by Eric Flint
"I'm sorry, what?" Dave asked slowly.
Gerd had a look of concentration on his face before continuing. "The man all taken from battle at Jena. They come here and join Army, or work with us. I heard today at work."
"Oh, right," Dave replied. "We could certainly use them. So why are you worried?"
"These man are trouble. Gretchen kicked some out after Badenburg. How you know if they start trouble this time? Who kicks them out?"
"I'm sure some will start trouble. We gave you and the others a chance, and it worked out great. It's how we do things," Dave said, trying to keep his wording simple.
"Right, but these men . . . we must be careful," Gerd finished by setting his empty bottle on the coffee table. Dave knew Gerd liked a lot about Grantville, but the German was never shy about his feelings of the beer Dave and the other Americans had brought with them. Gerd had made no small ceremony of the day Dave ran out of beer. Dave was shocked with how quickly Gerd and his co-workers had started brewing their own.
"Look, America was formed in no small part by groups of unwanted people. In fact," Dave stood up and took his empty bottle into the kitchen, "several of . . ."
"I know, I know. I hear this from you before," Gerd followed him and put his bottle in the recycle bin. "What we have for dinner?"
Dave, relieved that Gerd moved onto another subject, smiled. "We're about out of the usual." He scratched his chin, then pointed at Gerd. "We will feast like men! Wait here!"
Dave left Gerd standing in the kitchen, waiting and looking slightly confused. Scooby, either picking up on the conversation, or just happy to be in the kitchen, started pawing at his bowl.
Dave returned with a shotgun in one hand, and a scoped rifle in the other. He tossed the shotgun to Gerd. Gerd fumbled and almost dropped it. He held the shotgun gingerly, as if Dave had handed him the fire of the gods. Scooby, seeing the weapons and knowing meat was coming, grabbed his bowl in his mouth and sat at the sliding glass door, pawing at it.
"We will stalk our prey like cats, strike like eagles and feast like pigs!" Dave shouted, thumping the rifle to his chest. He laughed at the look on Gerd's face. Dave handed him a box of shells. "Guess you'd better have a lesson first." Dave walked out the sliding glass door and into the woods behind the house.
Gerd followed, carefully holding the weapon as if expecting it to start firing off dozens of rounds at the slightest touch. "No more vegetables for dinner, thank God."
* * *
"So you ended up shooting your dinner?" Mathias asked, tugging on a branch as Gerd sawed away.
"Yes. I think Dave was looking for deer or something. A boar charged, and I dropped it with one blast from the shotgun," Gerd replied, with the last word in English. The limb broke free and fell to the ground. "A very impressive weapon; it stopped the boar cold. We had it cleaned and cooking within an hour."
"Nice! Mr. and Mrs. Sizemore haven't needed to go hunting yet. They had plenty of food stored away. I sure hope they eventually let me try, especially with one of his firearms," Mathias replied as Gerd helped him drag the branch over to the pile of detritus. "I think, however, that Mr. Sizemore would rather I save ammunition and use the bow he has. The damned thing looks like some torture device. Pulleys and wires everywhere, rails for holding the arrow, and other parts I can't recognize. It is extremely quiet and easy to use, though. An intriguing weapon." Mathias was staying with an older couple that took him in as a son.
"You'd love the shotgun. Smooth and very powerful. Not that I needed to, but I had it reloaded and ready to fire before the boar hit the ground. It's a wonder any of us survived the battle," Gerd said, remembering the leg wound he received that frightful day. "I wonder how bad the Americans chewed up the men marching on Jena."
"The way I hear it, not too bad, actually." One of Mathias' hosts, Mrs. Sizemore, was also an excellent source of rumor, gossip and news. Gerd found that Mathias wasn't shy in sharing any of it with his coworkers. "There is some girl who is supposed to be an incredible shot with a rifle. She apparently took out most of the officer types before anyone knew what was going on. They folded before really going nose-to-nose with the Americans."
"Lucky for them." Gerd started sawing on another limb. "When are the prisoners coming here?"
"They're already here, but not as prisoners," Mathias replied.
"How do you always know these things?" Gerd asked, a little exasperated.
"I suffer through hours of conversation with Mrs. Sizemore to get a few details. Mr. Sizemore says he let me stay with them just to 'run interference on the wife' as he put it."
Gerd laughed, understanding the meaning if not the translated idiom.
* * *
Hermann sipped his beer slowly, keeping his eyes on the crowd. Pieter and Jan were also eyeing the crowd. Most of the men from Jena were packed into Thuringen Gardens for their first night off after being inducted into the American Army.
"What an unusual place," Pieter said softly.
"What an unusual week," Hermann added. A few days prior, he had barely escaped death. Most of the other men on horseback, especially those with plumage on their heads, were swatted down by an unseen and unheard weapon. Hermann had immediately sensed the trend, dove off his horse and hid among the men. In short order, they had all surrendered under the best of terms. At the time, he actually looked forward to fighting with the obviously wealthy and powerful Americans. His first impression was fast changing. "Naïve bastards."
"Sir?" Pieter asked, cocking his head to the side.
"The Americans, naïve," Hermann repeated. "They could take any city, crush any army, and here they are, letting us sit on our asses and drink beer while they worry about refugee camps."
"Weak," Jan commented. He was always short on words, and those he did speak were often in agreement with Hermann. Hermann favored his efficient brutality over his "intellectual" dialogue.
"That's right my nearly mute friend, weak," Hermann said, pointing to his beer, "so get us some more." Hermann cuffed Jan and sent him on his way.
"I have to say, this could be a most profitable diversion, sir," Pieter said, once Jan had left.
"What diversion is that, Pieter?" Hermann replied.
Pieter smiled. "Our temporary stop in Grantville, sir. There are some things here that would be in extremely high demand in other parts of . . . well, anywhere, really."
"How do you propose we liberate the naïve Americans of some of their underutilized valuables? More importantly, how do we get out of here without having them looking for us with their damned vehicles?"
"As I said, sir, a profitable diversion."
* * *
"What's the matter?" Mathias asked. Gerd had talked his coworker into joining him at Thuringen Gardens for some drinks before heading home for the day. Apparently, most of the new arrivals from Jena also had the same idea.
"Why did you stop? Do you see one of those underdressed American women?" Mathias looked out in the crowd.
"Oh shit," Gerd muttered.
"I don't see her! Who are you looking at?" Mathias started jumping a little to look over the crowd.
"Stop, you fool!" Gerd growled, grabbing Mathias and dragging him to the side. "I see Hermann."
"Who the hell is Hermann?" Mathias protested, yanking his arm free from Gerd's grip.
Gerd took a moment to breathe deep before continuing. "Of course, you wouldn't know him. I suffered under him all of the winter and spring, before joining up with you guys."
"What, do you owe him money or something?"
"No," Gerd replied. He looked back over to the table where Hermann was sitting. His right-hand man Pieter was where he always was, next to Hermann. Hermann's two other favored thugs, Jan and Christopher, were nowhere to be seen. "He is one of the most vile men I have ever known. A bastard's bastard. What the hell is he doing here?"
"I imagine he was brought back after the battle at Jena," Mathias replied, giving Gerd a concerned look. "We've both known our share of b
astards. What's the problem?"
"Let's get out of here. They are trouble, and I don't want him to see me." Gerd turned around and took off at a fast walk without waiting for Mathias.
* * *
Dave awoke to the sound of Scooby barking. He realized his watch alarm was beeping. It usually served to wake Scooby up, and Scooby in turn would wake up Dave. He rubbed his eyes and put his watch on.
"Stupid damned Ring of Fire," he muttered as he skulked into the kitchen. Everyone had been working hard ever since the Ring of Fire, and his tree-trimming crews were no exception. He hadn't had a day off since, but set his alarm early this morning to get one last good breakfast in before the cereal ran out.
Dave pulled open the cupboard and pulled out the last box of cereal. He got the milk out of the fridge. It wasn't the pasteurized, homogenized two-percent milk he was used to, but it was white, wet and helped the cereal go down.
"Come on, schlafkopf!" he hollered. "This is our last day of Lucky Charms for the rest of our lives!" They had agreed to make it a special occasion as the last of the cereal was consumed.
Dave got out two bowls and two spoons. He filled both with cereal and threw the empty box away. "I don't want to start without you, hurry up!" Since Gerd was moving slow, Dave figured he had time to get some coffee going. Coffee was running out too, so he decided to add it to their last "twentieth-century breakfast" for the foreseeable future.
"God damn it, wake up!" Dave yelled. He had already downed a cup of coffee with no peep from Gerd. "The best part of waking up, my ass," he muttered while walking to the living room. He turned on the stereo and set the volume to an uncomfortable level. A Rolling Stone's song started, causing the walls to buzz.
Gerd stumbled out of his room a minute later, punched several buttons on the stereo before finally hitting the power, and flopped into a chair at the kitchen table.
"What the hell's wrong with you? Stay up late with a lady friend?" Dave asked, pushing a coffee mug towards Gerd.
"Nein. I sleep bad." Gerd picked up the cup and held it both hands. "Remember our conversation about new men from Jena?"
"Mmhmm."
Gerd got quiet and looked away quickly. Dave was about to say something before he continued. "Well, I . . . met some guys at Thuringen Gardens. They keep me up all night."
"Ah, some drinking buddies!" Dave said with a smile. "We could use some more drinking buddies. Invite them over."
Gerd almost dropped his coffee mug. "I . . . I didn't catch their names. Probably won't see them again."
"Hmm, okay," Dave said, setting his mug down and grabbing a spoon. "This is the last of the Lucky Charms, man, enjoy it while you can!"
Gerd finally managed a smile. He picked up his spoon and started on his bowl.
* * *
"This will do nicely!" Pieter said, with a savage grin. He racked the slide on the shotgun.
The three of them were sitting around a small fire on the edge of the refugee camp. Most of the inhabitants had quickly learned to keep their distance from the three men. It was evening, and they had spent the day familiarizing themselves with the tools of the American Army.
"I don't understand what that Simpson man meant when he called this the 'Elmer Fudd Special,' " Hermann said, holding up the large double-barreled shotgun issued to him. Tom Simpson spoke fair German, but during the weapons issuing process, he didn't elaborate on the strange term. Hermann, thinking it was probably the name of the inventor, and wanting to keep a low profile, hadn't asked. "However, it will indeed do nicely."
"Nice," Jan growled, sticking his large finger in the barrel of the weapon issued to him.
"Unfortunately, they are keeping a tight hand on the ammunition," Pieter added. They were not issued ammunition, and were instead given spent shells to practice operating the weapons.
"Only for these shotguns. We have all the powder we need for our pistols." Hermann gestured, with the shotgun, to their wheel locks. The wheel locks were normally a hot commodity, and Hermann had felt fortunate to have just one, prior to Jena. In one violent moment, he and his comrades learned how obsolete the pistols had become. As such, the Americans had no use for them, and Hermann had taken several from other fallen mercenaries.
"Not too tight," Jan said, smacking his fist into his other hand.
"What was that, you lout?" Hermann said impatiently. Hermann made it a point to always act annoyed at everything Jan said or did.
"I think he meant we could get ammunition easily, for the new guns that is," Pieter replied for Jan.
Jan nodded.
"Do you care to tell us how?" Hermann poked Jan with the end of his shotgun.
"There," Jan said, pointing to some of the American houses visible from their fire.
Hermann was about to tear into Jan about how all the Americans have ammunition because they all have weapons, but stopped himself. If Jan thought he could get ammunition from an American home, Hermann was inclined to let him try. Jan had a way of getting things done. If not, Hermann knew he had one less person to split any loot with.
Hermann sat back a moment in thought. He looked at Pieter and considered the plan Pieter brought up at the beer garden. Pieter returned the look, nodded and winked. Hermann smiled, glad that at least one of his smart men was still around. Christopher, unfortunately, did not survive the battle at Jena. Pieter's original plan, slightly modified to allow time for Jan to get ammunition from an American home, would work nicely.
* * *
"No, NO!" screamed the old man.
Gerd hesitated, earning a backhand from Hermann.
"You gutless cur, he's obviously hiding something!" Hermann snarled.
Jan pulled back on the old man's arms tighter and smiled. "Do it."
Gerd tried to postpone the inevitable by reheating the knife over the candle.
"For God's sake, young pup," growled Hermann. He grabbed the hand Gerd was holding the knife with. "The longer you wait, the longer this old bastard suffers."
Hermann guided, by force, Gerd's knife-wielding hand towards the man's stomach. He slowly pressed the knife in. The hot tip sent an acrid smell of burnt hair, skin and blood into the air. Hermann released his grip.
"Pull it out and heat it again," Hermann said, sounding bored.
Gerd pulled the knife out, and stuck it back over the candle, blood sizzling. He felt like he was going to throw up at any moment.
"Please," the old man whispered.
"What?" Jan said, driving his knee into the man's back.
"Please," came another weak whisper.
"Speak up." Hermann grabbed the man's thinning hair and lifted his limp head.
"Please, no more."
"Gerd, give him a reminder." After a moment's hesitation, Hermann turned to face Gerd. "I don't want to tell you twice."
Gerd stuck the knife slowly in the man's stomach.
"Where is it, you bastard?" Hermann yelled at the old man. "Where's your stash? Give it up! Give it up! Give it up . . ."
* * *
" . . . get up! Man, get up! I'll sic Scooby on you!"
Gerd woke up with a flinch. Dave stopped shaking him.
"What the hell's been going on lately?" Dave asked, opening the blinds in the room. "You've been oversleeping and looking like hell."
Gerd sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Was ist . . . what time is it?"
"You're not late, but only because I bothered to check on you," Dave answered. "Still don't have a lot of time. We're going to start clearing some trees to the north. Looks like they might run a line up to Jena."
Gerd got out of bed without comment and lumbered to the bathroom.
"Good morning to you, too." Dave went to the kitchen, concerned, and started preparing breakfast.
* * *
"Remember, don't make a sound, and avoid anyone. No need to make them look for murderers," Hermann whispered. He handed a matchbook and sack to Jan.
"Nice." Jan took the sack and matchbook with a smile.
"Whe
n you find enough shells, pick a shed, not a house, to light. We don't need to give them a reason to look for a murderer or an arsonist, make them think it was an accident," Pieter added.
Jan stood up and walked quickly to the first house. Hermann and Pieter stayed behind cover, with an axe handle, to quietly take care of any witnesses. Hermann had picked midmorning rather than night to make their move, as the houses would likely be unoccupied. He also wanted daylight to navigate quickly out of town.
Jan disappeared around the back of the house. After a few long moments, he walked quietly out the front door. He had the sack in his hand, with something in it, and smiled.
"He's really good at this, you know," Pieter whispered.
Hermann nodded. "He only needs the occasional flogging to keep him on his toes."
Jan continued to the next house and took much longer. Hermann was about to send Pieter to go and get him, when he finally appeared at the front door. He shook his head and pointed to the bag. It didn't look any fuller.
Jan hurried to the back of the third house they had cased. After a few moments, he quickly walked back the way he came, shaking his head, indicating with his free hand that someone was sleeping inside.
Hermann waved Jan over to a house farther down the street. Jan nodded and proceeded towards it at a fast walk. Hermann and Pieter crept through the edge of the woods, keeping pace.
"He needs to slow down, he's too obvious," Pieter hissed.
"He'll be done soon enough, get ready to move." Hermann hustled over to their gear, as Pieter followed.
Jan was in and out of the last house before they had gathered all the gear. He had a huge smile on his face and the sack had several more boxes in it. He disappeared behind the house for a minute before returning. A small wisp of smoke was coming from the backyard.
"Hurry," Jan said as he approached.
Hermann grabbed the sack as they hustled into the woods. It held five boxes of shotgun shells. One of them was labeled "20 Gauge" and the rest "12 Gauge." When they were issued their weapons, they were told that the weapons were made for 12-gauge shells. Hermann would have normally backhanded Jan for something like that, but he was too happy to have four boxes of usable ammunition.
