1634: The Ram Rebellion: Section Nineteen

    At noon, not far east of the town of Ilmenau, Anse called a halt to rest and water the horses and to have a quick lunch. As everyone else loosened the tack on the horses, Wili passed out the rations: dried hard sausage, cheese and bread, with a small apple for dessert.

    “Hey this sausage is good,” Gaylynn said at her first bite. “Wili, I want the recipe. Will you ask Mrs. Schultz to send it to me?”

    “Ja, Dora loves it when people ask how she made food.”

    “You know that’s mixed meat sausage, Gaylynn,” Anse teased. “Bit of this and a bit of that. Venison, pork, beef – and horse, if I remember correctly.”

    “Nein, nicht beef. Und it is just a little horse.”

    “Well, whatever, it’s good.” Gaylynn answered. Anse noticed that the captain, however, put down his portion and ate only the cheese.

    “Herr Hatfield, how long are we going to wait here?” von Dantz demanded. “We should be moving.”

    “I thought we would rest the horses for an hour.” Anse pulled out his pocket watch. “We’re about thirty minutes short of that.”

    “Remember, the general wants a report this year,” said von Dantz sarcastically.

    “Captain, the report will be a lot later if we have to walk to Suhl because our horses gave out.”

    “You should have brought a change of horses for the wagon, or left the wagon.”

    Anse restrained his temper. “And was the Swedish garrison in Grantville going to provide them? Look, my family has only three horses, these. Wili and I had to kill the former owners to get them. You might be used to traveling on other people’s money, but we ain’t. And the wagon is going because I want to bring something back from Suhl.”

    The captain got up and went to tend his horse, his shoulders stiff with anger.

 

---

 

    That afternoon, traveling was much like it had been in the morning. The road wasn’t up to the quality that was becoming standard around Grantville. But it was well marked, and the cold weather combined with plenty of travel close to Ilmenau had packed the snow into a hard surface.

    Captain von Dantz was continually riding ahead. Anse, who had walked point a few times in Vietnam, was happy to leave the scouting to him. So it came as no surprise, in the late afternoon, to find von Dantz waiting, when the little convoy rounded a curve. “Herr Hatfield, there is a small village up ahead. We will spend the night there.”

    Anse studied the sky for a minute, then pulled out his watch. “Captain, I figure we still have a couple of hours traveling time. But if you don’t want to sleep in a tent, we can stop.”

    Clearly the captain was primed for an argument. “You think we should press on?”

    “No, in this case I think you’re right. We should stop and get the horses under shelter. I’m not all that good at judging the weather, but it sure looks like we’re going to get some more snow tonight. A barn to sleep in would be mighty welcome.”

    When they arrived at the village, though, Anse was surprised to find there were no separate barns. In a village of six houses, there was only one that had two stories, with the lower floor being a stable. All the rest were one-story with an attached lean-to providing shelter for what few animals the owners had. While four of the one story houses had smoke coming from their chimneys, one was obviously unoccupied.

    Someone in the village must have been keeping watch. As the travelers stopped, the door of the largest house opened and a prosperous looking man came out.

    “Ah, Amerikaner,” he said, after seeing the rubber tires on the wagon. “Ich bin der Schultheiss des Dorfs, Horst Stoltz. Sie möchten die Nacht bleiben, ja.”

    Anse, whose German had improved under Wili’s tutoring, realized this was the head man of the village and he was asking if they needed a place to spend the night. A bit of bargaining and only mentioning the tents on the wagon twice got the party the use of the empty house for the night in exchange for five old silver dimes.

    After the seven horses were crowded into the lean-to and most of the supplies were transferred from the wagon to the house, Lieutenant Ivarsson commented to Anse. “We actually made a good distance today, better than twenty of your miles, I think. I was impressed by the wheels on the wagon. They do make it travel better. How does it work?”

    “The tires are solid rubber and give a wider area on the ground. It makes them roll easier. The real secret is the bearings in the wheel hubs.”

    Captain von Dantz called from the door of the house. “We need to get settled in for the night. If we cover as much ground tomorrow, we can be in Suhl before nightfall.”

    As the captain vanished into the dark interior, Anse noticed Rau waving from the back of the house.

    When Anse and Ivarsson joined him, Rau said softly: “I talked to the Schultheiss like you asked. He says nothing unusual is going on to the south, but I noticed the villagers are keeping their animals closer than normal. Then I talked to the boy who keeps the village pigs. He said that there have been a lot of people on the road. All traveling north – well, toward Grantville. That’s actually east from where we are now. And all carrying all they own.”

    Ivarsson looked thoughtful. “Now, that is odd. There have been no reports of any army moving down that way. What else could put people on the road, this time of the year?”

    “The pig boy didn’t think it was an army. He just said people were moving. I did a run through the woods close to the village. Just off the road to the south there are a couple of families camped. Three men, four women and eight Kinder. One of the boys is man tall. They are keeping a sharp watch and a cold camp, no fire.”

    “They didn’t see you, I take it?” Anse asked. Rau just grinned.

    Anse thought a bit. It was not likely at all that an army could have penetrated Franconia and reached as far as the Thueringerwald without news coming to Grantville. There was a radio in Suhl, after all. Besides, armies rarely moved in the winter, here and now, unless they had to.

    He turned and looked at the house they were using. “Okay, change of plans. We keep two people on watch all night. Jochen, I want you to knock a couple of tiles loose on the roof to make a firing point in the loft on the side that overlooks the road. Lt. Ivarsson, I want you and Mrs. Reardon up there with your rifles, if anything happens. Jochen, you and me can cover the windows and door on the ground floor. Wili can cover the lean-to, through the door that connects it to the house. I don’t think anyone is going to jump us, but it doesn’t hurt to plan ahead.”

    “What about the captain?” Rau asked.

    Anse shook his head. He didn’t trust von Dantz to be an alert sentry, with his arrogant attitudes. “We’ll let him sleep. Hopefully nothing will happen. If it does, he stays with us on the ground floor. Now go make that loophole. I’ll bring Wili up to speed. Anything you want to add, Lt. Ivarsson?”

    “No, your plan seems good. But I think we need Corporal Rau mounted tomorrow. Can you ride?”

    Rau nodded, but had a disgusted look on his face as he went toward the door. Anse had to smile, because he knew Rau hated horses.

    After a quick supper, cooked by Wili and Gaylynn at the fireplace, the party spread out their bed rolls. Gaylynn walked over to where Anse was sitting near the door. “Which shift do you want me to take?”

    “Well, Jochen and Nils are going to take the first watch and they’ll wake Wili and me for the second. So you and the captain can have a full night’s sleep. Speaking of which, if you want you and Noelle can have the loft to sleep in. That’ll give you a little privacy.”

    Gaylynn looked around the single room of the ground floor and nodded. “Thank you, But I don’t want you thinking you have to look out for me. I can take care of myself if it comes to a fight, so none of this ‘take care of the helpless woman business’. And tomorrow night I’ll take a turn on watch.”

    “Gaylynn, the loft is where I’d want you and your rifle anyway, if something goes down. You’ll a better field of fire, especially after Jochen makes a firing point up there.”

    It was five hours later, by Anse’s watch, when he was awakened by Jochen Rau shaking his shoulder. He looked around the room by the dim light thrown out by the fireplace and saw that everything seemed normal.

    “Anything happen?”

    “No one has come near the house, but there has been a lot of traffic on the road. People moving quietly in the night, all heading to the north. Ivarsson is out by the wagon keeping watch, waiting for you. We have been taking turns outside.”

    “Fine, I’ll go relieve him. You wake Wili and get some sleep.”

    When Anse went outside, he discovered he had been right in his weather prediction. There was a light snow falling, blanketing the area with pleasant noiselessness.

    He found Nils Ivarsson huddled near the wagon, wrapped in a blanket. “I got it. Go on in and get some sleep.”

    The Swedish officer rose to his feet. “If Rau didn’t tell you, there have been people on the road all night. A couple started to walk over to the wagon, but when they saw we were keeping watch they went on. They were mostly family groups, as near as I can tell.”

    Ivarsson gathered his blanket about himself and headed for the house.

    Anse stood there asking himself why on earth people would be moving at night this far into the NUS. It was miles from the border. They hadn’t even crossed the ridge of the Thueringerwald yet. Actually, they were barely into the mountains. Tomorrow they would be traveling along the main trade route between Erfurt and Nürnburg, which had had quite a bit of ordinary commercial traffic. There was just no obvious reason for people to be traveling by stealth here in Thuringia. Why weren’t Rau and Ivarsson questioning what they saw? Or had they just become so inured to moving refugees that they didn’t ask any more?

    He and Wili split the next few hours of standing watch, taking turns ducking into the house to warm up. An hour into their watch, the snowfall ended and the sky cleared. There was now a half-moon in the sky to give them better visibility.

    Three times, they saw parties passing on the road. None of them seemed hostile. Only once did it look like anyone took an interest in the village he was passing through, and that was one man walking alone leading an ox cart. He looked over the wagon, but moved on when he saw the gleam of Anse and Wili’s weapons in the moonlight.

 

---

 

    A few miles after they had passed the refugee party, Anse saw Rau once again stopped ahead waiting for them. When they had joined him, he said: “Crossroads village up ahead. They have the road blocked and are making people go around. Looks like they have had some trouble lately. I saw a couple of burnt houses.”

    “Same positions, Herr Hatfield?” Wili asked.

    “Yes, and we’ll ride directly to the road block. We have to find out what’s going on.”

    Von Dantz came up in time to hear the last couple of sentences. “General Kagg must be told. I am thinking we should send a message back to him about what the peasants said, also.”

    “There’s a radio in Suhl, captain,” Anse pointed out. “It will be quicker to send the message from there. Besides, with only five of us, who would we send?”

    The captain looked perplexed for a minute, “Ah. Radio. Ja, we will send a message from Suhl.”

    As they approached the village, Anse could see the villagers had blocked the four roads into it by the simple method of parking carts full of rocks side by side in the road. With two or three armed men beside each cart, it was a block no one was going to move before the rest of the village could gather to stop them. Not very effective against an army, but it was good enough to stop refugees. What the merchants and other legitimate business travelers who used the road during the day would make of it was another problem, Anse thought.

    Riding closer, it became obvious there was a watch being kept on the road also. Anse could hear voices calling from the trees alongside the road, and people were gathering at the road block.

    “Let’s keep it low-key, Captain,” Anse said to Captain von Dantz, who was riding beside him. “They have men in the woods and we’re flanked.” Only after he spoke did it occur to him that von Dantz might not understand the American colloquialism.

    But, apparently, he did – or at least the gist of it. Von Dantz nodded and said softly, “And there are men on the roofs, too. Someone in this village has experience.”

    “Halt! Stehenbleiben! Wer sind sie?” a voice called out from the village. Anse’s German was good enough to translate that last word into an demand to know who they were.

    While Rau called out that they were a party of the New US Army escorting two civilians to Suhl, Anse eased back until he was beside the wagon.

    “Gaylynn, don’t touch your rifle, but see the guys on the roofs?” Gaylynn nodded. “They’re yours if any shooting starts.”

    Before anything could happen, a new voice called out from behind the roadblock. “Gaylynn Reardon? Is that you?”

    Gaylynn almost jumped out of her seat. “Yes! Who wants to know?”

    “It’s me, Pete Chehab.” A young man walked from behind the cart road block.

    As the man approached, Anse could see he was a NUS sergeant in his early twenties. He was dressed in the tie-dyed camouflage that was replacing the up-time hunting outfits as they wore out.

    “Relax, everyone,” Gaylynn said. “I know him. That’s Pete Chehab. He’s from Grantville and used to ask Gary for advice when he was in tech school.”

    After introductions were made, Chehab continued. “Me and Hans Koeppler were bringing some dispatches from the garrison at Suhl to General Kagg in Grantville.”

    For a moment, he looked disgruntled. “Why the hell they didn’t just use the radio is a mystery to me. Probably because the garrison commander is an old-fashioned down-timer and his up-time ‘military liaison’ — that’s that jer . . . — ah, Lt. Horton — seems to think the radio’s some kinda virgin, can’t get its cherry popped.”

    Noelle Murphy laughed. No little titter, either. Anse himself had to fight to keep from grinning, in the interests of military protocol. Since Chehab hadn’t quite come out and publicly insulted his superior officer, he decided he could let it pass.

    Besides, jerk was a pretty good depiction of Lt. Johnny Lee Horton. If anything, on the mild side.

    “We just got here a couple of hours ago,” Chehab continued, “and we found the village like you see it now. They had some trouble with bandits a few days ago. They ended up with two houses burnt so the’ve blocked off the little roads up into the hills and they’re forting up at night. They move a couple of carts off the trade route during the day to let the traffic through. Once they check their documents. All these refugees on the road are making them even more nervous. I was just getting ready to go on to Grantville when you showed up. Do you have any idea what’s going on? Some of these guys act like we just shot their dog.”

    Anse shook his head. “Last time we heard, everything was calm clear to Nürnberg. How was Suhl when you left?”

    “Suhl was quiet. Well, as quiet as a town where every other house is hammering out gun barrels can be. But there was nothing like this. No refugees coming through. They must have been taking back paths around the city.”

    “Sergeant,” Captain von Dantz broke in, “can you delay your departure until I write a message to the general?”

    “Sure, captain. We’re a regular pony express.”

    The captain walked to the wagon, shaking his head. Anse had to smile. The captain spoke good English, but now he was learning American.

    As they passed through the village after seeing Sergeant Chehab and his party depart, Anse saw that most of the home owners had painted red and white stripes on their doors to show their allegiance to the government in Grantville. In the middle of the crossroads, they had planted a flagpole and were flying the flag many of the Committees of Correspondence had adopted. The thirteen red and white stripes were the same as the American flag, but the snake painted across them was not the semi-familiar timber rattler. Instead, it was an adder.

 

---

 

    Just south of the village, the normal commercial traffic became heavier. They were passing parties every mile, and Rau was reduced to riding only a hundred yards in front of the wagon.

    “Herr Hatfield, we are going too slow,” von Dantz complained. “At this rate, we will never make it to Suhl before nightfall.”

    “Captain, we were figuring three or four days when we started. So even if we don’t make Suhl tonight, we’re still ahead of schedule. I packed a tent and enough sleeping bags for everyone. Wili made sure there was hay and feed for the horses. So we should be okay if we have to camp again.”

    “I want . . .”

    Anse never did find out what the captain wanted, because just then Gaylynn yelled from the wagon seat. “Wili, stop the wagon! Look over there!”

    Gaylynn was down from the wagon and striding across the road before anyone realized what she was talking about. Near the road were the huddled forms of two children. They were sitting together, wrapped in a blanket that was mostly holes. Wili tied the reins to the brake lever and dismounted to help her with the translation. The American woman’s German was passable, but probably not good enough to decipher what frightened children might be saying

    Captain von Dantz rode back to see what the delay was. “What are you doing, woman? We have to keep moving.”

    “I’m tending to these children!” Gaylynn snapped back. “What do you want to do? Just leave them here to freeze?”

    The captain shrugged irritably. “We can load them on the wagon and take them with us, if you insist. Quickly-we have only two hours of daylight left.”

    Now that he was closer, Anse could see the children were both boys, about five or six years old. He called to Rau, who was still mounted. “Jochen, ride ahead and see if there are any refugees on the road. These boys have gotten lost from their family.”

    “Nein,” Wili called, “they live over there.” He pointed toward a path that could barely be seen joining the road, about a half mile down. “They say men come and hurt their Grossvater this morning. They ran off.”

    “Jochen, check it out quietly,” Anse ordered. Rau dismounted and headed for the woods beside the road.

    Wili and Gaylynn had managed to get the boys to the wagon when Rau returned. “It looks like there are eight of them, all on foot, in a charcoal burner’s cabin. They left the old man tied to a tree outside. He looks dead. They have two men keeping watch in front of the house and the rest are in the house.”

    Before Anse could say anything, von Dantz spoke up. “If you will permit me to make a suggestion” — the words practically dripped sarcasm — “I think we should leave Frau Reardon and Fraülein Murphy here to watch the boys and the wagon. Private Schultz will take my spare horse, and we will ride to the house and demand to know what these men are doing.”

    Anse was not surprised by the captain’s “plan.” He didn’t doubt the man’s courage, but he had about as few brains as a rabbit.

    “Well, that might work, but Wili doesn’t ride. And if the bandits decide to make a fight of it, we’ll be out in the open with no cover.”

    “Herr Hatfield, these are bandits, not trained troops.”

    In Anse’s experience, the distinction in the seventeenth century between “bandits” and “trained troops” was a lot fuzzier than von Dantz made it out to be. “It never hurts to have an edge, Captain. Jochen, Wili and I will sneak up on the house through the woods. Then you and Lt. Ivarsson ride in with the wagon, with Gaylynn driving, to where the path from the house comes to the road before you ride up to the house. Noelle and the boys can stay in the wagon bed, where they’ll have some shelter if the stuff hits the fan. Gaylynn can cover the front of the house and give you some support. The three of us in hiding can give the bandits a nasty surprise if they try to attack you. And it gives us six guns instead of four.”

    After a moment, von Dantz nodded. “Do not fire until we arrive.”

    “Give us ten minutes to get in position.” Anse handed the captain his pocket watch.

    Rau went to the rear of the wagon and started digging in his pack. Anse was not surprised to see him pull out two hand grenades. Rau had developed a positive love for grenades since he discovered you could fish with them.

    As the three entered the woods, Anse asked, “How are you going to light those?”

    Rau held up a Zippo lighter. “Chief Schwartz gave it to me. He likes fish.”

    When they arrived at the house, it was much like Rau had described it: a simple one-room structure with one door and only two windows, one on each side. Not much more than a big hut, really. Definitely a charcoal-burner’s place, from the nature of the tools scattered around.

    The window panes appeared to be made from thin leather and were partially open. There were two out-buildings, a simple privy and a small shed. The shed, which was open on the front, was the home of a large donkey, which was inside. The privy was on the opposite side of the house from the shed and looked in need of repair. From the woods they could see the body of an old man tied to a tree close to the shed. Two bandits were standing guard outside the front door to the house.

    While they were still some distance away, Anse laid out his plan. “Jochen, work your way up to the far side of the house. If they start shooting, toss a grenade through the window. Wili, you and me will crawl up on the near side. You take the window and after the grenade goes, off bust open the window and cover the inside of the house. I’ll move on to the corner and take the two men out front. Understood?”

    When the two others nodded, Anse continued. “Now don’t do anything until someone takes a shot at the captain. They might surrender.” From the looks on Wili and Jochen’s faces, they doubted that as much as Anse did.

 

---

 

    Everything went as planned, up to a point. Anse and Wili had just gotten into position on either side of the window when they heard a shot from the other side of the house. That shot was followed by two more, and then some shouting.

    “Wili, watch the window. Don’t fire until I do.”

    Anse stepped to the corner of the house. A quick glance around it made immediately clear what had happened. Of the two men who had been watching the front of the house, one had gone to the privy. Either going to or coming back, he had seen Jochen near the house and taken a shot at him. He’d missed, Jochen hadn’t, and the man was down near the privy. His partner was kneeling by the door of the house readying his match lock and yelling at the top of his lungs.

    Anse stepped out and called, “Throw down your gun. Geben oben.” Either the man didn’t want to give up or Anse’s German wasn’t understandable, because he turned and raised his weapon. Before he could get it halfway up, he took two twenty gauge slugs in the chest. He was wearing a breast plate, but at a range of less than six feet it made very little difference.

    As Anse shifted his aim to cover the door he heard the familiar clackity-boom that told him Wili was unloading his shotgun through the window. Jochen’s warning call of “Grenade!” was almost covered up by the sound of Anse’s shotgun taking out a man trying to flee the pocket hell that Wili had made of the inside of the house.

    After the grenade exploded, there was nothing but silence.

    When his ears quit ringing, Anse called out, “Wili, Jochen! Are you all right?”

    “Ja,” the two responded, almost in unison.

    Captain von Dantz and Lieutenant Ivarsson were coming at a gallop. The two were just turning off the road. Gaylynn was close behind, driving the wagon.

    “Herr Hatfield, I told you to wait!” were the first words out of the captain’s mouth, as he slid from his horse. “We needed prisoners to question, not just bodies.”

    Just then a shot rang out from inside the house. The bullet made a wheeting sound as it passed between Anse and the captain. Anse and the captain both turned and fired at almost the same time. The wounded man standing in the doorway of the house, trying to reload his pistol, was driven back inside by the force of both shots hitting him dead center.

    “Sorry, Captain, but I don’t think they want to surrender.”

    “It seems not. So be it, then.” He drew his sword and stepped toward the house.

    Seeing the captain about to enter with only his sword as a weapon, Anse said. “Wait a second, captain. Take my shotgun. Just point it and pull the trigger. There’s still two shells in it.”

    Von Dantz took the shotgun. Anse drew his pistol and the two moved to the door. Once they looked through the door, however, it was obvious that the shooting was over. The bodies of the bandits were scattered around the one room of the house. Wili and Jochen were looking through the two windows of the house, their guns pointing inside, but nothing was moving.

    “Lieutenant Ivarsson,” the captain called. “If you and Herr Hatfield’s men can clean the bodies out of the house, we can get the women and the boys out of the weather. We will have to camp here tonight.”

    Anse rolled his eyes. It was typical of the captain, that he didn’t give a thought to the reaction of the two boys or the women-or the men, for that matter-at the prospect of spending the night in a cabin that was splattered all over with blood and gore. Jochen’s grenade had practically shredded at least one of the bandits.

    “I think not, Captain,” he said firmly. “As I told you, we have perfectly serviceable tents with us.” Jabbing a finger at the inside of the cabin, he added: “That’s a charnel house in there. Even in winter, the stench will be unbearable.”

    Fortunately, von Dantz didn’t argue the matter. He simply stalked off, in a huff.

    Lieutenant Ivarsson came up.

    “Herr Hatfield, I think we should dig a grave for the old man. But what do you want to do with the bandits?”

    Anse made a face. “Well, I’m damned if I feel like digging any bigger hole than we need to, in this frozen ground.”

    The big Swedish lieutenant smiled coldly. “Why bother?” He nodded toward the privy. “There is already a big hole dug under that. For such as these, a fitting resting place.”

    Anse smiled back, just as coldly. The idea was certainly tempting, but . . .

    Leaving aside everything else, a poor charcoal-burner’s privy in the rocky soil of the Thueringerwald probably wouldn’t be big enough to hold all the corpses.

    “No, we’ll give them a grave.”

 

---

 

    Wili and Jochen took turns and soon had the shallow graves dug, while Anse and Ivarsson gathered some rocks to cover them. Once they realized that the bedrock was less than a foot below the surface, they ended up piling the rocks into cairns. A respectable one, near the house, over the old man’s body; a make-shift one, a bit further off, for the corpses of the bandits. Meanwhile, in a small clearing a quarter of a mile down the road, Gaylynn and Noelle set up the tents.

    Once the old man’s grave was ready, Anse went over to the campsite. “Gaylynn, do you want to bring the boys out to say goodbye to their grandfather?”

    Somewhat dubiously, she looked at the tent where Noelle was keeping the children.

    “Yes, I suppose we should. It might make the boys feel better.”

    Von Dantz, by then, had settled himself into another tent. Anse pulled back the flap and asked: “Would you happen to have a Bible, Captain?”

    “Ja, a New Testament, but it is in German. Do you read German?”

    It’d be in Fraktur script, too, the Gothic style, which Anse still had a lot of trouble with. “Not too well, no. But Wili does. Wili’s a Catholic, but he’ll be willing to say a few words to send any Christian home.”

    The captain looked a little surprised, but got his New Testament out of his pack.

    Later, after the burial and a quick supper, Captain von Dantz approached Anse. “I think we should all stand watch tonight. Three on, three off. You, me and Private Schultz on the first watch and Sergeant Ivarsson, Rau and Frau Reardon on the second. Since the Murphy woman is unarmed and seems not very familiar with weapons, I see no point in including her. Besides, she is tending the children.”

    “Sounds good, captain.”

 

---

 

January 19, 1633

    The night was quiet. Early the next morning as they were re-packing the wagon, Anse asked, “Noelle, what do you think we should do with the boys? We can’t leave them here.”

    “You should stop referring to them as ‘the boys,’ for starters,” she said, a little crossly. “You make them sound like luggage. They are Hans Felix Polheimer and Hans Ulrich Moser. They’re first cousins. Hans Felix is the older. As to what we’re going to do with them, we’re taking them to Suhl. Obviously.”

    Anse couldn’t help smiling at her frosty tone. He’d heard that Noelle Murphy didn’t suffer fools gladly – and, admittedly, his question had been a little foolish.

    “Load Hans and Hans on the wagon, then. We’re almost ready to pull out. Von Dantz will have kittens if they’re are any more delays.”

    “I’d say let him, except I’d pity the poor kittens.”

    That turned Anse’s smile into a real grin.

 

---

 

    When they arrived in Suhl, a little after noon, Anse was surprised by the size of the city. It was a lot smaller than he’d expected from Pat’s letters. That must be caused by the wall crowding everyone inside, he thought.

    Then he noticed the people themselves. Over the past year and a half, he’d gotten used to the mix of up-time and down-time clothing worn around Grantville, and – though to a lesser extent – in nearby Badenburg and Jena. Now, having crossed the Thueringerwald, he was in a strictly German city.

    Not only was there no mix of clothing, but many of the people on the streets of Suhl were casting unfriendly looks at the party. Whatever was causing trouble in the countryside had spread to the city, apparently. Anse was getting a weird feeling of deja vu. This was all strange, but all too familiar.

    Then it hit him. The last time he’d felt this way was almost forty years earlier. In Saigon, in 1969, just before the Tet Offensive.

    There were no overt signs of hostility, however. That was presumably due to the tough-looking mercenaries who were guarding the city gates and, now and then, patrolling the streets in small squads. The Swedish garrison wasn’t very big, true, but it was big enough to keep the peace in a town the size of Suhl. The problem was that the Swedish garrison shouldn’t be patrolling in a NUS state, in the first place. The city council should be keeping the peace with constables or militia.

    Anse scowled. He let the wagon pass him and rode close to the tail gate so he could talk to Rau without shouting.

    “Can you pass for a local, Jochen?”

    When Rau nodded, Anse continued: “Pass me your shotgun and get your revolver out of sight. I want you to do a little walk around here in Suhl. Drop off the wagon when no one can see you. Find out what’s going on and meet me at Pat’s house. You have the address?”

    “Nein. But how many U.S. WaffenFabrik can there be in Suhl?” Jochen grinned as he handed Anse the shotgun. “I will find you.”

    Anse rode forward to the front of the wagon. When he turned to look, Jochen was already gone. “Slippery as an eel,” he said to himself.

    They only had to ask directions three times before they pulled on to the street that promised to hold Pat’s factory. Then Anse spotted it, immediately. Pat had marked his shop with a huge sign made like an up-time Kentucky rifle that reached most of the way across the narrow street. Across the front of the building was printed in two foot high letters, U. S. WaffenFabrik.

    “Anse Hatfield! What are you doing in Suhl?” Anse was disoriented for a moment, until he saw that what he had at first glance taken for a prosperous looking down-timer was actually his brother-in-law. Pat Johnson was dressed entirely in down-time clothing.

    “Hi, Bubba. We came to see you, partly.”

    “Allo, Wili.” Pat nodded to Schultz, sitting on the wagon seat. “Hi, Gaylynn. Gary didn’t tell me you were coming to Suhl.”

    “That’s because Gary didn’t know. I wanted to surprise him. Now where is he?”

    “Well, he’s either in the office, right through that door, or on the shop floor on the other side.”

    Gaylynn was off the wagon quick as a flash and headed for the door. Then she stopped and turned to the wagon. “Felix, Ulrich, kommen mit me. I want you to meet Gary.”

    Her mixture of German and English might not have been understood by the boys. But Noelle’s nudge was clear enough. The two young cousins jumped from the wagon and followed Gaylynn through the door. Noelle went with them, after exchanging a brief greeting with Pat.

    After watching the little procession pass through the door, John turned back to Anse and Wili. “Does someone want to tell me who those two boys are and what’s going on?”

    Anse chuckled. “Well, it looks as if Noelle has convinced Gaylynn that her family just got a little bigger.”

    “Ja,” Wili added. “Gary chust become the father of two boys named Hans.”

    Pat waved his hand. “Tell me over lunch. Come on. We’ll put the horses, the donkey and the wagon in the factory yard and I’ll buy your lunch. There’s a good tavern nearby.”

    “No Freedom Arches? I make it a point to patronize them.”

    Pat seemed to grimace a little. “In Suhl? Not yet. And if those boys don’t . . . ah, never mind.”

 

---

 

    Over a lunch of stew, cheese, and rye bread, the two travelers explained where the boys came from. After that they got down to the reason for the trip.

 

---

 

    When they were done, Pat Johnson nodded and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’d guess about fifteen hundred guns a week are leaving Suhl. Small arms, that is. Not more than one or two field pieces. Most are going north, either to princes who are members of the CPE or friendly to it. But at least five hundred a week are going to someone else. As far as I know, none of my rifles have gone to unfriendly people, although I can’t be sure. I suppose I should have put the factory in Jena, but . . .”

    He shrugged. “Property values in Jena are getting almost as high as in Grantville – and there were so many trained and experienced gunsmiths here.”

    “Nobody’s faulting you, Pat,” Anse responded. “Have you talked to the head of the city militia? Or the Swedish garrison commander? Or the NUS military liaison?”

    Pat’s grimace, this time, wasn’t subtle at all.

    “Not much, still less, and none at all. The garrison commander is Captain Bruno Felder, and I can’t tell if he’s dumb or lazy or both. Either way, he’s made it plain he’s not interested. As for the NUS military liaison, what idiot sent Johnny Horton down here in that capacity? He’s dumber than Felder, and I only wish he were as lazy. What he is, is a hothead. Seems like every other day, he’s quarreling with one of the locals. Especially with the Suhl militia captain. Usually over some petty bullshit.”

    Anse rubbed his face. He didn’t know the German captain in command of the Swedish garrison, but he did know Johnny Horton. Stupid and quarrelsome were pretty fair descriptions of the man. He’d been perhaps the least popular teacher at Grantville’s high school.

    “The whole army’s stretched tight as a drum, Pat,” he said, by way of an explanation-excuse.

    “Sure, I know. Just like I know that it probably looked like a smart idea, back up there in Grantville, to shuffle him off to Suhl. But I can tell you it was one terrible idea. There’s enough trouble here as it is, without us stirring up more of it. And why the hell do we need a ‘military liaison’ in the first place? The whole damn Swedish garrison isn’t more than maybe forty men.”

    Anse didn’t bother answering the question, since it was obviously rhetorical. The answer was the same, anyway: Somebody in headquarters thought it would be a bright idea to get rid of Horton by saddling Suhl with him.

    “What about that ‘trouble’?” he asked, instead. “We told you what we saw on the way here. Are you seeing any of that here?”

    “Anse, I’ve lived here now for over a year, and I’ve made a lot of friends among the local gun makers. Masters and their journeymen, both. As you can see, I dress and live just like my neighbors, but no one is talking to me about politics. There’s less than a dozen of us up-timers here, and none of us know what’s going on. We know there’s a lot of bad feeling about Gustavus Adolphus giving Franconia to Grantville to govern, but it doesn’t seem directed at us, so much. Not personally, I mean. It’s just that I doubt you could find three people anywhere in the area who’d give you two cents for Gustavus Adolphus and his Swedes.”

    He sipped from his beer. “The truth is that there’s really nobody in charge this close to Franconia, beyond the limits of the major towns. We’re now officially the top honchos, sure – but we don’t have anybody south of the Thueringerwald except a handful of people scattered in the big towns and a ‘military force’ that’s just barely this side of a joke. The Swedes have small garrisons here and there, but since everybody hates them, nobody ever turns to them for help. I doubt they’d be any help, anyway. Truth us, I don’t have a much higher opinion of the mercenaries working for Gustavus Adolphus here than the locals do.”

    He dipped into his beer again, this time for a full swallow. “All that adds up to Franconia and the mountains of the Thueringerwald outside of the walled cities and fortified villages becoming a magnet for every gang of robbers and thieves around – of which they’re are plenty, after fifteen years of this madhouse war. The difference between ‘army deserter’ and ‘bandit’ is the difference between Monday and Tuesday. And on Wednesday, often enough – maybe Thursday – you’ll find them re-enrolled in somebody’s army. Here, it’s likely to be the Swedish army, which makes everybody trust them even less.”

    “Have you talked to the CoC leaders?”

    Pat issued a sarcastic snort. “Leaders? Anse, get real. The Committees of Correspondence here in Suhl – everywhere in Franconia, so far as I can tell – don’t amount to more than handful of kids. The CoCs are not popular even here in Suhl, the way they are further north in Thuringia. Not anywhere in Franconia, so far as I know.”

    He paused to take a bite of his stew, and washed it down with some more beer. Then, continued:

    “The attitude of people here toward the CoCs is pretty much the same as their attitude toward us. Up-timers, I mean. They don’t have anything against us personally – not yet, anyway – but since we’re associated with the Swedes they figure we can’t be worth much, either. They certainly don’t trust us, as a group, with the exception of some individuals here and there. Some of the villages in the Thueringerwald, too, like the one you ran across. They’ve had longstanding ties with Thuringia, many of them. But those people don’t carry much weight in Suhl or any of the other major towns, once you get over the mountains.”

    Anse nodded. “Gotcha. Now, on another subject, I need to talk to you about something other than those guns going south. How many rifles, smooth bores and pistols do you have on hand right now?”

    Pat looked thoughtful for a moment. “Finished . . . maybe ten pistols, ten to twelve rifles and at least thirty smooth bores. Wait a couple of days and we can add a dozen more pistols, four rifles, and maybe ten more smooth bores. Rifling takes time, but we can make three pistols for every rifle. Most of our guns are shipped as soon as we finish them. Ruben might have another dozen pistols, and ten to fifteen rifles in his shop. I know he’s sold out of smooth bores. He was by last night wanting more.”

    “Ruben?” Anse asked.

    “Ruben Blumroder. He’s one of the major gunmakers here – owns some of the stock in our company, too, plus being involved in the same trade in Schleusingen. That’s about ten or twelve miles further down the road. Maybe in some other towns, too. He has a lot of connections all through this region. He’s friendly and has been a big help to us. In fact, without him I don’t think Joe and I could have got our factory started as fast as we did. The man knows everyone in town, and was able to recommend some good gunsmiths looking for work. He speaks something like eight languages, including English. But why are you asking about what guns I have on hand?”

    “It’s simple. It looks like the TacRail company is going to war. And we’re getting the littlest pig’s share when it comes to weapons. What I want to do is to fill the wagon with anything that will shoot, and haul it back for the boys and girls. Think of it as a late Christmas present.”

    “Okay. We’ll write it off against the debt the factory owes you and save you some money. I take it this is not official.”

    “No, it’s not official, although eventually I’ll finagle some kind of reimbursement. But I’ll pay cash money. Gold, in fact.” Anse grinned. “You can handle Krugerrands, can’t you?”

    Pat chuckled. “Hell, yes. They’d be a lot better than most of the coins floating around.”

    They’d finished eating. Pat pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Let’s go down to Ruben’s shop and see what he has in stock. I’ll introduce the two of you and make sure he gives you a discount.”

 

---

 

    “It’s convenient that his shop is so close to the factory,” Anse commented as the two walked along.

    “Ruben found the location for the factory, so it’s not surprising it’s close to his shop. It works out fine. The gunmaking companies in Suhl are competitors, I suppose, technically speaking. But it’s really more of a co-operative relationship, in the real world. Kinda like, back home, a bunch of furniture stores would set up right next to each other. Whatever sales one of them might lose to a guy next door, they all gained from the fact that, bunched up like that, they drew a lot more customers to begin with.”

    He pulled up before a sign and pointed at it. “Here we are. You should notice that Ruben changed his sign. Before, it was two crossed wheel-lock pistols. Now look at it.”

    Anse looked up. The sign on the gunshop featured two crossed flintlock pistols, just like those that were the output of U.S. WaffenFabrik.

    Anse liked the shop, the minute he walked through the door. Its walls were covered with all kinds of weapons. Wheel-locks, the old Dutch-style flintlocks and the modern flintlocks introduced by Pat were in the places of pride, but there were guns of every description on the walls. The floor was crowded with racks that were also loaded with guns. Those spaces in the floor racks that did not have firearms were filled with crossbows, spears or swords. And in between the guns on the walls there were accouterments, powder flasks, bullet pouches and tools.

    It was so much like his favorite gunshop back in West Virginia, that Anse felt almost at home. If you added a couple of stuffed deer heads and a girly calendar this place would be just like Jimmy’s Gun and Pawn.

    “Herr Blumroder, come on out!” Pat called, waving the sales clerk aside. “I want you to meet Anse Hatfield. I know I told you about him.”

    When Blumroder came out of the back of the shop Anse saw a tall man somewhere in his late fifties, slightly older than himself. Blumroder had the confident air of a successful businessman. “Ah, Herr Hatfield! I have wanted to meet you. Patrick has said so much about you.”

    His English was fluent, and less heavily-accented than Anse would have expected.

    “And he has written a lot about you, sir. I’m glad he had your good advice to help him set up here in Suhl.”

    “Nonsense. Patrick is a wise young man. My major contribution was to make it easier for him to meet people. As you Americans say, I introduced him around.”

    “And one of those people must be your tailor. Pat was always in jeans and a sweat shirt, before. Now I find him in the latest styles.”

    Blumroder smiled. “Of course. A successful man must look successful, or no one will take him seriously. But I doubt you are here to ask for my advice on clothing. What can I do for you, Herr Hatfield?”

    “Herr Blumroder, I need all the flintlock rifles and smooth bores in your shop and probably most of the pistols.”

    Before Ruben could react. Pat said: “He’s paying in gold, Ruben, and I promised him a discount. What he can’t cover right now we can write off against the debt the company owes him. Besides, it’s good business. With a major war looking to be in the works, Anse’s railroad outfit is bound to expand. And even after the war, the railroads will keep going. If we get in on the ground floor now, we’ll be sitting pretty.”

    Blumroder considered Anse carefully. “Railroads, ha? When you have time later, Herr Hatfield, I would appreciate a detailed explanation of how these things are constructed and operate. From what I’ve heard from Patrick, it strikes me that there might be a profitable sideline for us there. Not making rails, of course. That’s the sort of heavy iron work we don’t do. But if those machines are as complicated as they sound . . .”

    He shook his head. “But, that is for later. For now, in terms of your immediate business, I will be glad to give you a discount. You are, after all, one of Patrick’s partners-and I hold stock in the company myself. I’ll have Horst prepare all of my modern guns for shipping. We’ll talk about price and discounts when I know what we have.”

    “Herr Blumroder,” Anse responded, “I have a team and a wagon at the factory. We can pick up the weapons and save you any shipping costs.”

    “Ja, even better.” Ruben turned and called to his clerk. “Horst, wieviele moderne Waffen haben wir im Geschäft?”

    Horst’s immediately started making a count of the modern flintlocks. After a short time, he handed a list to Blumroder.

    “It seems we have twenty-one rifles and twelve pistols on hand. Will that be enough for your needs? I will personally add a powder flask and bullet pouch for each weapon to the order at no charge.”

    Anse did his own calculations. “With the ten rifles and thirty smoothbore Pat has at the factory, that makes sixty-one long guns and twenty-two pistols. Yes, Herr Blumroder, that will make a proper wagon load. Gold on delivery, when I leave Suhl. Will that be acceptable?”

    “Ach, pay the money to Patrick,” Blumroder said, waving his hand. “I trust him to give me my share. It is not safe to walk around with that much money.”