1636:The Saxon Uprising as-11

by Eric Flint

  "Oh, stop it, Gunther!" said Anselm Keller. "I can name four ways we could do it, off the top of my head. So what? The issue isn't a practical one in the first place. It's a matter of political perceptions."

  Gunther shrugged. "So everyone tells me. I can't see it myself. What difference does it make how they get here? Just another damn prince and princess. The world's full of them."

  He really couldn't see what was involved, Rebecca knew. That was a blind spot on Achterhof's part, although it was certainly one shared by many other people, especially in Magdeburg.

  The underlying issue was central, actually. What sort of government-no, what sort of state-would the USE have? Achterhof, like almost everyone in the CoCs and the great majority of activists for the Fourth of July Party, was a committed republican. From his point of view, the existing situation was annoying at best. Prior to his injury, Gustav Adolf had occupied a position in the USE somewhere between that of a ruling monarch and a purely constitutional one. Analogous, roughly, to the status of the British monarchy in the up-timers' old universe during the eighteenth and part of the nineteenth centuries.

  Michael Stearns was a republican, too-and Rebecca herself, for that matter. But what Michael understood was that his opinion and that of the CoCs and his own party's cadre couldn't be confused with the opinions of the millions of people who inhabited the Germanies.

  "I doubt if even the majority of people who vote for us are really committed to a republic," he'd told Rebecca. "Never, ever underestimate the strength of tradition. It's not immovable, certainly. But don't think it's a feather in the wind, either. That's because 'tradition' isn't simply a state of mind, it's a reality rooted in people's everyday lives. That's especially true for people living close to the edge, economically, and people who've given up hostages to fortune, so to speak. Footloose young radicals with nothing much to lose except their own lives can be bold as all hell and willing-no, eager-to turn everything upside down. But a man in his thirties or forties who makes just enough to take care of his family-and he's got a wife and kids to take care of, not just himself-is going to be a lot more cautious. 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' His wife's likely to be even more skeptical of abstract theories. Having a king around makes things seem at least a little more stable. As long as the royal bugger's not doing something screwy, at least. But nobody thinks Gustav II Adolf is a screwball. Not me, not you, not anybody. The truth it, the Vasa dynasty is pretty popular with a lot of people and it's accepted by most of the others."

  He hadn't changed his mind, either, because of recent events. She got letters from him fairly regularly. Actual letters-long ones-not short radio messages. However they did it, Thurn and Taxis couriers got through or around Baner's army just as easily as they crossed bridges.

  And that was ultimately what was at stake here. Rebecca wasn't sure herself how critical it was for Kristina and Ulrik's arrival in Magdeburg to be done publicly and with great fanfare. Maybe she was over-estimating its importance. But she didn't think so-and she thought that at least some of Gunther's resistance was because he felt, even if not entirely consciously, that if Kristina and Ulrik played a decisive role in ending the crisis, that alone would effectively seal the fate of republicanism in the USE, for at least several generations.

  Which…it probably would.

  She wished that Michael was here to make this decision. But he wasn't-and there was no point asking him by radio. He'd refuse. You're there, I'm not. It's your call. Make it. That would be his answer.

  But, in a way, she already had his answer. Much of the content of those letters had been ruminations on the dynamic of revolutions. Michael was concerned to keep the damage as limited as possible, because a revolution that emerged from a society in ruins was likely to become distorted very quickly.

  Constantin Ableidinger spoke up. As a member of Parliament from Franconia, he was present in Magdeburg at least half of the time, and regularly attended the executive committee's meetings.

  "Do they know we know?" he asked. "Their highnesses, I mean. Can you use that word in the plural?"

  "Who cares whether you can or not?" grunted Achterhof. "But I'd like to know the answer to the first question, myself."

  "I'm not sure, actually," said Rebecca. "I was sworn to secrecy by Admiral Simpson until just three days ago, when he told me I should broach the matter-these were his words-'to those people you think are critical and no one else.' So far, that's been the people in this room. I didn't even tell Francisco Nasi why I was asking him about the availability of his aircraft."

  "As if he won't figure it out!" said Helene.

  "I'm sure he has," Rebecca agreed. "Still, I didn't tell him, so I didn't break my promise to the admiral. And Francisco will keep it to himself, we can be sure of that. As for the question itself…"

  She thought about it, for a moment. "I simply don't know. I'd been assuming they knew Simpson had told us, but now that I consider the matter, I realize that's just an assumption on my part. Maybe they don't."

  Ableidinger nodded. "That's what I figured. I think before we go any further, we need to find out the answer. And while we're at it why don't we ask them which way they'd rather come?" He glanced at Gunther. "I suppose we should make clear that the pilot of the aircraft will not be Jesse Wood."

  "Oh, pfui!" snapped Gundelfinger. The glance she gave Achterhof was acerbic. "Anybody who knows Eddie Junker knows that he's as steady as a rock. You think Nasi would have hired him as his personal pilot if he didn't trust his competence? We don't have to get into that."

  "I agree with Helene," said Rebecca. "We should keep the question as simple as possible."

  She looked around the room, and then glanced at the window to gauge the time of day. The time of evening, now. "If there's no further discussion, I will go make the radio call right now. We can take advantage of the window if we move immediately."

  She was back in less than fifteen minutes. "The answer to your question, Constantin, is: yes, they knew. In fact, it was they who asked the admiral to get in touch with me. The reason I'm back so soon is because they must have been waiting right there in the radio room at the navy base.

  "And the answer is…"

  She held up the note with the radio message. "I will read the entire thing. Essential that our arrival in Magdeburg be done publicly, preferably with fanfare. Personal risk of travel much less important than political risk of appearing furtive. Kristina, Princess of Sweden, the United States of Europe, and the Union of Kalmar. Ulrik, Prince of Denmark."

  Smiling, she set the message down on the table. "It's worth noting, I think, that the signature alone constitutes almost half the message."

  Ableidinger chuckled. "Yes, that's a lot of what's involved, isn't it?"

  It was easy to forget, sometimes, because of the booming voice and the flamboyant personality, that the brain inside the Franconian's head was one of the most politically astute in the nation. "Let's all understand right now what we're committing ourselves to," said Constantin. "If we bring Kristina here, under these circumstances, we have as good as placed our seal of approval on the Vasa dynasty. And not just our personal seal as individuals, either. Insofar as anyone speaks officially for the democratic movement today, we do. There will be no going back from it. Not so long as she lives, anyway. And she's only nine-and I looked it up. In that other universe, even without modern medical care, Kristina lived until the year 1689. For those of you who can't count readily, that's more than a half a century from now."

  Gundelfinger grinned. "And she was tough as nails throughout. You're not the only one who looked her up, Constantin. I was particularly charmed-and appalled-by the story of her celebration of the pope's birthday, after she abdicated, converted to Catholicism and moved to Rome. She threw a huge party in her villa. The party got too wild for too long, the guests ignored her orders to leave, so she had her household troops open fire on the celebrants. Eight corpses later, they did as she'd bade them. That's the girl we're inviting here,
comrades-and, as Constantin says, giving our seal of approval. And if you're not familiar with Prince Ulrik, he's the young prince who personally almost sank an ironclad."

  By now, Achterhof was looking alarmed. "Wait a minute! I think we need to consider this a bit more."

  Rebecca nodded. "By all means. You have the floor, Gunther."

  There was silence, for perhaps a minute, as Gunther tried to marshal his thoughts. Eventually, though, he threw up his hands.

  "Ah! I suppose if we don't, we're just dragging out the misery. I'm not happy at the idea of being under the Vasas the rest of my life, but I really want Oxenstierna brought down. Um. Broken on the rack, actually, and then disemboweled and hanged. But I'll settle for brought down."

  "Move to a vote," said Ableidinger immediately.

  The vote was unanimous. Achterhof was probably tempted to abstain, but he didn't.

  Rebecca hadn't thought he would. Gunther could be aggravating sometimes, but the one thing the man never did was dodge issues and evade responsibility.

  "I'll send the message," she said.

  She sent two, actually. The second one went to the radio station at the Third Division's headquarters near Ceske Budejovice in Bohemia.

  Less than an hour later, a radio message arrived from Third Division headquarters to the radio station of the Hangman Regiment in Tetschen. It was addressed to the commanding officer, Colonel Jeff Higgins, and consisted of one word: Soon.

  Chapter 29

  Berlin Wilhelm Wettin was surprised to hear the door open. Since his arrest and confinement in a small room in a corner of the palace, he'd had almost no visitors. The guards brought his meals regularly, did the same for emptying the chamber pot, provided him with wine at his request, and otherwise did not speak to him at all. The last time he'd seen anyone other than a guard had been several weeks ago, when Oxenstierna sent one of his agents to check on the prime minister's wellbeing. The chancellor hadn't bothered to come himself.

  Still more to his surprise, the person who came through the door was Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand. The emperor's cousin was not perhaps the last person Wilhelm had expected to see, but he certainly wasn't anywhere near the top of the list. The two men barely knew each other, except by reputation.

  "I haven't much time," the colonel said. He was speaking very quietly, although not in a whisper. "In the nature of things, bribes only last so long"-he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb-"and those fellows on guard out there are from the Dalana Infantry Regiment, whose former commander was none other than Oxenstierna himself. Not quite my still-close boyhood companions."

  Wilhelm stared at him. Why would the king's own cousin be needing to bribe anyone?

  "Something is rotten in the state of Sweden," Hand continued. "Or at least in one of my greedy cousin's three realms. I want to know what it is. Why were you arrested?"

  He waved his hand abruptly. That was his left hand, the one he usually employed. His right arm couldn't be straightened due to the terrible injuries he had sustained while leading a brigade against Wallenstein a few years earlier.

  "And let's skip over the twaddle about conspiring with unknown-what was Oxenstierna's phrase?-ah, yes, 'seditious elements.' Such a vague term. On his bad days, I suppose you could accuse my horse of being seditious, and he's presumably elemental." The colonel's familiar cold grin appeared. "At least, I've seen no sign that he's sprouting wings."

  After a moment of silence, Hand shook his head impatiently. "Come on, come on, tell me the truth. My loyalty is entirely to my cousin, Saxe-Weimar. No one else."

  Wilhelm made a quick decision. It was always possible this was a trap, but…

  Not likely. Erik Haakansson Hand's personal attachment to Gustav Adolf went far back. Besides, what difference did it make, at this point? If Oxenstierna wanted him executed, he didn't have to use an elaborate subterfuge involving the emperor's own cousin.

  "Maximilian of Bavaria's attack on the Oberpfalz was arranged," he said abruptly. "By that bastard Oxenstierna himself. He used the count of Nassau-Hadamar, Johann Ludwig, as his intermediary."

  "How did you find out?"

  "Two of the count's associates let it slip while they were drunk. I suppose they assumed I was part of the conspiracy. One of them was-"

  "I know who the baron and the guildmaster were. They left Berlin the day before you were arrested. I wondered why, at the time. It makes sense now. When they sobered up and remembered the conversation, they must have started worrying what would happen if you took it to Oxenstierna. So, as rats will, they went scurrying for their holes."

  The colonel tugged on his beard for a moment. "All right. I'll do what I can. Just stay here and don't do anything foolish like trying to escape." Again, the cold grin appeared. "If it will settle your nerves at all-I warn you, I know the castle involved, so it certainly wouldn't settle mine very much-our precious chancellor is not planning to have you executed. No, you're for exile in St. Olaf's Castle in Finland as soon as things settle down."

  "And are they settling down?"

  Hand sneered. "Of course not. What were you fools thinking, anyway? And then Fool One had Fool Two arrested! Talk about piling wood onto an already out of control fire! Or what's that up-time expression?"

  "Pouring gasoline on the flames," said Wilhelm, his jaws tightening. He resented the insult. On the other hand…

  Sadly, he couldn't disagree with it. In the weeks since his arrest, he'd come to much the same conclusion about himself. Although he had avoided terms like "fool." He thought "made some very bad mistakes" was sufficient, thank you.

  The colonel turned to go, and then stopped. "And here's something else to settle your nerves-or make them worse, possibly. I'm almost certain that everything is about to explode."

  "Why?"

  Hand snorted. "Why do you think? You left Stearns with an entire division at his disposal? After you let Gretchen Richter steal Dresden from under your noses?"

  A moment later, he was gone.

  All of it made sense, the colonel thought, as he walked back toward the wing of the palace where his cousin was kept. At least, if you were the sort of schemer who was too clever for his own good; which, in his estimation, was a pretty fair description of Sweden's chancellor. It would be just like him not to be able to resist ladling an unnecessary scoop of treason onto the pile.

  Stupid, really. To begin with, Maximilian of Bavaria probably would have invaded the Oberpfalz anyway. And while neutralizing the army of the State of Thuringia-Franconia would certainly be handy for Oxenstierna's purposes, it was not critical. So why add the risk that outright treason would be discovered?

  Erik Haakansson Hand did not and never had shared in the general admiration for Axel Oxenstierna. An admiration, unfortunately, shared by his cousin the king. Such was life.

  He spent a bit of time wondering if he should protect himself in some way from the possibility that the two guards he'd bribed would report the matter to anyone. But it was not likely at all that they would. Bribees generally didn't confess their sins except under duress, after all. And even if they did, what could he do to prevent it? The only two solutions he could think of-bribe them some more or murder them-would be cures worse than the disease. His own lapse into gasoline-over-fire-pouring, as it were.

  Quite a charming expression. Of course, you had to know what gasoline was-but, by now, that knowledge was quite widespread.

  It didn't take him long to reach the king's quarters. Berlin's palace was a palace, yes. But it was what you'd expect in Berlin.

  When he came into the room, he saw that Gustav Adolf was asleep. That was a blessing, he thought. For the past two days, his cousin had been prone to fits of anger great enough that he'd had to be restrained. But these fits, unlike the ones he'd had earlier, were more complex. There was confusion there, not just fury. In fact, Erik was pretty sure most of the anger derived from the confusion. As if the king, trying to awaken, was frustrated by his difficulty in doing so.

  Bef
ore he could say anything, the king's bodyguard spoke. "He asked for you, Colonel," said Erling Ljungberg. "Twice, before he fell asleep. And the second time, what he said was: 'Where is Erik? He must see to Kristina. It's very important.' "

  The colonel took a long, almost shuddering breath. Three sentences, each of which was clear and meaningful-and what he suspected was most important, all three sentences held together as a coherent, consistent and logical whole. He wished he could consult the Moor doctor, but there was no chance of that, not now. He had to stay in Berlin, until…

  Erik realized, with a little start, that he'd never actually taken that thought to its conclusion. Until what? Always, he'd stopped at the edge of hoping-desperately hoping-for his cousin's recovery. But now that it seemed he might actually be recovering…

  He came to one immediate decision. There was no more time for subtlety.

  "My loyalties are entirely to him, Erling Ljungberg." He pointed at Gustav Adolf. "Yours?"

  "Don't be an ass. You know the answer to that. What you really want to know is if I'm as dumb as the ox I look like."

  Erik couldn't help laughing. A quick, nervous laugh-but a laugh it definitely was. "I'd hardly use the term 'ox'! Bull, yes. And now that you bring it up, how smart are you?"

  Ljungberg heaved his massive shoulders. The gesture might have been a shrug, or it might have been a bull shifting his stance to attack, or it might be something of both. Ljungberg himself probably didn't know for sure.

  "I'm not so stupid that I can't figure out the chancellor is taking advantage of my king's condition to carry through policies my king would never have agreed to himself. Nor am I so stupid that I can't figure out that the blessed chancellor is in over his head. And he's supposed to be the clever one!"

  As answers went, that was the best Hand could want. "How does the rest of your unit feel about it?"

  "Even Scots aren't that dumb. And they take their orders from me, anyway."

  The colonel nodded. He started chewing on his lower lip again, deciding on his next steps. He'd begin with the Ostergotlanders. He no longer commanded that regiment, but he had their respect, and he was on good personal terms with its current commander. After that…