by Eric Flint
Orders were orders. Anse made only one last minimal objection. “What’s her cover story? I mean, I can’t very well . . .”
Finally, Becky’s usually serene countenance made its appearance. “Do not be concerned. I have managed the thing.”
* * *
On his way back-none too cheerfully-Anse contemplated his new assignment.
There were too many damn layers involved, was the main thought that came to him.
Gustavus Adolphus, Mike, Kagg, Noelle, von Dantz, the garrison commander, the Suhl city council, their militia captain.
And him.
Years ago, his wife Jo had taken him to a party where the hostess served something called an “eight layer chocolate dessert.” He’d only taken a sliver, but even so. Cake layers, tied together with chocolate whipped cream, with some kind of chocolate-raspberry jelly, with some kind of chocolate-and-cream-cheese spread. One layer oozing into the next. Worst heartburn of his life. He’d never run into anything like it again.
At least, not until he had started to try to figure out who was in charge of what in these New United States. The overlapping layers of authority for this project gave him a mental indigestion at least as bad as the physical indigestion that incredible cake had caused.
It had some kind of a German name, too, now that he thought about it.
January 16, 1633
Anse looked over the party gathered in Henry Johnson’s living room. Jochen Rau was seated near the door with his pack by his feet. Benno Toeffel had stopped by for any final instructions and was standing talking quietly with Rau. Henry himself and Ursula Eckhardt, Pat’s fiancee, were bustling around carrying packs of food for the trip from the kitchen. The combined Schultz and Eckhardt children were carrying the food out to the wagon. The only one missing was Wili Schultz. He and his wife Dora had wandered upstairs to say goodbye.
“Uncle Anse,” Suse Eckhardt called from the door. “There are two women outside and they’re asking for you.”
Going out on the porch, Anse found a woman in her late thirties standing with another woman, somewhere in her early or mid-twenties. Behind them was a handcart being pushed by a man Anse didn’t know, but thought was a down-timer. The handcart seemed full of what looked like luggage.
Anse recognized the younger woman. She was Noelle Murphy.
“Are you Anse Hatfield?” asked the older woman.
When he admitted he was, she continued. “I’m Gaylynn Reardon. I heard you were going to Suhl and since my husband Gary works for Pat Johnson I’d like to tag along. My friend Noelle here agreed to come along with me. So, Mr. Hatfield, have you got room in your wagon?”
Normally, Anse would have been inclined to refuse. But. whether or not Gaylynn Reardon’s reason for traveling to Suhl made any sense-or was even genuine-he knew perfectly well that Becky Stearns was using it as an excuse to quietly insert Noelle Murphy into the expedition.
“We’re ready to pull out as soon as we finish loading the wagon. I hope you’ve packed properly, Mrs. Reardon. It’s a pretty rough road once we get past Badenburg, until we hit the trade route, and we’re traveling in winter.”
“I’m already packed, and so’s Noelle.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing to the handcart. “Our stuff’s in there, ready to go. Everyone knows you’re leaving today. I spent four years in the West Virginia National Guard and winter maneuvers were no challenge.”
She glanced at her younger friend, and smiled. “As for Noelle, she’s a lot tougher than she looks.”
Anse did his best not to let his skepticism show. Leaving aside Noelle Murphy’s maybe-aspirations to become a nun, there was nothing about the young woman’s appearance to suggest she was any sort of sturdy frontier type. Noelle wasn’t frail. But she was of average height, rather slender, and her sandy blonde hair and moderately good looks fit a lady accountant a lot better than they did a reincarnation of Calamity Jane.
But it was a done deal, so Anse didn’t argue the matter. “Come on into the house, then,” he said, “and get something hot to drink. We’ll leave within the hour.”
He turned to Wili’s older son, who was tending the horses. “Wendel, help these ladies pack their stuff on the wagon.”
Going back inside, he found that Wili and his wife had rejoined the group. Dora Schultz came over and, taking his collar in her hands, pulled him down to look him straight in the eye. “I want your promise. You will take care of Wili, and stay out of trouble.”
“Sure, Dora. We’re just going to look over Pat’s shop and make some wedding arrangements.”
“Ha, you are a terrible liar. You think Wili can hide anything from me. You just be sure I get him back in one piece. And you better come back whole, too. Men all act like little boys, sometimes.”
“Speaking of coming back whole,” Henry Johnson interjected. “I have a couple of things that might help to that end. Jochen, here, I want you to have this.”
Henry held a revolver out to Rau. “That’s a 1917 Smith and Wesson. It shoots the same ammo as Anse and Wili’s pistols. I packed five-hundred rounds of .45acp in the wagon and some half-moon clips so you can practice along the way. And because you need a long gun, I want you to have this Browning ‘Sweet-Sixteen.’ I packed three hundred rounds of 16-gauge buckshot in the wagon, too. Those are gifts, Corporal Rau. They are yours to keep.”
“Ha, just going to see Pat’s shop,” sniffed Dora. “Come, Ursula. We go to the kitchen und let the boys play with the toys.” Dora led Ursula out of the room.
Just then Gaylynn Reardon and Noelle Murphy came through the door. “Hello, Mr. Johnson. Are you about ready to put these fellows on the road, Mr. Hatfield? The sooner we get started, the sooner we get to Suhl.”
Whether or not the woman was really that eager to be reunited with her husband, she was certainly playing the part.
“Yes, they’re all ready to go,” interjected Henry. “Except for waiting for Captain von Dantz and Lieutenant Ivarsson. So you have time for a cup of coffee.”
“Mr. Johnson, that’s the best offer I’ve had all day. A cup of coffee would be fine. Oh, Mr. Hatfield, in case you were wondering, my .30-30 is on the wagon and I’ve taken a deer with it every winter since I was thirteen years old, so I can hold my own if we have to fight.”
He noticed that she didn’t make any mention of Noelle’s proficiency with firearms. Anse knew that Noelle had grown up in West Virginia, but he had a strong suspicion she did not and never had shared any of Gaylynn’s tomboy proclivities.
After handing Gaylynn a mug of coffee, Henry waved Anse to the side for a private word. “Remember what I told you last night. Pat needs a contract to make rifles for the army. This business I hear about the people in Suhl selling guns outside the CPE is bound to make some of the big mucky-mucks in the government look to other places to buy guns.”
“I’m sure Pat would have nothing to do with trading guns with the French. Hell, Hank. It might have been a reason to deny contracts, up-time. Here it seems to be standard practice. No one mucky-muckier than Frank Jackson would even wince, anyway.”
Hank shook his head. “Look around. The French aren’t our only enemies. Ferdinand II, the Holy Roman Emperor, will have another go at us as soon as he can. So will Maximilian of Bavaria. I agree Pat is smart enough to avoid shipping guns to any of them, but if other gun makers in Suhl are shipping to our enemies it’s going to make it hard to get a contract for any factory in Suhl. You’re going to have to find out where the source is and make sure the government stops this trade as quick as possible. Shoot the treacherous bastards, if you have to.”
“Sure, Hank.”
Anse saw no point in getting into the complexities. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that most up-timers shared Hank’s opinion. It had been fairly obvious in the course of his interview with Stearns that General Jackson did, after all. Truth be told, Anse was rather inclined that way himself. But the cautions given him by Mike and Becky Stearns made him unwilling to co
me to any conclusions until he got down there himself. He had a bad feeling that the situation in Suhl was going to be the political equivalent of “some assembly required.”
* * *
The party pulled out an hour and a half later. Captain von Dantz had been a bit late. Henry’s old farm wagon, with its rubber shod car wheels, was driven by Wili, with Mrs. Reardon riding beside him. Wili had his pump shotgun propped against the seat beside him and Gaylynn had her rifle lying in her lap. Jochen Rau was riding on the back with his new shotgun across his knees. Rau, who was a bit of a conservative about his weapons, still had his long knife and wheel-lock pistol hanging from his belt, but the big Smith revolver was now holstered on his right hip.
Ivarsson was riding a large horse beside the wagon and talking to Rau. He had tied the two baggage horses he and the captain had arrived with to the rear of the wagon, for remounts if needed. Anse noted that the Swedish lieutenant looked like an arsenal. He had two pistols in his sash, two more in his boot tops and another pair in saddle holsters. In addition he had a long heavy saber and a brand-new SRG carbine hanging from the back of his saddle.
Captain von Dantz, who was riding a bit ahead of the wagon, was the lightest armed of the group. With only a saber and a single pistol, he looked almost unarmed compared to Ivarsson.
Anse reviewed his own armament. The Remington auto loading shotgun was riding nicely in the saddle scabbard, and the Colt automatic on his belt was balanced by two double ammo pouches and the belt knife on his left side. The small dagger in his right boot was riding comfortably, but might be a problem if he had to walk any distance.
To his surprise, Noelle Murphy had dredged up a horse somewhere and was riding it, adequately if with no great expertise. He wouldn’t have thought the woman had ever been on a horse in her life. To all appearances, she was completely unarmed. But the heavy winter clothing she was wearing could have easily concealed a small handgun, and Anse was beginning to suspect that Noelle Murphy was someone who was often full of surprises. So who knew?
The road was well maintained and heavily traveled, so the group made good time. Twice they were passed by trucks from Grantville on their way to Badenburg, and once by one returning.
Captain von Dantz rode up to a position just in front of Anse. He was scowling as he watched one of the trucks receding into the distance.
“If we had taken one of the army trucks as far as Badenburg, we would already be on the road to Suhl, Herr Hatfield. This waste of time is poor planning on your part.”
Anse kept his tone of voice even and level. “Captain, this leg of our little jaunt is just to settle the load in. We can check and see how everything is riding when we get to Badenburg and stop and fix anything that goes wrong. If we had started from Badenburg we’d be stopping in the forest.”
That caused von Dantz’s scowl to darken. “I am also not happy with you letting those women come along. They are going to slow us down. I am sure General Kagg did not authorize that.”
Anse was tempted to point out that the expedition was happening under the auspices of the New United States, not the Swedish garrison that the NUS had permitted to be stationed on NUS soil. So it didn’t really matter whether Kagg approved or not.
But, for better or worse, he was still trying to keep the peace. So he simply said, “To tell you the truth, I’m not too happy with them coming along myself. But Mrs. Reardon was determined to rejoin her husband and her friend Ms. Murphy insisted on accompanying her. It was either take them with us or find their bodies along the road some place.”
“How would that have been a great loss? Herr Hatfield, you are going to have to learn to weigh the value of people.” He spurred his horse forward into a trot.
“She’s worth about ten of you, I figure,” Anse muttered to himself, as he watched the captain tiring his horse needlessly.
“You should not insult ladies,” came an unexpected, heavily-accented voice from behind him.
Anse twisted in the saddle and saw that Lt. Ivarsson had ridden up while he was watching the captain. Unlike Anse himself, the Swedish officer was obviously an expert horseman. Anse had never heard him coming. He raised his eyebrows.
“Ten times nothing is nothing, Herr Hatfield. Simple mathematics.”
Anse chuckled. “I like your arithmetic, Lieutenant. May I take it you are no more impressed with Captain von Dantz than I am?”
Ivarsson shrugged. “An army makes do with what it has.” He seemed on the verge of adding something, but didn’t do so. Instead he changed the subject. “Since you are in charge of our little caravan, were you planning to stop in Badenburg or push on until nightfall?”
“I thought we’d only stop if we needed to adjust the loads. We have- what?-forty-five or fifty miles to Suhl? I was figuring three or four days.”
“That sounds about right. I would recommend we keep a sharp watch when we camp for the night. Our horses will be tempting to any local thieves. I will stand a watch.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning on asking the captain. So with five of us we can switch off every two hours. Or do you think we should double up?”
“Five? Oh, you want the older woman to stand a watch. She does seem competent, but I think we should double up, as you say, once we get well into the Thueringerwald. There have been reports of bandits in the area between here and Suhl. Or it could simply be disgruntled residents, acting like bandits. There were undoubtedly some people not too happy about turning into part of the New United States when you ‘slid’ the Wettins’ duchy out from under them.”
Anse chuckled. He liked that way of describing it. “What about tonight we split the watch five ways, and the next two nights you and Rau take the first watch and Wili and I do the second?”
“Yes, that will work and we can let the lady rest. Oh, I was talking to Rau. Was he really a house breaker before he became a soldier?”
Anse laughed. “Breaking into houses is the least of Jochen’s skills. He’s a better tracker than I am, and can sneak up on a cat. The man is amazing.”
The big lieutenant shook his head. “And you trained him to run that little thing, the locomotive. Seems a waste. He should be scouting for the army. Is that the right name, ‘locomotive,’ the thing that pulls the carts on the rails?”
“Yes, that’s what it’s called. You’d be surprised what that little thing can pull.”
The conversation soon meandered into a technical discussion on the advantages of rail traffic over wagon transport, and how the railroad would make an army less dependant on foraging.
January 17, 1633
They stopped for the night a few miles past Badenburg. There were no incidents, as Anse expected given their proximity to the town. The worst problem they faced was the bitter cold, with such a clear sky. The temperature was well below freezing. Fortunately, they’d all dressed properly for the climate.
Less than an hour after they started forward again the next morning, Noelle Murphy brought her horse alongside Anse’s. He was pretty sure she’d timed her arrival so that Captain von Dantz was up ahead a ways, well out of hearing range.
May as well get started, Anse thought.
“Okay, Ms. Murphy. Since I gather you’re my expert adviser, please advise.”
Noelle winced. “Insofar as jury-rigged cram courses in ‘NUS constitution’ and ‘Franconian affairs’ make me an expert-which they don’t, not hardly. But I’ll do the best I can.”
She took a long, slow breath, exhaling a visible cloud of moisture into the clear, freezing air.
“We might as well start by being honest about the situation, Mr. Hatfield. When Gustavus Adolphus reached a deal with Mike Stearns that the New United States would assume responsibility for the administration of Franconia, there wasn’t anybody at all in Grantville who knew much about it. Truth be told, there weren’t a half-dozen people in town who had ever even been to anyplace in Franconia, and those had mostly been there in the military and lived on American bases. Those people thought it
was the northern part of Bavaria- Upper Franconia, Middle Franconia, and Lower Franconia. Which it was, up-time. But which it is not, down-time. Bavaria hasn’t expanded to include it yet. It wouldn’t for a long time yet to come in our original time line and may never in this universe. The rest of the Grantvillers had not even heard of Franconia. That includes me.”
Anse grinned. “Me, too.”
She gave him a quick, flickering smile. “My training’s as an accountant, not a combination historian-sociologist and, I guess, Superspy Juniorette.”
That made Anse laugh. Up ahead, he saw Captain von Dantz glance back at the sound.
Frowning disapprovingly, of course. As if there were any danger of drawing the attention of bandits this close to Badenburg! Anywhere within two days’ ride of Grantville, for that matter. By now, bandits had learned to steer well clear of the Ring of Fire, where just a few months earlier a large expedition of Wallenstein’s Croat raiders had gotten torn to pieces.
Noelle continued. “I’ve seen some of the correspondence that’s gone back and forth between Mr. Salatto and Mr. Piazza. The first headache Mr. Salatto and his team faced, as soon as they got to Wuerzberg, was figuring out what ‘Franconia’ meant in the first place. It turns out it’s a loose and slippery geographical term-especially when you have to factor in what the Swedes think about the issue. One of the first things Mr. Salatto and Mr. Piazza agreed on-President Stearns, too, I imagine-was that from the context of the deal reached with Gustavus Adolphus it was pretty clear that the king of Sweden did not mean for Grantville to mess around in the territories of his influential Protestant allies, even though they were clearly in Franconia, geographically speaking. That meant we had to steer clear of the imperial city of Nurnberg; the margraves of Ansbach and Bayreuth, et cetera and so forth.”
Anse grunted. “In short, what ‘Franconia’ means to Gustavus Adolphus is really ‘the parts of Franconia that were ruled by Catholic church officials before I conquered them.’”