Grantville Gazette Volume 24 Read online

  Looking around at their parents, largely mothers and the wives of soldiers and sailors who were off to the front, he saw the same sense of awe in their eyes that he'd noticed wherever he went in Magdeburg this past week. Fischer had become adjusted to the way his congregation looked at him. He was clearly viewed as a leader in their eyes, but this was somehow different. More like what he imagined how his contemporaries must have viewed Martin Luther himself.

  Tonight would be the first night since they had decided to abandon the tent. The crowds he was attracting had long since outstripped its ability to provide cover. In it's place, Slater had come up with a quarter dome shaped structure, covered by canvas, that kept the altar itself protected from the weather, and also allowed the spotlights to reflect a soft light on the choir and the band and, of course, Fischer.

  Before that Fischer had to complete his blessing of the house church leaders now gathered in the revival encampment from all over the USE. Most he'd met before, but the church elders had decided that the Magdeburg revival was the perfect opportunity to inject a greater sense of mission and a larger purpose into these local leaders of their rapidly growing faith. As Chalker had commented, this would be the cornerstone of the Magdeburg Pentecostal Church in more ways than one.

  Hans Richter Square, Magdeburg

  Terrell Nemeth scowled at Art Berry's back as he stormed out of the control room high up in the tower overlooking Hans Richter Square on Saturday. Terrell couldn't understand why Art was so bothered by the light reflecting cross at the back of the stage

  Frankly, Terrell thought, If I could get hold of a couple of those VOA vacuum tubes, I could build my own transmitter for the church and not have to deal with Art and his tantrums.

  "Nemeth, you read me?"

  "Roger. I've got you five by five, Mr. Berry."

  "Okay. If the hook up with Grantville will hold, we should get through this event without any difficulties. Nemeth, do you see that group toward the north end of the square? They don't look too much like the rest of the pilgrims that your preacher normally attracts."

  Terrell stood and leaned over the rail to get a better view. Sure enough, the group that Art had spotted looked more like ruffians that had occasional run-ins with the Magdeburg police patrols than your typical revival attendee. He'd have to keep an eye on the group and warn Slater to keep an eye on them as well.

  One thing hadn't changed since Slater's healing. He still didn't shy away from a good fight, although he and his roadies had become been quite disciplined in keeping it focused on crowd control rather than their old drunken brawling habits.

  ***

  Fischer raised his right arm over his head and began his closing benediction. "God Bless all the souls gathered here tonight and gathered around their radios throughout this beautiful German land. God Bless, the soldiers and sailors from all the Germanies that fight to sweep our new republic clean from the blight of foreign invaders. .."

  It was at that point the shouting began.

  "What about the emperor?"

  "Yah! How about the Swedish army that pulled your German bacon out of the fire?"

  "Why don't you bless the emperor, Winkelprediger?" The insult caused the gathered congregation to gasp in shock at this unexpected interruption of their religious experience. Winkelprediger was a German slang term that roughly translated into the American term "incompetent, jackleg preacher."

  Fischer's head snapped up and he glared through the lights in his eyes to see who had begun to heckle during his closing prayer. Spotting them, he moved to the northern edge of the altar closest to the hecklers and angrily responded, "God bless the King of Sweden. And God bless the United States of Europe."

  The crowd immediately surrounding him marveled as Fischer's skin darkened and the thin white scar on his forehead began to glow. It was something that was rumored to happen when Der Fischer was under the guidance of his Holy Spirit, and now they saw it for themselves.

  Almost spitting it out at the hecklers, Fischer then shouted with all his might, "And may God be praised that after this war ends he will find a way to guide the Swedish king in peace back to his throne in Stockholm, leaving the citizens of Germany free to elect our own emperor."

  A burst of applause broke out from the congregation. In the meanwhile, Slater and his gang of roadies surrounded the group that Terrell had warned them to watch out for and forcefully began moving them away from the rest of the congregation. As they were being cleared from the square, a chant rang out, "Born Twice, Die Once! Born Twice, Die Once!"

  The entire congregation raised their right hands straight up in the air and defiantly joined in with the proud statement of the belief of their church and it's leader, Der Fischer.

  ***

  The crowd gathered for the revival on Sunday evening was very different from those before. The news of the disturbance at Hans Richter Square the previous night had spread like wildfire throughout the USE. All day long, riders had come into Magdeburg on horses and wagons and trains, all prepared to see this evangelist who dared to speak the truth of the Swedish king who occupied their land.

  Most of them would admit that if it hadn't been for the Swedish army, Tilly and his armies would have continued to devastate the land and it's people. But now that the war was just about over, the wrongs that the Swedes had done in the Germanies needed to be settled as well. Gustavus Adolphus had made no bones about his theory of how to conduct his campaigns: "Let the war pay for the war."

  Because of this, many of the Lutherans who had been relieved to see the Swedish Lutheran Army come would now be more than willing to see it go.

  So the crowd gathered at this last night in Magdeburg looked less a gathering of older men, widows, and children, and more a gathering of bands of militia before a battle. Some even raised the standards of their organizations. Even the banner of the Franconian Ram flew.

  Worried that the temper of his audience was on the edge of dangerous, Fischer toned down his remarks. No healings tonight. He didn't think that he could channel the emotional power it took for a service like that with this group.

  Indeed, Fischer was keeping a close eye on this gathering to make sure no flare-ups occurred like the previous evening, so he immediately noticed when someone ran into the tent from the direction of the airfield and forced their way to the front of the congregation.

  One of Slater's roadies intercepted the young man before he could get too close to the altar. As Fischer continued with his sermon, he kept an eye on the two of them excitedly whispering to each other. Then, all of a sudden, the roadie swept up the young man in a bear hug and began to shout, "Halleluiah! Praise God!"

  Now, pulling the young man behind him, the roadie ran toward the altar where Fischer stood. "Preacher! Preacher! You did it!"

  Fischer paused in his prepared sermon and looked at the two men running up to him with smiles beaming from their faces. When they reached him, the young man shouted out, "The war is over! I just hear over the airfield radio. Denmark has surrendered! The war is over!"

  Bedlam broke out throughout the congregation. Men and women hugged, children started dancing, and they all shouted out thanksgivings for ending this war, which had killed so many. Then, slowly they turned toward the altar and began to shout, "God Bless Der Fischer! God Bless Der Fischer!"

  Fischer had been wrapped in an embrace of the young man and his roadie who had brought the good news. Now, hearing the chant breaking out from the congregation, he released the men and ran over to Sister Jennifer. He whispered in her ear for a moment, and she ran over to each section of her choir shouting out instructions. Then, jumping up on her director's stand, she raised her arms and they sang out the old spiritual, "Down by the Riverside."

  Through chorus after chorus of "… ain't going to study war no more…" mixed with the general euphoria of the news, Fischer marveled at the incredible timing that the Holy Spirit had. The Spirit had known that this would happen and brought him here at this precise minute to fulfill
God's plan. Surely, there was nothing left to doubt. He was God's chosen instrument in this new timeline. From now on, he would remember that it was God who was personally leading him to his personal destiny, not other men.

  Someone tapped his shoulder. Terrell stood there with tears streaming down his face. "Brother Fischer, it's Reverend Chalker. He collapsed at the last service today in Grantville. They don't know if he's going to make it."

  Chapter Twenty

  June 1634, Grantville

  The first person Fischer saw as he entered the room was Lana Soper. Ever since Reverend Chalker was released from the hospital and moved into the Manning Assisted Living Center, Lana had been his constant companion.

  Chalker lay asleep. He had not been shaved today and you could see a stream of dribble working it's way down his gray whiskered cheek. He looked much older than the energetic old man who had led Fischer to the presence of his own Holy Spirit.

  Sure enough, on the other side of Chalker's bed sat Georg Fleitner. During the two weeks that Chalker spent in the Grantville hospital, any time Fischer had seen Georg cleaning up around the church, he seemed like he was in agony at having left Reverend Chalker to others' care. Now that Lana was there to split the duties with him, Georg seemed much calmer when he tended to his other chores.

  After Fischer greeted them both, they updated him on the condition of the senior minister. Doctor Nichols had dropped by this morning, satisfied that his obstinate heart patient was finally being kept off his feet. Pete Enriquez had also dropped by first thing this morning to check on Chalker before heading off to his job site. Several other members of the congregation had stuck their heads in the room to pay their respects, only to be chased away by Georg.

  "Reverend need rest," Georg kept repeating.

  "All right, Georg. Please tell Reverend Chalker I dropped by." Fischer said a prayer for Lana, Georg, and Chalker, then headed on to his next meeting. This meeting was one he was very nervous about. He was going to meet Constanzia's father for the first time.

  Thankfully, Constanzia's brother was out of town. Fischer was always very aware of Martin's disapproval of him and his faith. Martin treated him as if he were that snake oil salesman, the self proclaimed "Doctor" Gribbleflotz, whose peddlers hung around the outskirts of the revival tour selling miracle blue pills and radio magnifier devices.

  Herr Garb had arrived in town a few days ago. Constanzia called Fischer, inviting him to meet her father. Ever since then, Fischer had been a wreck. This morning as Phyllis freshened up his haircut; he hadn't been able to stop fidgeting for worrying that she was going to make a mistake and he wouldn't present the right appearance to Herr Garb.

  When he boarded the trolley at the Assisted Living Center, he spread out the cloth he brought to sit on. He didn't want to chance getting dirt on his new, tailored black suit. Then to take his mind off his nervousness, he started to read a new book Reverend Wiley loaned him. It was by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor of the 1930s who stood up to the evil dictator of the other future Germany.

  ***

  "Papa, Dieter, would you like some more hot chocolate?" Constanzia asked as she gathered up the empty china cups.

  "No, thank you, Tesorina. I am well stuffed with your sweetbreads and chocolate already."

  Fischer smiled and indicated his polite refusal as well. The meeting had been nothing like Fischer had feared. Marco Garb was a very personable man. It was obvious to how he had become so successful. While the conversation had begun with Herr Garb drawing Fischer out on his relationship with Constanzia, and Fischer's calling to the Pentecostal ministry, it quickly enough had shifted to matters of Fischer's prophecy and how that prophecy was affecting the political and financial future of the Germanies and the rest of Europe.

  Herr Garb had a very firm, intuitive, grasp on the power that radio possessed to motivate the masses.

  "The right person could go a long way toward making this new country an economic powerhouse if he knew how to motivate them and had the right influential people to back him," Marco said. "Who knows where that would lead in this new world? After all, I have it on good authority that Herr Stearns expects not to remain as Prime Minister after the next election."

  Fischer had heard that rumor as well. But he'd dismissed it. He couldn't believe that the all-powerful Mike Stearns would allow the former duke of Saxe-Weimar to replace him in office.

  "So, Dieter, when are you planning on returning to your revival tour?" Marco asked.

  "That depends, Herr Garb. Frau Kurger tells us that she expects her husband, the Reverend Hans Kurger, to muster out of his army chaplaincy any day now. When he returns to take over the podium at the church, then we can plan what to do next."

  "Constanzia tells me you will be taking the new rail line west from Halle to Erfurt."

  Fischer nodded his agreement.

  "I have a number of good contacts along that line. Perhaps I can arrange some introductions for you along the way. These are business people who would be valuable to you and your future."

  Marco Garb was very impressed with this young minister friend of his daughter. It was obvious that she had found a man who could be very valuable to the ambitions of their family and their business associates. All in all, Marco could very easily see this young man as a member of his family.

  Hamburg, United States of Europe

  "A fine meal that was, uncle, for sure." Colonel David Leslie belched after draining his flagon of beer.

  "Aye, nephew. It's been good to see you again. Your father says you don't write to him often enough." General Alexander Leslie smiled, knowing his brother Patrick believed that his fifth son should be writing him every day, even after this long European adventure.

  "Ah, yes. The good Lord Lindores reminds me of the same matter in each of his letters to me." David laughed. "Perhaps now that I'm going back to a more permanent encampment, I'll have more time to keep in touch with my dear old da."

  "Speaking of that, David. Are you sure you wouldn't like for me to intervene on your behalf so you can spend a few months back home in Fife?"

  "Uncle, ye know as well as I that until we have a cavalry weapon that matches the Cardinal, the danger of war is not over. Having faced it in combat now, I can see why the Southern American army said that you could load it on a Sunday and shoot it the rest of the week."

  "A very dangerous weapon to have in the hands of the good Cardinal and his forces for sure. You should see the American gnomes and how they look so apologetic for not having figured out how to make percussion caps when the French figured it out on their own."

  "Aye, I've seen that very look. No, my orders are to move my cavalry command back to Erfurt to muster out. Then, I'm to proceed with my cadre to Fulda to help develop hopefully a better version of the up-time Sharps rifle or something called a Henry and work out the drill to incorporate it into our forces."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that, nephew." General Alexander picked up his wine and swirled it. "In fact, I have a wee mission of my own that I'd like for you to handle."

  Gulping a swallow down, he continued, "Have you ever heard of a 'Der Fischer'?"

  "Aye, uncle. He's that fellow that sends out the song sheets with Bible verses printed on them. My men sing them all the time."

  "He's a bit more than that. In fact I met with Axel Oxenstierna a few weeks ago, at the Congress of Copenhagen. Nothing official you understand, but he has his concerns about Fischer. Now that the League has been shattered and the French seem to be involved in internal problems of their own, it's likely that the Germans may start questioning why the Swedish forces are remaining behind. After all, there's an argument to be made that there is little reason for the Swedish nobles to continue to fund this adventure since the immediate danger to Protestantism has passed." Alexander took another drink, then continued. "Unless, of course, there's more to it than the House of Vasa's natural desire to increase his rule.

  "That's the question we fear may be driving a number of gr
oups to Der Fischer.

  "What I'd like for you to do is to learn more about him and what his beliefs and motivations are. Should he continue this revival of his, try to attend and gauge the atmosphere of those in attendance.

  "Hopefully, His Majesty's advisors worry too much, but it needs to be investigated."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  June 1634, Grantville

  "Good Morning, Mr. Grover!"

  "Huh? Oh. Yeah, good morning, Helga." John Grover barely glanced at Helga as he continued through the VOA reception area to his own office.

  "Mr. Grover?" Helga was concerned. Normally her boss was so positive and upbeat when he got in each morning. Of all the days for him to feel gloomy. She was wearing her brand new, royal blue summer dress. The one that showed off just a little cleavage and these beautiful up-time, oversized, white plastic beads that Frau Kurger found for her at the Emporium last Saturday.

  "Yes, Helga? What do you need?"

  At least that got him to stop. "I just wanted to let you know that Frau Kurger and Reverend Fischer are in the conference room with Marc going over the figures from last week's mail receipts. You know, in case you wanted to pop in and say hi."

  Grover scowled, "Just what I need. I had to pay for the repair of a broken piece of critical equipment already this morning, and now that preacher shows up. Great."

  He thought for a moment, then added, "Listen, if they're still here in fifteen minutes, ask me again. I've got a couple of things I need to handle in my office first."

  Grover disappeared into his office and forcefully shut the door behind him.

  Helga was perplexed. She'd heard about the equipment repair, but what spy? She reached down into her handbag and pulled out her compact. After carefully examining her makeup and hair, she put it back and decided that she must figure out some way to get her boss back in his usual good mood. Meanwhile, she'd just finish up her filing. Maybe that would give her some time to think of an idea of what she could do.