Grantville Gazette, Volume VIII Read online

  Finally the door opened and Leonore stepped out, turned and added in a conversational tone, "I expect you to be shaved and dressed in a clean uniform in fifteen minutes. I'm only going to be in town for a week and I want a handsome hero to walk with me while I shop. Move it, Andersen. I'm waiting."

  Leonore walked over to where Dora stood gawping in amazement. "Frau Schultz, I want you and any other TacRail wives and girlfriends to know I am returning to Magdeburg in a week. If you want to send mail to your loved ones, I would be happy to see it gets delivered. And for your personal information, it looks like I'm going to be assigned to the transportation school in Magdeburg. I intend to ask for your husband as a trainer for brakemen."

  Dora could barely whisper her thanks. What was this woman?

  Fifteen minutes later, by the clock, Anse came out of his room. Dora was surprised to see that he was dressed in the new dress coverall she had made for him. The one with the embroidered rank and unit badges. The very coverall he had refused to wear because it had copies of his ribbons, both from Vietnam and his current service. His hair was combed and his goatee and mustache neatly trimmed. He was wearing the neat black eye patch she had made. He looked splendid.

  Leonore held out her hand. "Well, Andersen, you look passable. I have a carriage and driver in the drive way. Would you like to take me shopping and to dinner?"

  Anse took Leonore's hand and walked her to the door. Dora wasn't sure exactly what magic she had just seen worked, but she knew that she totally approved of Leonore von Wilke.

  * * *

  Anse was smiling, but it wasn't his familiar grin. "Andersen," Leonore said, "don't pretend with me. I can see right through you. You may be here with me, but your mind is still on that battlefield."

  Anse looked startled. "No, I was just thinking about the future and how I was going to fit in to it. The battle is over."

  "Bullshit, to use a fitting American phrase. That is pure bullshit. Your wounds are not the problem. And you know it. Talk to me Andersen."

  "Leonore, you don't know what you're talking about." Anse held up what was left of his hand. "Pretty, ain't it?"

  "If you're trying to shock me, you failed. I've seen worse. I stood over the body of my dead husband, torn apart by a cannon ball. I prepared him for burial. Do you really think an injured hand is going to shock me? Ha."

  "It is not just injured. It's half gone."

  "So you work with the other half. But the hand is not the problem; it is how you're dealing with your experience of the battle where you were injured."

  "You keep saying that and it simply isn't true. I've been in battles before."

  "Wholesale killing battles, like Ahrensbok? I doubt it. You Americans did not fight like that when you were in your up-time army."

  Anse puffed up with anger. "First off, lady, I was a Marine, not in the Army when I was up-time. Second, we fought some pretty nasty battles and they never bothered me."

  "Bullshit. I was a soldier's wife. I know about the nightmares and cold sweats when you remember the men you have killed. Did you see some of the Vietnamese for years afterwards? And you are still seeing Ahrensbok every night. You would not be the man you are and not see it. The hand is just an excuse."

  "Not every night."

  Leonore knew he was finally going to open up.

  "Leonore, if I hadn't of pushed so hard we wouldn't have even been in that battle. I had to show everyone what TacRail could do. Then I teased Frank Jackson and got him angry enough to put us in the battle line. If I had stuck to my job I wouldn't have gotten my men wounded and killed. And in the end we weren't really important. The real battle was on the other end of the line."

  "I've read the reports of the battle; you weren't totally useless. You had one man killed from your original party. The two Jaegers you lost might have been killed whether you were there or not."

  "Don't try to rationalize it. It won't work. I know I've tried."

  "Andersen, the problem is you are not a warrior." Noting Anse's reaction, Leonore quickly added, "A warrior would puff himself up and strut around shouting about the glories of war." Leonore reached out and touched the decorations sewn on Anse's chest. "These mean nothing to you, do they?" She touched the rank emblem on his collar. "And this means even less."

  "Well, I like the rank."

  "Oh, to be sure. You like to be able to talk to both officers and common soldiers as their equal. But you would be happier in a set of faded coveralls with grease stains, as long as they had the train crew patch." Leonore touched the red circle on Anse's sleeve.

  "Well, yes, I am proud of the train crews."

  "Andersen, you are not a warrior. A warrior would bask in the glory of his awards. And lecture on the honor of combat. No, Andersen. You are a soldier. You see war as a necessary job, a dirty job, but a job that needs doing."

  Anse thought about her words. Finally, he broke the silence. "You're a pretty smart lady. Did you just figure that out?"

  "I knew you were a soldier the day you and Sergeant Rau came to teach my telegraph girls self defense. You didn't talk about honorable fighting or fair play. You said they were to use anything they had and any method that worked. You told them to fight in pairs and to shoot without warning. To backstab and cheat; anything to keep them alive."

  Anse smiled a real smile. "Hey, they're all good kids. They needed a touch of the real world."

  "Yes, they are good kids . . . and some of them will live to be a lot older because of you."

  They rode in silence for a while. Then Anse gave a sigh. "You're right. I do see the battle some nights when I try to sleep."

  "Will it help to tell me?"

  "There was this one French sergeant that stands out. He was the bravest man I ever saw. He walked across that field with nothing but a little spear. He was following the orders of fools and he knew it. He was an older man. We were tearing the French line to pieces and this sergeant just kept leading his men. He made it across three hundred yards of pure hell and I killed him."

  Leonore waited to see if there was more. Then she touched Anse's shoulder. "If you had not shot him, would he have reached your men? Would he have continued to fight, maybe killed or wounded some of your people?"

  "Sure. You could tell he was a fighter. He wouldn't have surrendered without orders."

  "Then I am glad you shot him. It was the right thing to do. Brave or not, he was the enemy."

  Leonore could tell her words had affected him. "Andersen, what would your Johanna have done if you acted like you have been?"

  "Leonore, that's fighting dirty. But she would have kicked my ass."

  "Yes, it is fighting dirty. But I had a good teacher. Consider your ass kicked. You are too tall and I had the cobbler put steel caps in the toes of my boots."

  Anse grinned. It was almost the old Anse grin she remembered.

  * * *

  Henry was surprised to find Anse and Hagen at the table for breakfast the next morning. Hagen being there was not the surprise; he had been having breakfast with Henry since he had arrived more than two months before. But Anse had been sleeping in for most of the same period. Sleeping in until noon, if the truth was told. Anse was not only up, but dressed in a neatly ironed chambray shirt and blue jeans. Even more surprising, Anse had dug out the old manual typewriter from the basement and was banging away on it one handed.

  "Good morning, Hank," Anse said with a grin. "Just a minute and I'll clear this stuff out of your way. I'm just finishing up." He rolled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and signed his name to the bottom of it.

  "You're bright and chipper this morning for some one who came in as late as you did. I was up getting a drink at two and you were still out."

  "Yeah. The meeting ran late."

  "Huh?" Henry said. "What meeting? I thought you were out with Leonore?"

  "I was, but we went to a meeting with Ruben Blumroder and some of his cronies. You know what they say, once a political organizer always a political organiz
er. And Leonore was a good organizer."

  Henry was still trying to make sense of this. "So you went shopping and after dinner you went to a political meeting?"

  "Naw. We skipped the shopping and we ordered dinner in. We ran into Ruben on our way to town and the meeting just grew."

  "It sounds like an interesting evening."

  "No, it doesn't. It sounds boring as hell, but it wasn't. Ruben and Leonore know a lot about the politics behind this war we're in." Anse picked up the typewriter and carried it to the cabinet, then started to gather his papers.

  Henry looked at the papers. He knew Anse was a slow typist when he had both hands, now. . . . "Did you get any sleep last night?"

  "Not really, I fell asleep about four. Woke up around five thirty and have been up ever since. I started on this about six, after I got dressed." Anse waved the papers.

  "May I ask what was so important you started typing at six o'clock in the morning?"

  Anse smiled. Henry could tell that he was bursting to tell his secret, but wanted to act mysterious. "My future, Hank. It's my future."

  Hagan stood up and started walking to the door. "Herr Johnson, Chief, if you will excuse me I am going to watch the morning news. I have already heard this. Twice."

  Henry waited until he was sure Hagen was gone. "Anse you were pretty down yesterday. This is a big change. Are you sure you're all right?"

  Anse's grin faded. "I'm getting there, Hank. I know I'll have some bad days ahead, but I am getting better. I appreciate you and Dora trying to help. I know it was hard on you guys."

  "Hey, we're family. We care what happens to you."

  Anse's smile was back. "Still, I was making it rough on you. I guess it took Leonore to make me really look at what I was doing to the people around me. The people I care about. She has a way with words."

  "That she does. She surely does; I could hear her down in the shop. She has a very good vocabulary too. Now what is this about your future? What are you planning?"

  "That's why I was reading too late last night. I was reading military regulations; I wanted to get this right." Anse flipped over the first sheet. "This is my application for medical retirement. If the army ever gets around to paying some kind of pension, I'll be eligible."

  "Okay. That's a good first step. What are the other papers?"

  . "This is a letter to the Suhl City Council. I am applying for citizenship. I took your words about a fresh start seriously. I'm moving to Suhl."

  Henry would be sorry to see Anse go, but anything was better than the funk he had been in.

  Anse continued, "This is a letter to Pat about his job offer; saying thanks but no thanks. And this is another to Gary Reardon saying the same thing.

  "So you took Ruben's offer? You're going to take over his shop?"

  "Sort of," Anse answered. "Just until I get my Suhl citizenship, then Ruben is going to have one of his cousins come in and run the shop."

  Henry decided to sit down. This was going to get complicated and Anse was dragging it out. "Okay, cut to the chase. What are you going to do after you quit working for Ruben? And don't string it out. I want to know now, not to hear a long shaggy dog story."

  Anse grinned. "I'm going into politics. We worked it out last night."

  Henry was flabbergasted. Anse was one of the most non-political people he knew. This was bad. "We worked it out . . . as in you, Leonore and Ruben?"

  "I did mention there were a couple of Ruben's friends at the meeting, didn't I? One was one of Francisco Nasi's people from intelligence. Another was Jorg Hennel, the CoC guy I met in Suhl."

  Henry had to set his coffee down. This was worse than bad. One of Nasi's spies, the CoC, and Anse going into politics. This was really bad. He waved for Anse to continue.

  Instead of continuing, though, Anse got up and went to the door. After opening it a crack and peering out, he closed it and turned back to the table. "I didn't tell Hagen this part. He doesn't need the worry. What do you know about the gun trade in Suhl?"

  "Just what you and Pat have told me. And, of course, there was your trip two years ago to investigate the illegal gun trade. That whole 'mutiny' business has been the talk of the town ever since." Mutiny, hell. Anse had legalized an uprising that left a body count near a hundred.

  "Yeah. Well, selling guns to the Austrians wasn't really illegal then, just stupid as hell. And it wasn't really a mutiny, just a couple of idiots using some hotheads to cause trouble. That got straightened out. Ruben and the big dealers have all stopped trading with the Austrians, and when he was on the city council, Ruben got it made illegal to sell guns to enemies of the USE. But according to Jorg there are still guns moving out of Suhl that are not going to our people."

  "What does that have to do with you and politics? Don't tell me you're thinking of running for office?"

  "Not right now, maybe in a few years. No, the gun business is why I'm going back to Suhl. Hank, I am going to be an intelligence agent for Nasi. I was hired last night. It's a real job, a job I can do. The CoC in Suhl is just going to be my cover story. Ruben's shop, Pat's gun factory and Gary's bolt factory are all hot beds of CoC activity and Jorg wants me to help coordinate them. Can you think of a better spot to watch for illegal gun trading than a gun shop and a gun factory?"

  "So you're going to be a spy?"

  "An intelligence agent," Anse corrected. "Us spies prefer to be called intelligence agents. Besides I'll be more of a counter-spy."

  Henry could almost picture it; Anse, with his usual "bull in a china shop" style, would set the CoC's political agenda for Suhl back five years. And he couldn't think of a more unlikely spy. He had to try to talk him out of it. "Anse, don't get me wrong . . . but an intelligence agent needs subtlety and the social graces. Neither of them are your long suit."

  "That's not a problem. No one will suspect me of being an intelligence agent. I have a reputation for honesty and straightforwardness. Plus, there are a lot of people in Suhl who like and respect me."

  "And there are a lot that hate your guts and spit when they hear your name. Your time as military commander of Suhl wasn't all sweetness and light."

  "Don't try to talk me out of it, Hank. My mind is made up. I'm moving to Suhl."

  "Okay, where does Leonore fit into this plan?"

  Anse looked a bit sheepish. "Hank, you know I love your daughter, Jo, and will always love her. I'll always think of you as my father-in-law and, more importantly, as my friend, my best friend. But we aren't going home to West Virginia. I plan on asking Leonore to marry me when her enlistment runs out."

  For a minute Henry felt like Mickey Mouse in the cartoon with the magic hat and the brooms. He had started this by calling Leonore, but now it was out of his control. Some times you just had to stand back and watch the train wreck. And be ready to help pick up the pieces afterward. He extended his hand. "Anse you'll always be my friend. And you'll always be family. If I can help with your plans, let me know."

  The Bloody Baroness of Bornholm

  Written by Kerryn Offord

  May 1634, 0430 hrs, in the shadow of HammershusCastle, Island of Bornholm, the Baltic

  "Get ready to jump," the man at the rudder called.

  Jesper Hansen tugged his cap down tight and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder. There was a gentle bump as the boat brushed the rocks and Jesper leapt for the shore. Safe on land, he waved the fishermen on their way and headed for the castle.

  * * *

  He was panting before he reached the top. It was barely a hundred yards from the shore to the castle wall, but it was a climb of nearly two hundred and fifty feet. His destination was the signal line hanging below the guns. When he got to it he jerked it several times, listening for the ringing of the sentry bell.

  "Who goes there?"

  Jesper squinted at the face looking over the wall. "That you, Jørgen? It's me, Jesper. Drop the ladder. I have an urgent message for the Lensmand. The Swedes are coming."

  "The Swedes? Stand clear, I'm l
etting the ladder down now."

  Hammershus Castle, the office of Lord Holger Rosenkrantz of Glimminge, Lensmand of Hammershus Len

  Lord Holger Rosenkrantz paused at the door of his office. Two men were looking at a map on the table. One of them was a competent officer he could trust — a man who had served with the Swede for several years before King Christian decided to join the League of Ostend. He wasn't so sure about the other man. Captain Lord Niels Gyldenstjerne was one of his wife's kin. So far the man hadn't screwed up . . . but then, he hadn't been given much opportunity. Holger didn't have high expectations of anybody from that family and kept a close eye on his every move. "The messenger says the Swedes intend gathering their invasion fleet at the Ertholmene islands. From there they can strike at the Hammershus, Melsted and Svaneke."

  Holger shook his head, and pointed at the map. "Then again, they might make for the beaches to the south beyond Nexø." He turned to his wife's kinsman. "Niels, send a messenger to instruct the militia commanders to deploy their companies to protect the beaches at Melsted, Svaneke, and Nexø. They'll have to defend their areas with what they have. We can't spare them anything. The Hammershus is the seat of my power as Lensmand of Hammershus. If I lose the castle, I lose the island." He looked pointedly at Niels. "And more importantly, I lose the income from the tenants."

  Holger waited until Niels left before turning to Mads Friis, his artillery officer. "Now Mads, how best can we defend the Hammershus?"

  The next day, Christiansø, one of the Ertholmene islands, twelve and a half miles east of Sandvig

  Johann Fabricius leaned his rifle against a rock and sat down to eat. All around him men were already engaged in the important task of feeding their faces. He let a chunk of bread soak up some hot gravy while he cast an eye over the anchorage between the islands of Christiansø and Frederiksø. The natural harbor was packed with small boats, transports, and the escorting frigates. "How big did you say the beach at Sandvig was, Matthias?"