by Eric Flint
That meant the CoC columns were clashing with people from the very same classes that provided most of their strength and support-and were doing so in areas where the CoCs themselves hadn't yet sunk the very deep roots they had in provinces further to the east. To a large degree, what was happening in the Province of the Main and the neighboring areas amounted to a civil war within a civil war. The Committees of Correspondence were establishing in towns up and down the Rhine and the Main-by force, when need be-the same authority among their own supporters which they had established in the eastern and central Germanies over a longer period, using only persuasion and moral agitation.
To make the situation still more chaotic, the neat lists of "agitators" and "groups" and "organizations" that Francisco Nasi had provided the CoCs were more a reflection of the needs of efficient record-keeping than the actual reality on the ground. In the eastern and central Germanies, as a matter of self-defense if nothing else, every political movement no matter of what stripe or persuasion had begun adopting the rigorous organizational methods of the CoCs. Which had, in turn, been heavily influenced by the habits and attitudes of the Americans, accustomed as they were to the level of social and political organization common to advanced industrial societies of the late twentieth century.
But the Rhineland, for the most part, was still in the past. Anti-Semitic "organizations" were really more in the way of loose associations that formed and disintegrated in response to specific impulses. As a rule, those impulses were provided by a particularly effective or charismatic individual agitator, who would be the one to actually incite the violence.
These men were usually clerics of one sort of another. Low level clerics, at that. Itinerant mendicant friars, in Catholic areas; junior clergy looking to make a reputation and get a permanent parish assignment in Lutheran regions. Such were the names that appeared in Nasi's lists as "leaders" and "central figures" of anti-Semitic "groups."
The reality was quite a bit more fluid-which made for a very fluid sort of armed struggle. Typically, these anti-Semitic agitators would react to the approach of a CoC column by inciting a mob of locals, who would in turn form themselves into a militia-not infrequently, they were the town's official militia-to sally forth and meet the invaders in a small battle.
A small and quick battle. These hastily formed military bands, even the ones who constituted formal militias, were simply no match for the CoC columns in an open battle. The CoCs were, first, better organized and more disciplined; second, they were far better armed; third, many of their troops and the majority of their commanders were veterans of the recent wars. Almost a third of the column commanders, in fact, had been at the great battle of Ahrensbok.
Soon enough, their opponents realized they couldn't match the CoCs in straight battles, and they fell back on the standard tactic used by town and village militias for centuries when facing more powerful regular troops-which amounted to urban guerrilla warfare.
That would have been savage fighting under any circumstances. It was made still more savage by the harsh attitudes of the CoC soldiers.
By now, in the central and eastern Germanies, the political program of the CoCs had assumed the proportions of a social crusade for its members and supporters. There was more at stake than simply this or that specific issue, this or that specific grievance. What was ultimately involved was the very soul of a new nation coming into birth.
And they were fiercely determined that that nation would be "modern," as they understood the term. A term which was of course heavily influenced by American ideas and attitudes but which stemmed still more from long-gestating German ideas and long-festering German injustices. What the Americans had brought through the Ring of Fire was really not so much their "new ideas." What they mostly brought was the deep and abiding confidence that those ideas worked. That, so far from being airy and impractical, they were vastly more practical than the notions and methods advocated and used by the existing rulers of the Germanies.
So, all that was medieval and barbaric and primitive was to be destroyed. First and foremost, those two prominent and long-standing traditions in the Germanies of anti-Semitic pogroms and witch-hunts. Traditions which, in fact, were very closely related not simply in spirit but in the persons who carried them out.
The fact that many of the CoC soldiers didn't know any Jews or care about Jews-even, in plenty of instances, were themselves prejudiced against Jews-was neither here nor there. Some of them even still, somewhere deep inside, probably believed in "witchcraft." Half-believed, at least.
That didn't matter, anymore than it mattered whether this or that soldier in Sherman's army burning its way across Georgia in the march to the sea liked or disliked black people. The Confederacy was an abomination, a gross act of treason to the republic, and the Confederacy would damn well be destroyed. Period.
So it was, with the attitude of the soldiers in the CoC columns fighting on the Rhine and the Main. The ancient customs of anti-Semitic pogroms and witch-hunting were damn well going to be destroyed. Because so long as they remained they would keep the nation shackled to barbarity and medievalism.
Not compromised with; not alleviated; not diluted; not "reformed."
Destroyed. Razed to the ground. Turned into rubble-and if the bodies of the defenders of medieval barbarism lay bleeding to death beneath the rubble, not a one of those fighters in the CoC columns cared in the least. Good riddance.
It had taken several years to entrench those new attitudes in the central and eastern provinces of the USE. The CoCs planned to finish the job in the western provinces in a few weeks.
And…
For the most part, they succeeded. Mike Stearns had predicted they would.
"It's simply a myth," he told Francisco Nasi, "that social attitudes are so deeply rooted that they'll last for generations under any circumstances. And the reason it's a myth is because attitudes in the abstract require actions in the concrete in order to remain solid and well-entrenched. It's not enough to 'feel' or 'think' this or that bias or prejudice. To keep those biases and prejudices solid-give them meat and blood and bone-you have to be able to act on them. And you've got to be able to do it frequently and regularly and in the public eye. Destroy the ability to act, and you will-very quickly-see the attitudes crumble and fade away. That's because you can't dragoon everybody else into tacitly supporting you, any longer."
He studied the Elbe from the window, for a moment. "I've seen it happen in my own lifetime. Well… most of it actually happened while I was still a kid, or hadn't even been born yet. Americans don't like to talk about it now, but the truth is that there were as many lynchings of black people in America in our not-so-distant past as there are lynchings of Jews and so-called 'witches' in Germany in the here and now. Yet by the time I was an adult, the lynchings were over. In a few short years, a social habit and custom that had lasted for centuries and had seemed as deeply ingrained as any had just vanished."
He swiveled his head and gave Francisco a fierce, hawkish look. "And you want to know how it was done? Forget all that vague twaddle about changes in so-called 'social consciousness.' Yeah, sure-those changes did happen and they were both real and important. But it's what lay beneath them and anchored them solidly that really counted-and that was as crude and simple as it gets."
He transferred the hawk glare to the river. "There was a time in America when you could lynch a black man with impunity. And then the time came when if you did so, you would get your ass handed to you. Often enough, by a black man wearing a badge and carrying a gun."
His smile managed to be wry and savage at the same time. "It's amazing, Francisco, how quickly 'deeply ingrained attitudes' will change-when the consequences of not changing are so immediate and obvious and detrimental to your health and well-being. Oh, yeah. It's really amazing how fast that can happen."
***
The CoC columns which marched up and down the great rivers of the western provinces for several weeks shooting and hanging ant
i-Semites and witch-hunters, and burning down their homes and shops if they fled, did not really care whether anyone liked or disliked Jews or believed or did not believe that witches were real. That was a private and individual matter, by itself.
What they did care about was forging a modern nation. And that meant all medieval and barbaric public behavior- especially if it was done by the classes of people who provided most of their own support-was now at an end. A complete and total end. There would be no compromises, no bargaining, no dickering.
The murder of an old gentile had been the last straw. The Dreeson Incident was going to be the end of it.
It was over. Period.
Start a pogrom, you die. Burn a witch, you die. Accept and yield to the demands of a modern nation or be buried in the rubble of its medieval past. That is the only choice we give you.
Often enough in the past-the Fettmilch revolt in Frankfurt had not been not particularly exceptional-the mobs who carried out pogroms against a town's ghetto were also hostile to the town's patricians. Yet that brought little or no comfort to those same patricians, as they watched, day after day, while the CoC columns established a new law and a new authority in their towns on the Rhine and the Main.
Today, they posed no threat, true. You could even, if you squinted really hard, fool yourself into thinking they were protecting you.
But this did not bode well for the future. Especially if-some of the more far-sighted began rethinking their plans-the Crown Loyalists were reckless enough, now that they were in power, to try to force through all the provisions in their program.
As for Vincent Weitz, he made his escape from the State of Thuringia-Franconia and headed for Bavaria, only to be caught up in the CoC's sweep of the Oberpfalz. He and a dozen or so of his followers and associates tried to find refuge in Nurnberg, the independent city-state completely surrounded by USE territory. But the authorities in Nurnberg wanted no part of the madness. They denied Weitz and his people entry into the city.
In the end, they died at a crossroads just north of Amberg, hunted down by a detachment from a CoC column.
Weitz was no coward, so it was a fierce little battle. But a short one, also. Afterward, Weitz and his men were shoved into a shallow mass grave in a nearby meadow.
By then, he'd been identified. But there was no marker placed over the grave, and never would be. By the time the bones started weathering through, many decades later, the local village legends would place him and his men as a lost unit of mercenaries from a much earlier period. It was an understandable confusion. The weapons in the possession of Weitz and his men at the end had been quite antique.
When it was all over, and the peculiarly-named affair-why "crystal night"? it made no sense-had entered Germany's history books, Gretchen and Achterhof and Spartacus summoned all the CoC columns into the capital city.
They came, some twenty thousand combatants by then, and paraded in an orderly manner right through the city. The CoC even set up a reviewing stand in front of the parliament, on Hans Richter Square.
Prime Minister Wilhelm Wettin and the entire leadership of the Crown Loyalist Party found reasons to be absent from Magdeburg that day. But Princess Kristina-over-riding the advice of all of her ladies-in-waiting except Caroline Platzer-chose to accept Gretchen's offer to join her on the reviewing stand.
It was hard to know if the child really understood all the political subtleties involved in the heir to the imperial throne accepting that invitation. It was quite possible, though, that she did-well enough, at least. Kristina was almost frighteningly precocious.
But, perhaps there was nothing more involved than the emotional enthusiasm of an eight-year-old girl who knew that those thousands who marched past the stand would be very friendly and would return her cheery waves with roars of applause and appreciation.
(Which, indeed, they did. Another great large stick to shove up the rumps of the Crown Loyalists.)
General Torstensson came to watch also. For understandable political reasons, however, he felt it would be unwise to watch the parade from the reviewing stand. So he satisfied himself with a good view from the steps of the palace.
"Nicely done," he commented to one of his aides. "They don't march as well as real soldiers, of course. But it's still quite impressive."
He glanced back at the parliament building. "I do hope Wettin and his people have learned some prudence from all this."
The aide was a Swede, like Torstensson. So, like his commander, he felt a certain detachment from all this messy German business.
"I wouldn't count on it, General. I really wouldn't."
Chapter 69
Grantville
"Weren't the fireworks that the Farbenwerke put on great?" Denise was reliving every minute of the celebration. "Where did they get so many so fast? There were only three days between when the Jenkinses announced Ron and Missy's engagement in the paper and the picnic up at Lothlorien."
Minnie shook her head. "It wasn't fast. Lutz Fischer in seventh grade is the son of the facilities manager there. He says the union had figured for months that this would be coming up, so they bought a case every time they had a chance and had them stashed away in advance."
"I think it's exciting," Denise said. "Especially that maybe they're engaged, sort of, because we taught Missy and Pam to ride, so we had something to do with it. They wouldn't have kissed each other up at Lothlorien that afternoon if Missy hadn't been on your hog and given Ron a lift."
Minnie nodded. "Yeah. But I sure can't tell what she sees in him." Having thus defined romance as a priori irrelevant to this betrothal, she reconsidered the matter from a practical perspective. "And coming from the kind of family she has, she doesn't need to marry him for money, either."
She was, however, willing to grant that a groom was a prerequisite for putting on a wedding. Ever since the announcement of the engagement, she had been spending her spare time in Mrs. Johnson's home economics room, reading a dozen or so tattered copies of up-time bridal magazines that had found a final resting place there. "I bet Missy's mom is going to insist on a big wedding, whether Missy wants one or not. Or her grandmas will. If so, do you suppose she might ask us to be bridesmaids because we helped things along?"
Denise shook her head. "She'll probably ask her cousins. Or someone she was in the same class with at school. Brides almost always do. Vanessa Jones, that's the daughter of the Reverends Jones, asked Caroline and Ceci. When Mary Kat Riddle got married last winter, her brother's wife was the matron of honor and she didn't have any other attendants at all. Gerry will probably get to be best man, though, if the rest of Ron's folks haven't come back from Italy by the time they get married."
The expression on Minnie's face was seriously disillusioned.
"But she might invite us to serve cake and punch at the reception," Denise offered as a consolation prize. "Or whatever people are using now instead of cake and punch."
"That's better than nothing. I guess."
"We did already get invited to Gerry's confirmation." Denise held out an elaborately decorated printed sheet. "He mailed yours to me, too, because he wasn't sure of Benny's address."
Minnie took her copy. "I guess Doreen would be willing to go with us over to Rudolstadt. I don't think that your mom goes to confirmations."
"It's going to be here at St. Martin's. A real big deal. We can go by ourselves if none of the grownups want to go with us. What do you wear to a confirmation?" Denise asked. "I've never been to one."
"Your best dress. Not a prom dress, but if you have a good dress to wear to daytime things, that would be right. Like the one I wear when I go to church with Benny, Sundays when the weather's nasty and I don't want to walk out to St. Martin's."
"Good jeans?"
"I don't think so. Maybe nice slacks, though, with a matching top."
"I wore my good jeans to the Christmas play at St. Martin's."
"That was at night, and everyone kept their coats on, you said, because the church wa
s so cold. You could ask Mrs. Reading what to wear. She'd know what's right. Your mom can afford to buy you one, can't she?"
"Yeah. I think so. She'll wonder what I need a dress for, though."
Minnie frowned. "Is Gerry better now? Less upset about what when on down in Rome?"
"Yeah. Maybe that's why he's being confirmed here instead of over at the school. He really likes this pastor. It's funny, Minnie."
"What?"
"Here we are, all three of us sixteen. When I look at Gerry, I start thinking that we've really got to start deciding what we want to do with our lives beyond skipping school whenever we can get away with it and riding motorcycles."
"And being bridesmaids, if Missy would ask us." Minnie looked wistful. "I would love to have a green bridesmaid's dress. Doreen picks my new clothes out and she never picks anything green. With one of those skirts that's slim at the top and flares out below, like an upside-down lily."
"It's a little discouraging. Gerry is so absolutely sure of what he wants to do. He's not bothered a bit by knowing that he'll be going to school for years and years and years more."
"It's that atonement thing. He's still really bothered about killing that Marius guy."
"I know," Denise said."
"Why did it bother him so much? Why does it still bother him so much? What did that book we looked up at the library call it? A crisis of conscience?"
"Well," Denise suggested tentatively, "maybe he got so upset because he did it by accident. On the spur of the moment. To a guy who wasn't really right, mentally. It wasn't something that he knew needed doing and decided to do."
Minnie nodded her head. That seemed as good an explanation as any they were likely to think of. They settled down to catch up on the homework they had missed while they were out of town.
Mrs. Dreeson and Mrs. Wiley had really been pretty annoyed with them. So had Missy and Pam. Mentoring. It wasn't as if they were so dumb that they had to be in class every day in order to get decent grades.