by Eric Flint
There remained, of course, all the immense obstacles of a political nature. Which might indeed be too great to overcome. But he'd decided the matter was worth raising with the emperor. He'd need his permission to pursue the matter, anyway. Beyond that, Ferdinand was one of his closest friends and a man whose advice was often shrewd, sometimes uncannily so.
"I'm telling you, Noelle, you oughta ask him out on a date. Or finagle him into asking you out, if you're still hung up on proper gender roles on account of you're such an ancient."
"Why don't pharmacists develop the most useful drug of all?" Noelle grumbled. "The label would read: 'Eliminates shit-eating grins. Especially effective on teenagers.' "
Denise ignored that, of course. "Me, if I want to go out on a date with some guy—not often, but it does happen—I just tell him when I'm going to pick up with my bike."
"He's an enemy, in case you've forgotten."
Denise waved her hand. "Wars come, wars go. True love remains."
"You are insufferable, sometimes. And shut up, will you? He's heading our way."
A few minutes later, after Janos explained that they'd be parting company, Denise's silly idea became a moot one as well.
Which made it all the more alarming, to Noelle, that she felt such a sharp anxiety at the news. Denise, at least, had the excuse of being sixteen years old. What was hers?
Firmly, she told herself she was simply worried about the practical aspects of the situation.
"I think it's outrageous, Captain Drugeth, that you are abandoning us without even a single horse."
He gave her that damned soulful smile that did annoying things to the primitive and ancient parts of her brainstem.
"First, Ms. Stull, it is rather absurd to use the term 'abandoning' when I am simply doing what you would have done yourself several days ago had you not given me your parole. Second, you don't need a horse to travel. Lannie Yost's ankle has healed and Eddie Junker's broken arm does not impede him from walking. Third, this is hardly a wilderness or a desert which must be crossed swiftly on pain of death. I am not, I remind you, depriving you of money with which you can buy food and shelter from any of the villages in the area. I am even allowing you to keep Eddie Junker's rifle and its ammunition, should you need to hunt for sustenance. Something for which, I can assure you, Austria's gunmakers would curse me if they found out."
Noelle sneered. Tried to, anyway. "You know perfectly well it's an antique."
He shrugged. "All the better, actually, from the standpoint of a down-time gunmaker using it for a model. As you know perfectly well, the USE's now-famous SRG is patterned after an even more antiquated design."
Which was true, of course. So Noelle fell back to glaring silently, feeling as if she were all of fourteen years old. Drugeth's conditions for releasing them were perfectly rational. Even somewhat generous, in fact. Her anger was just the way the underlying anxiety was working its way to the surface.
Why didn't the stupid pharmacists develop a drug that would anesthetize those useless brainstem parts?
Probably because we've been tested over and over again by evolution, and passed with flying colors, came the unwanted reply.
Out of the tension and confusion of the moment, like a thesis and antithesis struggling, came the synthesis.
"Very well!" she snapped. Her eyes became slitted. "But I warn you, Captain Drugeth. You haven't seen the last of me!"
"I look forward to that with great anticipation."
And off he went.
Denise shook her head. "Well, that's about the weirdest way I ever heard anybody make a date, but sure enough. It's a date."
"Shut. Up."
Chapter 13. The Map
High Street Mansion, Seat of Government for the State of Thuringia-Franconia
President's Office
Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia
"You should fire that whole garrison at Saalfeld," Noelle said testily. "For sure, get rid of that useless commander. I swear to you, Ed, if they'd been willing to get off their butts as soon as we arrived, I might have still caught the bastards."
"Not likely, Noelle. By then, they'd have been well into Bohemia—and there's the tiny little problem that while our relations with Wallenstein are good, they aren't so good that he'd take kindly to us sending a military unit into his territory without his permission. And getting that permission would have taken at least another week."
He shrugged. "Besides, it wouldn't do any good. The SoTF doesn't have the kind of money it would take to throw top wages at mercenary units to make sure we get good ones for mere garrison duty far from the war zones. If we fired Captain Stamm and his company, anyone we got to replace them wouldn't be any better in the raring-to-go department, and would probably be a lot worse in what matters, which is doing a decent job of keeping the peace locally without gouging the residents more than they think is reasonable."
He came out of his relaxed slouch and folded his hands on the desk. "Relax, will you? I know you're like a bulldog when you set your teeth into something, but this is really not worth the amount of sweat you're putting into it. Look, you did your best, and the baddies got away. It happens. That said, it was not the crime of the century, the only people who got killed were baddies themselves—I almost wish I'd seen that; I really detested Jay Barlow—and the military impact of the tech transfer will be minor in the short run and probably not even that significant in the long run."
Noelle eyed him skeptically. "I notice you didn't say anything about the political impact."
Ed shrugged again. "So the Crown Loyalists are trying to make hay out of it. Big deal. That's the nature of politics, Noelle. You win some, you lose some, and when you do lose the other guy points with alarm and swears to the electorate that the sky is falling. I've talked to Mike about it, and I can assure you he's not losing any sleep over the affair. Neither am I. Neither should you."
Noelle sighed. "I hate giving up on something I started."
After a moment, she managed a smile. "At least Eddie's arm looks to be healing okay. The doctor told him it should be as good as new in a few more weeks. So I guess—I feel bad about it, even if it wasn't my fault—that the only real casualty on our side is that Lannie and Keenan are out of a job."
"No, they aren't. Didn't you hear? Kay Kelly had a conniption, of course, and demanded that her husband fire the two bums. I guess she was even making noises about filing criminal charges. But you know Bob. Hell of a nice guy, even if it does take him a month to screw in a lightbulb because he's got to redesign it to his satisfaction first. So he just plain refused, on the grounds that they meant well. And don't let anybody tell you that he doesn't wear the pants in that family, even if Kay could teach graduate courses in henpecking."
"That she could," said Noelle, grimacing. "I'll make it a point—even more than usual—to steer clear of her over the next few weeks."
"Unless you go to Magdeburg, you won't have to," Ed said. "She left yesterday, once she realized Bob wasn't going to budge."
"What? She's going to try to get the federal government to press charges?"
"Oh, hell no." Ed shook his head, smiling. "I don't like the woman, but nobody ever said she let any moss grow. She went up to Magdeburg to lobby the government to put in an order for the Dauntless line. Now that it's been field-tested and proved it could carry out a successful bomb run. Not the plane's fault the dummies piloting it bombed the wrong guys, after all."
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. One of her arguing points—you know how quick she is to level accusations of favoritism—is that that's more than Mike Stearns, playing his usual favorites game, ever asked Hal and Jesse to prove with their planes. Which he commissioned on nothing better than a prayer and a promise."
Noelle couldn't herself from laughing. "She's got brass, I'll say that for her."
The laughter finally broke her sour mood. She gathered up her stuff and rose. "Well, okay. I guess you're right. And what I do know is that you'
re busy. So I'll get out of your hair. Besides, I'd better see if I can put in a word for Denise before her parents skin her alive."
But when she got to the Beasleys' place, one of those big double-sized trailers called "mobile homes" in blithe disregard for the cinder blocks it was actually sitting on instead of wheels, she discovered her mission was unnecessary. Denise's mother Christin had thrown a fit, sure enough. But Buster had taken it all in stride.
There were some advantages, it seemed, to having a father with an ex-biker's views on parenting.
"What the hell, Noelle, it's like I told my wife." He placed a large, affectionate hand on his daughter's shoulder. "It's not like she got pregnant or strung out on dope or started working for a pimp or even got in trouble with the cops. For that matter, her new tattoo she got yesterday's sorta reasonable."
Noelle eyed the tattoo on Denise's shoulder, easily visible because she was just wearing a tank top inside the warm trailer. That was the tattoo she'd gotten at the age of fourteen. A death's head with the logo Watch it, buddy. Completely tasteless, in Noelle's opinion, although she'd allow it might cause high school boys to think twice.
Buster had thought that tattoo was reasonable, too, she remembered—and without the "sorta" qualifier. She didn't want to think—
"I love it!" exclaimed Denise. "Here, I'll show you."
With no further ado, she yanked up the tank top, exposing her slim midriff.
"Oh, dear God," was all Noelle could think to say.
It was a lot better from an artistic standpoint, certainly. The tattoo artist had quite a bit of skill.
Still.
The central image, right on the girl's belly, was that of a sexpot wearing a flying jacket—not that any flying jacket would expose that much bosom—pants that looked painted on, and spike-heeled boots. She was sitting with her legs crossed—lounging, rather—and holding a bomb in one hand, with a sputtering fuse.
Smiling seductively, of course.
That was bad enough. The logo was worse.
Above the image: You can land here
Below it: If you don't crash
Denise frowned. "You don't like it?"
"Well . . ."
Huffily, the girl dropped the hem of the tank top. "Just 'cause you can't keep from beating around the bush. How's Eddie doing?"
"Fine," said Noelle. Warily: "Why do you ask?"
"He's cute." She jerked a thumb at Buster. "My dad even says he's okay. I thought I might drop by on him later."
"You stay away from Eddie!"
"I bet he'll like the tattoo."
Noelle hurried away to warn Eddie of an impending visitation by a one-girl Mongol horde.
Alas, Eddie seemed unconcerned. "What's the problem? I like Denise. A lot, in fact."
"She's wild. And she's much too young for you."
"Don't be silly, Noelle. Denise is a bit wild, I suppose—although nothing like my cousin Kaethe—but she's not actually foolish. And I'm certainly not."
That last was true enough. Noelle started to feel relieved until she saw that Eddie's gaze seemed more than a little unfocused. As if he were contemplating in his mind's eye a certain tattoo that she had, perhaps unfortunately, described in great detail.
However the visit turned out—and Noelle wasn't really worried, since Eddie was to deliberation what a cow was to munching grass—he seemed his usual self when she visited him the next morning. He had a large map of the SoTF and the surrounding territories spread out across his table, and was studying it intently.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Just indulging in my curiosity. I'm as tenacious as you are, you know. I just don't have your compulsion to act on it at all costs." He lifted his eyes from the map. "Any more news from Bohemia?"
Noelle flopped onto the nearby armchair. "Nothing. Well, not 'nothing.' Wallenstein is certainly taking seriously the incursion of an Austrian expedition into his territory, even a small one. He and Pappenheim have the Black Cuirassiers scouring the whole area. But . . . nothing. Not a sign of them. We just got another lack-of-progress report on the radio an hour ago."
Eddie nodded. "I'm not surprised. I've been thinking about it, and considering the terrain. It finally dawned on me that Drugeth probably didn't stay in Bohemia for very long."
Noelle sat up straight. "What?"
"Come here. I can show you better on the map." Noelle was there in a heartbeat. Eddie's finger started tracing a route through the Fichtelgebirge. "He can cut back across here, near this little town called Kötzting. From there, he can just follow the Regen down to Regensburg, and from there it's an easy barge-ride into Austria."
"But . . . We have a garrison at Regensburg. A great damn big one, too, and real soldiers."
"Indeed so. Because they have been assigned, no matter the cost, to keep the enemy from crossing the Danube by seizing the bridge there. Regensburg anchors our left flank against Bavaria. Not likely, therefore—is it?—that they'll be much concerned with anything else. And there are no troops to the north until you reach Amberg. A lot of military traffic between Amberg and Regensburg, of course, but they'd be going along"—he pointed to a river just west of the Regen—"the Naab. Not the Regen."
Noelle stared at the map, while Eddie continued. "See what I mean? He doesn't have to worry about anything except the short time he'd be passing through Regensburg itself."
"But . . . Damnation, the garrison at Regensburg was warned to look for them."
"Noelle, be serious. Yes. The garrison at Regensburg—along with a dozen others—received an alert over the radio to keep an eye out for the possibility that a party of up-time defectors might be passing through. Maybe. At a time unknown. In wagons. Possibly with pack horses."
He tapped the spot indicating Regensburg. "First, they would have paid no attention to it. Even if they did, they'd be looking for 'up-timers' on wagons or horses. Given Janos Drugeth, what do you think the likelihood is that, by now, he hasn't obtained river transport and doesn't have the defectors outfitted as a party of down-time merchants?"
His eyes narrowed, as if he were gauging something. "If I'm right, he's already on the Regen. Should be passing through Regensburg today or tomorrow."
Given Janos Drugeth . . .
"That son-of-a-bitch!" Noelle yelped. Out the door she went.
After Eddie closed the door and sat back down at the table, he shook his head.
"Denise was right. She's got it bad."
Chapter 14. The Bridge
High Street Mansion, Seat of Government for the State of Thuringia-Franconia
President's Office
Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia
"I'm afraid Mr. Piazza left for Bamberg this morning, Ms. Stull. He won't be in radio contact again until this evening, at the earliest. Carol Unruh went with him." The secretary folded her hands, in that inimitable and unmistakable way that they must spend a whole semester teaching people how to do in Executive Assistant College.
"I Am Afraid There Is Nothing I Can Do."
In caps. Noelle went out the door.
Municipal Complex
Police Department
Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia
"Gimme a break, Noelle," said Preston Richards. Grantville's police chief scowled at an assignment chart on the wall of his office. "You got any idea how stretched thin I am? No, I don't have any cops I can detach from duty on what sounds like a wild goose chase. And how would they get there in time anyway?"
Before she could keep arguing, he raised his hand. "I'll send another radio message to the garrison at Regensburg. But that's it. And I doubt very much that'll do any good. Word came yesterday that the Bavarians are moving more troops into the area."
No caps, but it didn't matter. Press Richards had a baccalaureate from Stubborn Like a Mule College. Graduated magna cum laude.
Noelle went out the door.
Regensburg
The Upper Palatinate, under USE imperial administration
"Idiots," snarled Colonel Moritz Kreisler. "We've got at least three Bavarian regiments moving around just the other side of the Danube"—he pointed an accusing finger at the river, as if it were the guilty party—"and they want me to disrupt my disposition of forces in order to hunt down some fucking thieves?"