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Chapter 5: Bretagne and Schlinck


Monday, August 29, 1633

The men slept most of the weekend. On Monday morning, a messenger in uniform arrived. Neustatter and Astrid were the only two downstairs at that moment. Neustatter indicated the sergeant could talk in front of her.

“We have two missions if you want them. The first is a supply run to Erfurt. The second is to Suhl. There are complications.”

Neustatter didn’t hesitate. “We will take both.”

“Erfurt is tomorrow morning, 0800. It’s a bus.”

“A bus? The yellow APCs that take children to school?”

“Ja, that. The NUS Army is borrowing the bus and driver from the school district. We are sending a mechanic along just in case, but it is gravel roads all the way. The only cargo going to Erfurt is documents. They cannot fall into enemy hands.”

Neustatter nodded. “And the cargo coming back to Grantville?”

“Recruits.”

“Oh. Thursday is September first. They are for the next basic training class, ja?”

“Ja.”

Neustatter’s next question surprised Astrid. “Is there anything you do—or do not—want me to say to them?”

The messenger frowned. “Drill Sergeant Huffman said you would ask. I now owe him a beer.”

Neustatter grinned.

“But he did not say.”

“He wants me to make the decision,” Neustatter realized. “Interesting. Weapons?”

“Your first stop will be Camp Saale where you will be issued up-time rifles and shotguns.”

“Exzellent. Und the second mission?”

“You leave for Suhl on Friday. Two wagons. You will have the same weapons.”

“Danke. We will be there before 0800 tomorrow.”

After the messenger left, Neustatter said, “Miss Schäubin, go get Anna, bitte. We need her expertise.”

Astrid had no idea why, but she was sure it would be fascinating to find out. She and Anna were back downstairs in a couple minutes.

“Anna, we need uniforms,” Neustatter said.

She smiled. “How fancy?”

“Functional. Up-time-like.”

“How soon?”

“Friday’s mission is too soon, correct?”

Anna laughed. “Way too soon. I need a couple weeks for all of them—assuming you men are around to try them on.”

Neustatter jerked a thumb at Astrid. “Start with Miss Schäubin.”

Anna and Astrid went shopping for fabric. Anna looked at types of fabric and how much they cost.

She frowned and stated, “NESS is getting tan uniforms.”

They mailed the letter to Pastor Claussen on their way back. When they arrived at the house, they found the men gathered downstairs.

Ditmar asked, “Are we going to tell the recruits anything?”

“Nein,” came Stefan’s quick answer. “Let them figure it out like we had to.”

“Tell them,” Wolfram urged. “Much of the Eagle Pepper exercise is applying what you know. Give them something to work with.”

“Nein, don’t tell them about Eagle Pepper,” Karl objected. “It is important that they not know the scenarios ahead of time.”

“That is true,” Wolfram acknowledged. “Tell them the sorts of things that will get them thinking the right way. So that they can do something with Eagle Pepper.”

“Like Neustatter and the movies,” Karl agreed. “Although, after Birkig, I want to see the television shows Beattie remembered. The A-Team and MacGyver.”

Neustatter looked around to see if anyone else wanted to speak.

“That seems fair,” Hjalmar said.

Heads nodded, then Neustatter said, “That is about what I figured. Do not scare the recruits, but prepare them without undermining why the drill sergeants do what they do.”

That afternoon, Neustatter, Hjalmar, Ditmar, and Astrid went to the high school well before the evening classes began.

“We need news,” Neustatter explained.

“Why?” Astrid asked.

“We have to know what is happening in Grantville, in the New United States, and in the Confederated Principles of Europe so that we can offer the services people need. If Captain-General Gars establishes a new supply depot or fighting breaks out in a new location.”

“The big news is Wallenstein, of course,” Astrid told them as they walked along Route 250.

Neustatter gave her a sharp look. “What about Wallenstein?”

“Last month,” she prompted. “He took over Bohemia. He crushed the Imperials near White Mountain. Holk tried to take Prague but the Jews and Hussites defeated him. President Stearns even sent APCs to Prague.”

“We were not told any of this in basic training. You said Stearns sent APCs?”

“Wallenstein is allied to the New United States now.”

“Huh. I did not see that coming. That is exactly the sort of information we need. Is there trade between Grantville and Prague? Are the roads safe?”

They went straight to the National Library. Astrid requested a stack of newspapers and found an empty table.

“How does this work?” Ditmar asked.

“A page will bring them to us,” Astrid explained.

“You have been using the library,” Neustatter observed.

“Ja.”

A page appeared with a stack of newspapers before she had a chance to say more.

“Why this newspaper?” Hjalmar asked.

“Because the Freie Presse is in German,” Astrid answered. “Hochdeutsch, but I can read it.”

They divided up the stack. Ditmar found an account of the Battle of the Bridge, and he, Hjalmar, and Neustatter poured over it. Astrid took notes—in pencil. Pens were not allowed in the library. A librarian shushed them a couple times.

“I am not sure how I feel about this,” Hjalmar whispered.

Neustatter grunted. “I know. Suddenly Wallenstein is one of the good guys.”

Astrid went over to the front desk, talked to a librarian for a few minutes, and then came back.

“A research report on Wallenstein is available for purchase,” she whispered.

“How does that work?” Neustatter asked her.

“A researcher compiles a report, trying to include everything the library has on one subject. Usually someone pays them to do the research and gets the first copy. But additional copies are available to whomever wants to buy them. This one is called ‘Wallenstein: Up-Time and Down-Time.’”

“I think the men would like to hear this.” Neustatter went over to the front desk and bought a copy.

They went to class.

On the way home, Ditmar sighed. “We are now behind everyone else.”

“Only in reading,” Astrid said. “Your spoken English is much better than mine.”

“Maybe for military use,” Neustatter said, “but I think you are ahead of us for school use.”

“Remember the new cooking irons Karl made?” Astrid began. “Ursula wanted to know why bread without yeast bakes differently than bread with yeast.”

Hjalmar jerked a thumb over his shoulder, back toward the high school.

“Oh, I found the answer Ursula wanted easily enough,” Astrid agreed. “But first I asked an up-timer, and she thought I was asking about unleavened bread, so she sent me to a Jewish woman.”

“When you say it that way, I can see why,” Neustatter said.

“An up-time Jewish woman. I found out about World War II and the Holocaust.”

She saw Hjalmar grimace. “So did we—in basic. I wish you had not.”

“I needed to know,” Astrid stated. “That is what President Stearns is trying to prevent. But there is more. Afterwards, Israel became an independent nation again.”

All three men looked at her in surprise.

“Israel was attacked and outnumbered a lot. Just like in the Bible. There is a movie, Neustatter. Entebbe.”

***

In the morning, the men left on their mission. Neustatter, Hjalmar, and Ditmar took turns reading sections of the research paper out loud on the bus ride to Erfurt. None of the men were willing to trust Wallenstein. Not yet, anyway.

Astrid did not know exactly what they told the busload of recruits, nor did they ever find out what was in the documents the bus took to Erfurt. Their best guess was supply orders, since Captain-General Gars had made it his main supply depot in the area. The men delivered the documents to Erfurt and the recruits to Camp Saale. They were home Wednesday night and took day labor jobs on Thursday. Early Friday morning, they left again for Suhl.


Friday, September 2, 1633

Once the pair of wagons were a quarter mile past the latest village and out of sight, Neustatter turned to the others. “What did that village feel like?”

“Like before, but even more.” Otto’s answer was prompt. “Tension is building. Something will happen.”

Stefan spoke up. “Otto is right. You know I complain. There is complaining, and then there is complaining, and then people stop. That village has stopped complaining.”

Neustatter grinned. “You are a self-aware pessimist.”

“One more thing,” Wolfram put in. “They are not angry with the NUS.”

“That is true, too,” Neustatter said. “But three towns in the middle of whatever this is make guns, and the NUS wants to buy.”

The next village they came to was flying a flag with an adder on the field with the legend Tritt nicht auf mich.

“‘Do not tread on me’ sounds ominous,” observed Ditmar.

“I think we have time to stop and ask questions,” Neustatter declared. “Wagonmaster?”

Heinrich, the teamster, did not approve but agreed that Neustatter and one of his men could catch up quickly enough. So Neustatter and Otto went into the village, rifle and shotgun respectively slung over their shoulders. It was bigger than Birkig. About thirty houses, Neustatter estimated.

The first thing Neustatter noticed was the man on watch. The second thing he noticed was the metal ladle next to an iron triangle hanging outside one of the houses.

“Hallo!” When he got closer, Neustatter pointed to the triangle. “I like it. I saw that in an up-time movie. The cook used it to call the cowboys to dinner. I think it could be used to alert a village to danger, too.”

The stocky man nodded in agreement. “Sure could.”

“We saw your flag.”

“That is taken from up-time, too. So I am told, anyway. It fits our feelings well enough.”

Neustatter nodded. “If I could take a message to Grantville for you, what would you say?”

“Heh.” The man considered that for a moment, then spat. “I would tell them the niederadel are up to no good. I hear that up north, the adel work with the people instead of against them.”

“If you mean around Grantville, ja, I have heard good things about Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt and about the dukes of Saxe-Weimar. Well, except Bernhard, of course. But I do not travel in those circles.”

The man spat again. “Neither do I. We do not really expect them to send help.”

“You figure you can take care of it yourselves.”

“Not easily.”

“But if you thought you would lose, you would not be flying that flag,” Neustatter pointed out.

The heavy-set man nodded slowly. “Our herr is not a bad man. But the adel are in league together.”

Neustatter nodded in turn. “We are from Holstein-Gottorp, way up north near Denmark. Our herr was like that, too.”

“What did you do?”

“We left. The eight of us who came home from the war were not enough, and we were too far from Grantville and Magdeburg. But you . . . ”

“Ja, our situation is better. Not good, mind.”

“I will speak with someone in the NUS Army.”

“We like their army. It sounds wrong to say that, but those are good men.”

***

When Neustatter and Otto caught up to the others, they shared their information. Throughout the rest of the day, they noticed that some villages flew adder banners while others did not. On the following day, they saw that the banners were more numerous closer to Suhl.

“The villages the health and wellness team went to are all flying the banners,” Wolfram noted. “And they were friendlier to us than most of the other villages were.”

A couple hundred yards from Suhl, Neustatter abruptly ordered, “Stop the wagons! Lukas, Karl, Otto, on the ground with me. Ditmar, Stefan, front wagon. Hjalmar, Wolfram, back wagon. One riding shotgun, rifleman in the back.”

“What do you see?” the teamster asked.

“An occupied town.” Neustatter’s words were clipped. “Two guards at the gate—that I see.” He raised his voice. “Attennn-tion! Shoul-derrr . . . arms! For-warrrd . . . march!”

He and Karl led the way, near the front right and front left corners of the first wagon. When the two guards blocked their way, Neustatter intoned, “De-tail! Ready . . . halt!” He strode up to the men, stopped, and saluted. “NUS Army transport detail and escort, sir!”

“We do not like outside soldiers,” one of the guards said.

“We are here to deliver this shipment, rent rooms for the night, load a return shipment in the morning, and be on our way,” Neustatter explained.

“What unit?”

“NUS Army Reserves.” Neustatter patted the rifle on his shoulder with his right hand. “That is why we have these.”

“You will be reporting to the commander, then?”

“Ja. We were briefed on what happened in January. All NUS forces fall under the local NUS commander when they enter Suhl. Our orders do not specify whether that is still Warrant Officer Hatfield or not.”

One of the guards directed the other, “Go get the watch commander.”

***

Delivery and the following morning’s pickup went smoothly, but Neustatter sighed in relief once they were half a mile outside Suhl the next day.

“That is one tense town.”

“It sure is.” Lukas’ tone was sour. “A man can barely buy a drink without dirty looks.”

“To be fair, half of the dirty looks today were because we loaded wagons and departed on Sunday,” Neustatter pointed out. “I suspect an up-timer set the schedule. I will ask if future missions can be adjusted so that the convoys are not expected to enter or leave one of the gun-making towns on the Sabbath.”


Tuesday, September 6, 1633

The men arrived home Monday night. By then, Anna had recruited Ursula and Astrid to help with the sewing. This was why Astrid had mostly done the cleaning for Frau Sophia—sewing was not her best skill. She hadn’t had anyone to continue teaching her after her mother died. So she was grateful when Neustatter told her on Tuesday that they needed to visit the polizei station. They were sent back to Chief Frost’s office right away.

“Good to see you, Neustatter. How’d basic treat you?”

“It went well, I think,” Neustatter told him. “We just got back from Suhl.”

Frost’s expression darkened. “Have you heard about the Dutch?”

Neustatter and Astrid were both puzzled. “Nein. The Dutch?”

“The English and French double-crossed the Dutch and joined forces with the Spanish. They crushed the Dutch fleet.”

Astrid had no idea what that meant. Neustatter did.

“The Spanish will invade the Netherlands,” he predicted. “What does that mean for the Confederated Principalities of Europe?”

“Ha! If I knew that, I would be over in Mike Stearns’ office right now,” Dan Frost told him. “But nothing good.”

He sighed. “Neustatter, I will not be giving you military missions anymore. Those are going to come directly from the NUS Army. Don’t be a stranger, though, okay? I do hear when civilians are looking for guards.”

Neustatter’s nod was solemn. “Danke, Chief Frost.”

Then he leaned back in his chair. “The westerns were very useful during basic training.” He told Chief Frost a few stories. The chief covered his eyes with his hand only twice.

“Westerns . . . ” Frost muttered when Neustatter was done. “Maybe I should have suggested something else.”

Neustatter grinned. “I like the westerns just fine, Chief Frost. But Astrid received a recommendation a couple weeks ago, and we have not been able to locate it yet.”

Chief Frost looked her way. “What’s that?”

“Entebbe.”

“That’s a great idea!” Frost exclaimed. “I’d like my new officers to see that. I wonder who would have a copy . . . ?” He pressed a button on the intercom. “Mimi? Please give Everett Beasley a call over at the video store and see if he’s got a copy of Entebbe. Entebbe. The Israeli raid to rescue the airline passengers. Thanks, Mimi.”

“Danke, Chief Frost.”

After leaving the polizei station, Neustatter and Astrid walked all the way to Camp Saale. They met various officers whom Astrid could not keep straight. One she did remember was Major Stieff.

“I have heard about you,” the major began. “You are not under my command, but I would appreciate learning what you see and hear on your guard missions.”

“Ja, sir. Suhl and the villages around it are tense right now.”

“Go on.”

Neustatter watched Major Stieff absorb the details as he related what they had seen.

Soon NESS had a mission, one that would take several days.

It was almost dark by the time they returned to Grantville, but Neustatter insisted they stop at a newspaper office. He placed something called a “classified ad” in the Grantville Times. It would be each issue of the newspaper this week:

Neustatter’s European Security Services: Transport escort, facility guard duty, personal guards. Inquire of Edgar Neustatter or Astrid Schäubin, Number 38, Murphyhausen.

And then Astrid went back to sewing.


Wednesday, September 7, 1633

On the following day, Neustatter went back into Grantville when the other men hired on to day labor jobs. He would not tell them what it was about. Anna, Ursula, and Astrid sewed all day. By the time the men began returning, their uniforms were ready to be tried on. They were all up later than they wanted to be making final alterations.

The uniforms were tan-colored shirts and trousers. Anna hadn’t had time to do anything fancy, and Neustatter hadn’t wanted that anyway. But she had included simple epaulets that were simply a strip of cloth on the shoulder that buttoned back on itself. She had, however, included pockets on both the shirts and trousers—and on Astrid’s skorts.


Thursday, September 8, 1633

On Thursday, the men left for Halle. This mission was to escort a large shipment of salt from Halle to the supply depot in Erfurt. NESS was not told why, but it was not hard to put the pieces together. Plainly, the supply depot was preserving a lot of meat. With autumn coming soon, that would be happening anyway, but the Battle of Dunkirk provided added incentive for the NUS Army to be able to feed troops if they needed to be on the move. The men had been issued their Reserve weapons, which all by itself told them how important this mission was.

This was a big enough shipment that a couple other groups were providing guards, too. Older up-timers mostly called them “outfits,” while younger ones preferred “agencies.” Neustatter did not mind either term.

Neustatter took Ditmar and Hjalmar to meet the other two agencies.

“Guten Tag.” He held out a hand. “Ich heisse Edgar Neustatter. Neustatter’s European Security Services.”

“Hans Wolfe. I am with Captain Giulio Bretagne’s Company—in charge of this squad, in fact.” Wolfe and his men were well-dressed. Every one of them wore a long buff vest, well-made boots, and a leather hat with at least one feather in it. More impressive was the aura that they had been there, done that, and could do it again if they needed to.

“I have heard of your company,” Neustatter acknowledged. “These are my team leaders, Ditmar and Hjalmar Schaub.”

“We were with Tilly until Rain,” Wolfe explained. “Captain Bretagne gathered us afterwards. We stayed down south until last summer.”

Neustatter nodded. He understood what was being said. After Eisenach, the Wartburg, Suhl, and Grantville in August and then Alte Veste in September, Captain Bretagne had decided to join the winning side.

Neustatter matched candor with candor. “We started out as village levies under Mansfeld years ago. We got captured at Dessau Bridge, and then the NUS captured us at Alte Veste.”

“We heard there was a seventh mercenary company in the Grantville area. Is that you?”

“All eight of us.”

Wolfe introduced those of his men who were close at hand.

“Come. I will introduce you to Schlinck’s Company,” Wolfe offered. He led Neustatter, Ditmar, and Hjalmar over to a group of men who were indifferently dressed. No one matched, which was not unusual in a mercenary company. But these men were scruffy, their weapons looked worn, and they seemed to radiate more menace than discipline.

“Guten Tag. Edgar Neustatter.”

“Grönloh is over there.” The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder and ignored Neustatter’s outstretched hand.

“Danke.”

Neustatter approached Grönloh.

“Are you the new guys?” the man demanded. He was big and tough-looking, about Karl’s size but without Karl’s easygoing nature.

“Ja. Neustatter’s European Security Services. Ich heisse Edgar Neustatter.”

“Don’t care. I am Sergeant Grönloh, and I am in command of this mission. New unit guards the wagons in back. You eat dust until you have gone on a few trips. The last couple units only made a couple trips each.”

“What happened?” Neustatter’s voice was nonchalant.

“Too many of their men got jobs in Grantville or Erfurt or Magdeburg. The last one, the captain closed down the company. The captain of the one before that is still trying to find men, but he has not taken a contract in weeks.”

Neustatter nodded to show he understood. “If we are attacked, what is the plan?”

Grönloh snorted. “We will not be attacked. But if something happens, stay with your wagons or you will not get paid.”

“Naturally,” Neustatter agreed. “What defensive plan do you use?”

Grönloh laughed. “Shoot like hell and cut them if they get close.”

Neustatter frowned, glanced at Wolfe, and saw the slight shake of his head.

“We can do that,” he agreed.

Once he and Wolfe were on their way back to their own men, Neustatter raised the question again. “I take it Schlinck’s Company does not follow a prearranged formation.”

Wolfe laughed. “Not even close.”

“What do you do?”

“My two best shots with up-time weapons on the wagons, everyone else on the ground. Half on either side with matchlocks and swords.”

“We will have four up, four down. Rifles on the wagons, shotguns on the ground on the four corners,” Neustatter summarized. “Ditmar and Hjalmar each have a three-man team, and our medic is with me.”

Wolfe stared at him open-mouthed. “Rifles, shotguns, and a medic? And uniforms? How have you managed that?”

“We are in the Reserves. The Army issued us weapons for this mission. That does not happen all the time,” Neustatter cautioned.

“Still . . . ” Wolfe’s head suddenly whipped around. “We should tell Grönloh.”

Neustatter shrugged. “Ditmar, Hjalmar, and I are carrying up-time rifles. He must have seen them.”

Hans Wolfe considered that. “And it will not hurt our convoy to have that kind of firepower in the rear.” He took a couple more steps, then asked, “You said you are Reservists. For how long?”

“We just graduated from basic training.”

“And they gave you up-time weapons already,” Wolfe mused. “You must have done well.”

“I think we did,” Neustatter told him. “After six years in a mercenary army, I thought I knew soldiering, but I learned much from the drill sergeants.”

Three pickup trucks drove the men north. Evidently, the Army did not want to wait the three or four days it would take them to walk there. They arrived at Halle in the afternoon and found the salt merchants. Then they found an inn for the night.

The food was good, and the company was loud. At some point, maybe around eight o’clock, Neustatter rose from the table. Most of the other NESS men followed his lead.

Lukas ordered another beer and kept flirting with the serving girl. Stefan was still nursing his drink.

“As long as you are alert in the morning,” Neustatter told them.

Stefan nodded. “I will be.”

***

Most of the men went straight to their beds.

“We need to post a watch,” Neustatter said.

Several groans answered him.

“Ja, we are probably safe enough in this inn. So just one man for an hour at a time. Once the mission starts, it will be two men at a time.”

Heads nodded. That was simply prudent.

“Uh, Neustatter?” Ditmar asked. “Do you want us to guess how long an hour is?”

“Nein. I remember how much trouble that caused in Wallenstein’s army. Here is what I did yesterday.” Neustatter took a small package from his pack and carefully unwrapped it, revealing an hourglass. It was small, well-made, and set in a block of glass.

“These are being made in Grantville. It is not an hourglass. It is only a quarter hour, so you each have to let it run out four times. The hourglasses were too large and expensive. This one cost more than I liked, but I thought not quarreling over the length of a watch was worth the price.”

“It is worth some money not to hear that argument every night.” Wolfram smiled. “Someone will forget to flip it, of course.”

Neustatter shrugged. “Once it runs out four times, wake the next man. If someone forgets, he is awake longer.”

Neustatter named the order they’d stand watch, starting with Ditmar and ending with Hjalmar.


Friday, September 9, 1633

Neustatter awoke before Hjalmar had a chance to rouse him. It was not the mattress, which he found comfortable enough after years of sleeping in tents or even in the open field. Nor was it the temperature. September was starting to cool, but it was hardly the bone-chilling stay-in-bed-for-a-few-more-minutes temperatures of January and February. They had a mission, and Neustatter was ready to go.

Most of the others rolled out of their beds with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“This is too early,” Stefan muttered. “Could wait for a civilized hour . . . ”

Neustatter’s mouth quirked. He had asked for “alert.” No one was ever going to get “enthusiastic” out of Stefan. Lukas, on the other hand . . . 

“Lukas! Lukas!”

“When did he come to the room last night?” Neustatter asked.

“During my watch,” Wolfram said.

Neustatter eventually shook Lukas, who muttered something.

“I think he said it is too bright in here,” Otto offered.

“I can barely see what I am doing,” Neustatter retorted. “Come on, Lukas. If you are hung over, it is your own fault.”

The men from Bretagne’s Company were trickling downstairs in ones and twos about the same time that most of NESS entered the main room of the inn. They were halfway through breakfast before anyone from Schlinck’s Company showed up. Grönloh and his men looked the worse for wear.

Neustatter and Ditmar exchanged knowing looks, but all Neustatter said was, “Wherever we stop tonight will not be a secure area. We will post watch, two men at a time, which means going to bed early if we want something close to a full night’s sleep.”

Ditmar nodded. “By team?”

“Ja. Put Stefan and Otto together on the first watch. You have the dawn watch.”

Neustatter knew that would be enough for Ditmar to understand his intentions. Putting Stefan on the first watch both deprived Lukas of his most likely drinking buddy and rewarded Stefan’s good sense in not being hung over this morning with an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Hjalmar and Karl would be on the second watch, because Neustatter would take the third and least desirable watch himself the first night. Since Wolfram would be with him, that left Ditmar and Lukas on the fourth watch, which meant Lukas would be getting up very early the next day.

When NESS emerged from the inn, the wagons and teamsters were ready and waiting. Neustatter exchanged greetings with Gerd, whom he remembered from the salt convoy they had guarded back in May. Nevertheless, they got off to a late start. At one point, Neustatter glanced over at Wolfe, who simply rolled his eyes. Eventually, the men of Schlinck’s company got themselves sorted out. Grönloh gave the order, and the salt convoy got underway.

Neustatter had NESS start out in the formation he had characterized as “four up, four down,” but soon he and Otto hopped off the wagons. Neustatter spaced three men on each side of the last two wagons. The column of full salt wagons was not fast, and mounted travelers passed with ease. The second time the convoy was overtaken from behind, Neustatter rotated his men and dropped Hjalmar and Karl back as a rear guard.

They kept alert, but saw nothing of concern until the column passed a battered farm wagon that had pulled to the side of the road to let the convoy pass. The man at the reins shot Hjalmar and Karl a dirty look, and they overheard him muttering about high-handedness to the man seated next to him.

Karl looked at Hjalmar, who shrugged. “I have no idea, but I should go tell Neustatter about it.”

Hjalmar ran forward. The first thing he did was send Otto back to Karl. Neustatter did not like leaving one man out on his own. Then Hjalmar found Neustatter and told him about the disgruntled wagoneer.

“Danke. Take charge here while I ask Wolfe what happened.” Neustatter headed forward.

Hans Wolfe was on the left side of the fourth wagon.

“Hallo. What brings you forward, Neustatter?”

“My rear guard says the driver of the wagon we passed seemed upset with the convoy.”

“Hmm.” Wolfe cupped his hands. “Bavarello!”

The man standing on top of the third wagon carefully turned to face him. Wolfe beckoned. The man tapped the teamster driving the wagon on the shoulder and said something. The wagon slowed, and he jumped down.

“Sergeant Wolfe.”

“Bavarello, the wagon we passed—did anything happen? Any reason the driver might be upset?”

Bavarello waggled the hand not holding his musket. “Farm wagon on the way back from a delivery to Halle, I think. Not fast, but they seem to have set out before us.” He delivered that assessment with no expression whatsoever. “Schlinck’s Company told him to pull off the road and let us by. I might have been politer about it.”

“Thanks. It is time to switch positions.”

“I will take care of it.”

“Good outfit,” Neustatter observed. “So, you are a sergeant, too.”

“Grönloh ranks me. I am not sure how, but he is convinced of it.” Wolfe smiled thinly.

Neustatter nodded. “Nevertheless, you are the one who would direct reinforcements, since you are with the middle wagons.”

Wolfe replied without directly acknowledging that. “Like most men, I weight my attack on the right side. Here on the road, that means my men do not get separated from the convoy by approaching wagons.”

Neustatter nodded.

The salt convoy encountered a railroad construction crew partway between Weissenfels and Naumburg. They were adding rail. One man held a metal spike in place, and another man swung a sledgehammer, driving it in. Neustatter watched them long enough to pick out their foreman.

“Impressive. When we came through at the beginning of May, you were not nearly this far.”

“Good of you to say. They want us to reach Merseburg by Christmas. Maybe next year you can ship your goods on the railroad.”

“I would like that. I have heard that someday we will be able to go from Magdeburg to Grantville in a single day.”

“End of next year, we hope,” the foreman said.

“Do you ever have trouble with niederadel trying to collect tolls?”

The foreman laughed. “From trains? Nein. That would be a good way to get hit. That was all covered by the contracts. Why do you ask?”

“Back in May, south of Kösen, some men tried to collect a toll from salt wagons on behalf of one of the adel.”

The foreman laughed. “Oh, them. Ja, they tried to shake us down. Claimed that ‘no tolls’ applied only to the trains.” He pointed to pairs of men laying rail. “There was some pushing and shoving, but . . . you see.”

Neustatter nodded. “I will keep that in mind. Danke.”

NESS had little contact with Schlinck’s Company throughout the rest of the day. They made good time. Lukas seemed to be dragging a bit, but he said nothing. Neither did Neustatter, although he did make sure either he or Ditmar kept an eye on Lukas.

They reached Weissenfels at dark. The town spanned both sides of the Saale River. From what little Neustatter could see in the smaller section on the western bank, Weissenfels seemed to be prospering. The inn was clean and well-kept, but the salt wagons had to be left a short distance away.

“Stefan, Otto, you have the first watch here,” Neustatter told them. “We will bring you dinner.”

Hans Wolfe approached. “It looks like you are posting a watch.”

“We are.”

“What if we each post one man here and one man upstairs at the inn?”

“No more sentries than we would post anyway, but we cover both locations. Danke,” Neustatter told him. He called, “Stefan! New plan. You will be in the inn.”

Grönloh and his men stayed up late again that night. Lukas did not.

“Stefan, wake Hjalmar and Karl for the next watch. Hjalmar, Wolfram and I will take the third watch, and Ditmar and Lukas the fourth.”


Saturday, September 10, 1633

The night passed uneventfully. The men of Schlinck’s Company did not join the watch on the wagons. Saturday was equally quiet, but it was the longest leg of the trip. It was dark when the convoy stopped in the village of Frankenau. The inn there did not have enough space to accommodate all the men, but the village did have plenty of haylofts.

“Same system?” Wolfe asked.

“Ja,” Neustatter agreed.

“You vary your men’s shifts each night, ja?”

“I do. I had a sergeant who kept the same men on the same watch. It works out for the first and last watches, but the men on the middle watches are not combat effective, as the up-timers say.”


Sunday, September 11, 1633

In the morning, Neustatter spoke with Wolfe and Grönloh as the men ate breakfast in shifts in the small inn.

“My men and I came south from Magdeburg this past spring and found work escorting a couple salt wagons to Grantville. South of Kösen, men tried to stop us, claiming their lord held a toll.”

“No one in Halle mentioned a toll.” Grönloh started inhaling his breakfast. “They just made that up to swindle travelers.”

“That is my belief,” Neustatter agreed. “Suppose they try the same today.”

“We will just push through.” Grönloh swallowed another bite. “Break some heads if we have to.”

“It would be better for the New United States if we could avoid a fight,” Wolfe pointed out.

Grönloh spat. “No reason to avoid one.”

“No reason to start unrest here,” Neustatter countered. “There is enough in the Thüringerwald already.”

“Schlinck’s Company will show you how real mercenaries do the job,” Grönloh promised.

Wolfe and Neustatter withdrew. When they reached the salt wagons, Wolfe spoke up. “Maybe no one will try to collect a toll.”

“We should have a plan in case they do,” Neustatter said. “In May, cracking heads is what we did, but we have a couple new options.”

“What are those?”

“First, I have learned new ways to throw a man. Second, I think they will back down if they are outflanked with up-time weapons. You will have to spot them in time for my men to get into position.”

“And extend our coverage to at least one of your wagons.”

“If you would, bitte.”

***

NESS was on high alert as soon as the convoy of salt wagons passed Kösen. At every curve, the men on the inside of the curve and on top of the wagons looked ahead, scanning for anyone near the road. Each time they crested a hill, they did the same.

A couple miles later, one of the men from Bretagne’s Company climbed up on his wagon’s cargo, peered ahead, and began a side-to-side overhand wave.

Neustatter waved back. “NESS! Ditmar! Hjalmar! Otto! Stefan! Run up the right side of the wagons and flank whoever that is! It is just like Eagle Pepper!”

Once the four of them were off, Neustatter put Wolfram on the fifth wagon and Lukas on the last. He and Karl took position on the ground beside each of those wagons.

The Bretagne guard waved again, and Neustatter hurried forward. Wolfe fell in beside him. They arrived at the front of the convoy to see about a dozen men squared off against the wagons. The guards from Schlinck’s Company assembled in a loose rank in front of them. Neustatter saw the locals had lined up beside a large tree. It stood by itself with no other trees around it. Neustatter figured it probably marked the boundary of those men’s lord.

Both sides had been talking when Neustatter and Wolfe arrived. They had reached threats on both sides.

“Clear the road!” Neustatter barked. He recognized one big, stout man as one of those who had tried to stop the earlier salt convoy in May.

That had the desired effect, and both sides turned on him. Neustatter faced them with the rifle in his right hand, pointed down but ready to come up in a hurry. His left hand was in the air.

“This is a shipment to the NUS Army. You have no authority to stop it.”

“Our lord owns the toll by order of the emperor!”

“Which emperor?”

“The Holy Roman emperor!”

“He no longer controls this area. The NUS does. Your lord has never done anything to improve the road. The NUS put down gravel and dug the ditches and built the railroad. Your lord does not deserve the tolls.”

Hans Wolfe just stared at Neustatter.

“And your lord surrendered the tolls as part of the settlement when the railroad right of way was negotiated. I checked with the NUS government before we left Grantville,” Neustatter stated. “Also, I have four men on your flank with up-time weapons.”

“You are bluffing.”

Neustatter’s left arm, still in the air, swept out to the left. A sudden crack made the locals—and a few of Schlinck’s men—jump.

Wolfe spoke up. “You might want to check that tree. I am sure it has a bullet in it.”

A couple of the local lord’s men were fidgeting, and at least half were looking past Neustatter to his rifle-armed men. Neustatter stared at the big guy.

“I remember you!” he exclaimed.

“How did it work out last time?” Neustatter asked.

He glowered.

“I went and got trained by up-timers.” Neustatter brought his left hand down and scratched his chin. “I have been wondering about something. Does your lord send you to collect tolls from all the travelers or just from salt wagons?”

A couple of the locals’ mouths dropped open. Another, somewhat older than the others, sputtered before getting the words out. “How do you know that?”

“The NUS government does not know your lord is a problem. If you were collecting tolls from everyone who passed by, Grantville would have heard about it. Also, you would have tried to stop a truck by now, and the Army would have shown up. It is just the salt, or are there other goods?”

“Herr Johann had an agreement with the salt merchants in Halle . . . ” The older man described an agreement that was, as far as Neustatter could tell, at least a couple generations old. Neustatter received the impression that the parties had been feuding over the details ever since.

“Listen,” Neustatter finally said. “Once the railroad reaches Halle, they will be able to ship the salt by train. Your lord will not be able to collect tolls then. He needs to stop now, before he—and you—get into trouble.”

A couple of the locals took a step back, and the group more or less circled up. Neustatter intended to let them talk themselves into going home.

“Charge!” Grönloh bellowed.

“Nein!” Wolfe shouted.

But all eight men of Schlinck’s Company surged forward, brandishing musket butts. Neustatter saw one dagger. He grabbed that man by the collar and swung him into the tree. Then he buried a right in the man’s midsection and hung onto the man until the dagger had finished falling to the ground.

The big local had learned a couple things since May, too. He neatly sidestepped the man who came after him and landed an economic blow with his cudgel to the outside of the man’s thigh. That dead-legged him, and he lost his balance.

“Halt!” Neustatter ordered.

One of Schlinck’s men swung a musket at him. Neustatter dodged, and it caught him a grazing blow to the left shoulder. Neustatter stepped in and brought the barrel of the .308 up sharply between the men’s legs. He howled and bent over. Neustatter shoved him to the ground.

“Stopp! Break it up!” Wolfe shouted. His men were racing up now, and some of both Schlinck’s Company and the locals turned on Bretagne’s Company. Others were grappling each other and missed the new arrivals.

Neustatter declined to engage one of the locals, dodged another of Schlinck’s men, and came up behind Grönloh. He smashed him just above the left kidney with the butt of the .308. The man staggered, whirled. Neustatter landed his next blow squarely to the face. Then he hit him a couple times in the midsection to put him on the ground.

Neustatter reversed his weapon, aimed at the ground, and fired. Most of the fighting paused for just an instant. He worked the bolt, fired again.

“You are done!” He roared the words in his best imitation of a drill sergeant. “I can shoot all day.”

A local and one of Schlinck’s men were still beating on each other.

“Line up!”

“You do not—”

Wolfe coldcocked Schlinck’s man. The local was instantly seized and dragged back by one of his buddies.

“What . . . The . . . Hell . . . Was . . . That?!” Neustatter stalked past men. “Schlinck’s Company, one rank in front of that wagon . . . NOW!”

“You cannot—”

“Yes he can!” That was Karl, from right behind Schlinck’s men. Lukas and Wolfram flanked him, and all three had shotguns to their shoulders. “Drop your weapons.”

Schlinck’s men shut up. Most of them at least glanced at their weapons. A couple had lost their slow matches. They dropped their matchlocks to the ground. One of the others saw Ditmar, Hjalmar, Otto, and Stefan arriving from the flank and carefully lowered his to the ground. Within seconds, the last one was down.

“This is why is it a bad idea to try to collect illegal tolls,” Neustatter told the locals. “Do you know what happens now? Paperwork. This all gets written down. These are the last salt wagons you will ever try to collect a toll from. Is that understood?”

Heads nodded.

“Wolfram, see to the injured.”

Some of the men had taken hard blows. A couple had lost teeth. The older man looked like he was going to have a black eye.

“Nobody dead, nobody maimed,” Wolfram summarized sometime later. “Grönloh goes to Leahy. A couple of them need their ribs bound.”

“I think we will have to stop in Jena and make some arrangements,” Neustatter told Wolfe.

“Ja. The Army will not be happy.”

Neustatter shrugged. “I suppose we should talk to Schlinck’s Company and see if they are willing to continue the mission.”

“I do not think we can trust them,” Wolfe replied.

Neustatter nodded.

“Some of them will not be able to walk,” Wolfe continued.

“True.”

“I will kill you, Neustatter!” a voice roared. From the ground.

“Ah, Grönloh is awake,” Neustatter observed. He and Wolfe approached.

Grönloh was not standing up yet. He continued to make threats.

“Sergeant Grönloh, why did you charge when they were just about to get out of our way?”

“You cannot let men off like that. They must be disciplined. Once we get back to Grantville, you are dead! Do you hear me? Schlinck’s Company is coming for you—”

Neustatter’s boot slammed into his side, and Grönloh toppled over again.

Neustatter straightened up and looked around. “Do we have any other slow learners here?”

Heads shook vigorously.

***

The salt wagons did not stop. Ditmar, Stefan, and Wolfram spelled three teamsters as they hurriedly ate lunch, then spelled the other three. Neustatter and Wolfe had two men from their companies eat at a time. Schlinck’s men ate whenever they wanted, but they were riding, two each, in the backs of the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth wagons. Their muskets, cartridge boxes, and edged weapons were piled in the back of the first wagon. Pairs of men from NESS and Bretagne’s Company flanked the convoy.

They reached Jena after dark. Neustatter and Wolfe approached the gate.

A pair of watchmen looked down at them from above. “The gate is closed for the night.”

“This is a convoy of salt wagons under contract to the NUS Army. We have guards from three companies. There was a problem with one of them. We need MPs and medics, and we need to get this cargo somewhere it can be guarded for the night.”

“Not in Jena.” The man was adamant.

Neustatter shrugged off his pack and dug something out. He carefully unwrapped a quill and a small up-time glass bottle with a screw-on lid. Then he pulled out his notebook and unscrewed the caps on the metal prongs that held the pages together. He removed a page, screwed the notebook back together, and began writing.

He—and presumably Wolfe and Grönloh—had been told to memorize certain information that would identify the convoy in case of emergency.

CONVOY HE13. SNAFU SNAB FUBAR BIZUB FUZBUB

Brawl with locals. Schlinck’s Company has injuries. Need medics, MPs, and removal from convoy. Bretagne’s Company and NESS all okay. Can continue mission in morning. Need to enter Jena for night. Neustatter. Wolfe agrees.

Neustatter blew on the ink.

“You are supposed to sand it,” one of the watchmen told him.

Neustatter rolled his eyes. “Next time I will bring my secretary. Come take this and deliver it to NUS Military Police, bitte.”

“Are you serious?”

“Ja. As a heart attack, Drill Sergeant Huffman would say.”

The two guards held a whispered conversation, then one of them ambled away. After a short distance, he disappeared. A couple minutes later, the gate opened just a crack.

Neustatter, rifle slung over his shoulder, approached and handed the man the sheet of paper. The watchman shrugged and ambled away. He was not breaking any speed records, but he was moving in the right direction. The gate swung shut, and a bar slid into place. So there was at least one more guard at ground level.

Sometime later, Neustatter heard the bar slide again, and one gate opened. He saw three city watchmen, accompanied by what appeared to be two MPs. One of them had Neustatter’s note in his hand. A sixth man carried a case with a handle. Neustatter tentatively pegged him as a medic.

“I’m Sergeant Stevenson,” one of the MPs said. “What’s going on?”

Neustatter saluted. Stevenson automatically returned it.

“Ich heisse Edgar Neustatter, Neustatter’s European Security Services. Er heisst Hans Wolfe of Bretagne’s Company. On the wagons is a squad from Schlinck’s Company. We are escorting a salt shipment to Erfurt. There was a problem.”

Stevenson waved the other MP and the medic toward the wagons. “Go on,” he directed Neustatter.

Neustatter and Wolfe explained the situation.

“Wonderful,” Stevenson muttered. “I suppose it will be us MPs who pay his lordship a visit.”

Neustatter refrained from offering any advice.

Stevenson turned to the watchmen. “All right, get these guys into Jena.”

The watchmen grumbled but opened the other side of the gate. The first wagon rumbled past. Stevenson put up his hand to stop Neustatter and Wolfe.

“I’ve heard your side. I’m going to hear Schlinck’s side. It’ll be tough to sort out what happened. I suspect the Army isn’t going to be happy.”

“Ask the teamsters,” Neustatter suggested. “Those in front saw everything. If you have to go there anyway, ask the lord’s men. There’s a big, heavy guy, swings a pretty good cudgel. He remembered me from May. There’s an older guy, gray hair but still fit, who claims to know the previous arrangements between his lord and the Halle salt merchants. He will have a black eye.”

Marshall Stevenson nodded slowly. “Someone will probably do that.” He turned his attention to the note Neustatter had sent in with the Jena watchman and tapped one word. “Most of this I understood. What is fuzbub?”

“That is what happens when a FUBAR and a BIZUB collide.”

Stevenson snorted. “I thought at first this might be some sort of up-time/down-time problem.”

“Nein, that’s JUDFU. Joint Up-time Down-time Foul Up.”

The other MP snickered. “You don’t mind if I start using that one on reports, do you, Sergeant Stevenson?” she asked.

“Knock yourself out, Jordan,” Stevenson told her.


Monday, September 12, 1633

In the morning, the salt convoy set out. Both NESS and Bretagne’s Company adopted a “two up, six down” formation. The MPs got the men of Schlinck’s Company back to Grantville.

It was a very quiet day. They reached Erfurt and reported to the supply depot there.

Dennis Stull himself met them. He was flanked by a couple men in NUS Army camouflage. The clipboards they held told Neustatter they were from Supply. A couple squads from the garrison were nearby, not seeming to be doing anything.

Backup, Neustatter decided, in case whatever problem the convoy had had was still there.

“Convoy HE13 reporting!” Neustatter saluted.

One of the supply sergeants returned the salute. That told Neustatter who was senior—always useful to know.

Dennis Stull spoke first. “We got a radio message from Jena that there was trouble.”

Neustatter summarized.

Stull and the senior sergeant exchanged glances.

“Let’s get the cargo checked in,” the soldier recommended. “The MPs will deal with the mercenaries. We just need to make sure this is quality salt and then load some supplies for them to take back to Jena. I’d like to radio Sergeant Burroughs that everything is good to go before the end of the day.”

Dennis Stull nodded his agreement.

A short time later, Supply had opened random containers of salt and verified that it was indeed salty. Everyone pitched in offloading the salt and then refilling a couple of the wagons with cargo for Jena. The supply depot had its own guards, so NESS and Bretagne’s Company did not need to post a watch on the wagons that night. Most of the men took advantage of the opportunity for a full night’s sleep and even went to bed a bit early. Lukas, however, went out and returned very late.

The return convoy set out in the morning. Guards were hardly needed on the Thuringian Backbone these days. The most exciting part of the day was repeatedly drawing in the guards on the left side of the wagons so that traffic could pass in the opposite direction. They reached the MP training site in Jena.

Sergeant Stevenson was waiting for them. The woman soldier was nearby with a squad.

“How’d it go?”

“No problems. We have some supplies for you.”

“Danke. Headquarters is not happy. They want all of you back in Grantville. Jordan here is going to take a squad of MPs north with the wagons. She’ll drop in and have a chat with his lordship.”

Wolfe drew Neustatter aside while the other men were eating at an inn. “I notice the Army did not provide transportation back to Grantville. It is twenty-five miles. I think we need to cover that in one day.”

“I agree. We can have the fourth watch wake us early.” Neustatter turned to his men. “Last beers. We move out at dawn. We need to get back to Grantville to give our side of the story.”


Wednesday, September 14, 1633

Neustatter had a pretty good idea that Lukas was hung over again. Stefan was complaining. Most of the other men were not saying much.

“Do not worry for twenty-five miles,” Neustatter told them. “That would make for a miserable march.”

They were at one of Jena’s gates when it opened. The day was cool, and clouds had moved in overnight.

“Looks like rain,” Wolfe observed.

“We have been fortunate so far this mission,” Neustatter pointed out. “If we could save a few hours . . . ”

They made good time and ate on the move. The skies were steadily darkening when a horn sounded behind them.

“Train!” the last man in the group called.

Neustatter stepped close to the rails, but not too close, and started waving both arms. He was not sure if trains took passengers of opportunity—if the engineer saw sixteen men with long arms, he might go on by.

The train slowed with a squeal of brakes. It was a pickup truck pulling a couple box cars.

The engineer leaned out the window. “You boys in trouble?”

“The sooner we can reach Camp Saale the better,” Neustatter told him. “We need to report in.”

“That second box car is half empty,” the engineer told them. “I reckon you’d fill it up. There’s a rate for unscheduled pickups.”

Neustatter looked at Wolfe and shrugged. Neither group needed that expense, but reporting in quickly really was more important.

“You have a deal,” Neustatter agreed.

When the train approached Schwarza Junction, Neustatter called NESS together and quickly gave orders.

“Hjalmar, take Stefan and Wolfram home to their families. You are in charge. Otto, you are his runner. Take your halstuch off and put on a different colored shirt. If there is any trouble, you run to the polizei station. The rest of us will report in at Camp Saale.”

Hjalmar’s team caught a local train into Grantville.

***

The women had cleaned the house until it was spotless. Johann had done his schoolwork, Ursula was experimenting with a new soup, Anna was sewing, and Astrid had more mystery novels from the library. The most exciting thing that had happened since the men had left on their mission was that Ursula had discovered there was a Lutheran congregation in Grantville itself. They could attend there instead of crossing nearly the entire Ring of Fire to reach St. Martin’s in the Fields.

Astrid was thinking she ought to set her current mystery book aside and prepare for her classes when someone began beating on the door.

Since Ursula was frowning mightily and Anna looked scared, Astrid crossed the room and opened the door. Two men pushed their way in.

“How dare you!” Ursula exclaimed. Astrid did not think those two men were expecting her to advance on them. She had a ladle in one hand, and Astrid suspected she was more than willing to use it.

“Is this Neustatter’s place?” one of them asked. He was tall, dark-haired, and generally unkempt.

“Ja.”

He grabbed Astrid by the arm. “You are coming with us. We are going to teach Neustatter a lesson.”

“I am not going anywhere with you!” she told him. “Let go of me!”

Astrid tried to pull away from him. He backhanded her across the face.

She poked him in the eye. He swung wildly, connecting with her shoulder and losing his grip on her arm. Astrid quickly backed up across the room, out of his reach.

His partner, shorter, stockier, with shorter, lighter brown hair, advanced on Ursula. That was a mistake. She swept a knife up off the table. The idiot went for her knife hand, and Ursula caught him upside the head with the metal ladle. Astrid saw her jab at him with the knife, but that was all she had time to see.

The tall, dark-haired man came after her. She backed around the table and then realized that was a mistake. He lunged. Astrid dove and rolled. She might have gotten away if she had not stumbled coming to her feet. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door, but she wrapped her other arm around one leg of the table.

After he yanked on her arm three or four times, Astrid thought both arms were going to come out of their sockets. She finally lost her grip, and he towed her across the room and out the door.

Once outside, she realized someone was screaming at the top of her lungs. It was not her. The second man came barreling through the door. He grabbed her other arm. This time it was Astrid screaming. She drew a deep breath and sputtered in astonishment as a rock hit the shorter man in the face.

Then the taller man got hit, too. Astrid shut her eyes and turned her head just in case. Sure enough, she got hit. Twice. The first one bruised her leg. The second hit her squarely in the ribs, and it hurt.

The two men, on the other hand, were struck with a barrage. Astrid screamed again and started struggling. The shorter one let go of her. His arm was bleeding. It looked like Ursula had gotten him with the knife. The other one slapped Astrid across the face again.

And then a body hit him at full speed. Astrid got knocked to the ground. She rolled away, scrambled to her feet, and intended to run. Then she saw it was Hjalmar who had slammed into the man. Her brother was currently astride the prone man, battering him with both fists.

“Hjalmar! Hjalmar! I am unhurt! Stop!”

Stefan ran past. Astrid looked around. The shorter man was down, and Wolfram was also running toward their quarters.

Astrid tried a different tactic. “Hjalmar! We need to interrogate him! He has to be alive for that.”

Her brother looked up. “Interrogate? Where have you been learning English words like that?”

“Mysteries.” She remembered something this man had said. “Mysteries like who sent these two ‘to teach Neustatter a lesson.’”

Hjalmar’s expression turned even angrier, but he did not hit the man again. “Check our quarters. See if we have any rope. To tie him up,” he clarified.

Astrid heard something, turned, and saw flashing lights. “Never mind. The polizei are coming.”

A police vehicle approached with its lights flashing and siren blaring. She thought she later heard it called a “Jeep Cherokee,” but when she looked that up, she learned it meant a “general-purpose Indian.” So she must have gotten the name wrong.

Two officers got out and ordered everyone to drop their weapons. They looked confused when they realized no one was holding a weapon. Hjalmar’s was slung across his shoulder, and he had to shrug off the strap. Stefan’s was on the ground a short distance from the shorter man who had attacked Astrid and Ursula. Wolfram’s was neatly propped against the wall of NESS’ quarters, next to the door. Wolfram always took good care of his equipment.

Astrid finally noticed that Stefan and Ursula’s son Johann and several other boys his age were standing nearby and realized where those rocks had come from.

“What is going on here?” one of the polizei officers demanded. He had one hand on his pistol but had not drawn it from the holster yet.

Ursula began explaining—loudly, because she was some distance away. But she was not any less loud as she drew closer. Ursula was angry, and her tongue was as sharp as her knife.

The other officer quietly motioned Hjalmar away from the man he had knocked out. He checked the man, then spoke into a radio on his shoulder. “10-23, Number 38, Murphyhausen. 10-52, two men hurt.”

He quickly checked on the other man, then motioned everyone closer.

Hjalmar helped. “NESS, fall in, open order. Families together.”

The first polizei officer raised an eyebrow at that while the second watched NESS carefully. They lined up: Hjalmar, Astrid, Stefan, Ursula, Johann, Wolfram, Anna, Otto. Astrid had no idea where Otto had come from. The back seat of the police truck, she later found out.

The polizei questioned them, because two men who had attacked them were not going anywhere. The women were describing what happened when a whole column of trucks approached. First was another police truck, then an ambulance, and finally two pickup trucks.

Dan Frost got out of the newly arrived police truck and hurried toward them. Two men in a different uniform ran from the ambulance toward the two men who had attacked them. Neustatter, the rest of NESS, and several men in NUS Army uniforms jumped out of the pickups.

“NESS, give me a rank at a right angle to Hjalmar’s,” Neustatter directed. He, Ditmar, Lukas, and Karl lined up. Their rifles and shotguns were slung over their shoulders.

“Drop your weapons,” one of the polizei officers ordered.

Chief Frost held up a hand. “That’s not necessary.”

“Thanks, Dan,” one of the uniformed soldiers said. Astrid was surprised to recognize Sergeant Huffman. She quickly studied the others and picked out Sergeant Yost. The two of them seemed . . . protective . . . toward them. The other two looked angry.

“Someone, bring me up to speed,” Chief Frost requested.

One of the soldiers Astrid did not recognize spoke first. “There was a fight between mercenary companies guarding supply convoy HE13, and they brought it home with them. I want them arrested. If you don’t do it, I will.”

“Where’d it start?” Frost asked.

“South of Kösen,” Neustatter answered.

“That’s north of Jena,” Frost observed. “Not my jurisdiction, but let’s start at the beginning. Who was there?”

Wolfram raised a hand. “Request permission to fall out and assist the EMTs.”

Chief Frost gave him a quick nod. “Granted.”

“The convoy was six salt wagons, with eight guards each from Bretagne’s Company, Schlinck’s Company, and NESS,” Neustatter began. He told the whole story. When he reached the point where he and Wolfe had sent Grönloh and his men back to Grantville, Chief Frost and Sergeant Huffman exchanged glances. Frost looked at his two officers, too. There was something significant about that act.

“I thought there might be trouble,” Neustatter concluded. “When we arrived at Schwarza Junction, I sent the men with families back here. The rest of us reported in at Camp Saale.”

“Neustatter happened across us,” Sergeant Yost said. His voice grew stern, and Astrid had no trouble imagining him shouting at recruits. “We got the short version. This is exactly why I am so hard on former mercenaries. I want them to understand their job is to protect civilians now. Neustatter friggin’ understands that. It sounds like Bretagne’s guys do, too, but Schlinck’s guys don’t. That’s why we wanted all the mercenaries in the New United States run through basic.”

“If they are fighting among themselves, they are not doing their jobs. I am recommending all of them be removed from guarding convoys,” one of the other soldiers stated. “And I want them arrested.”

“Hold on, Lieutenant Kerns,” Chief Frost directed. “I want to hear what happened right here before anything else. Miss Schäubin, were you here when it started?”

“I certainly was!” Astrid pointed to the two men. One was still on the ground with a polizei officer standing over him. Then one Hjalmar knocked out had been loaded onto a stretcher and placed in the back of the ambulance. “That one said I was coming with them and that they were going to teach Neustatter a lesson.”

Frost turned to his other officer. “Call dispatch and have someone pull the rosters for the mercenary companies in the area. Get IDs on these two. Find out if they’re part of Schlinck’s Company—and make sure there’s an officer on each of them at Leahy.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Continue, Miss Schäubin.”

Astrid related what had happened, with help from Ursula. When she was finished, Chief Frost turned to the soldiers.

“Thoughts?”

The soldier who had remained silent until now spoke first. “I know you’ll question those two, Dan. But it’s hard to see any other reason they’d be here, and since none of Neustatter’s guys got here until after it started, it’d be pretty hard for the women to make up a story that fits so well with what happened on the road.”

“Good points, Voss.” Frost quickly corrected himself. “Lieutenant Gordon. When did Grönloh’s squad return to Camp Saale?”

“They didn’t.”

“I’ve got a problem with that, too,” Kerns declared.

NESS stood there for a very long time and learned a lot about police procedure. Finally, Chief Frost got the radio call he was waiting for. He spoke for a couple minutes and then started giving orders. The polizei were going in force to question Schlinck. The soldiers left, saying something about finding some MPs. Sergeants Huffman and Yost both nodded to Neustatter. Lieutenant Kerns glowered. Lieutenant Gordon had a good poker face. Chief Frost left one officer to keep an eye on them.

“Is everyone okay?” Neustatter asked.

A chorus of “Ja” answered him.

“Dinner!” Ursula exclaimed. She ran inside.

Neustatter took Johann and his friends aside. “Good work, boys. You were very brave.”

“Danke, Herr Neustatter.”

“What are your names?”

A short, dark-haired boy answered first. “Josef Forster.”

“Hans Reuter.” He was a few inches taller and blond.

The third boy was a bit chunky and wore a baseball cap. “Fritz Dieterlin.”

“Have you boys had dinner?” Neustatter asked.

“Ah, nein, Herr,” Hans answered.

“But we should probably get home,” Josef added.

Neustatter nodded in approval. The boys came over to Astrid.

“We are sorry we missed with some of the rocks and hit you, Miss Schäubin.”

“That is okay. I will be fine. Danke, boys.”

The three said goodbye to Johann and disappeared.

“Officer?” Neustatter asked next. “Would you like some dinner?”

“I had better stay out here, danke.”

Once inside, Hjalmar asked Astrid, “How are you, really?”

“Bruised, I am sure,” she answered. “No more than when I fell out of that apple tree. I will be fine in a couple days.”

“I do not know how this will be,” Ursula warned. “I was not planning to be interrupted by a fight.” She began dishing up dinner, small oblongs of stuffed pastry.

Everyone dug in. Karl had several on his plate. “What are these?” he asked. “They are good!”

“The up-timers have something called pasties. It is like a schnitzel with heavier bread, but with vegetables, too. This is somewhere between them.” Ursula sniffed. “As long as you are going to use forks anyway.”

Despite Ursula’s earlier disclaimer, everyone enjoyed dinner. Afterwards, once they cleaned up, Neustatter called them all back to the table.

“My fault. Sending Schlinck’s men back without any of us along just gave them two days to come up with this. The polizei will keep them away now, but if this Schlinck is the same sort of man that Grönloh is, then he may find a way to continue threatening us.

“In the morning, Miss Schäubin, I would like you to collect information on the mercenary companies in the Grantville area. Chief Frost once told you to ‘file the occasional piece of paperwork.’ Find out what paperwork companies like ours need to file. Karl, you go with her. Hjalmar, trail them. Don’t wear your halstuch or your uniform shirt.”

“Otto, you trail Johann. Out of uniform.”

Johann frowned. “I can take care of myself!”

“Not if Schlinck sends three or four men.” Neustatter’s voice was calm. “Ditmar, you, Stefan, and Lukas guard the house. See if you can find something to put outside the door for a mailbox. Wolfram, your medical training is a priority on days we have no missions.”

“And where are you going, Neustatter?” Ursula asked.

Neustatter looked around, taking in the ground floor of the rowhouse. “I am going to see about new quarters. See what Schlinck’s men have already done. We will not have anyone earning money tomorrow because we must guard ourselves.”

“Can we afford to move?” Ursula’s next question came quickly.

“Maybe. I think finding quarters for twelve people will be hard,” Neustatter acknowledged. “But we could move back to refugee housing. Any of the three, but I think we should consider the one near the high school. That would put us closer to Camp Saale and the road to Jena. Saving an hour’s walk at the beginning and end of most missions is probably worth it all on its own.”

“But, Neustatter, we just got this house like we want it!” Anna protested. “We do not want to start over.”

“True, and I am sorry about that. I want a home, too. But there is only one exit from this valley, and it would be simple enough for Schlinck’s Company to trap us here. The other thing we need is a place of business so that our advertisements in the newspaper do not lead anyone straight to where we live.”


Thursday, September 15, 1633

Astrid started at the polizei station. She stepped into the long narrow hallway and immediately turned left into the reception area. The same woman as before was seated behind the counter. Astrid had seen name plates at the high school, and this time she made sure to look for one. Sure enough . . . 

“Frau Rowland—”

“Mimi.”

Astrid gave the woman a blank look.

“Call me Mimi, please. Not Frau Rowland or Miss Rowland, okay?”

That seemed a strange request to Astrid, but if it made her happy . . . 

“Mimi,” she said. “Und I am Astrid.”

Mimi smiled. “What can I do for you, Astrid?”

“I understand that security services have to file paperwork. May I have that, bitte? I will fill out what I can and take the rest to Neustatter.”

“Wish I could help, but you have to go over to the New United States Army base for that.”

Astrid gave her a look.

Mimi shrugged. “I don’t claim it makes sense, just that that’s where the forms are.”

Astrid exchanged glances with Karl. He also shrugged. Her interpretation was that walking around all day would not bother Karl in the least.

“Danke, Mimi. Do we bring you the forms, or does the Army bring them to you?”

“Oh, the Army will send them over.”

“Do you know who at Camp Saale has the forms?”

“Sure do. You want Voss Gordon.”

“Oh! I know who that is! Danke, Mimi.”

“See ya.”

Hjalmar was waiting for them outside.

“We have to go to Camp Saale to fill out the forms,” Astrid told him.

He rolled his eyes.

“We need to find Leutnant Voss Gordon.”

“I have no idea where he would be at Camp Saale,” Astrid’s brother told her.

“I will ask at the gate.”

***

As they approached, Astrid saw several soldiers at Camp Saale’s gate.

“Military polizei,” Karl said. “See the armbands?”

Now that he had pointed them out, Astrid saw the cloth armbands with the letters MP in black. “Ah. That is how you can tell?”

“Ja.”

Three of the soldiers watched them approach. One of them nudged the fourth. Astrid realized that none of them were looking at Karl. She thought they should have been. He was the one with an up-time shotgun.

The soldiers were wearing camouflage uniforms and caps. Astrid had trouble telling them apart. One was somewhat taller than the others. Another seemed older than the rest. The other two probably looked different out of uniform, but right now they might as well be twins.

“Halt! This is a military base,” the older one ordered. Now that they were just a few feet away, Astrid could see two chevrons on his uniform.

“Ja, we know, Corporal. Miss Astrid Schäubin, secretary of Neustatter’s European Security Services.” She gestured toward Karl. “Agent Recker. Und that is Team Leader Schaub behind us.”

The soldiers were suddenly all business.

“I need to file security service paperwork with Leutnant Voss Gordon.”

“I can take you there,” volunteered one of the “twins.”

“Danke,” Astrid told him.

“Leave your weapons with us, bitte,” the corporal requested.

“Hjalmar and Karl are in the Reserves,” Astrid told them. “Those are Army weapons.”

“Reserves, eh? Which basic class?”

“33 dash 3,” Karl answered.

“Just last month,” the soldier observed. “Still new.”

“Old enough to have captured Birkig,” Karl returned.

Astrid saw the corporal’s eyes widen. “I heard about that. That was your class?”

“A lot of it was Neustatter.”

“All right.” The soldier’s manner changed. Astrid could not say how, but Hjalmar later told her the soldier’s manner went from politeness to respect. One of the MPs led them straight to a long, wooden building that looked more than a little like their refugee housing. But inside, a central corridor ran the length of the building, which was divided up into offices.

The soldier knocked on the third door on the left.

“Come in!”

He opened the door. “Neustatter’s European Security Services to see you, Leutnant.”

“Thank you.”

Leutnant Gordon came around from behind his desk to shake hands.

“What can I do for you?”

“Neustatter sent me to file our security service paperwork,” Astrid answered.

“Ah, right.” He opened the top drawer of a metal cabinet. Folders with little hooks hung from metal rods. Most of them were full of papers. He began extracting sheets from several different folders.

Astrid looked at his desk. It was in the up-time style, a metal thing as big as a bed. Papers were stacked neatly here and there. A nameplate read “John Voss Gordon.” A few books stood upright at one end of the desk, held by decorative metal . . . somethings. Whatever they were, they had come from up-time. So had the books. She looked more closely. Yes, they were law books. The office did not seem very Army. It felt more like she imagined a bürgermeister’s office would be, except up-time.

Lieutenant Gordon completed the stack of papers he was about to hand Astrid. “I am what passes for a legal officer. Mostly, that means I deal with complaints. Because so many complaints seem to involve mercenaries, the New United States Army has put a few regulations in place.”

“That looks like more than a few, Leutnant Gordon,” Astrid observed.

“The list does seem to keep getting longer. Fill this one out first, then have everyone who works for your company sign this one. The rest of these you and Neustatter need to sign.” He pushed a small stand holding a quill and an inkwell across the desk to Astrid.

She began filling out the paperwork. Hjalmar and Karl seemed content to stay in the background.

“How did things go with Schlinck’s Company?” Lieutenant Gordon asked.

Astrid looked up from a form. “I do not know. How did they go?”

“You don’t know?”

“We are here. Ditmar’s team is at our quarters. One man is trailing Stefan and Ursula’s son to school. Neustatter is looking for new quarters.”

“You and Neustatter need to go talk to Dan Frost,” Gordon told her. “Schlinck claims those two men acted on their own.”

Hjalmar spoke up for the first time. “Sure they did.”

Gordon shrugged. “You know that. I know that. Three out of four village idiots know it. But no one can prove it.” He paused. “Kerns does not want to hire any of you for future convoys.”

“Can he do that?”

“Up to a point. He handles Personnel. He can assign whomever he wants until sets of requirements overlap. Then he is going to have to hire someone he doesn’t want.”

“Our men can work with civilians,” Astrid pointed out.

“Yeah. Dennis Stull likes you guys. Even Suhl says you’re okay. So, you’ll probably be in the rotation some—maybe just not as much as you have been.”

That worried Astrid, but she did not want to acknowledge it in front of Lieutenant Gordon.

“Is there anything else we need to do?” she asked.

“Have Neustatter sign those papers and bring them back,” he said. “And have everyone sign the roster.”

“I will. Danke.”

***

Neustatter was the last one to return to the house. He asked for Astrid’s report first. She gave it to him.

“That is about what I expected,” he said. “I do not think it will matter.”

All of them stared at Neustatter.

“First, if anyone asks any of you why there was a problem with Schlinck’s Company, tell them we protect civilians. I did some asking around, and Schlinck’s Company is becoming known for shoving people out of their way. Second, we need a place of business separate from our quarters. That means we will have a sign. People will be able to see us when they need a security service. Third, I talked to a couple of the women from the Grantville Ecumenical Refugee Relief Committee. We can move our quarters to the refugee housing near the high school.”

“Neustatter, where is this place of business going to be?” Stefan asked.

“I saw a couple possible places today. Tomorrow Miss Schäubin and I will find out who owns the land and buildings I saw today. Wolfram, medical. Karl, I want you with us. When we check possible sites, think about the space needed for horses and horseshoeing. Hjalmar, Otto, you watch our quarters. Stefan, take Johann to school, then take your time on your way back. Look for any open buildings from the Freedom Arches to the sharp turn in Route 250 just before downtown. Ditmar and Lukas, same thing, but in downtown. Start south of Buffalo Creek, but check north of it if you have time.”


Friday, September 16, 1633

In the morning, they all set out together. Grantville was already busy, and the NESS agents threaded their way through everyone going to work downtown. Every so often, one or two more broke off on their assignments. After Wolfram turned down the driveway at Leahy Medical Center, just Neustatter, Astrid, and Karl continued on to Grantville High School.

They went straight to the library and asked how to look up who owned land. They learned that information was actually kept in one of the government offices, back on High Street.

“It will take less time to walk over to the new building I saw and just ask,” Neustatter pointed out.

So they did. The homes along Route 250 out past the high school were the first buildings Astrid had seen when she entered the Ring of Fire. Anywhere else in the Germanies, the neighborhood off Porter Avenue would be its own village. On the other side of Route 250 was a triangular strip of land, mostly covered with gravel. A long wooden building was nearly complete. Three doors were evenly spaced, and workers were constructing a walkway of wooden boards along the entire front of the building. Further out in the gravel were posts supporting wooden beams. The storefront, wooden plank sidewalk, and hitching posts reminded Astrid of the Westerns Neustatter read, and she immediately realized that was what had drawn his eye.

They approached the workmen.

“Guten Morgen!”

A pair of men looked up from where they were fitting boards into place in the sidewalk. “Guten Morgen,” one of them returned.

“Do you know if these places of business are already rented?”

“I do not. You would have to talk to Frau Haun about that.”

“Where may I find her?”

The carpenter made a vague gesture. “The Hauns live over that way on the other side of Buffalo Creek.”

“What is the most direct route?” Neustatter asked.

“There is no direct route,” came the answer. “When the Hauns come here, they come from the high school.”

Neustatter studied the land. “Danke,” he told the carpenter. Quietly, he told Astrid, “We need to go back to the high school. If we are going to stay in the refugee housing there, we should learn our way around the area.”

It took them a while. The refugee housing on the hill behind the high school was easy enough to find. The hillside had been cleared of trees. The housing was almost identical to the building they had lived in in Spring Branch.

Between the high school and refugee housing on one side and Leahy Medical Center in the distance lay Deborah Road, which naturally enough went to the village of Deborah. It ended at Pine Grove Road, which the up-timers also called County Route 91. To the right, just a few tens of yards from Deborah Road, Deborah Street branched off to the right, more or less at right angles to Deborah Road. As if that were not confusing enough, Deborah Road ran through the now-settled area between the high school/tech center complex and Leahy Medical Center while Deborah Street appeared to head off into the woods.

Neustatter, Karl, and Astrid started down Deborah Street and found that it paralleled Buffalo Creek on the south side. Buffalo Creek curved south almost all the way to the site where the western-style storefront office building was being built before curving north again into another loop. Along the way, they found a trail from the road to the refugee housing and another that led to the far end of one of the athletic fields at the high school. Astrid spotted a stone with a plaque on it where the power lines crossed overhead. She walked over to read it and learned it was a memorial for the tree-trimming crew who had been killed in the Croat attack.

The road continued on through the trees and finally opened up into a clearing.

“I think we are almost back where we started.” Neustatter frowned and pointed at a sheer hillside just visible through the trees. “If we could get up that cliff, I believe we would be next to Route 250.”

“Which house do you think is the Hauns’?” Astrid asked.

This area was almost its own village, too. Astrid counted nine buildings and trailers in sight, and it looked like there were probably a few more a bit further on. The first three shared a common driveway that was nothing more than two concrete strips in the grass.

Neustatter shrugged. He walked straight up to the door of the first house. It was a white two-story building with a few steps leading up to the front door and a single gable centered above it.

An older up-time man came to the door. A heavy inner door stood open, and the lighter outer door had no glass. Instead, a fine wire mesh covered where the windows would be.

The man looked annoyed.

“Whaddya want? Ain’t no magazine subscriptions, don’t wanna buy nuthin’, and we already found Jesus.”

Neustatter, Astrid, and Karl exchanged glances. They couldn’t help it.

“We are looking for Frau Haun. We understand she owns the new building across Buffalo Creek on Route 250,” Neustatter managed to get out.

“Oh, shore. It’s Fred and Julia that own the place, but their daughter Leigh Ann manages everything. She’s an Ennis now, you know.”

Neustatter, Karl, and Astrid did not know that. The up-time custom of women taking their husbands’ surnames was strange.

“Would you direct us to the Hauns’ house, bitte?”

“You can’t get there from here.” He chuckled at their expressions. “Look, I’m not puttin’ you on. It’s true. You have to go back to Deborah. Cross the bridge, and Deborah Street ends. You know how there’s that stretch between Deborah Street and Deborah Road?”

They nodded.

“That’s Pine Grove Road. You want to take Pine Grove Road down the other side of Buffalo Creek—almost this far. When it hooks north to go around the bend in the river, look for the first farm on your right.”

Neustatter, Karl, and Astrid were skeptical, but the man’s directions proved completely accurate. Sometime later, Neustatter knocked on a door again.

A little girl opened the door. “I’m Julia,” she announced. “Who are you?”

“My name is Neustatter, and this is Astrid, and this is Karl.”

The child raced off. “Mommy! There’s a Mr. Noisestepper at the door!”

“Julia!” A moment later, a woman came to the door, hurriedly tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she approached.

She was about Astrid’s height but looked a little older. That probably meant she was about thirty. Up-time adults were almost always older than they appeared to Astrid, while their children are usually younger than she thought.

“I’m sorry about that. We don’t get many visitors out here. Come in, come in.”

Astrid stepped into the Haun house ahead of Neustatter and Karl. The front room had wooden floors and a matched set of furniture—a couch and two chairs. The third chair looked different. Julia pushed on it as she ran by into the next room, and it rocked back and forth. A low table sat in front of the couch, on an area rug that covered the center of the floor.

“I’m Leigh Ann Ennis.”

“Ich heisse Edgar Neustatter. I run Neustatter’s European Security Services. This is our secretary, Miss Astrid Schäubin and one of our agents, Karl Recker. He is also our blacksmith. We are looking for an office for our business and saw the new building on Route 250. One of the carpenters said you own the building and site.”

Frau Haun—Ennis—might be an experienced businesswoman, but Astrid could see the eagerness in her eyes.

“Let’s sit down in the office,” she said. “May I get you something to drink?”

A few minutes later they were seated, sipping small beer, in a small room with a desk, several big comfortable chairs that looked like leather but weren’t, and shelves along one wall. Some of the shelves held books, but others held what Astrid could think of only as up-time treasures. A couple of them had little scenes within a glass sphere. A couple more appeared to be replicas of buildings. A few framed pictures hung on the walls, mostly of the Hauns and Ennises. One especially lifelike one showed them at the edge of the sea.

“My parents own the land right up to Route 250, east of the new building,” she explained, mostly in English. “And they own that narrow triangle the building sits on. We were never able to do anything that lasted with that strip of gravel up-time. Dad spent more time dealing with people leaving their cars there than anything else. But now, every bit of usable land inside the Ring of Fire matters.”

Neustatter and Astrid both nodded. Karl just listened attentively.

“My husband’s mother works in the real estate business.” Frau Ennis repeated that using mostly German words. When Neustatter nodded in understanding, she continued. “That means she helps people buy and sell land and houses. I help with the books, the recordkeeping. So, I talked my folks into putting up the building along Route 250. It will have room for three offices or small businesses.”

“That sounds like what we are looking for,” Neustatter said, mostly in German.

“Please tell me about your business. What facilities do you need?”

The conversation went on from there. Occasionally they had to stop and find different words to explain something.

“We are no longer mercenaries,” Neustatter explained. “NESS is more like your up-time Wells Fargo. We guard convoys. We could guard people or buildings, too.”

Frau Ennis nodded. “So, you’ll need a phone.”

“A phone?”

She explained. Astrid recognized the phone as the device she’d seen at the polizei station.

Frau Ennis continued. “Your phone number is listed in the phonebook, and when someone wants a security service, they look that up in the phonebook, find your number, and call you.”

Neustatter’s eyes lit up.

“How far away do you live?”

Astrid sensed Neustatter was making a judgment.

“Not far. We are moving from Murphyhausen to the high school refugee housing. We will move somewhere else as soon as we can, but the office must come first.”

“I agree.” Frau Ennis’ statement was immediate. “You need the exposure to generate business. Housing in Grantville is expensive unless you can find someone to live with. We are almost at the edge of the Ring of Fire here. Why not look for something outside the actual Ring? It is a lot less expensive.”

Neustatter nodded slowly. “Danke.”

“What else do you need?”

Neustatter and Astrid exchanged glances again. “An office for now. Then a place to live, weapons, and horses.”

Frau Haun nodded as though she were planning to do something about Neustatter’s list. “I may have an idea,” she said. “Let’s discuss the office first.”

By the time Neustatter, Astrid, and Karl made their way home, they had specific rental costs.

“What do you think, Miss Schäubin?” Neustatter asked.

“That is a lot of money every month, Neustatter.” Astrid flushed. Neustatter already knew that.

“Ja, but we have enough money for two months’ rent already. Three, probably, but I want to keep a reserve.”

Astrid nodded in full agreement.

“It is a good location. We will see what everyone else thinks. We have time to stop at the high school refugee housing.”

The refugee housing behind the high school was a smaller affair than the housing at the power plant. It looked very similar, right down to the office in a small building at one corner.

Neustatter knocked on the wooden door.

“Come in!”

Two women, up-timers from how they were dressed, were seated at a simple table covered with ledgers.

“Guten Tag. What can we do for you?”

“Ich heisse Edgar Neustatter. I spoke to someone yesterday about a room in the refugee housing here for twelve people.”

“Right. I saw that,” the younger of the two women said. She looked about Astrid’s age. After rifling through a stack of papers in one corner of the table, she triumphantly produced a note. “Here it is!” She stood and crossed the room to a wooden cabinet hanging on the far wall. She produced a key and unlocked the cabinet. It was full of keys. She took one.

“I’ll show you to your room,” she offered. “Do you understand the rules?”

“Are they the same as at the refugee housing by the power plant?” Neustatter asked. “According to Chief Frost, follow the Ten Commandments and clean up after yourself.”

The woman laughed. “That’s the shortest version I’ve heard yet, but I like it. Do that, and things’ll be fine. I’m Melinda Easterley.”

“Ich heisse Astrid Schäubin.”

“How long ago did you arrive in Grantville?”

The two of them chatted while Neustatter and Karl followed along behind. Astrid looked back once to see Neustatter slowing and turning around as he walked. She started to ask what he was doing, but decided not to draw Melinda’s attention to it.

“Here we are,” Melinda announced.

“I like it,” Neustatter said.

Astrid shot him a quizzical expression. He wasn’t even looking at the quarters but down the hill toward the high school.

Then she understood. They’d left Murphyhausen because there was only one way out. This housing had many ways out, including straight to the high school—and only a very foolish person would attack Grantville High School.

Melinda unlocked the door and showed them in.

“Danke.” Astrid was trying to be polite and properly grateful. The room looked very much like their quarters in the power plant refugee housing had, right down to the movable wooden screens. It might have been just a bit narrower. But the only real difference . . . 

“You have keys,” she said.

“Yeah. They’re new. We finally got locks a couple months ago. Didn’t you have a lock at Spring Branch?”

“Nein. But we moved to a rowhouse in Murphyhausen in late June,” Astrid told her.

Melinda gave her a questioning look.

“A couple of men from one of the mercenary companies came after Astrid, Ursula, and Anna,” Neustatter said. “Those two are in jail. Astrid and the others are fine. But there is only one way out of Murphyhausen.”

Melinda nodded slowly. “Do the police know about this?”

“Ja.”

“Is there going to be any more trouble from them?”

Neustatter and Karl both smiled thinly. “Nein. Chief Frost says there will not be.”

“That’s good. Now, if you need anything, you can come to the office or you can talk to Herr Pfuster. Let me show you where he lives.”

Melinda led them most of the way back to the office. She stopped and knocked on a door two spaces from the front end of the building. Astrid could hear someone thump toward the door, then it swung open.

“Guten Tag!” The man was gray-haired and obviously well-fed. His voice was expansive. “Willkommen in Calvert Hill. Ich heisse Hermann Pfuster, mayor of Calvert Hill.”

Astrid frowned. Then she noticed that Neustatter’s expression hadn’t changed at all.

“Danke,” Neustatter said. “Tell me about Calvert Hill, bitte.”

Pfuster immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation of all of the refugee housing’s features.

Astrid listened at first but Melinda Easterley motioned her away.

“I’m not sure if anybody outside of here calls the refugee housing Calvert Hill,” Melinda said.

“I was not expecting a mayor,” Astrid told her. “We did not have one at the power plant refugee housing.”

Melinda smiled. “He is not officially the mayor. But he has been here almost the longest. He helps us and helps the people who stay here. All he asks in return is, when a long-term family group moves out, that he and his family be allowed to move closer to the front. He knows everyone, and he really will do anything he can to help you.”

“Everyone knows this?” Astrid’s voice was just a bit sharp.

“Just about everyone here who’s been around Grantville long enough to understand.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Why do you allow Herr Pfuster to pretend to be mayor?”

A very hard expression crossed Melinda Easterley’s face. “Do you know about the Croat Raid?”

Astrid nodded. “Ja, but not as much as Neustatter. He has studied it carefully.”

“Then you know that the Croats came right over this hill, and yet no one living in the refugee housing was killed. Herr Pfuster was one of the people who got everyone to safety.” Melinda spoke very seriously. “No, he is not really the mayor. But if he ever gives an order, follow it. He’ll never do it unless it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Astrid said. “Danke.”

It took Neustatter and Karl a few more minutes to escape from Herr Pfuster. The three of them thanked Melinda Easterley and started toward Murphyhausen. Astrid made sure they were some distance away before she spoke.

“Frau Easterley said that Herr Pfuster is not really the mayor of the refugee housing.”

“I know,” Neustatter said.

“You addressed him as though he were,” Karl pointed out.

Neustatter shrugged. “It seemed to me that is what a detective would do. He has obviously lived in the housing for a long time and could be a valuable contact.”

Astrid related what Melinda had told her.

Karl looked impressed. Neustatter looked thoughtful. “I did wonder about that. How hundreds of Croats went past the refugee housing and somehow did not kill anyone. So Pfuster is not official, but he is effective. I am sure there is something more. This would be good practice as detectives.” Then he added, “But I do not think any of us should ask Herr Pfuster directly. Besides, the truly important information is that there is an escape route from the refugee housing. That is what we need.”


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