Grantville Gazette, Volume 72

by Bjorn Hasseler

  "The supply chain hasn't been affected. We can feed them at least," Pat observed. He watched some people stacking barrels of flour and other foodstuffs taken from the ruin of a mess hall. Should we have moved the mess halls into the new buildings first instead of people? Six of one, half-dozen of the other, he decided.

  "We did lose much of the food on site. Everyone will be on tight rations for a few days but it shouldn't last more than that."

  They had finished their inspection. The cleanup was progressing. Those who had been injured were being treated. More canvas had been ordered and should be arriving in a day or two. There wasn't much more they could do here. Pat turned to Gary and said, "Let's talk to Anse about his trucks and get more folks out from Suhl to help these folks. Then, I want to check with Nicki Jo and the others and see how this affects the plan."

  ****

  The Reservation's administration building had been one of the first buildings completed . . . mostly completed. Some interior walls were still unfinished with the supporting studs still exposed. Gary and Pat arrived to discover Nicki Jo and Katherine already there examining the workflow and manpower diagrams.

  "If we shift this work group to just the chem plant, we can divert the other two to work on RJ City. How will this affect the critical path?"

  The hand-written project plan was fixed on three walls along with task-on-arrow diagrams. The critical path, the critical tasks, was underlined in red on the pages of the project plan. Gary, Pat and Nicki Jo were the only ones who really understood the full plan. A few of the construction foremen understood their portions, but only to the extent of how their work teams were directly affected.

  "I can't tell how the critical path will change right now," Gary said as he reviewed it on the walls. God, what I'd give for a PC and Microsoft Project. "I'm going to have to redo it by hand and see where and how it's changed. I know it's changed . . . I just don't know how much,"

  "I'll review the plant buildings," Nicki Jo added. "I don't want the DDNP mixture building in or next to the fab buildings, but I think we can delay putting up the dividing berms for now. Besides, the ground will soon be too hard for more digging until spring."

  "That would free up four work teams that we could use elsewhere," Gary agreed

  "Yes, but they aren't skilled carpenters," Pat pointed out.

  "Maybe not but some can work under direction and do grunt work," Gary replied. "That will help."

  They turned to review the project plan on the wall. Gary, without taking his eyes from the plan, said to Pat, "Zoche was hired to help build the dormitories. I figured if he worked for us, we could keep a better eye on him."

  "Good idea," Pat replied. "Keep your friends close and . . ."

  "Your enemies closer. Yeah."

  The four worked long into the night before they agreed where the workflow could be altered with the minimum impact to future milestones.

  IX

  January, 1635

  The Reservation

  Bang!

  Nicki Jo and Katherine were testing another version of the primer compound. The original plan had called for a test lab, an enclosed building where the conditions of the test could be tightly controlled. After the storm in November, that part of the plan had been deferred leaving Nicki Jo to perform her tests outdoors, exposed to the elements. The current test lab consisted of a square of sandbags covered by a simple roof to shelter the testbed from rain and snow.

  "What batch is that?" Nicki Jo asked Katherine.

  "Number 20-12. It has passed all our tests successfully, heat, cold, shock, humidity, and pressure. I think we have it," Katherine replied giving her clipboard to Nicki Jo.

  The testbed was mounted on a sturdy wooden table in the middle of the space created by sandbags piled seven feet high. The entrance to it was through a dogleg designed to divert any effects of an accidental explosion.

  Nicki Jo ran her finger down the columns of test results. "How many spent primers do we have left?"

  A chill wind appeared, whipping around the sandbags and causing Katherine's hair to swirl around her face. She pushed it back, out of her eyes and replied, "Approximately a hundred. Archie Mitchell may have a few more but not very many. Do you think we can try the new cups from the brassworks?"

  Nicki Jo scratched her nose, heedful of the pointed pencil in her hand. "Yes, I think so. It's time. We need to determine if the copper/zinc ratio is good, not too hard nor not too soft. Think we could borrow one of Archie's revolvers to test the primers?"

  Katherine grinned. "No need, Marjorie said we could use her Smith & Wesson. She'll carry one of Archie's single-action Colts in the meantime."

  Nicki Jo laughed. She knew how protective Archie was when it came to his, and Marjorie's, firearms. "Okay. How many cartridge cases has the brassworks made?" Pat Johnson was having trouble with his presses. The process worked when manually powered. But, when steam power was added, it didn't.

  "A couple of hundred in all. The last test run of their pilot plant ran twenty-eight cases until one crumpled and jammed the press. Pat said he thought it was a lube problem and expects to have it fixed in a few days."

  Nicki Jo shivered. January in Germany was not a Caribbean vacation. Like Katherine, she wore a long woolen skirt over several petticoats. The skirt was usually warm enough unless there was a wind—---like today. She had been tempted to dig out her flannel-lined jeans from her trunk. She had last worn them when she and her father had gone deer hunting up-time before the Ring of Fire. However, she didn't want to scandalize her down-time friends. Suhl was not Grantville. "When does he think they'll move beyond the pilot stage?"

  "That's up to Gary, how soon he can mechanize the presses. He said he'd like to use hydraulics to run the presses but he can't find a good way to make hoses that will last. He redesigned the presses to be mechanically linked and belt- powered by the steam engine."

  "Let's get back inside," Nicki Jo said. She and Katherine gathered up the remaining DDNP samples and dropped them in a water bucket. DDNP wasn't water soluble, very much anyway, but water would make DDNP useless if left in it long enough. They knew better than to carry a possibly unstable explosive in their hands, even the small samples they used in their tests. The walk back to the lab exposed them to colder temperatures and higher winds. "Will we make our milestone, Katy?" Nicki Jo asked, her teeth chattering.

  "I think so if we can finalize the copper/zinc ratio for the primer cups."

  "Are we still on the critical path?"

  Katherine thought the question over in her mind. She couldn't completely visualize the plan as could Gary and Pat, but what she could see gave her an answer. "Not any more if you think 20-12 is ready for production."

  That answer relieved Nicki Jo. Everyone had been working hard after the destruction of RJ City. The chemical plant was only partially finished, just those areas directly involved in primer production. A third of the chem plant was still open to the elements. The primer fabrication building was enclosed but the interior was open, the workstations isolated by piled sandbags. It was a design change from what Nicki Jo had originally planned. However, the change worked well, much better, in fact, than she'd anticipated and she had let the change remain as it was. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

  Good, then we start hiring and training, she decided. "Who is Banfi Hunyades sending us, Katy, for the chem plant manager?" The wind picked up again causing Nicki Jo's skirt to lift, exposing her legs.

  "I don't have his name. The last letter I received is that Banfi had a candidate but he didn't provide his name. He's sending Georg Rohn as a candidate for Chief Chemist."

  "Good, I think Georg will do. He doesn't have the usual male egotism. He'll listen to me." They walked up to the chem lab and around the corner to the main entrance, "Let's get inside," Nicki Jo said. "I'm freezing out here."

  Katherine laughed. "Didn't wear your woolies, did you? That'll teach you about not being prepared."

  ****

  Archie Mitchell
and Eric Gruber entered Der Bulle und Bär. Archie hadn't been inside the inn since he and Dieter Issler had arrested Friedrich Achen the previous May. The excuse for him and Gruber visiting the inn was their habit of walking rounds in Suhl to help the local watch. That habit wasn't required anymore. The watch had a new wachtmeister, and he had instituted a new training program and had training well-organized. No, the reason Archie and Gruber were here was to watch a spy, one Andres Zoche.

  "There's our boy," Gruber whispered to Archie as Zoche walked in the door. Andres Zoche had been living in the inn since the previous autumn. He was working as a laborer at the Reservation but his wages were not enough to cover the cost of his room in the inn. He could have stayed in a dormitory at RJ City, but, he didn't. Instead, he lived here, in Der Bulle und Bär, and made the daily two-hour commute on foot.

  "Is he still asking questions?" Gruber asked.

  "Yes, to people in the admin building and in the chem plant. He's sent some large envelopes out via the post system . . . a private courier who takes them to Magdeburg."

  "And who does he report to, there?"

  "I don't know. Nasi's replacement isn't interested. I sent word to the Abrabanels, and they're looking into it."

  "Has he sent any radio messages?"

  "Yes, to Zwickau."

  That surprised Gruber. He could understand others in the USE being interested in the Reservation. It had become common knowledge that the consortium, Suhl, Incorporated as it was now known, would be making ammunition, a new kind of ammunition all sealed into a ready-to-fire brass cartridge. Few, however, knew how the new ammunition actually worked. Gruber didn't. He was happy to just use them and not have to worry about rain and other weather-related factors that prevented the use of firearms.

  Zwickau was in southwestern Saxony. Why would he send a message there...?

  "And it was coded," Archie added. "I've sent copies to some interested people who will try to break it."

  "Zwickau is in southwestern Saxony. From there it could go to . . . "

  "Anywhere. Poland, Russia, England, anywhere." Archie said completing Gruber's sentence.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Nothing . . . yet. Just keep an eye on him. He seems to be unaware he's being watched."

  "You really think that?"

  "No," Archie said with a sigh. Zoche glanced at the two lawmen, spoke with the barmaid, received a stein of beer and walked up the stairs to his room.

  "I know some people who can toss his room, and no one would ever know."

  Archie thought for a minute and said, "Do it."

  ****

  A week passed before Archie and Gruber met again over steins of beer. Gruber had one of his men, a former burglar, search Zoche's room. He didn't find anything suspicious except a small book of commentaries by Francis Bacon, the former Lord Chancellor of England. Gruber didn't know why Zoche would have a copy until Archie Mitchell suggested it could be used for code keys. Gruber sent a radio message asking if a duplicate copy of the commentary could be found. It was unlikely, since few of the commentaries had been printed.

  "I have discovered another spy, I think, Archie," Gruber added to his report on Zoche. "He doesn't appear to be allied with Zoche, more of an independent."

  That statement didn't surprise Archie. He doubted that Zoche would be here alone. No, there would other groups spying as well. "Name?"

  "Otto Mohr. He applied for a job with Gary Reardon's Nuts and Bolts. He didn't get hired so he applied next for a job at the brassworks."

  Archie Mitchell was the unofficial security officer for Suhl, Incorporated. Zoche seemed to be interested in the DDNP compound. Mohr seemed to be more interested in the mechanization of the process of making cartridge brass. "Was he hired?"

  "Still pending, I think."

  "Okay. I think we need to talk to Gary and Pat. I'm more concerned with Zoche. He is more interested in DDNP and could cause us more trouble. Let's finish this beer and go find Gary."

  The conversation with Gary Reardon was short. It was decided to hire Mohr but keep a close eye on him. They'd keep him away from seeing the presses unassembled. Assembled, much of the critical design was hidden. They'd let Mohr think he would be able to ferret out the secret of the presses while insuring he never had access to the details.

  X

  February, 1635

  The Reservation

  Nicki Jo was in her lab in the chem plant when Katherine walked in. "Nicki, there's been an accident."

  "Where? Anyone hurt?" Nicki Jo asked.

  "DDNP fab number two. Nothing serious, just some cuts."

  Nicki turned off her alcohol burners, halted the process she was working on, and followed Katherine quickly out of the lab.

  They found Georg Rohn talking to one of the stewards at the accident site. "He's lucky," the shop safety steward was saying. "Idiot. He should have called for help. It's in the protocol." Georg Rohn hadn't been on the job very long, and he was shadowing the production process with the safety steward. He needed to know exactly how DDNP was made and understand the process and protocol Nicki Jo had created for its manufacture.

  "I didn't expect this would happen when I wrote them," Nicki Jo said as she was told how the accident occurred. "I'll have to add another paragraph. At least he wasn't hurt, and the damage was controlled," Nicki Jo said

  "Yes, the sand bags and steel plate saved him," Georg Rohn replied.

  "Run me through it again."

  "He was working through step twenty-three. He had just dipped some picric acid when he felt the sneeze coming on. Instead of following protocol and laying the ladle down, he froze. The first feeling subsided and then came again. This time he followed protocol, too late perhaps, and was lowering the ladle when he sneezed and shook the ladle. That set off the picric acid in his ladle. Fortunately, there were no sympathetic detonations and the sandbags around the picric acid crucible absorbed the shock."

  "Hmmm. Suggestions?" Nicki Jo asked.

  "I think we should separate the individual workstations further and add more sandbags between stations," the safety steward said. Further separation would add more isolation and help prevent one explosion from setting off a chain reaction down the other workstations.

  "Isolate the stations more and add some blow-out panels," Nicki Jo added.

  The safety steward looked at the damaged workstation. Some of the sandbags were ripped open and others slid to one side as the sand ran out of the ripped bags. The steel armor plate had some scratches but the damage was minimal. The bags and steel plate were placed in a fashion to redirect the force of an explosion away from the worker, the workstation and, as much as possible, from the other chemical reagents. The design worked. The station could be back in production as soon as cleanup was finished. "I agree. We can fix the other fab buildings now, move to one and retrofit this one."

  Nicki Jo nodded. "Write it up for me and I'll sign it. What about the worker? How is he?"

  "Shaken, scared, embarrassed . . ." the safety steward answered.

  "He should be."

  "And, he has a couple of cuts but none need stitches. I'll have the plant medic paint the cuts with an antiseptic and bandage them where needed. I've put him on suspension with pay for five days per the safety rules. We'll have the accident review in a couple of days. I don't see any willful negligence. A lack of training?" he asked Nicki Jo.

  She pondered the question. She hadn't thought what could happen from such a simple thing as a sneeze. Picric acid was touchy, but it was necessary for the process to make DDNP. Could the formula be changed to make the picric acid less . . . …hazardous? No, not and keep the DDNP usable and meet the requirements for a primer. No, she decided, a change of the formula at this time wasn't needed. Leave changes to formula version two, she decided, if there is one.

  "Maybe. I'll have Katy review the appropriate training plans." She turned to the Safety Steward, "Recommendation on the worker?"

  "Well, he makes a good train
ing example. I'll think on it but my first impression is that we should move him to a less . . . dangerous job."

  "He won't like that," Katherine observed.

  "I know, Katy," Nicki Jo said, "but we need to set precedent. We pay high scale plus a hazard premium for this job and will pay his family a large compensation if he is killed or disabled. But his monetary loss in future income will teach the others to keep focused on the job."

  "What was his rotation?" Nicki Jo asked the steward.

  "He was in his second day. Week-on, week-off." Job stress was a risk that had been discussed before starting up the DDNP fabrication line. The work schedule was six days on, Monday through Saturday, followed by a week off the production line. They would work in a safer job for a week before returning to the line. Workers needed time off, time to be with their families, time to de-stress from a potentially lethal job if the worker didn't pay attention. Nicki Jo designed the fabrication process to be as safe and as reliable as possible. However, no job, no process, was idiot-proof. Fortunately, this worker wasn't an idiot. He just sneezed . . . at a most unanticipated time, an unanticipated occurrence.

  "Should we change that? Shorten the time-on to five or four days? Longer time off to de-stress?"

  "No, I don't think so," the safety steward replied. "I'll watch for stress buildups but I don't think it's a problem with this crew. Others . . . maybe, but we should wean out the weak ones during training."

  "Okay. I'm depending on you and the other shop and safety stewards to tell us," she reminded him, "the management, whenever you think there's a problem. If our employees kill themselves, or even get hurt severely, no one will want the jobs. We need good workers and we're willing to take the steps needed to keep them."

  "I understand, and I'll report this to the steward's council at our next meeting."

  "Good." Nicki Jo made one last inspection of the workstation and walked out. She had work to do.

  ****

  It was time for their weekly meeting. Gary wondered how necessary they were. Everyone talked with each other almost on a daily basis. He had asked several that question, and their answers were unexpected. They wanted the meetings! Apparently, Gary's staff meetings were the only time they were all together in one spot at the same time and able to receive information about the entire project. Without the staff meetings, they tended to isolate themselves in private fiefdoms. "Status reports. Pat, how are we on construction?" Gary asked. This meeting was in the new administration building. It was so new the smell of sawdust still hung in the air. The walls of the conference room were covered with diagrams of the plant site, drawings of the buildings, the down-time version of blue-prints, project diagrams, and task-on-arrow process flow diagrams. Gary had temporarily conscripted the conference room as a working room for the meeting because it was the only one with interior walls instead of exposed studs.