1634: The Ram Rebellion (assiti shards)

by Eric Flint

  “Ja, I have met Fraulein Pitre and Hatfield, General.”

  “That is Captain Pitre,” Kagg said curtly. “You should remember that you and she are the same rank and use proper military courtesy at all times. And Warrant Officer Hatfield should be addressed as Mister or Herr Hatfield. You should think of him the same as one of our master gunners. You do not address them by their bare last name, I hope.”

  Von Dantz turned red. “Captain, Herr Hatfield.”

  Anse thought that was as close to an apology as they were going to get. It was not an invariable rule, by any means, but he’d found that lots of Germans who enjoyed the “von” business seemed to find it well-nigh impossible to be courteous to those they considered their social inferiors.

  Once they entered the general’s office, Kagg said: “Now everyone sit down, and I can tell you why you are all here.”

  As the three found seats and the general moved behind his desk, Anse realized there was another man in the room, leaning against a side wall. It was the big Swedish lieutenant whom Anse had seen with Kagg several times. They’d arrived together, Anse thought. He was a bit older than Kagg, but had the same hard-as-nails look of a professional soldier.

  If the seventeenth century Swedish army worked about the same way the up-time American army of Hatfield’s experience did-always an uncertain proposition – then this unnamed lieutenant would serve General Kagg as one of his staff officers. It was hard to tell, however, just exactly what authority he possessed. No down-time army that Anse was familiar with used the same tight and clear system of ranks that up-time armies did. Generals and colonels commanded specific units, as a rule. But down-timers used the terms “captain” and “lieutenant” very loosely. It was not uncommon for “lieutenants” to command “captains,” for instance, since the term “lieutenant” might really signify direct subordinate to the big cheese, rather than very junior officer. But exactly how and when the authority of a staff officer superseded that of a line commander was something Anse still hadn’t been able to figure out.

  Once everyone was seated, Kagg spoke. “Captain Pitre, Captain von Dantz, Herr Hatfield, we have a problem. General Jackson has received reports that the gun-makers of Suhl are continuing to sell their products to anyone who will buy them, including the enemies of our king. He arranged for Herr Hatfield’s brother-in-law, Patrick Johnson, to look into it. Just this morning his report arrived and it looks like the earlier reports were true. He tells us that large shipments of weapons are leaving Suhl, going by way of Schleusingen. Toward the south. And I can assure you they are not being sent to General Baner in the Upper Palatinate.”

  “What do you expect? They are Franconians,” Captain von Dantz interrupted. “Catholics. We should send troops to hang the traitors. Suhl is in the territory given to the Americans, and all have sworn allegiance to King Gustavus Adolphus. In Pomerania we know how to deal with people like that.”

  “Not exactly.” Elizabeth Pitre’s voice was mild and calm. “True, its citizens have sworn allegiance. But that is because Suhl-the city-like Badenburg, became a state in the NUS by its own free will. That was months before the Captain General’s agreement with President Stearns concerning Franconia.”

  She raised one eyebrow. “Not to mention that you, as a Pomeranian, surely misspoke in saying that the town is Catholic when it is in fact Lutheran.” Her implication was that if she herself, as a lapsed Catholic, knew this much, surely the other captain should know more.

  Von Dantz took the bait. “Suhl’s city council became a ‘state’ of your NUS under false pretenses. It is not an imperial city. The council had no legal right to declare itself independent from the Saxon administrators of the Henneberg inheritance.” His disapproval of “do-it-yourself” politics was plain.

  Kagg frowned. “Captain von Dantz, if you would let me finish, I will tell you what has been decided. Your job is to carry out the orders you receive. And I do not want to have to remind you again that you are serving with American troops and the New United States is not-directly-part of our king’s territory. Neither, since last fall, is Franconia. So politeness toward our hosts is the order of the day.”

  Anse decided he liked the Swedish general. But he could see where this was headed, and started a mental packing list.

  “Now, before I was interrupted, I was about to tell you I have been in contact with General Jackson and President Stearns. They both agree that we need to send some people to Suhl. A small investigative party, however, not a large military force. There is already an American administration set up for Franconia proper. It is headquartered in Wuerzburg. But since Suhl is a state of the NUS rather than part of Catholic Franconia, Stearns’s people in Wuerzburg have no authority there. In any event, our group will be only looking for evidence of gun trafficking with the CPE’s enemies.”

  Kagg turned to Pitre. “Because of Suhl’s status, I do not want to send a large expedition, or a purely Swedish one, or even one under Swedish command, although”-he nodded toward von Dantz-“there will be someone along from our army. There is already a garrison in the town, should more troops prove necessary. The king placed it there before Suhl chose to join the NUS."

  His expression became very bland. “Negotiations between the Swedes and Suhl’s city council in regard to its removal have been . . . protracted. Thus far, President Stearns has not seen fit to make its removal a priority. But we all feel that an American soldier should be officially in command, for political reasons. General Jackson specifically recommended Warrant Officer Hatfield. Captain Pitre, I would appreciate it if you would release him temporarily from his duties with your unit and loan him to me.”

  Captain Pitre frowned. “Well, certainly, if General Jackson says so. Although I’m not quite sure why he’d want someone from TacRail.”

  Kagg shrugged. “Nor am I. From what I understand, there is no early prospect of creating a rail line to Suhl. Not over that part of the Thueringerwald, certainly! But that was his suggestion.” He turned to Anse. “Mr. Hatfield, do you have any objection? If nothing else, you can visit your brother-in-law who is already residing in Suhl.”

  Anse was surprised, as well as impressed, that Kagg already knew that much in the way of the personal details of the American soldiers he’d be working with. “Of course, General Kagg. Captain Pitre, I’d like to take a couple of my own men with me.”

  “Let me guess. You want Private Schultz and Corporal Rau?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Jochen Rau is the best man around for finding out what’s going on. And if we have to open any locked doors he has a lot of experience. Wili Schultz could help be a cover story, too, if we need one. His sister is going to marry Pat. He could be going to check out the wedding arrangements and to see Pat’s business. I know that would leave you with only Toeffel as a trained driver, but Jim Cooper can drive an engine. Toeffel and he have worked together before. And in a pinch Chief Schwartz could drive short hauls.”

  “All right, Mr. Hatfield. But only those two, no more, and I’d like you back before the first of March.”

  Kagg nodded. “Better still, if you can send three of your own soldiers. In that case, I will only send Nils-he waved at the lieutenant-with Captain von Dantz. As I said, I’d rather avoid any larger Swedish presence in Suhl than we need, given the garrison that’s already there.” For a moment-a very brief moment-he seemed slightly embarrassed. “I’m afraid there’s something of a history of ill-will in Franconia toward the Swedish army.

  “That will make a party of five,” the general continued. “That is a perfect number; enough to frighten off most bandits and not enough to attract attention. Nils, step over here and meet Herr Hatfield.” The last statement was to the big lieutenant who was holding up the office wall.

  “Herr Hatfield, I would like to introduce Lieutenant Nils Ivarsson. He has been with me since I became a soldier.”

  Hatfield measured the Swede with his eyes, as he extended his hand. Ivarsson was a little taller than six feet and looked st
rong as a bull. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Ya, I am happy to meet you also. Captain von Dantz has spoken of you often.” There might have been a twinkle in Ivarsson’s eyes. Anse had a feeling the big Swede was not a member of the captain’s fan club.

  January 14, 1633

  Anse looked up in surprise. It was early in the morning for one of the young Germans whom Ed Piazza had started assembling as part of his staff to be hand-delivering him a note. Or for anyone to be delivering a note at all. Ed’s staff were no slouches. The Secretary of State had several up-timers working with him also, of course, but he’d made it a point to incorporate down-timers as soon and as extensively as possible.

  Anse didn’t know this one by name, although he recognized him. A former student at the university at Jena, he thought. Eddie Junker-that was his name. Piazza tended to favor recruits from there, partly because Jena was not much more than fifteen miles away, and partly because Grantville had made it a point to develop relations with Jena that were as close as their relations with Badenburg.

  Anse wasn’t privy to the discussions in the inner circles, but he knew the general plan was to develop Jena into central Germany’s premier educational and medical center. It made sense. Given the nature of its West Virginian topography, there simply wasn’t room in Grantville-including the whole Ring of Fire, for that matter-to expand all that much. The town was already jammed with immigrants, and people were starting to build on hillside areas that Anse himself thought were questionable at best.

  As he opened the note, Anse couldn’t help grinning. However much the down-timers in the area were adapting to American custom, in many ways, the reverse was also happening. The note was just a three-way folded piece of paper, but the embossed wax seal keeping it closed was as ornate and fancy as you could ask for.

  The message was short, to the point-and surprising.

  Dear Mr. Hatfield:

  The Secretary of State requests that you consult with him regarding your upcoming expedition to Suhl. Today at 14:00, if possible.

  Jamie Lee Swisher

  for Ed Piazza

  Anse folded the note back up and nodded to the courier. “Tell him I’ll be there, as requested.” A moment later the young man was gone.

  In some ways, of course, Ed Piazza was not adapting. The Secretary of State could just as easily have required Anse to show up when he wanted to see him, and no “if possible” about it. But one of the reasons Piazza had made such a successful and popular high school principal for so many years was his meticulous attention to simple courtesy.

  Anse himself was too old to know personally, but rumor had it that even when Piazza had been chewing out some wayward student, he’d been as polite as possible. Which Anse himself certainly wouldn’t have been. Do as I tell you, you little snot, or I’ll whup your ass was more his style in such affairs.

  “Wonder what it’s about?” he mused.

  * * *

  He found himself wondering a lot more, after he was ushered into Piazza’s private office that afternoon. In fact, it was all he could do to keep his eyebrows from crawling onto his scalp.

  Piazza wasn’t there alone. Also in the office-a bit crammed, in fact, since it wasn’t all that big-were President Stearns, General Jackson, and Rebecca Abrabanel. Mike Stearns was smiling blandly, Jackson was frowning. The solemn look on Becky’s face made it clear that she was here in her official capacity as the National Security Adviser, not Mike’s wife.

  “Have a seat, Anse,” said Piazza. As soon as he’d done so, the Secretary of State nodded at Stearns.

  “As you’ve probably figured out, my invitation was something of a subterfuge. It’s really Mike who wants to talk to you.”

  “Sure is,” Anse heard Jackson mutter. Becky shot him a look that seemed to combine reproof with exasperation.

  Stearns chuckled softly. “As you’ll soon discover, there is dissension and dispute in the top ranks of what passes for our august government. Here’s the thing, Anse.” Mike nodded toward Jackson. “Frank here thinks what von Dantz suggested that Kagg ought to do in Suhl is just fine. Go down there and hammer any bastards who are selling guns to our enemies. But Becky has strong reservations about the project. So does Melissa Mailey, for what it’s worth. Between the two of them, they’ve convinced me that the situation is a lot more complicated than it looks.”

  “What’s ‘complicated’ about it?” demanded Jackson. “Treason is treason.”

  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.”