by Eric Flint
Grantville Gazette
Volume II
Eric Flint
First electronic printing, March 2004
ISBN: 1011250005
Copyright 2004 by Eric Flint
Electronic version by WebWrights
http://www.webwrights.com
Content
Editor's Preface By Eric Flint
Collateral Damage By Mike Spehar
Euterpe (Episode 1) By Enrico M. Toro
The Company Men By Christopher James Weber
1
2
3
4
5
6
Just One Of Those Days By Leonard Hollar
God's Gifts By Gorg Huff
Bottom Feeders By John Zeek
An Invisible War By Danita Lee Ewing
Chapter One June, 1633
Chapter Two July, 1633
Chapter Three August, 1633
Chapter Four September, 1633
A Quick And Dirty Treatise On Historical Fencing By Enrico M. Toro
A Short History
A Seventeenth-Century Swordsman's Training
Links
So You Want To Do Telecommunications In 1633? By Rick Boatright
Introduction
Basics of Telecommunications
Telegraph Details
Telephones in 1632
References
Mente et Malleo: Practical Mineralogy and Minerals Exploration in 1632 By Laura Runkle
Need for Strategic Minerals
The Politics of Mining
Mining Economics
Geologic Surveying
Finding Strategic Minerals— Cooperation Between Up-timers and Down-timers
Acknowledgments
Further Reading
The Secret Book of Zink By Andrew Clark
Images
Submissions to the magazine
Standard letter of agreement
Editor's Preface
By Eric Flint
As you can perhaps deduce from the simple existence of a second issue of the Grantville Gazette, the first issue—which we did as an experiment, to see if there would be enough interest in such an online magazine—proved to be successful.
Quite successful, in fact, better than I'd hoped. As of today, we've sold about 1750 copies. With that sales base, the magazine can be financially self-sustaining, which was the prerequisite for being able to continue with it. I still can't afford to pay professional rates for the stories and articles—which the Science Fiction Writers' Association has now pegged at five cents a word—but I can cover all the other costs, including paying professional rates to a copy editor as well as the percentage received by Webscriptions and Baen Books. And I'm hoping—I think not unreasonably—that over time the magazine's sales and subscription base will become large enough that I can start paying professional rates for the stories and articles instead of the current semi-pro rates. In order to do that, I estimate we'd need a stable sales/sub base of around 2500 readers.
So... onward.
* * *
Now that I know the Gazette will be an ongoing publication, I've got more leeway in terms of the kind of stories I can include in the magazine. A number of the fiction pieces being written in the 1632 setting are either long or are intended as parts of ongoing stories. There are two examples in this issue: Danita Ewing's "An Invisible War" and Enrico Toro's "Euterpe, episode 1." In terms of its length, "An Invisible War" is technically a short novel. So, it'll be serialized over the next two issues of the magazine. Part I appears in this issue; the concluding part will appear in the next.
Enrico Toro's story is somewhat different. Neither he nor I know what the final length of this story will be. It's written in the form of episodes, each told in epistolary form by the narrator. I wanted to include it, because (along with Gorg Huff's story, "God's Gifts") Toro's piece approaches the 1632 framework entirely from the angle of how seventeenth-century people react to the events produced by the Ring of Fire.
Most of the stories that have thus far appeared in either the Gazette or the anthology Ring of Fire have approached the situation either entirely or primarily from the standpoint of up-timers. What I especially liked about the stories by Toro and Huff is that up-timers are never the viewpoint characters. In the case of "Euterpe," Toro is using an actual historical figure and trying to imagine how a young musician of the time would react to the sudden influx of music written over the next several centuries. In the case of Huff's story, the character is a fictional Lutheran pastor trying to grapple with the theological implications of the Ring of Fire.
Given that there are a few thousand up-timers in the 1632 setting—and tens of millions of down-timers—it seemed about time to me that we started getting more of their view of things into the series.
Although not quite to the same degree, Chris Weber's short novella "The Company Men" also approaches the setting primarily from the standpoint of seventeenth-century figures. In the case of his story, which is an adventure story, that of two mercenary soldiers of the time. And in John Zeek's murder mystery "Bottom Feeders," we get a nice mix of viewpoints.
There's a nice mix of stories in this issue, I think, in more ways than one. They range from military stories like Mike Spehar's "Collateral Damage" through stories involving the struggle to expand medical care (Ewing's "An Invisible War"), and everything in between. The same is true for the factual articles, where you'll get a treatise on seventeenth-century swordplay as well as a discussion of the practical challenges posed by geology and mining in the context of the technical resources available to the characters in the series.
* * *
I should mention that there is one major change in the magazine from the first issue. I'm no longer including an Images section as a part of the magazine itself. I did that for the first issue, and intended to continue. However, I failed to take into account that by including so many images in the magazine itself, it became difficult for many people to download in a reasonable time—and for those using PDAs, often effectively impossible.
So, while I will continue to expand the images provided, whenever I get the chance, I'm now going to do it separately from the magazine itself. That way people will be able to download the text of the magazine without any problems. The Images will now be found at a separate location as part of the Baen Free Library. The Baen Free Library is free of charge, so they won't cost you anything extra.
To find the images, do the following:
1) Go to Baen Books' web site: www.baen.com
2) Select "Free Library" from the menu at the top.
3) Once you're in the Library, select "The Authors" from the menu at the left.
4) Select "Eric Flint."
5) Select "Images from the Grantville Gazette."
Now that the images are disconnected from the Gazette itself, I'll be adding to them on a separate schedule. That'll make things easier for me, given my work load. Most likely, I'll add fewer images and commentary each time, but do it more often than the magazine itself appears.
Eric Flint
March, 2004
Collateral Damage
By Mike Spehar
"A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born."
— Antoine de Saint Exupery
"Just perfect," Jesse muttered in disgust.
"What was that, Herr Oberst?"
Jesse jammed his hands into the pockets of his flying jacket and looked at his copilot, Lieutenant Emil Castner, who was leaning against the wing, studying his map. The lieutenant had moved there to get away from the crowd of mechanics swarming around the nose of their aircraft. Jesse had
likewise moved away, after earning a glare from Chief Matowski for repeatedly butting in on his work.
"Nothing, Emil," Jesse said. "Nothing at all."
The young German nodded uncertainly and turned back to his map. Approving of his copilot taking the chance to get better prepared for the flight, Jesse rubbed his neck and moved slightly toward the mechanics, then thought better of it. He always hated it when a supposedly ready aircraft broke down before takeoff. Standing around, waiting for the wrenchbenders to work their magic, never failed to grate on his nerves and this time was no exception. He strolled away and, for about the tenth time, patted the left sleeve pocket of his flight suit, where, in another world and another time, he had carried his cigarettes.
Damn, he thought. You'd think I'd have gotten past that habit. What's it been—two years, since I've last had a smoke?
Sometimes, such as when he was flying or waiting to fly, he could almost forget the circumstances that had brought him here. The cataclysmic Ring of Fire that had mysteriously transported the West Virginia town of Grantville into seventeenth-century Germany had created a psychological crisis for all of the Americans caught in the event. Their subsequent battles against the threats of hunger, disease, and hostile neighbors, had quickly pulled the Americans together, though it had been a hard struggle. And still was.
The USE and their allies were still engaged in a desperate struggle against formidable enemies. Only the fall before, through the machinations of Cardinal Richelieu, the countries of Spain, England, and Denmark had joined the French in the so-called "Ostend Alliance," with the intent of capturing the Baltic, crushing the independent Netherlands, and, eventually, eliminating the growing power of the USE. Luckily, the Alliance's initial attacks had been thwarted at Luebeck and Wismar, in no small measure through the impact of American technology, hastily adapted for war. Now, in the early spring of 1634, the struggle continued on land and sea.
The Battle of Wismar had been particularly hard on one Colonel Jesse Wood, retired USAF tanker pilot and, by appointment of Prime Minister Stearns, Chief of Staff of the USE Air Force. For it was at Wismar that he had first taken his unprepared air force to war and had learned the price of combat. In the course of the action, Jesse had watched his protégé Hans turn the tide of battle by diving his aircraft into a Danish warship. Though helpless to prevent it, Jesse still blamed himself for Hans' death. Over the months since, his grief and guilt had gradually turned to a cold rage against their enemies and Jesse wanted nothing more than to get back into the war.
* * *
"Hey! Colonel Wood!"
Jesse mentally shook himself and looked back toward the aircraft. Harvey Matowski was waving a greasy rag at him, while his assistants replaced the engine cowling. Resisting an impulse to run, Jesse deliberately strolled back to the aircraft. Emil had already climbed back into the rear cockpit and was strapping in.
Walking up to Matowski, Jesse asked, "So okay, Harvey, what was it?"
"Just dirty plugs, sir. Maybe some water in the line, too. Can't tell till we crank her up. You still want to go?"
"Yes, of course, Chief. The war isn't waiting on us, you know."
"Yeah, I know, sir, but..."
"Spit it out, Chief," Jesse said grumpily. "Is the aircraft ready to fly or isn't it? They're waiting for us in Hessen."
"Well, yessir, it is." Harvey paused to spit. "But you know as well as I do how touchy that supercharger has been. I don't much like the idea of it cutting out on takeoff with this load you've got."
Jesse looked at his chief mechanic and considered his words. Glancing up at the clear blue sky, he noted that the day had already started to warm a bit. Still no clouds.
An unseasonably nice day, Jesse thought. Be a shame to waste it. And we better do this before Stearns changes his mind. Still... Damn it!
"Okay, Chief. Call those munitions troops back here. We'll take off all but the two inboard rockets. That way we'll still be able to take off, even if the blower quits. The real payload's underneath, anyway. Does that suit you?"
Matowski nodded and walked off. Jesse gave the cowling fasteners a couple of thumps and did another quick walk around. Everything on the exterior was as it should be, though it never hurt to check a second time. He paused a moment to admire the aircraft's paint job. He had to admit, the Gustav was a damned fine looking machine, the best that American technology and German craftsmanship could build. Compared to the Belle, it was big and low slung. The sun glinted through the now open sliding canopies. The wings and fuselage were painted blue-gray overall, so new that there were few blemishes anywhere. White star wing flashes gleamed, as did a large red numeral "1" on each side of the vertical stabilizer. His eyes drifted to the nose art and he unconsciously grinned. One of the young pilots had read about the American Volunteer Group and his excitement had fired the imagination of the aircraft riggers. The result was a leering shark's mouth painted on the nose and cowlings, complete with predator eyes.
If nothing else, maybe we can scare 'em to death, Jesse thought.
Twenty minutes later, the rockets had been removed. Jesse and Emil had run their checklists and the engine was purring as if nothing had ever been wrong with it. Tower confirmed there was no traffic inbound. Jesse pushed the throttle forward and flicked the supercharger switch with his little finger. Hearing the whine of the fan, feeling the engine surge, he noted the time and released brakes.
His mission was to put the fear of God into Grantville's primary enemy.
His target: Paris.
* * *
Takeoff was uneventful and Jesse felt the familiar rush that comes from leaving the earth behind. The anxiety and uncertainty that waiting always generated in him quickly faded as he began a cruise climb on a heading just south of due west. The small southerly wind, so unusual at this time of year, required only the slightest of drift correction. Switching off the supercharger, he set climb power, trimmed the aircraft, waggled the rudder pedals, and spoke over the intercom.
"Copilot's aircraft. Take her to eight thousand on this heading, Emil. Set altimeter at 29.92"
From the rear cockpit, "I have the aircraft, Herr Oberst. 29.92."
After Emil shook the stick, Jesse clicked twice and removed his hand. He wrote the takeoff time on his kneeboard and picked up his map, already folded for the route of flight. A carefully drawn line cut across Germany, over the mostly empty green of the Thuringer Wald, past Fulda, towards a small village north of Frankfurt am Main and Weisbaden, to a temporary field where they were scheduled to refuel.
Ambach, Omberg, Ombach, he suddenly realized he'd forgotten the name of the place that hadn't warranted a name on his map. Doesn't matter. I've been there before and I can find it, no sweat. An hour or so on this heading should get us there. About forty minutes late.
Jesse stretched his back and shook his arms, trying to get comfortable. He'd been flying too much, he knew, and it was taking a toll on his body. He now had two pilots he could count on to instruct the others in the replacement Belle, but the workload had risen again when Hal Smith and his team had rolled out the first Gustav. Hal had poured every bit of his knowledge and talent into the sleek plane, assisted mightily by their experience with the Las Vegas Belle and her twins. The Gustav's improvements were enough to gladden Jesse's heart, considering he intended to send pilots to war in it. Sturdier and much faster than the Belle, the Gustav also boasted numerous improvements visible only in the cockpit, including G-meters, rotating compass repeaters directly in front of the pilots, a heater/deicer, and a speed brake. Most importantly, it could carry a really useable war payload on the multiple hard points under the wings and fuselage. Such as they carried now.
But the very high quality of the Gustav had urged Jesse to fly even more, so eager was he to get it into the fight. An abbreviated flight test program had shown the Gustav to be a nimble flyer, yet with a solid, steady feel. That encouraged Jesse to begin immediately experimenting with dive bombing techniques on a hastily acquired f
ield outside of Weimar, using sand-filled practice bombs. He packed as much training into each flight as he could, taking a different copilot on each sortie until they were all comfortable with the aircraft and could extend and retract the heavy speed brake with little trouble, though most were sweating when it came time to land.
Still, he had driven none of them harder than he drove himself and the effort had begun to tell. The repetitive four or five Gs experienced in each dive gradually wore at him, straining his back and arms terrifically. Kathy had taken to meeting him at the end of each day he flew, so frightened had she become about his health. But, despite the scolding of his wife, Jesse refused to stop. Only after she had appealed to Dr. Nichols, who pulled duty as senior flight surgeon, had Jesse relented and taken two days off. But only two. Then he'd gone back to a full schedule of flying, trying to will his young charges into the proficiency he knew they would need all too soon.
* * *
The Gustav was approaching the temporary field when Jesse realized all was not well. Fearing what a bad landing would do to their load, he had decided to do the honors. The two pilots had already performed the Before Land Checklist and, as a precaution, Jesse had planned a low flyby before landing. He was immensely glad he did.
He had feared their delay would result in his ground crew deciding they weren't coming today, as had happened before. He could see now he needn't have worried. Crossing the field boundary, he was shocked at the sight of at least three hundred people scattered across the landing zone. Apparently the locals were in on their little secret. Some were on horseback, but most were afoot, and many of them seemed to be picnicking with their children. On his airfield.
"God damn it!" Jesse yelled.
Emil wisely said nothing as Jesse flew the length of the field and pulled up left into a modified downwind. Jesse had pulled his canopy back and locked it open for landing. He now wasted his time frantically waving the crowd below off the field, only to see most of them gaily wave in return. He turned final and performed another flyby, much to the delight of the crowd, they being unable to hear his curses. Only the line of Swedish cavalry now chivvying people off the field prevented Jesse from further profanity. By the time he pulled up to a normal downwind, he had regained his composure and even a bit of humor.
