“Able-bodied person, I guess I should say.”
Blumroder was still frowning. Before Anse could say anything further, Noelle spoke up.
“Warrant Officer Hatfield has the authority to deputize anyone he chooses, to serve in the posse. Under our laws, Herr Blumroder, a ‘posse’ is a band of persons temporarily enrolled in the officially authorized police force, to suppress criminal activity.”
She cleared her throat. “Mutiny is a criminal activity.”
Blumroder and his Jaeger stared at her. Clearly enough, not knowing quite what to make of her words-or of her, for that matter.
It was time to settle this. Anse cleared his throat.
“That’s the way it is, Blumroder. Do it my way, and you might get out of this alive. Might even keep your shops intact. Do it any other way, and the Swedes will be convinced that we can’t maintain order here. The consequences of that are nothing you want to think about. Unless you’re crazy enough to think you and your Jaeger can defeat Gustavus Adolphus-where Tilly and Wallenstein’s armies couldn’t.”
After a moment, Blumroder looked away. “There is also an up-timer involved, on the other side. That Horton Scheisskopf.”
Anse shrugged. “So? Grantvillers are just citizens of the NUS. They don’t enjoy any special privileges.”
Honesty forced him to add: “Not legally, at any rate. If I tell Johnny Horton to stand down, and he doesn’t, then he’s just another mutineer.”
Blumroder cocked his head, in a gesture that was quizzical as much as it was skeptical. “He is a lieutenant. I believe that outranks you, Warrant Officer.”
“He doesn’t outrank me,” Noelle interrupted. “And I turned full authority over to Mr. Hatfield. Legally, that’s good enough.”
Anse could almost hear the next two words, that she must have been thinking but-thankfully-didn’t speak out loud.
I think. Noelle Murphy was jury-rigging just as fast as Anse was.
What the hell. Anse had seen plenty of jury-rigged machines work well enough, and long enough, in his fifty-four years of life. Maybe this one would, too.
“That’s it, then,” he said.
* * *
“I swear to God, Anse, I had no idea . . . “
“Shut up, Pat,” Anse growled. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I’ll accept that you didn’t know. But don’t tell me you had no suspicions that Blumroder-your own partner, fer chrissake-wasn’t involved in the business.”
After a moment, Anse’s brother-in-law looked away. Then, sighed.
“Well, okay. But, look . . .”
When his eyes came back to Anse, there was as much anger in them as shame and embarrassment.
“I live here, damn you. These people are my neighbors.”
They were standing inside Pat’s shop. Pat used the rifle in his hands to point to the western wall. “Just three shops down, there’s a mother and her daughter who were gang-raped by mercenaries in Gustavus Adolphus’s army. The girl was only fourteen. When the mother tried to protest that they were Lutherans, too, the stinking bastards just laughed at her. Two of them were members-still are, goddamit-of the Swedish garrison here. When she tried to register a complaint with the garrison commander afterward-yeah, the same Bruno Felder asshole who’s still in command-he laughed at her, too.”
Anse set his jaws. “I’m not arguing about that, Pat. I don’t like mercenary soldiers any more than you do. It still doesn’t change the fact that, within a year, we’ll most likely have fought a war-and some of our soldiers will have gotten killed with guns from here. And they’re going to be pissed as all hell, especially if they find out the gun trade with our enemies is still going on. You know that as well as I do.”
Pat looked away again. “Yeah. Well. Look, I didn’t know what to do. But I did report the problem to Grantville, at least.”
Anse took a deep breath, and let it out. There was no point in staying angry with Pat. If he’d been in the same circumstances, Anse wasn’t sure what he’d have done, either. Pat was a civilian. No fig leaf. No backup. Should he somehow have gone for the kind of private justice-vigilante justice-Anse was denying to both Blumroder and the CoC. Somewhere, in his own mind, was there still a sneaking feeling that it would be all right for an American to handle things that way, just because he was an American, but not for Germans who were NUS citizens to do the same?
“All right, forget it. Water under the bridge, and all that. But for the moment, you’re a member of my posse also. Got any problems with that?”
Finally, Pat smiled. “Not any, Anse. Not any at all.”
“Good. In that case-don’t get squirrelly on me, Pat-I want every up-time weapon you’ve got in the hands of the Jaeger. They’re probably better shots than you are.”
“Not mine,” said Gaylynn Reardon sharply. “Not Gary’s, neither.” Her husband, standing next to her, looked just as stubborn as she did.
Anse shook his head. “Fine, fine. In the interest of maintaining American pride and morale-not to mention keeping peace in the family-you and Gary and Pat can each keep a modern rifle. But I want the rest in the hands of those who can do the most with them.”
“I can shoot as well any damn Jaeger,” she insisted. “Got nothing to with pride.”
“Who cares how well you shoot, Mrs. Reardon?” he demanded harshly. “How well can you kill? Not dark outlines against the snow or distant figures on a roof that you’d have had in your scope if we’d run into trouble on the trip down here. Men standing right in front of you?”
She didn’t look away. But she did swallow.
“Yeah. What I thought. We’re not deer-hunting, here. I want those guns in the hands of the Jaeger. If there are any left over, let Blumroder decide who gets them. Understood?”
After a moment, they all nodded.
“Do you really think it’ll come to that, Anse?” asked Pat.
“Hell, who knows. But . . . yeah, it probably will.” He glanced at the shuttered windows. “Felder’s thugs aren’t just rapists. They’re also killers-and they’ve been the top dogs here, so far. I don’t think they’re just going to roll over and wave their paws in the air.”
Noelle Murphy cleared her throat. “Still . . . Mr. Hatfield, you can’t simply wait until there’s an armed confrontation in the street. You have to send word to Captain Felder-to von Dantz and Horton, too-that you’re now in charge.”
Anse made a face. “Ms. Murphy, meaning no disrespect, but it’s just a cold fact of life that if I march over to the garrison and start throwing orders around, I’ll be lucky if I don’t get shot. For sure, I’ll get arrested. And then where are we?”
He took off the cap, laid it on a table, and scratched his head. “Look, face it. This so-called ‘posse’ of ours is shaky enough as it is. Take me out of the picture . . .”
Noelle shook her head. “Yes, I understand. But I wasn’t suggesting that you do it, personally. Simply that you needed to send word.”
“And who . . . ?”
Her face was pale but composed. “I think it’s quite obvious. Since I have the documents from President Stearns, I will do it. After I give copies to the city’s authorities.”
That odd, lightning-quick little smile came and went. “I’m really not what anyone in their right mind would call a ‘soldier,’ Mr. Hatfield. The only reason I carry that little pistol is because my boss insisted. I’m not sure I could hit anything with it, beyond a few yards.”
Abruptly, she rose to her feet. “I’m just a fig leaf here, really- and, once the job is done, a fig leaf is disposable.”
Pat looked alarmed. “Hey, wait a minute! Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? Felder’s guys-probably Felder himself-are a bunch of rapists. You go over there . . . I mean, you’re young, you’re pretty . . .”
She issued that same insta-smile. “I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Johnson. But the same would be true for almost any woman you sent over there. And Mr. Hatfield is right. Any man would probably just get shot.”