by Eric Flint
"Why not?"
Mike was a little amused to see the way a junior air force officer was questioning the prime minister of his nation on High Matters of State without so much as a by-your-leave-indeed, quite obviously without even having considered that he might be out of line. That wouldn't have happened in Simpson's by-the-book navy, for sure. Interservice rivalry in their new world, as such, was far milder than it had been back up-time-thankfully, as far as Mike was concerned. But what you might call the cultural differences between the various services were a lot more pronounced, to make up for it. If Mike were to make an analogy with his days as a student, the navy was the in-crowd fraternities and student government types; the army was the hairy radicals; and the air force was more or less the bikers.
But he didn't care, actually. Mike had gotten along well enough with everybody, in high school and college. He'd never heard Thorsten Engler's sarcastic opinion on the subject of up-timer security mania, but if he had he would've mostly agreed with him. Mike had concluded long before the Ring of Fire that at least ninety-five percent of all the "security necessities" he'd heard about up-time were just some bigshot's way of either covering something up or trying to make himself look like a bigger shot, or both.
"Well, I can't read their minds," Mike explained. "But, at a guess, I'd say the reason Hamburg's authorities are shying away from an all-out attack on the CoC stronghold in the city is because part of that stronghold includes one of the city's gates. Just outside of which, Torstensson's parked with eight full regiments."
"Ah." Woody frowned. "Then why doesn't the CoC just open the gate and be done with it?"
Mike clucked his tongue. "Flyboys. Trained by Colonel Jesse I-don't-need-no-steenkeeng-politics Wood, to make it worse. Let's just say that political turbulence is a lot more complicated than anything you'll run into up here-and the phrase Hamburg Committee of Correspondence has more than one noun."
Woody's frown had deepened. "To put it another way," Mike elaborated, "just because they're a CoC doesn't mean they're no longer citizens of Hamburg. They'll look at it from a different angle than the city's authorities, of course, but they're also looking to cut the best deal Hamburg can get out of this."
"Oh. All right, I can see that." Most of his attention was now focused on his flying, though, since he was getting ready to land. So all he said was, "And you're the deal-maker."
Torstensson was all business. "Till midafternoon, Michael." He glanced at his up-time watch. "Call it fifteen hundred, on the nose."
"Can we make it four o'clock? Sixteen hundred, rather."
The Swedish general shook his head, glancing at the western horizon. "No, sorry. This early in April, it will be dark by nineteen hundred. I want a minimum of four hours of daylight if I wind up fighting once we get into the city. Even going in at fifteen hundred is pushing it."
Mike accepted the inevitable. "Fine. How am I getting in?"
Torstensson waved forward another officer. "Cavalry escort." He gave Mike a sideways glance. "You can ride a horse?"
"Oh, yeah. Long as I'm not making any cavalry charges, anyway."
"No fear of that. You'll either be trotting in on a nice city road, or it's an ambush and you'll be dead."
"You could have maybe put that a little more delicately, Lennart," Mike groused.
An easy trot, it turned out to be, with no ambushes at all. In fact, by the time Mike got to the first CoC checkpoint, there was an official Hamburg delegation to meet him, along with the designated spokesmen for the city's CoC. Clearly enough, both sides in the dispute had seen his plane land, had their own sources of information that let them know who'd been coming in the plane-and neither one was about to let the other get the inside track on the ensuing negotiations.
Again, he found himself a little amused. Dinosaur-reactionary or wild-eyed-radical, or anywhere in between, Hamburg's citizenry had certain well-defined and long-established customs and attitudes that permeated all of them. Two stood out in particular:
They were devoted to their cussed independence, and every proper Hamburger from two-year-old toddlers on up was a natural-born businessman. Except for possibly Venetians, there were no people in Europe more addicted to mercantile deal-making and money-making schemes.
According to city legend, Emperor Barbarossa had declared Hamburg a city for free trading on May 11, 1189. It had been one of the major cities in the Hanseatic League during the Middle Ages, and had had its own navy since the fourteenth century. Although Hamburg had been occupied by the Danes twice during that time, it had managed to maintain effective independence by skillfully playing off Denmark against the Holy Roman Empire. The Wallenlagen, the massive fortifications that enhanced the city's defenses, had been constructed recently, starting in 1616, just to drive home the point to anyone who might object.
Independence was gone, now, and Mike was pretty sure even the most stubborn official on Hamburg's city council understood that. If they didn't, Mike would urge them to take a tour of their much-prized Wallenlagen. As much of the fortifications, that was to say, as Simpson's ten-inch guns had left intact as he passed through the city. Judging from what Mike had seen from the plane on his way in-he'd ordered Woody to overfly the city at low altitude twice before landing-that wasn't a whole lot. Not intact, anyway. There was plenty of rubble.
But that left the matter of Hamburg's commercial and trading rights and privileges still to be determined. The Hamburgers-both sides-were clearly hoping Mike had plenty of leeway for negotiation on that subject.
Which he did, in point of fact. In his radio exchanges with Gustav Adolf, the emperor had made it clear that while Hamburg's independence was to be eliminated-and no wiggling-he didn't care much about anything else. Neither did Mike, for that matter. His principal concern-which the emperor had expressed no opinion on, one way or the other-was to see to it that the power of the city's council was either broken altogether or so severely compromised and undermined that it could never regain its former control over the city.
Naturally-Mike almost felt like breaking into a rendition of "Tradition" from Fiddler on the Roof-the quarrels began over the shape of the table.
Figuratively speaking, anyway. The CoC delegates were adamant that the negotiations had to take place right there on the street just beyond the open gate-and Torstensson's eight regiments. They even had CoC members hauling chairs and a few tables from nearby taverns, for the purpose. The city council's delegates were just as adamant that the negotiations should take place in the Grossneumarkt, a large square on the city's western side which, just coincidentally, happened to be the location where the city's official militia assembled and practiced.
Mike let it go on for a few minutes, simply to establish the facade that he was a thoughtful fellow who considered all matters judiciously and ponderously. He might have even broken into "Tradition," except he really couldn't carry a tune that well.
Facade, though, is what it was. He'd already decided where he'd hold court-to call "negotiations" by their right name-before he'd passed through the gate. Torstensson had recommended the place to him.
"Enough," he said eventually. "We'll continue this in St. Jakobi church."
The city councilmen and CoC members squinted at him. Despite the age difference-the former, all middle-aged; the latter, mostly in their twenties-their expressions were almost identical. A painter might have called it "Owls, Suspicious."
"I'm not going to argue about this, people," Mike said mildly. "St. Jakobi's, it is." He turned toward his horse, giving loud orders to his cavalry escort. Soon thereafter, he set off, with the city's various negotiators trotting on foot in his wake.
He figured the church would make a suitable compromise for a meeting location. On the one hand-the key, critical hand-it was located within striking distance of Torstensson's regiments. On the other hand, it was a church. For all the incredible bloodshed that had engulfed Europe since the great war began in 1618, churches were still, more often than not, respected as sa
nctuaries. Even in the war's worst massacre, the sack of Magdeburg, those residents who had managed to find refuge in the city's Dom had had their lives spared.
So, he kept the substance of power while giving the city councilmen some reason to assume he wasn't actually out for their blood.
Once they reached the church, it took a bit of time for the wherewithal for a negotiation to be assembled. But, eventually, it was done. And by then it was two o'clock in the afternoon.
Right about when Mike had planned.
He looked at his watch, ignoring the keen-eyed interest of all the negotiators. Copies of up-time books were practically flooding Europe by now, but few people had ever actually seen in person one of the fabled up-time watches.
"Ah, blast it. We're running out of time. General Torstensson told me in no uncertain terms that if I didn't have a settlement by three o'clock-that's just one hour, and twenty of minutes of it will be needed to send him word-he'd storm the city."
Mike lowered the watch. "Generals, you know-and he's a stubborn Swede, to make it worse. Refused to give me any leeway at all."
Five minutes were wasted with indignant protests. Most of them, but by no means all, coming from the city councilmen. Mike waited patiently enough, since from his standpoint the more time they wasted, the stronger his bargaining position became. This was just another of life's many illustrations of Dr. Johnson's remark on the subject of a short time span concentrating the mind wonderfully.
Eventually, that thought seemed to occur to the city councilmen also. Silence fell over the ramshackle collection of tables around which everyone was sitting in the church's nave.
"Here's where we start," Mike said. "Hamburg's days as an independent city are over. Done. Finished. Don't even bother raising that issue, because the answer is 'absolutely not.' Emperor Gustav Adolf's patience was used up by you folks over the past few months, and there's nothing left. Perhaps more to the point, I can assure you that Torstensson's regiments outside the walls have no patience at all. I either go out there in a little over half an hour and tell them that they can march into the city as its legal protectors-they'll maintain discipline; you can rest assured of that-or they'll come in and sack it."
Silence. Mike waited a minute or so.
"Splendid. Now, let's move on to other matters. First, the emperor wishes me to assure Hamburg's representatives that he has no intention of abrogating or limiting their traditional and well-established rights as merchants. In fact, he plans to encourage Hamburg's prosperity by establishing it as the chief port for the United States of Europe."
That stirred up a pleased hubbub that lasted for quite a while, until Mike added: "You do understand, I trust, that will require a major naval base in the city."
That brought very sour looks from the city councilmen. Even some of the CoC delegates didn't look entirely enthusiastic at the prospect.
Hard to blame them, of course-seeing as how the ships that would be stationed there would presumably be commanded by the same man who'd just turned the Wallenlagen into a stone-and-brick equivalent of the city's traditional pounded meat patties that would someday, in a New York that didn't exist yet, be sold as "steak in the Hamburg style" and eventually add the word hamburger to the English language after Jewish immigrants started substituting ground beef for pounded beef.
Mike had learned that little tidbit from Morris Roth, before the jeweler left for Prague. He'd added it to the accumulating pile of evidence that the world was an interesting place, no matter what anybody said.
The councilmen's expressions were still very… pickled, you might say.
Mike shrugged heavily. "Look, people, face facts. The USE will need a naval outlet onto the North Sea just as much as it needs a commercial one. If we don't put the main naval base in Hamburg"-here, he added a weary sigh-"we'll have no choice but to develop another town. Most likely Bremerhaven."
That did the trick. Simpson himself, they would prefer to do without. But they were no dummies, and knew full well that a major naval base in Bremerhaven ran the risk of spilling over into an expansion of Bremerhaven's commercial significance. The ghastly prospect loomed that Hamburg might find itself with a serious rival for the North Sea trade.
It wouldn't be quite accurate to say that they spilled all over themselves agreeing, but it was pretty close.
Mike looked at his watch again. "We're running out of time. The next point. The emperor proposes that Hamburg and its environs be incorporated as a separate province within the USE, with its own autonomous provincial authorities."
It was almost comical to see the wave of relief that washed over every face at the table, including that of the most intransigent CoC negotiator. Although the process hadn't yet been constitutionally formalized the way it had been in Mike's old United States, there had developed a fairly clear delineation of the different ways in which territories could become part of the USE.
First-and way best-you could join as an autonomous province, with the right to select your own provincial authorities. Essentially, that is, enjoy the same status that a state like Wyoming or Virginia did in Mike's former United States. Examples of existing provinces in the USE which enjoyed that exalted status were Thuringia, Magdeburg, and Hesse-Kassel.
Or, you would be incorporated under imperial authority. That could take one of several forms, the two most common being either direct military administration by someone selected by Gustav Adolf himself-an example here being Ernst Wettin's administration of the Upper Palatinate, with General Baner's troops to give him muscle-or you could be turned over to one of the existing provinces for administration.
The best-known example of the latter was Franconia. Gustav Adolf had originally turned it over to the New United States to administer under the former Confederated Principalities of Europe. After the formation of the USE in October of the previous year, the NUS had become the State of Thuringia and had assumed the same authority.
For all the heavy-handedness of direct Swedish military administration compared to that of Thuringians, Mike was pretty sure that by now just about any established authority in the Germanies would prefer the Swedes. The problem with the Thuringians-which more often than not meant Americans-was that they had this unfortunate habit of bringing mass unrest with them. By now, just about everywhere in central Europe, people had heard tales of the Ram movement that had emerged in Franconia and was starting to shake the existing political set-up into pieces.
God forbid. Coming in as a full province meant they would retain quite a bit of control over their own internal affairs.
One of the city councilmen started quibbling over the exact meaning of the term "and environs," but Mike waved him down.
"We can negotiate those details later. In fact, we have to wait. For two reasons." He raised his watch. "First, we're almost out of time, and those 'details' will be time-consuming. Second, we pretty have much to wait, anyway, until Gustav Adolf finishes pounding the Danes into meat patties and we see how much extra land there is to spread around."
Oh, what a cheery thought. The city councilman shut up.
"We've got very little time left. The way I see it, the only major issue that remains is what form of city government will oversee the formation of the new province of Hamburg and the elections to the constituent assembly that will determine the final structure and legal constitution of the new province. You have to have one, you know-it's in the rules-and in a situation like this, with the city teetering on the edge of civil war, we need a compromise temporary ruling body to carry out the task."
He gave them the same cheery smile. "Obviously, it can't be the city council, since you're one side in the dispute. Just as obviously, it can't be the Committee of Correspondence, because it's the other side."
"Perhaps a joint committee…" one of the city councilmen said tentatively.
Mike shook his head. "Sadly, that's no longer possible."
He held up the watch, turning it to face them, and tapped the glass. "Less than thre
e minutes left, if I'm to make it to the gates in time to forestall the regiments from storming into the city. So I'm afraid I'll just have to impose a temporary one-man regime, for the moment."
They were all back to squinting at him. "Who?" demanded the head of the city council.
"Me. Who else?"
Seeing the astonished looks, he added breezily. "Oh, did I fail to mention that? Hamburg's to be the main staging area for the entire USE Army. Within a week, most of the regiments will be here, to join Torstensson's eight."
He rose to his feet. "I've got to be off. I might add that Colonel Wood plans to expand that temporary airfield outside into the major base for the air force."
He managed not to laugh, seeing the expressions around the table. He did so by turning the humor of the moment into yet another breezy assurance as he headed for the street. "Look on the bright side. Hamburg's likely to be in a neck-and-neck race with Magdeburg for getting the world's first commercial airport."
"That went quite well, I thought," he said to Torstensson a bit later, after summarizing the settlement.
The Swedish general extended his forearm and looked at his watch.
Mike frowned. "Is there some deadline I don't know about?"
"Oh, it's not that. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't somehow swindled me out of my timepiece while we were talking."
Chapter 40
"What's wrong, Caroline?" asked the young countess of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, after she came into the door of Caroline Platzer's office in the settlement house.
There being no answer from that quarter, Emelie turned to the third occupant of the room. That was Princess Kristina, perched on a chair next to Caroline's desk. "Why is Caroline gripping that sheet of paper as if it were the devil's work, and glaring at it so?"