quarry. With a pained face, he offered her one of his baguettes.

"That's alright," she immediately assured him, "I've got more than enough now for me and my mother."

Shamefaced, Josif decided to head home before it got too dark. He vowed to make more money so that one day he too could afford to be generous.

Margit waited for Josif to disappear behind the corner, then turned to face the brooding engineer.

"Hey, would you like to have supper at my home? My mother's making goulash."

Antonín looked at her and blinked.

"It goes well with bread..."

Antonín scrunched up his face, unsure where this was leading. He was planning to have canned fish on rye tonight, but goulash seemed much more appetizing. But he didn't like impinging on other people's generosity. Heinrich's apprenticeship taught him that being in another's debt was like having a chain around your neck.

"It's getting dark. I'm afraid to walk the streets of Prága alone," she said in a small voice, pulling on his sleeve.

This made him feel guilty. Her arms were overloaded with bread, food she worked hard to buy. It would be a shame for her to draw the attention of thieves or other unscrupulous characters this close to night. At least he had a wrench fastened to his waist.

"I'll walk you to your home," he sighed, half-wondering why it was so difficult for him to deny her anything.

They promenaded the streets of Prague as the sun finally settled and the gas lamps were turned on along the street. The cobbled road was arched, so that sewage and filth would run off along the sides.

A breeze brought the foul stench of the factories and slaughterhouses coursing through the narrow streets. Margit converted her headscarf to a mask, while Antonín had to make do with holding his breath.

Finally, after avoiding all the unwelcome strangers they could, and donating a pfennig to a street orphan, the two made their way to Margit's home, a small apartment unit on the top floor of a three-story tenement. The same mélange of languages and ethnicities that characterized a major Austrian city was also present at the apartment complex.

"Good to see you, Margit. Is he a friend?" the old proprietor greeted the two. He was usually sour-faced and impatient with his tenants, but Margit and her mother brought much needed beauty to their building with their floral business.

"Just visiting for supper," Antonín cleared up. He didn't want to tarnish her reputation. Margit led him up the narrow stairway to her home. The walls were wet and stained, and the floorboards creaked in some places.

"Anya! I'm home!"

A weathered-looking middle-aged woman answered the door, inviting the two into the single room that made up their living, eating, and sleeping space. It wasn't much, but it was at least a home. Antonín slept inside the shop where he worked.

Margit had already told her mother about him, where he worked, how they met, and how he always bought a flower from her whenever she stopped by. Her mother already approved of his character based on her description, but eyed him carefully to see for herself the kind of man he was.

Margit enthusiastically stuffed her empty pantry with loaves of 'fresh' bread, and filled her up a small box underneath the floorboard with today's coins. She tossed Antonín a playful 'you wouldn't steal from us, would you?' look before taking her headscarf off and unbraiding her hair.

"He bought us some of this bread, anya, can he stay for dinner?"

"Of course, lánya. I've made enough for all of us."

The three held hands in a quick prayer of gratitude before spooning the savory stew. The meat tasted of beef shoulder spiced with paprika and garlic, and balanced with a medley of vegetables. He tore open a loaf of sourdough and dipped pieces into the wooden bowl. The women were content to simply eat it as it was, with bits of noodle, not wanting to alter nine hundred years of Hungarian tradition.

Antonín's repast was interrupted by a light tapping sensation on his leg. He scooted down in his chair and looked underneath the table cloth, finding nothing there.

Maybe it was a bug, he thought.

He took a sip of cheap wine to wash away his mouth's dryness when he felt it again. This time, it lingered on his calf.

He stared straight forward, paralyzed for some reason, like his brain knew what was going on but wouldn't tell him. In the corner of his eye, he saw Margit looking off to the side, innocently wiping her mouth with a cloth.

She stopped and held her leg in place as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

He looked down again and resumed eating like nothing had happened. She continued rubbing his leg.

Antonín found himself heating up. At twenty-four years of age, having spent his whole life in the countryside, engineering school and Hahnrei's shop, this was the first time he had any kind of intimate contact with a woman. The sensation of her rubbing against even his clothed leg felt so good, that he hoped that she would never stop. He even cast a furtive glance at her when she paused, causing her to smile subtly before resuming.

To his horror, Antonín found his penis growing stiff, and straightening out down his pant leg. He had to pretend to pat his full belly so he could bring his hands down and adjust himself. Luckily, Margit was unaware that she was getting himthis excited.

"My boss tells me that the Emperor's alarmed about the Ottomans and the Russians, and is moving troops into Transylvania."

Margit's anya made a distressed cry before explaining that she had relatives there. If either the Russians or the Turks declared war on Austria, her people would be on the frontlines. It was just five years ago that her family decided to come to Bohemia to escape the Hungarian Revolution.

"Don't worry," Antonín tried to reassure her. "Austria has no interest in getting involved, and neither side has any interest in attacking Austria. The troops are probably only there to defend the border, but there will be no war."

The old woman made the sign of the cross before clasping her hands in prayer for her cousins and nephews.

The conversation turned toward more pleasant subjects. Antonín deftly avoided telling her how much he made, but it was clearly more than the two Magyar women earned together from selling flowers. Margit's leg-rubbing intensified as he described his job and his passion for it, making him gulp and stutter and lose focus.

He felt a variety of sinful thoughts creep into his mind, and he could no longer bear to look at Margit's beautiful face.

"Thank you graciously for the food."

He hurriedly wrapped up dinner, helped put his dishes away, and said his goodbyes, leaving behind all but one loaf of his sourbread. Margit looked at him with confusion and sad disappointment on her face as he left through the door, secretly nursing the fire that had arisen within her belly.

As soon as he was out of the building, he leaned against the wall and sighed deeply, seeing his breath fog up the air in front of him. He paced back home to the shop, whereupon he committed the sin of Onanism three times and fell asleep.

-+-

Wallachia

November 1853

Following the end of the two-week ultimatum the Ottomans gave Russia to leave Romania, troops under Omar Pasha were sent to face the Russians in Western Wallachia, near Kalafat in the Southwest, while a detachment secretly and hastily crossed the Danube on the Eastern border, at Oltenitza, while the Russians were preoccupied.

A detachment of British rocketeers in the mechanized Ottoman force fired Congreves on a Russian-held fort in Turtukai, near Oltenitza, choking the defenders with state-of-the-art, secretly developed tear gas and preventing them from manning their heavy guns. A detachment, 6000-strong, under general Dannenberg, attempted a counter-act at the town using marksmen and shrapnel guns, but failed to dislodge the Ottomans from their newly-held fortress. Both sides were eviscerated by artillery, but the Ottomans held the fort until reinforcements on experimental steam carriages could arrive. Foreign military observers attached to the Ottoman army examined the effectiveness of the tear gas attack and concluded that greater success could be achieved with stronger blistering agents while humanitarian groups looked on in horror at the new weapons being unleashed on the European continent.

While the Russians achieved more success on their Western front where the fighting was limited to more conventional warfare, the Turkish East command had a clear path to Bucharest. Orders were made to fortify the city until reinforcements came.

Bucharest, Russian-held Wallachia

November 16, 1853

The greater part of the civilian population of Wallachia, as well as the outlying villages, had already been evacuated two weeks after the disaster at Oltenitza, making the city's defense more manageable. Some remained behind as corvées to help build and repair the barricades, sandbags, artillery positions, etc. The advance forces of the Russian armies were fighting the Ottomans to a stalement on the Western border, but slowly giving ground in the East, retreating from Mitreni to Curcani, to Budesti, then finally at Frumusani, less than twenty miles from Bucharest's outskirts.

Anxious soldiers in tan greatcoats sat huddled throughout the city, cigarettes lighting up their faces in the morning twilight. The sounds of guns firing in the distance carried over to Bucharest like thunderclaps. Tear gas victims streamed into the city on stretchers, as well as more maimed and wounded. Some cossacks tried to lighten the mood with lively song and dance, but even they looked upon their horses with sadness, knowing how easily shrapnel or even Minié balls could tear the poor beasts to stew meat.

Many mustached faces hung in gloom until the order was given for a surprise counter-attack. The Imperial engineers persuaded Army High Command that now would be the right time to unleash their stockpile. Gigantic, steam-powered pneumatic drills delivered by railway car had already dug an experimental tunnel to Plataresti, which was now behind enemy lines, deviously, behind one of the two artillery placements. A special unit of four hundred men would break out, eliminate the guns and return to the city after collapsing the tunnel. The vanguard would be headed by petty officers, mainly from the cadet corps, armored in nine foot tall lead body suits, armed with massive shotguns. Success on this mission could lead to widespread implementation of the suits for the rest of the campaign.