1634: The Ram Rebellion

by Eric Flint

  Then the thought hit him that it might be about what Henry Johnson told him only this morning. General Jackson had wanted Pat, Anse’s brother-in-law, to watch for any movement of guns out of Suhl to people who were unfriendly to the CPE. Maybe a letter from Pat had arrived.

  “Ma’am, did the general say why he wanted to see us?”

  “No, but he did ask if you were doing anything really vital. I told him your crew could probably keep working for a while without you. You’ve done a good job of training them.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. You’re right, Ma’am. Benno and Jochen can run the train without me and I would bet Cooper can finish this new engine. Bringing in Bill Frank as an advisor was a great idea. But I hope General Kagg doesn’t want you to send me anywhere. The company might get called for active duty shortly, and I sure don’t want it to go without me. You’ll need me for that.”

  Captain Pitre gave her surroundings a somewhat sour examination. “Mr. Hatfield, from the look of things, we’re not going anywhere until winter’s over. Except to the regimental headquarters, and here we are.”

  * * *

  Through the closed door of the office Anse could hear the rumble of the general’s voice. That was no surprise. Kagg seemed to have only one volume setting, loud. Anse looked out the window to the outside. “Ma’am, was anyone else going to be at our meeting with the general?”

  “Not that I know of. Why, does it make a difference?”

  “Not to me, but, stay calm. Your friend and mine, Captain von Dantz, is walking across the parade ground. And it looks like he’s coming here.”

  Anse could sense the sudden stiffness in Captain Pitre. That von Dantz was both arrogant and incompetent was an opinion, he was sure, the two shared. The fact that von Dantz refused to accept the idea of women in the army, much less a woman officer, automatically insured there were going to be problems between him and Captain Elizabeth Pitre. Anse’s problems with the Pomeranian mercenary captain were more personal and had arisen out of a dispute over the captain’s baggage being crushed on the train Anse had commanded.

  Luckily the door to Kagg’s office opened just as von Dantz entered the building. As the general’s clerk came out the door they could see Kagg himself, who was walking toward the door, waving his hand for them to come in.

  “Captain Pitre, Herr Hatfield, come in. It is good of you to make time to see me.”

  Kagg’s English, though heavily accented, was fluent. Anse was pretty sure that was one of the reasons he’d been sent him to Grantville. The Swedish general also seemed to be punctilious about courtesy. Whether that was due to his own personality or blunt orders from Gustavus Adolphus, Anse didn’t know. Probably both, he suspected.

  The general spotted von Dantz coming through the outer office. “Come in, all of you. Captain von Dantz, you know Captain Pitre and Warrant Officer Hatfield. Captain Pitre, Herr Hatfield, I know you have met Captain von Dantz.”

  “Ja, I have met Fräulein Pitre and Hatfield, General.”

  “That is Captain Pitre,” Kagg said curtly. “You should remember that you and she are the same rank and use proper military courtesy at all times. And Warrant Officer Hatfield should be addressed as Mister or Herr Hatfield. You should think of him the same as one of our master gunners. You do not address them by their bare last name, I hope.”

  Von Dantz turned red. “Captain, Herr Hatfield.”

  Anse thought that was as close to an apology as they were going to get. It was not an invariable rule, by any means, but he’d found that lots of Germans who enjoyed the “von” business seemed to find it well-nigh impossible to be courteous to those they considered their social inferiors.

  Once they entered the general’s office, Kagg said: “Now everyone sit down, and I can tell you why you are all here.”

  As the three found seats and the general moved behind his desk, Anse realized there was another man in the room, leaning against a side wall. It was the big Swedish lieutenant whom Anse had seen with Kagg several times. They’d arrived together, Anse thought. He was a bit older than Kagg, but had the same hard-as-nails look of a professional soldier.

  If the seventeenth century Swedish army worked about the same way the up-time American army of Hatfield’s experience did—always an uncertain proposition – then this unnamed lieutenant would serve General Kagg as one of his staff officers. It was hard to tell, however, just exactly what authority he possessed. No down-time army that Anse was familiar with used the same tight and clear system of ranks that up-time armies did. Generals and colonels commanded specific units, as a rule. But down-timers used the terms “captain” and “lieutenant” very loosely. It was not uncommon for “lieutenants” to command “captains,” for instance, since the term “lieutenant” might really signify direct subordinate to the big cheese, rather than very junior officer. But exactly how and when the authority of a staff officer superseded that of a line commander was something Anse still hadn’t been able to figure out.

  Once everyone was seated, Kagg spoke. “Captain Pitre, Captain von Dantz, Herr Hatfield, we have a problem. General Jackson has received reports that the gun-makers of Suhl are continuing to sell their products to anyone who will buy them, including the enemies of our king. He arranged for Herr Hatfield’s brother-in-law, Patrick Johnson, to look into it. Just this morning his report arrived and it looks like the earlier reports were true. He tells us that large shipments of weapons are leaving Suhl, going by way of Schleusingen. Toward the south. And I can assure you they are not being sent to General Baner in the Upper Palatinate.”

  “What do you expect? They are Franconians,” Captain von Dantz interrupted. “Catholics. We should send troops to hang the traitors. Suhl is in the territory given to the Americans, and all have sworn allegiance to King Gustavus Adolphus. In Pomerania we know how to deal with people like that.”

  “Not exactly.” Elizabeth Pitre’s voice was mild and calm. “True, its citizens have sworn allegiance. But that is because Suhl—the city—like Badenburg, became a state in the NUS by its own free will. That was months before the Captain General’s agreement with President Stearns concerning Franconia.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Not to mention that you, as a Pomeranian, surely misspoke in saying that the town is Catholic when it is in fact Lutheran.” Her implication was that if she herself, as a lapsed Catholic, knew this much, surely the other captain should know more.

  Von Dantz took the bait. “Suhl’s city council became a ‘state’ of your NUS under false pretenses. It is not an imperial city. The council had no legal right to declare itself independent from the Saxon administrators of the Henneberg inheritance.” His disapproval of “do-it-yourself” politics was plain.

  Kagg frowned. “Captain von Dantz, if you would let me finish, I will tell you what has been decided. Your job is to carry out the orders you receive. And I do not want to have to remind you again that you are serving with American troops and the New United States is not—directly—part of our king’s territory. Neither, since last fall, is Franconia. So politeness toward our hosts is the order of the day.”

  Anse decided he liked the Swedish general. But he could see where this was headed, and started a mental packing list.

  “Now, before I was interrupted, I was about to tell you I have been in contact with General Jackson and President Stearns. They both agree that we need to send some people to Suhl. A small investigative party, however, not a large military force. There is already an American administration set up for Franconia proper. It is headquartered in Wuerzburg. But since Suhl is a state of the NUS rather than part of Catholic Franconia, Stearns’s people in Wuerzburg have no authority there. In any event, our group will be only looking for evidence of gun trafficking with the CPE’s enemies.”

  Kagg turned to Pitre. “Because of Suhl’s status, I do not want to send a large expedition, or a purely Swedish one, or even one under Swedish command, although”—he nodded toward von Dantz—“there will be someone along
from our army. There is already a garrison in the town, should more troops prove necessary. The king placed it there before Suhl chose to join the NUS."

  His expression became very bland. “Negotiations between the Swedes and Suhl’s city council in regard to its removal have been . . . protracted. Thus far, President Stearns has not seen fit to make its removal a priority. But we all feel that an American soldier should be officially in command, for political reasons. General Jackson specifically recommended Warrant Officer Hatfield. Captain Pitre, I would appreciate it if you would release him temporarily from his duties with your unit and loan him to me.”

  Captain Pitre frowned. “Well, certainly, if General Jackson says so. Although I’m not quite sure why he’d want someone from TacRail.”

  Kagg shrugged. “Nor am I. From what I understand, there is no early prospect of creating a rail line to Suhl. Not over that part of the Thueringerwald, certainly! But that was his suggestion.” He turned to Anse. “Mr. Hatfield, do you have any objection? If nothing else, you can visit your brother-in-law who is already residing in Suhl.”

  Anse was surprised, as well as impressed, that Kagg already knew that much in the way of the personal details of the American soldiers he’d be working with. “Of course, General Kagg. Captain Pitre, I’d like to take a couple of my own men with me.”

  “Let me guess. You want Private Schultz and Corporal Rau?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Jochen Rau is the best man around for finding out what’s going on. And if we have to open any locked doors he has a lot of experience. Wili Schultz could help be a cover story, too, if we need one. His sister is going to marry Pat. He could be going to check out the wedding arrangements and to see Pat’s business. I know that would leave you with only Toeffel as a trained driver, but Jim Cooper can drive an engine. Toeffel and he have worked together before. And in a pinch Chief Schwartz could drive short hauls.”

  “All right, Mr. Hatfield. But only those two, no more, and I’d like you back before the first of March.”

  Kagg nodded. “Better still, if you can send three of your own soldiers. In that case, I will only send Nils—he waved at the lieutenant—with Captain von Dantz. As I said, I’d rather avoid any larger Swedish presence in Suhl than we need, given the garrison that’s already there.” For a moment—a very brief moment—he seemed slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid there’s something of a history of ill-will in Franconia toward the Swedish army.

  “That will make a party of five,” the general continued. “That is a perfect number; enough to frighten off most bandits and not enough to attract attention. Nils, step over here and meet Herr Hatfield.” The last statement was to the big lieutenant who was holding up the office wall.

  “Herr Hatfield, I would like to introduce Lieutenant Nils Ivarsson. He has been with me since I became a soldier.”

  Hatfield measured the Swede with his eyes, as he extended his hand. Ivarsson was a little taller than six feet and looked strong as a bull. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Ya, I am happy to meet you also. Captain von Dantz has spoken of you often.” There might have been a twinkle in Ivarsson’s eyes. Anse had a feeling the big Swede was not a member of the captain’s fan club.

  January 14, 1633

  Anse looked up in surprise. It was early in the morning for one of the young Germans whom Ed Piazza had started assembling as part of his staff to be hand-delivering him a note. Or for anyone to be delivering a note at all. Ed’s staff were no slouches. The Secretary of State had several up-timers working with him also, of course, but he’d made it a point to incorporate down-timers as soon and as extensively as possible.

  Anse didn’t know this one by name, although he recognized him. A former student at the university at Jena, he thought. Eddie Junker—that was his name. Piazza tended to favor recruits from there, partly because Jena was not much more than fifteen miles away, and partly because Grantville had made it a point to develop relations with Jena that were as close as their relations with Badenburg.

  Anse wasn’t privy to the discussions in the inner circles, but he knew the general plan was to develop Jena into central Germany’s premier educational and medical center. It made sense. Given the nature of its West Virginian topography, there simply wasn’t room in Grantville—including the whole Ring of Fire, for that matter—to expand all that much. The town was already jammed with immigrants, and people were starting to build on hillside areas that Anse himself thought were questionable at best.

  As he opened the note, Anse couldn’t help grinning. However much the down-timers in the area were adapting to American custom, in many ways, the reverse was also happening. The note was just a three-way folded piece of paper, but the embossed wax seal keeping it closed was as ornate and fancy as you could ask for.

  The message was short, to the point-and surprising.

  Dear Mr. Hatfield:

  The Secretary of State requests that you consult with him regarding your upcoming expedition to Suhl. Today at 14:00, if possible.

  Jamie Lee Swisher

  for Ed Piazza

  Anse folded the note back up and nodded to the courier. “Tell him I’ll be there, as requested.” A moment later the young man was gone.

  In some ways, of course, Ed Piazza was not adapting. The Secretary of State could just as easily have required Anse to show up when he wanted to see him, and no “if possible” about it. But one of the reasons Piazza had made such a successful and popular high school principal for so many years was his meticulous attention to simple courtesy.

  Anse himself was too old to know personally, but rumor had it that even when Piazza had been chewing out some wayward student, he’d been as polite as possible. Which Anse himself certainly wouldn’t have been. Do as I tell you, you little snot, or I’ll whup your ass was more his style in such affairs.

  “Wonder what it’s about?” he mused.

  * * *

  He found himself wondering a lot more, after he was ushered into Piazza’s private office that afternoon. In fact, it was all he could do to keep his eyebrows from crawling onto his scalp.

  Piazza wasn’t there alone. Also in the office—a bit crammed, in fact, since it wasn’t all that big—were President Stearns, General Jackson, and Rebecca Abrabanel. Mike Stearns was smiling blandly, Jackson was frowning. The solemn look on Becky’s face made it clear that she was here in her official capacity as the National Security Adviser, not Mike’s wife.

  “Have a seat, Anse,” said Piazza. As soon as he’d done so, the Secretary of State nodded at Stearns.

  “As you’ve probably figured out, my invitation was something of a subterfuge. It’s really Mike who wants to talk to you.”

  “Sure is,” Anse heard Jackson mutter. Becky shot him a look that seemed to combine reproof with exasperation.

  Stearns chuckled softly. “As you’ll soon discover, there is dissension and dispute in the top ranks of what passes for our august government. Here’s the thing, Anse.” Mike nodded toward Jackson. “Frank here thinks what von Dantz suggested that Kagg ought to do in Suhl is just fine. Go down there and hammer any bastards who are selling guns to our enemies. But Becky has strong reservations about the project. So does Melissa Mailey, for what it’s worth. Between the two of them, they’ve convinced me that the situation is a lot more complicated than it looks.”

  “What’s ‘complicated’ about it?” demanded Jackson. “Treason is treason.”

  Anse was surprised to see Becky almost snarling at him. The young Sephardic woman, in his experience, was usually imperturbable and serene.

  “Idiot words that mean nothing!” she snapped. “What does ‘treason’—or ‘loyalty’—mean in Germanies that are not a nation and never have been? And loyalty to a Swedish king? Are we speaking of the same Swedes who conquered the area and behaved every bit as abominably as Tilly’s army or Wallenstein’s in the territories they occupied?”

  Jackson looked mulish. “Loyalty to us. Suhl is a state in the NUS. One of our own state
s. By choice. It should be living under our laws and making everyone in the town do the same.”

  But Becky wasn’t about to let up on him. “So what if there were no great massacres like Magdeburg? There were massacres enough carried out by Gustavus’s army south of the Thueringerwald, on a smaller scale, be sure of it. And all the rest! Rapes, arson, plundering. Name the crime and they committed it. Especially in the Catholic areas, of course, but the Swedes were none too gentle in Protestant areas either.”

  “Enough already,” said Mike calmly. Becky subsided, still glaring at Frank Jackson.

  Mike looked at Anse. “Here’s the point, Warrant Officer Hatfield.”

  The formality was unusual, coming from Mike Stearns. He was making clear that he was speaking as the President, now. Anse sat up a little straighter. What was coming, he knew, amounted to his marching orders—and, push came to shove, Mike was the boss here, not Frank Jackson.

  “The people in Suhl have been making guns and other weapons for centuries. And, for centuries, they’ve been selling them to anyone who was willing to pay. It’s the local custom—hallowed tradition, if you will. Not to mention that it’s perfectly legal under the laws they’ve lived with all their lives, and we’ve scarcely had enough time to undertake extensive re-education in regard to American statutory definitions. If nothing else, Becky and Melissa have convinced me that we can’t just go charging in there like a bull in a china shop, expecting that anyone who lives there will see the situation in terms of concepts like ‘loyalty’ and ‘treason.’”

  Seeming a bit exasperated, he ran fingers through his thick hair. “The truth is, Anse, not even Kagg thinks the issue is really a matter of loyalty or treason. What’s really involved, from his point of view, is a simple matter of power politics. The Swedes conquered the region, and so now the Swedes have dibs on Suhl’s guns. ‘To the victor belong the spoils’ and all that stuff. Whether they are NUS citizens or not. Further south, whether he’s assigned the Franconians to NUS administration, or not. We’re damned lucky that Kagg is being more reasonable than von Dantz.”