Grantville Gazette, Volume 68

by Bjorn Hasseler

  Still, foreign mercenaries were employed by the Transylvanian princes—Scots and Germans who received three times higher pay than Hungarians, often deservedly enough. The heroism of the Scots defending the castle of Lippa (Lipova) in 1596 became legendary.

  The mercenaries fought in closed formations, and learning them required long and hard training. This style demanded blind obedience and iron discipline so that the formation could work smoothly—it was a matter of life and death. The huge war machine didn't allow for any individual bravery or initiative because its efficiency would have been reduced. Meanwhile, the mercenaries fighting in formation knew that they could survive better and might even win the battle if they and their comrades would just obey orders. They were part of a clockwork, thus they could not give in to fear so easily. The orders and their comrades' attention had been always a great psychological support to them in a chaotic, bloody, smoky, and loud battle situation. This inner cohesion contributed a great deal to their battlefield value, despite having the lowest status of any society. Unlike in the Ottoman army, the mercenaries' cavalry never left the foot soldiers alone on the battlefield.

  Cossacks were also employed by the Habsburgs, as they were cheaper than anybody else, and they had a reputation equal to the Tatars. In Prince Bocskay's time, the Cossacks were hired either by the Habsburgs' Hungarian vassals like Homonnai Drugeth or by the Turks themselves. Homonnai's Cossacks were scattered by Rákóczi, and they ran until they reached Bártfa (Bardejov) in current day Slovakia. An Austrian chief officer, Siegfried Kollonitsch, hired first six hundred, and then two thousand, Cossacks. Their pay was given to them in cloth and salt-cubes.

  ****

  The hussars were originally typical Hungarian light cavalrymen and they became famous for their special skills and warfare. Their name derives from the Hungarian huszár, and the world adopted their name, first mentioned in Hungary in the fifteenth century. The nomadic Hungarian warfare arose when the Ottoman Empire attacked Hungary because the Turks used light cavalry that had to be answered in kind.

  Hungarians were quick to relearn their nomadic skills and adopted many elements from the Turk attackers as well. There are two kinds of hussars: the light raiders and the armored ones with eagles' wings and feathers attached to them. The latter were introduced in Poland in 1580 by the Hungarian Prince Báthory who became the Polish king as well. The Polish winged hussars with their fierce and almost anachronistic-looking mass attack were world-famous in the 1630s; even Gustav Adolf adopted from them the use of the sabre and the lance after 1621. These armed hussars were not much different from the chain-clad spahis, though. Yet, it was the armored hussars' attack which decided the battle at Vienna when Sobieski led his cavalry against the Ottoman besiegers in 1683.

  Most of the castle-warriors of the frontier were hussars but not all hussars were castle-warriors.

  ****

  Notes from The Buffer Zone: Exciting Times by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  I sat down to write this column about a week after I taught a class for professional writers covering history, time travel, and alternate history. One of the biggest lessons I felt I needed to impart was that just because something “new” hit in a certain year didn’t mean that everyone adapted to that thing that year. Bits and pieces of the past lie cheek to jowl with bits and pieces of the future.

  I cited the Netflix streaming show, Stranger Things, as my example. The show, set in 1983, got most of its historical (!) details right, but missed on a few things—all communications-related. For example, at one point, a character dials 911.

  All well and good, except 911 wasn’t the go-to number for emergencies in 1983 outside of some of the major cities. I looked up the information on 911 just to write this paragraph and found this statistic: by 1987, 50% of the population had access to 911 as an emergency number.

  Seems simple, right? It’s not. Because I was a reporter in the early 1980s in a minor city in the Midwest, and we didn’t have 911. We had discussions about 911. Most people thought it was a bad thing. The main problem was cost. Implementing the system was darn expensive.

  When I moved to the Oregon Coast in 1995, the community I was in was just investing in its 911 call center—and not happily because of the expense.

  So when this character, in rural Indiana, dialed 911, I popped right out of the show. That was a (minor) failure of research—and that assumption we writers (and readers) all make. 911 was first discussed in the late 1950s and took more than a decade to get through all the legislative hurdles on the national level. And so, we readers/writers figure, every place should have had it by the 1980s.

  We would have been wrong. Some places get things immediately, and others take years—even decades—to acquire.

  People are the same way about their technology or any other development. As if to prove my point, Apple released another iPhone upgrade in the middle of that workshop. The upgrade hit about a week after the meltdown of the Samsung Galaxy Note 7—y’know: the phone that was exploding and starting fires (which is not a sentence I ever expected to write, particularly in the 1980s).

  The update led everyone at the workshop to discuss our cell phones. I don’t think anyone had a Galaxy Note 7 (thank heavens), but a number of folks were delaying their iPhone update until they got home. (Always sensible when traveling.) Of course, the conversation veered off course to discuss how hard life used to be without cell phones.

  And then one of the writers lifted up her phone, and proudly declared that she had a flip-phone, and wasn’t going to get a “smartphone” until technology forced her into it.

  No one in the room was particularly tech-savvy that I know of. Everyone was a mainstream consumer of cell phone technology. Everyone had laptops (something that wasn’t true when we first started teaching these courses), and everyone had self-published at least one thing, but not everyone had adopted the latest phone tech.

  History isn’t one thing, and neither is science. In the past few weeks, major storms have hit across the globe. The storms’ devastation on the ground is awful. Entire communities are flooded or torn away, and hundreds of people die, some horribly.

  But from space—those storms are a marvel.

  It has become common to see, on the evening news or the latest news app or on NASA’s website, a view of these massive storms from space. The storms don’t look chaotic and terrifying from above. In fact, they seem organized and well-formed, sometimes a perfect spiral with a little round hole in the middle—the aptly named eye.

  When you’re in the middle of one of those storms, though, there is nothing perfect about it. The storm is violent and terrifying and so very destructive.

  But from space—quietly beautiful.

  Science fiction doesn’t always discuss these complexities, any more than historical fiction does. Because we forget that nothing in the universe is just one thing. A storm is terrifying and beautiful, destructive and stunning.

  Just like the future is. Because we’re in the future right now. I don’t think I ever imagined 2016. 2020, yes, and 2000, yes, and 2050, yes, but not 2016. The number is just too weird.

  I would have told you, though, that we would have had flying cars by now and video phones and cities in the sky. Spaceships leaving on a regular basis for the Moon, and maybe even the colonization of Mars.

  The thing is—we have video phones (we don’t use them much), and people are talking about flying cars. But some things we never imagined—like exploding phones—and others have already become routine.

  Like viewing photographs of the Earth from space. The photos I’m referring to came from the International Space Station. I saw many of them retweeted on Twitter (something sf never imagined), and shared on various social media platforms (also never imagined).

  We’ve become accustomed to looking at our planet from the outside. But I remember those first photographs of the Earth, taken by the astronauts in those tiny tin cans we called spaceships. The Earth, like the storms she generates, seems so
calm and peaceful from above.

  And organized, and beautiful.

  The chaos that exists down here, the fights and the dramas and the crises, not usually visible from above.

  And to think we didn’t really know that when I was born. But we did by the time my niece was born ten years later. By then, we had gone to the Moon.

  Because history, current events—the world—nothing is just one thing. And while time marches forward, we get used to the trappings we would have called science fiction in the past and we only see what we don’t have.

  We don’t have flying cars—yet. We aren’t living on the Moon—yet. We are talking about missions to Mars, so I expect they’ll happen soon enough.

  But we have an International Space Station. We have more computer power at our fingertips than NASA had when it sent astronauts into space.

  I am writing a column, which is something I have done since my first column forty years ago. Only back then I used a cheap typewriter, and now I’m working on an (out of date) computer.

  I’ll email this to my editor, and the column will go on a website, and that would be counted as “in print.” Even though nothing will be printed on any paper at all.

  Old-fashioned behavior in newfangled ways. These dichotomies fascinate me. I hope I communicated some of that fascination to the writers I was teaching. Writers with updated phones and flip-phones, who have as many opinions about the past as I do, and who have no more idea about what faces us in the future than any of us do.

  They’re exciting, the times we live in.

  But I’ll wager human beings have said that off and on since time immemorial. And—the thing is—every time that phrase has gotten repeated over the centuries, it’s been right.

  ****

  This Issue’s Cover – 68 by Garrett W. Vance

  This Issue’s Cover – 68

  This cover was inspired by Mike Watson's story Greetings! Please note that Gazette art is not considered canon, and this is simply the artist's interpretation of what a USE Marshal's badge might look like, based on historical US Marshal's badges.

  Cheers, Garrett

  The First Cavalry of the Cretaceous, Part 3: Demons in the Air by Garrett Vance

  Gonzalo stood on the wide, shady porch of his Spanish-style mud brick home, watching the tall figure of Nate Tucker ambling across the meadow. It was a familiar sight, but one he hadn't seen for more than a week.

  "Hello, my friend!" he called out cheerfully to the Texan. "How is married life treating you?"

  "Fine, just fine," Nate said in a contented tone, "but I confess I could use a little time off from all that bliss. She and that crazy old witch doctor are busy practicing their mumbo-jumbo today, so I thought I'd come see what you were up to."

  "Even the happiest of husbands must some time seek the company of their fellow men. I was just heading out to the archery range. Care to join me?

  "That sounds like just the thing. Let's go."

  Nate and Gonzalo strolled over to the range they had set up out past the horse paddocks and prepared their targets. Nate had struggled with the ancient weapon at first, but was showing signs of improvement. With little hope of obtaining more bullets in the New New World, he knew his life might one day depend on it.

  "I've been thinking, Gonzalo," Nate said, pausing during his turn at the target. "These shortbows were fine for shooting normal-sized game back in the tribe's own time, but here they are pretty under-powered. A lot of those arrows were just bouncing off that dragon's thick hide. So, I've been doing some thinking. Have you ever heard of the English longbow?"

  Gonzalo's face brightened. "Of course I have! I shot one myself, back when I was with the Spanish embassy in London. They were a deadly force in their day, less so by my era, but still effective."

  "How do you think a longbow would do against one of those big critters?"

  Gonzalo pulled on his bushy black beard and considered.

  "Well, they were designed to pierce armor, so I would think they would do quite well. It seems you have come up with quite a brilliant idea, my friend!"

  "Well, I was inspired by your idea to use pikes against those monsters. They really saved our bacon. It's going to be a while before we can make gunpowder or do anything with metals, although I think we had best get started on both of those projects real soon. Meanwhile, we can use the simpler techniques of earlier times, whatever might give us an advantage. We're fairly safe up here on the mesa, but at some point we are going to have to go back down there to support our allies, and I would prefer some better firepower. So, do you think we could make ourselves some English longbows?"

  "I think the Mesa People can make anything they put their minds to! They are truly remarkable craftsmen, given the rather primitive-looking tools they have to work with. If we show them what we want, I am sure they can not only create a longbow, but most likely improve on the English design! No offense to your forebearers intended, of course!" Gonzalo knew his friend well, but in matters of pride such as one's esteemed ancestors, it was still best to jest with caution.

  Nate laughed. "None taken! My father was an Englishman, through and through, but I am a Texan. I wonder what kind of wood we can use? There are scads of trees around, but I don't think any of them are English yews."

  "I think we can leave that to our craftsmen, no doubt they will know just the thing. Let's go see what Ni-T'o and T'cumu think."

  It didn't take them too long to find their friends. The two cousins were in the horse paddock, leading the small herd of recently captured yearlings around behind their own mounts—Oklilinchi, T'cumu's tamed native horse, and Bella, Ni-t'o's sturdy Spanish mare.

  Nate smiled at the progress they were making. It wouldn't be long before they could add more horses and riders to their ranks. His dream of building a mounted force to handle threats both human and otherwise was unfolding before his very eyes, and it pleased him greatly.

  Nate and Gonzalo watched for a while, leaning against the eight-foot-high split-rail fence they had constructed, a major improvement over the improvised brush fence it had replaced. It was big enough to keep the horses in, and, they hoped, the lions out. A twenty-four-hour guard was placed on the paddock, just to make sure. They hadn't seen the lions lately. The arrival of so many people had caused the local pride to retire to the rugged, and as yet unexplored, northwestern third of the mesa.

  When Ni-T'o and T'cumu noticed their friends had arrived, they immediately trotted their mounts over to greet them.

  "The horses are looking good, fellas! Well done!" Nate told them.

  "Thanks!" they replied in unison. T'cumu, who had a real gift with the animals, was unofficially the lead trainer, so Ni-T'o gave a little nod, deferring to him. T'cumu, around five years his junior, was fairly bursting with pride at their accomplishments.

  "We will be able to start riding the new mesa horses soon!" T'cumu announced. "Many of the young braves are eager to try."

  "Well, that's good to hear, I figured they would be." Nate said. "I've seen them watching us ride, I can tell they're itching to join in."

  "They are already arguing over who shall be first." Ni-T'o told them with a chuckle. "We shall have to perform that ritual you taught us, the drawing of straws."

  "Works a charm every time. Say, Gonzalo and I were talking, and we have an idea we would like you to help us with. It would require your crafting skills."

  Both men would have gladly helped their friends with whatever they might ask, but at the mention of crafting skills, an activity most keenly relished, they perked up with excitement.

  Gonzalo, who had once shot an actual English longbow back in sixteenth-century England, described the idea to the cousins, who listened with great interest.

  "So, what do you think, my friends? Can it be done?" The Spaniard asked them.

  "Most certainly!" T'cumu told him without hesitation.

  The more thoughtful and reserved Ni-T'o nodded his head in the affirmative, and said, "We will try," with
a patient smile at T'cumu's bright eagerness for all things new. "Let's go find the right wood."

  They decided to walk, since their three mares were carrying foals from Gonzalo's randy stallion Flavio, and it was best not to overwork them. They drew near Nate's cabin, where the meadow was lined with the colorful teepees of the Raven warriors.

  One of them called out to them as they were passing by.

  "Where are you headed, friends?" he asked in a cheerful tone.

  Nate gave his companions a very subtle shake of his head, which everyone immediately understood.

  "Just out for a walk, maybe scare up some rabbits for supper," Ni-T'o answered. They all smiled, returned the man's wave, then continued on. Once they were well out of earshot, Nate spoke in low tones,

  "I like the Ravens, I truly do, and now, hell, I'm married to their leader, but they are still city folk, and I want to keep at least some things we are up to under our hats. If this longbow actually works it may one day have to be used for more than monster shooting. Let's just see how things go the next few weeks, maybe then we will know for sure how much we can trust them."

  His friends murmured their agreement, it was a wise course of action.

  The party strolled through the many copses of trees dotting the mesa's grasslands. It was getting a bit hot, as usual, but the occasional breezes finding their way up from the vast Western Ocean that lay a thousand feet below provided some refreshment. They walked in silence for a while, simply enjoying their camaraderie and the natural beauty that surrounded them. After a while, Ni-T'o paused, and pointed at a tree standing by itself in a flower-strewn meadow.

  "That one." he announced, and they turned their path toward it. The tree was about forty feet tall, with a short trunk and a round, umbrella-like top. It cast a wide circle of welcome shade beneath it. The large leaves were long, slender-pointed ovals, dark green, with a sheen on the top side. It was filled with large, bumpy-skinned, yellow-green fruits.