Grantville Gazette, Volume X Read online

  Admiral Simpson didn't seem too pleased about the loss of his private office but gracefully acquiesced and went to look out of the window. The rest of us, with nothing much to do, started to talk shop; talk that sometimes seems to get more stuff done in this man's navy than all the memos and regulation in the whole outfit. So, when the door opened ten minutes later, everyone looked in surprise at a suddenly paralyzed Schuhmacher. The poor girl was doing a great impression of a mouse that found itself as the main guest at a cat's party as she looked at all the senior people present in the outer office.

  Hudson finally took pity on her and broke the silence. "Can we help you, Lance Corporal?"

  Schuhmacher snapped to attention and barked a "No, Sergeant Major," that would have made her DI proud. Then she continued in a normal tone. "I need to see Special Agent Spitzer."

  I was surprised and, like the rest, turned to stare at Brunei, who, in her usual casual manner, put the tea mug down and walked toward the office. The door closed behind the two women and everyone else looked at me, perhaps expecting me to have a clue about what just transpired. I stared back, shrugged my shoulders and shook my head to dissuade them of that notion. So, we went back to what we were doing.

  After a short while I started to wonder if I could sneak out and grab some coffee before Brunei returned, but the door opened again and Schuhmacher made another appearance. This time, she went straight to the senior chief and murmured something in a surprised Schwanhausser's ear.

  He picked up the phone and before we could ask her what was going on, she went back in. All of us looked at Schwanhausser.

  "I just called the health clinic. They want to see the midwife."

  An ugly idea popped into my mind but I kept it to myself, trying to avoid jumping to conclusions.

  Faster that I'd have thought possible, Susan Dorrman arrived and was directed to the admiral's office. She was a Grantville-trained nurse with a specialty in obstetrics. For a moment I feared for Brunei and our baby, but put it aside. If there were any problems, I'm sure that I wouldn't be standing in the wrong side of that door. Then I remembered that Frau Dorrman had another specialty. One for which my time doesn't have an equivalent. Admiral Simpson looked at me and I realized that he also knew about it.

  Intuitively, I knew that NCIS was next.

  I was finishing with my usual plea for funds to hire more agents to cover our new bases and the admiral's usual response about money not growing on trees when the door opened again. Frau Dorrman and Schuhmacher escorted Angelina out without stopping for explanations. Kratman tried to object but both gave him such a look of naked rage that I fought the impulse to cross my legs and protect myself. The commander, no doubt availing himself of his superior education—and a fine sense of self-preservation—stopped in mid-sentence. After the ladies left, Simpson led us back into his office.

  We found Brunei staring out the window, arms crossed under her breasts and ignoring our presence. I felt an icy lump in the pit of my stomach and instinctively knew that it was going to be bad. I called her name but she remained deep in whatever sort of hell she was peering into. This was what I feared. Brunei's past life as a camp follower and prostitute hadn't been at all voluntarily. If what I thought was correct, she could relate first hand to Angelina's experience and still had the occasional nightmare to prove it.

  Fearing the worst, I went to her and stood quietly at her side, waiting for her to acknowledge me. When she turned and fell into my arms, it caught me by surprise and almost off balance. Brunei isn't known for personal displays of emotion while we were on duty. After a while, I heard the admiral clear his throat. She stepped away from my embrace, wiping her eyes. I looked into her eyes and knew that she was going to be all right. "Excuse me, sir. I needed a moment to get myself together."

  "There isn't anything to excuse, Brunei. Why you don't sit down, please? It would probably be easier for all of us," he said with that innate courtesy that many would never suspect him of possessing.

  Brunei sat on the chair vacated by Angelina. The rest of us found seating around them. As she started talking, Brunei went into the automatic reporting mode that we drill into our agents, putting emotions aside and just stating the facts. We soon discovered that those were harsh enough.

  * * *

  Angelina came from a noble Genovese family that could trace their lineage all the way back to the Roman Empire. That was impressive, but with two members of our audience born four hundred years in the future, it wasn't exactly a show-stopper. That came soon enough. The family, like many in this world, fell on hard times until they discovered that service in the Catholic church was a good way to retain and improve their fortunes. That was one of the reasons Martin Luther disobeyed the anti-poster and littering regulations when he defaced his church doors. Angelina's uncle and guardian—her parents died when she was very young—was a bishop in the city of Bologna and dean of the law school there. An ambitious man, her uncle was bucking for the red cap of a cardinal, using influence he gained through the graduates of his law school, many of whom now served throughout the Vatican bureaucracy.

  His Grace had met Carlo when he hired Girolamo Rainaldi, Carlo's father, as architect for his proposed grand cathedral. Sadly, his desires outstripped his purse, as poor Girolamo discovered whenever he sought payment. While working with his father, Carlo met and fell in love with Angelina. For his temerity, and because Carlo was an unsuitable candidate for her hand, the uncle banished Carlo from the city and saw to it that he couldn't find work anywhere else in Italy. That would have been enough to add him to the top of my blacklist but Brunei was just getting started.

  The bishop's adherence to holy vows had been rather elastic. At last count, he was known to maintain two mistresses and had a roving eye for young and comely girls. You couldn't blame Angelina for starting to make preparations to run away and join her beloved Carlo here. A detailed planner, Angelina had started to slowly sell her jewelry and convert the proceeds to traveling funds and letters of credit when the incident that started the chain of events that got us here this morning happened. During a drunken revelry, a new maid attracted her uncle's eye. The girl, recently arrived from the countryside and with a strong religious upbringing, hadn't expected that her duties in the bishop's household were to include more than housecleaning. So, she failed to submit meekly to his advances and her shouts for help attracted Angelina's attention. No one living in that household would have blamed her if she had suddenly discovered an urgent need to be elsewhere, and no one would have been the wiser, either. Instead, she charged into the bedroom to the rescue.

  As Brunei spoke, I saw the admiral, the colonel and Hudson nodding. Personal courage was one of the traits highly sought by the military and defending the weak is part of the unwritten warrior code. In their eyes, Angelina's unselfish actions had erased their doubts about her worth to the service. I looked at Kratman and he looked back at me, both of us sharing the same grim expression. Those of us who are entrusted with enforcing the law tend to have a more cynical view of the world and the commander and I were already seeing where all this was going.

  Brunei paused for a moment. I knew we were going to get just the bare facts version but her haunted expression told me that she had heard all the sordid details. Angelina's intervention was successful and she diverted her uncle's attention from the maid. Unhappily, that attention was then focused on her. I suspect that the old goat probably had desires for her for a while . . . but I digress. If the girl had stayed and helped, what happened next could have been avoided, but she ran away and as far as she could. As far as Angelina knew, she didn't stop running until she was out of the city.

  Rape was not that unusual, not even up-time. I was glad that we had Susan Dorrman, the lone rape counselor in the whole navy—and only one of two in the whole world—with us in Magdeburg. Still, I felt sick at heart, a feeling shared by everyone in the room.

  The next morning, her uncle attempted to bribe Angelina with a combination of carrot
and stick. The carrot included more jewelry and clothing; the stick was a permanent stay in a convent cloister. She wisely chose the goods and those were later used to add to her travel funds. I gave her extra points for keeping her head under the circumstances. She was also lucky. Her uncle was called to Rome shortly afterwards in support of the Spanish-instigated disturbances there, and there was not an opportunity for a repeat encounter.

  Unfortunately, as many people have learned to their surprise, it only takes one time. Angelina had always had an irregular menses, so it took her a while to realize that she was pregnant. She concealed this from her uncle when he returned to Bologna, justifiably afraid that if he found out about it, her only travel would be to the convent or worse.

  Finally, with all the preparations at the ready, she escaped the city under the guise of visiting a family friend in Genoa. After a harrowing trip, she'd managed to make it to Magdeburg barely in time for the birth.

  * * *

  When Brunei finished her report, there was a long silent pause where everyone was busy with their thoughts. Kratman was the first to verbalize those. "Admiral, we don't have a case. All the evidence is hearsay, although I tend toward believing that poor girl. The only person that could have confirmed this individual's involvement was killed during the kidnapping attempt. At best, we could issue an imperial warrant for questioning but I doubt that the bastard—with his connections to Cardinal Borja—has any plans to visit the USE."

  Well, I'm not a lawyer, but I'd figured that one out already. The admiral looked at Hudson and Von Brockenholz, prompting the later to speak. "The Corps doesn't have any resources to bring to bear at this time, Admiral. Maybe later, when the RECON platoon gets up to speed, we can attempt to put something together, but that will take a while. We don't have any Horse Marine detachments in Bologna, and I doubt that the Ministry of State would allow us to compromise their diplomatic status anyway. There isn't a thing that we can do."

  Total silence followed his words. There was an unmistakable air of despair in the air at our inability to bring the bastard to justice and avenge our own.

  Admiral Simpson looked at each of us. "Agent Spitzer, gentlemen, is your consensus that there is nothing we can do to bring this man to justice?" The silence in the room was deafening as he continued to stare at each of us. He let us steam for a while before continuing. "I tend to agree. However, is there anything else we could do to prevent another attack?"

  We looked at each other and slowly shook our heads, all of us except for Brunei. She looked at the admiral with a cold feral smile. "Sir, I think that we can all agree that we're out of legal options." I thought that was a strange way to state the problem, until I realized that she was looking directly at me, the same way that the admiral and the rest were.

  I hate when they do that.

  Base Chapel

  Magdeburg Navy yard

  Magdeburg, USE 1000 Hours Local

  A month later

  I ignored the restrictive feeling of my new clothes and plastered a smile on my face as ordered. Brunei, having decided that my position required clothing that reflected our professional image, had dragged me to the tailor and ordered them. Truth be told, I like my new garments very much, as they were cut in the simple and subdued style popularized by Prime Minister Stearns. Brunei herself looked really nice in her new business dress with the now notorious skort. It did a good job of covering her growing tummy—at least for the present. Now that her morning sickness had subsided, the atmosphere had improved in Casa Schlosser and I was glad.

  Glad enough that I consented to be dragged to the wedding and I'm not even popish . . . err . . . Catholic. In fact, the Catholics present were outnumbered by those who were not. But women consider such ceremonies important and tend to support each other in these endeavors. At least, I could commiserate with fellow sufferers: Dorrman, Schwanhausser and Hudson, who, like other male guests sat stoically through the ceremony while the more numerous female guests beamed teary smiles at the happy couple, the bridal party and the chaplain. Thanks to her condition, Brunei sat in the front row, after being entrusted with the safekeeping of the youngest Rainaldi. I had already ascertained that she had the proper number of fingers and toes, together with the cutest toothless smile on this side of the river, so my interest had waned somewhat. Of course, I expect our littlest Schlosser would have her beat, but this was her and her parents' day; ours would come soon enough.

  Carlo made a striking figure in his navy officer's uniform, the newest ensign on the Naval Corps of Engineers. Although recovered, his body was still gaunt due to his ordeal and his eye patch gave him a decidedly piratical look. Alas, I have also been ordered to stop suggesting that he needs to acquire a parrot to complete the image. Angelina was doing much better now that her own ordeal was no longer a secret. She and Susan had made great progress and I was told that she would like to do the same for other women. There's an iron core behind that pretty face.

  Meanwhile, basic training finished, she's been assigned to Commander Kratman's office as a legal clerk. He has already confirmed his suspicions about her language abilities and also discovered that she was more advanced in the study of the law than anyone suspected. So, there are plans afoot for her to continue to read law. We need more JAG officers, and what better than to grow our own? Angelina also has a good eye for finances and has been investing some of the funds that she brought out of Bologna. Not all of them, of course, but enough that she and Carlo have moved to their own home in the growing naval housing area. Since that is patrolled by our own guards and not the city watch, it simplified our security problem immensely.

  Warrants were issued for her uncle. A paper exercise, more or less, given the current circumstances in Italy, although copies had been sent to our embassies, the temporary Holy See, and the cardinal-protector's office. I have made arrangements for her uncle's personal copy to be delivered, together with a message.

  The form of that message had taken a while to formulate. Regardless of the naval leadership's faith in my abilities, I couldn't pull an idea out of my hat that fast even if my life was at stake. The answer finally came to me one evening when I escorted Brunei to movie night at the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. We had a standing date—you know, to keep the romance going. Of course, she accuses me of using the opportunity to expand my up-time slang. I'd say we're both right.

  Anyway, they were showing a classic crime drama with an Italian connection and I couldn't resist it. Still, it took a while to make the proper arrangements.

  Meanwhile, the copy of the letter sent to the cardinal-protector's office had some unintended consequences in the form of our newest chaplain, Father Jose Manuel de Alvarado, SJ. The admiral made a request for another Catholic chaplain a long time ago. No one expected a Jesuit Spaniard who, as a young man, had served as an officer in the Spanish Tercio de la Infantería de Marina and seen heavy action against pirates, Moors and others on the Mediterranean. We all assume that was the cardinal-protector's way of keeping an eye on us, although Father Jose is definitely the kind of clergyman that our organization could use.

  But I wonder what the good chaplain is going to think when he finds out about the message and warning I arranged to be delivered directly to His Grace's bedroom. I don't think Father Jose will make much fuss. He was a soldier and a Spanish hidalgo, after all. And it isn't like Haas' murderer has any other use for his head, pickled or not.

  I like to think that Don Corleone would be proud of me.

  Twenty-eight Men

  by Mark Huston

  January, 1635

  The cold wind cut through to the very core of the men as they walked to the entrance of the mine. It was dark, well before dawn, in the dead time of the night. The cold was complete, a January cold, dry, harsh and sharp. Soon they would be down in the dark and warmth of the mine. Deitrich, the shift foreman, still smiled at the incongruity of the whole thing. They were going into a mine that had been started over three hundred years in the future, and abando
ned because it wasn't profitable enough. Abandoned with a large amount of the equipment in place. The power, phones, ventilation equipment, even some of the low electric carts were still there. It was almost if they were placed there for the men to pick up and start the operation again. Of course, many things were missing, or so the up-timers said. But there was much that they could use. So they did.

  The mine was a dangerous place, but Deitrich always felt safe there. Even after the up-timer training about the dangers, it seemed a much safer place than the front of a tercio. There he could take a musket ball or a pike at almost any time, and it was far beyond his control. "No," he often said, "the mine is a much safer place." There he had some control over what happened. There were procedures for safety and rescue techniques, and equipment that was designed to provide them with the ability to survive in the worst of conditions. He spent ten days in a special mine safety school before he was even allowed to be on the jobsite. Deitrich often said that his job under the ground was a warm and safe place to be. It was secure. Snug somehow. That confidence, many said, had made him a natural foreman in the mine. Some said that he was too confident.