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 states. 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.”
He gave Jackson a look that was not as unfriendly as Becky’s, but wasn’t any too admiring, either. “Why this fella-who did a tour of duty in Vietnam, just like you did-has so much trouble understanding that, I’m not sure. But what I do know is this: I don’t intend for Grantville to run roughshod over another NUS state. Suhl’s people are our citizens, even if they still have a lot to learn about the differences between up-time and down-time ideas of citizenship and national loyalty."
Mike raised his hand and brought it down firmly on his desk. That was a variation on one of his most familiar gestures, which could range from a gentle tap of the fingers to a resounding slam. This one was about midway between.
“What’s more,” he said firmly, “I’m not going to let troubles develop in Suhl that could spill over into our Franconian territories. Whatever Gustavus had in mind, when he handed over Franconia for us to administer, I do not intend our rule there to be one of conquerors. I can’t see any point in it. If for no other reason, because with a war likely to break out between us and the French, we won’t have the soldiers to spare to occupy Franconia with more than a few small garrisons in some of the major towns. If we don’t get the co-operation of the people who live there-and get it pretty soon-we’re going to have a nightmare on our hands. There’s no law of geography or geology that I know of that says that ‘quagmires’ are restricted to Asia.”
His eyes came back to Anse. “That’s why I specifically instructed Frank to recommend you for this assignment when Kagg raised it with us. First, because I think you’re level-headed. And, second, because I’m hoping that since you’re assigned to TacRail you won’t seem as threatening a figure as some other type of soldier might be, once you get there. You’re essentially a military engineer, not one of the guys who specializes in hitting people over the head.”
Again, he ran fingers through his hair. “Ah, hell, Anse, I know I’m handing you a mess on a plate. Just do the best you can with it-and don’t assume the Swedes know what they’re doing. When it comes right down to it, remember, we are the people in charge in Suhl. Not Gustavus Adolphus’s mercenaries.”
Seeing the look on Anse’s face, Mike chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Easier said than done-when they’ve got most of the muscle. Especially muscle like von Dantz, a good chunk of which seems to reside between his ears and who isn’t likely to respond well to having you in charge. I’m sending along someone to help, though. Noelle Murphy.”
Seeing the look that now came to Anse’s face, Mike and Becky laughed out loud. Even Frank Jackson grinned.
“She’s an accountant-and she’s planning to become a nun!” Anse protested.
Becky waggled her hand. “Maybe yes, maybe no, as to the last part. She hasn’t decided, I don’t believe. But she’s very smart, and"-again, that sharp look at Jackson-"unlike some people, she’s actually studied the situation.”
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.”