Grantville Gazette - Volume XVIII, page 7
part #18 of Grantville Gazette Series
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 letting 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?"
"Well, you've got to remember, I wasn't more than eight when I was there, but I guess it must be a couple of hundred yards wide."
Johann turned back to contemplating the flotilla of small sailing smacks and barges. "It's going to be a mess with all those boats trying to find somewhere to land."
"Yeah, a right mess."
"Mind, it's not our problem."
"No, not our problem," Matthias Delp agreed.
"We aren't paid to worry. That's what sergeants are for."
"That's right. Let Sergeant Fels worry."
Johann glared at his friend. "Matthias, I get the feeling you're not taking me seriously."
"Oh, I'm taking you very seriously, Johann. Let the sergeant worry about finding us somewhere to land. We can worry about the fact our boat draws over four feet. That means we'll be jumping into water at least that deep."
"That is something to worry about. How deep will the water be at the back of the boat?"
Matthias shrugged. "I told you I was only eight when I was last at Sandvig. I don't know. It could be anything up to five or six feet."
"Matthias, none of us are tall enough to jump into five or six feet of water with a full war load."
"That's my point. Worry about something you can control. I'm planning on being near the front of the boat."
The next day, 0530 hrs, Hammeren hills, Bornholm
On a good day, through a good telescope, a person on the heights of the Hammeren hills could see the fishing boats sailing in and out of the anchorage at Christiansø. Sergeant Knud Lauridsen watched the Swedish fleet set sail for Bornholm. He watched long enough to get an idea of numbers and their probable heading before securing his telescope. Then he grabbed his rifle and ran down the hill to warn his captain.
1000 hrs, off Sandvig, aboard the Holmsund
Back in basic training Sergeant Major Hudson had said that battle plans never survived contact with the enemy. Right now Johann wasn't sure he wanted to be around when they finally did make contact. First there had been the layover on Christiansø waiting for the forces to gather. That had gone two days over schedule. And now, in spite of the day having started out in bright sunlight, it had started to rain. Worst of all, the wind had moved around to the south. Instead of a relatively straightforward passage of two hours the fleet of shallow draft boats now had been forced to keep changing tack to make headway. The journey to Sandvig was taking forever, and the constant rolling and pitching of the flat-bottomed Holmsund was taking its toll. Johann had joined the USE Marines to get away from the dull tedium of the army. Right now, with his head hung over the side of the boat and loosing what was left of breakfast, he'd love to have to deal with dull tedium. So far the world was staying faithful to another of the Sergeant Major Hudson's favorite sayings, "if anything can go wrong, it will."
* * *
"Fix bayonets. Loosen tampions," Sergeant Fels called.
Johann jerked his body upright. He felt light-headed and sick. Matthias, seated beside him, looked green. It took several repeats of the order from Sergeant Fels before Johann figured out what was happening. He stared landward. Unfortunately, he had an uninterrupted view of Bornholm. The Holmsund was at the front of the flotilla heading for the beach.
He licked the rain dripping down his face and ran his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. The rain reduced visibility, but not enough that he couldn't see the clouds of white smoke that suggested that people on Bornholm were shooting at him.
He fumbled to fix his bayonet to his rifle and then he loosened the plug that kept rain from running down the barrel. He didn't want to remove the tampion just yet. It was the only thing stopping water getting into the barrel. Loosening it meant it could easily be removed when needed, or in an emergency, shot off.
* * *
There was a bump and scrape as the boat hit the beach. Johann was into the water before Sergeant Fels finished his call to start the attack. As he sank into the chest deep water he shuddered. It was cold. Holding his rifle high above his head he started for shore.
His first step was painful. He'd stepped into some branches under the water and discovered that they'd been deliberately sharpened. He could feel the men behind crowding him, threatening to push him into the obstacle. "Quit pushing. There's something in the water."
He lifted his right foot high before stepping forward this time. "There're obstacles under the water. You're going to have to step high," he called over his shoulder.
It was slow and painful, but eventually he made it to shore. He glanced behind to check that he wasn't alone. He wasn't, but there were a lot of bodies floating in the sea.
The first objective was the Danish position behind a low stone wall about a hundred yards inland. He removed the tampion, lowered his rifle, and joined everyone else advancing on the Danes.
* * *
Over to his right Johann could see Swedes fighting to cross the wall. They were opposed by men with pikes and were having trouble. He angled toward them.
Suddenly a dozen armored Danes stood up behind the wall. They were pointing small handguns at the Swedes. In seconds there were clouds of smoke and over a dozen Swedes lay dead in front of the wall.
"My god, revolvers. Where did they get those?"
"The same place everybody else does. Burke's catalog has been selling cap and ball revolvers for nearly two years now," Matthias answered.
"But the Danes are our enemies. You aren't saying Burkes have been selling to the enemy. The up-timers have laws against that kind of thing."
"But the Danes weren't our enemy until late last year. That leaves plenty of time for people to have bought them."
Johann looked back to the Danish lines. The wall was now a mass of Danes all pointing muskets at the approaching Swedes and Marines. "Oh, shit!"
At less than fifty yards the whole Danish front became a cloud of gunsmoke. The Swedes charged. Immediately Captain Finck led the Marines in their own charge.
* * *
"Fuck." The hole was knee deep and Johan pitched forward, wrenching his knee, while the weight of his pack knocked the breath out of him. For a moment he was stunned. He'd stepped into a pit about two feet square with several sharp wooden stakes sticking out of the bottom as well as some stuck into the sides, point down. "Thank God for Calagna and Bauer!" He could even feel the indentation in the metal insole of the C&B combat boots, but it hadn't penetrated. If it had—Johann dry-retched at the thought—his foot would have been speared right through.
"Hit the deck!" Sergeant Fels yelled.
When a Marine sergeant told you to do something in that tone of voice your body reacted before the mind realized what was happening. Johann was flat on the ground with his hands on his helmet when there was a massive roar from the Danish lines.
