"When did you hear?" David Bartley asked.
"Karl called me last night."
"Do you think they will go for it?"
"Who will go for what?" Darlene asked. This was a new one.
"Ponte is a mercenary captain in the service of Gustav Adolf," Johan told her. "He has a small infantry company, about two hundred men and their dependents. Mostly halberds, only about sixty musketeers. They aren't a bad company, but not first-line troops either. And Gustav has informed them that they are no longer needed. Not with all the CoC-raised regiments."
"Are they friends of yours?"
"Karl is," Johan said, "but though I know a few more of them, Karl is my only real friend in the company."
"Then why the interest? Is this Karl looking for a job? And, by the way, do the Germans have any other names besides Karl?"
"Of course they do, dear," Johan said. "There's Big Karl, little Karl, Squinty-eyed Karl, lots of names."
"I believe that they also have the name Hans. I'm not sure there is a third," David offered with a smile. "I believe that this Karl is actually Dutch, though. Someone you met when you first went in the army, back in the Netherlands?"
"Yes. Karl Aalders. He joined about three years after I did and I introduced him to army life when I still thought it was glorious. It took me awhile to realize that we were just paid killers."
There was a world of regret in that sentence, and David cleared his throat. "Karl Aalders got in touch with Johan six months ago, wondering if he was the same Johan Kipper and it turned out he was. It seemed that Ponte was starting to worry about his company's future and didn't want to work for the Hapsburgs."
"Not didn't want to. Couldn't," Johan corrected. "There was some sort of a scandal. Karl insists that it wasn't Ponte's fault. The girl liked his looks and things got out of hand."
David snorted. "I met Giuseppe Ponte last month in Magdeburg. Wavy black hair with gray wings at the temples. I bet the girl did like his looks. Even Sarah took a second look at him. Then talked about his 'Latin flair.' To me he just seemed like he was a bit full of himself."
"According to Karl, he cares about his troops and their families," Johan said.
"Yes, I think he does. That's why I'm considering it. He is a Roman Catholic who commands a troop of Lutherans and Calvinists and they all seem to get along pretty well. Well enough that they want to stay together."
"Karl was looking to get hired as a company to act as guards for the various Higgins enterprises. We didn't have enough guard positions for a company half that size, and most of the ones we did have were already filled. But I said I would look into it and see if I could find anything.
"About that time, I had my little argument with the board of directors and Giuseppe Ponte offered to sell me his company and stay on as my executive and training officer, so that if I should choose to go into the army, I would do so with a rank commensurate to my station. And he was hoping that with me buying the company and equipping them with modern weapons, they wouldn't be deactivated."
"That's actually pretty clever," Darlene said. "Of course, if you had taken Johan off to Magdeburg, I would have had you assassinated."
David gulped theatrically, then grinned at her. "Yes, it was clever and I was almost tempted. But I have no desire to be a mercenary captain. What did occur to me was that a military company might make a cohesive work force for other projects. I suggested that to Captain Ponte, but he still wanted to have his rank."
"I can sort of understand that. He has invested everything he owns into the company and he doesn't have anyplace else to go," Johan said.
"That's sad," Darlene said.
"Yes, but I'm not sure if I can get him to see reason, even now."
"Perhaps you won't have to," Johan said.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're in the regular army, but assigned to the SoTF National Guard. What about getting their company into the National Guard?"
"Won't pay the bills. A weekend a month simply won't pay his people enough to get by on."
"But it will let the captain keep his rank. And if we find regular work for them the rest of the time . . ."
"Doing what?"
"You were talking about needing uniforms," Darlene said. "Why not set up a ready-to-wear clothing factory and make uniforms for the SoTF National Guard?"
"That's a good idea," David said, cautiously. "I'm not sure that the SoTF Guard would be enough of a customer, but we might be able to get extra contracts."
"Why don't you call your friend and see what he thinks?"
****
For a week the clerks and Johan Kipper went over Beckmann's books and the contents of the warehouse, then came the return of David Bartley.
****
"Time to call the cops?" Johan asked and Franz Beckmann swallowed
"Not just yet," David said. "Sergeant Beckmann strikes me as a saving sort of fellow. Not the type to blow his ill-gotten gains on wild women and drink."
Johan looked over at the sweating sergeant. "Could be. Not that it matters. After he's arrested, they will seize his assets."
The icy blue eyes of Lieutenant David Bartley turned on Franz and any thought that Beckmann might have had that the up-timer was soft disappeared. "Tell me, Sergeant Beckmann," the cold-eyed young man asked, "do you invest in the stock market?" A very short pause as the eyes locked onto his, ''Yes, I can see that you do. You know, Sergeant, they keep quite good records of stock transactions, with computers. Brokers record who they were buying stock from and for. It's not nearly as good a place to hide money as most people seem to think . . ."
Franz Beckmann knew he was trapped, but the officer was still talking.
"There are three options open to you, Sergeant. First is: if you don't cooperate, you are arrested, the forensic accountants go over your books and dig out every dime you have stolen and every dime that you have made from investing your ill-gotten gains, and seize the whole works. Then you go to prison and come out in several years—a poorer but, hopefully, wiser man.
"Option two: come clean with me, make good the missing gear in the form of cash and stocks of equivalent value and a fine to go into company funds. Accept company punishment. You will certainly lose a stripe."
"What's the third option?" Franz asked. He had to know.
And the young man winced in mock sympathy. "The third option is if you try to fake us out. If you pretend to cooperate, but keep some back."
"What happens then?"
"I let Johan deal with that."
And behind David Bartley, Johan Kipper smiled, showing perfect false teeth in a perfect false smile in a worn and damaged face. And his eyes were even colder than David Bartley's icy blue ones.
Sergeant Beckmann looked into those two sets of eyes. He was good at reading people and he thought there was a chance that David Bartley was bluffing. That Bartley might not catch him if he hid just a bit for himself. Then he looked into Johan Kipper's eyes . . . and chose option two.
Sergeant Beckmann sold his entire portfolio for one dollar and other valuable considerations. Part of those other valuable considerations was keeping from going to jail. But on the upside, Lieutenant Bartley would sign off on the original set of books and pay for the replacement of the goods out of his own pocket. The rest of the money would pay his fine to the company and then go toward the uniforms that the SoTF reserves would need.
****
"Well, Captain Ponte, how do you like Gorndorf?" Johan asked.
"It's a village. I know that your Signor Bartley is planning improvements and the women like the idea of having their own gardens, but we are not farmers."
"I know. Most of the fields are going to be rented to up-time farmers, though we are keeping enough for some gardens. No, this is going to be a company town. There will be the clothing factory where the sewing machines and pattern tables and cutting tools are set up. The idea will be to produce good clothing very cheaply."
"I know. Signor Bartley exp
lained about the uniforms and the civilian wear you are hoping to make. It's just not what I was hoping for."
"One weekend a month, you will be training and Lieutenant Bartley approves of one day a week of extra training. The company will stay in good form."
"One day a week and one weekend a month is nothing like enough training to keep them sharp. It's barely enough to keep the rust off."
Which Johan knew was true, but these were to be National Guard troops, not regulars. If they got called up, they would have some warning. And they were already an experienced company. They wouldn't break, not after what most of them had seen. Besides . . . "You and your officers and sergeants get to keep your rank. It's just in the SoTF National Guard now. With the income from the clothing company, you will be making as much as you were as a mercenary company." Johan didn't lose his patience, but it was getting a little frayed. "Captain Ponte, you have received a stroke of great good fortune, one that allows you to stay with your company and allows them to make a living. And even keep their military honors. Don't blow that good fortune by whining that everything is not just as you would prefer."
****
"So, how is he taking it?" David asked.
Johan knew that David let Johan handle Captain Ponte because of David's youth and Johan's military experience. There were a number of things that the haughty Italian captain would take from an old soldier that he wouldn't from a stripling youth, no matter that it was the stripling who was paying the bills. "He'll get over it. And the company is settling in well enough. The hemp-mix fabrics are strong and not uncomfortable, and the women have gotten used to the sewing machines."
"What about guns?"
"We will be using the SRG."
"I hate that. Especially considering the French Cardinal rifles. I don't like our people being out-gunned."
"Neither do I, sir, but this is a second-line unit. The new rifles are going to the regular army and they don't have enough."
David grunted.
****
"Do you really think that David Bartley is right about Saxony attacking us here?" Darlene asked Johan late one evening. They had just finished having supper in their suite and were snuggling on the couch.
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because it's much better to be prepared for what doesn't happen than to be unprepared for what does. And, besides, it keeps the boy busy and productive. You do realize that Ponte Clothing is going to turn a nice profit? Most of that profit isn't going to come from the uniform sales to the guard. It's going to come from Wishbook sales."
"How does that work?" Darlene asked.
"We put together the factory to get the uniforms, but once it was in place the fixed costs were already taken care of and the factory and workers were there. So we turn out simple, solid, basic clothing at a fraction of the cost that a tailor could charge. The clothing we sell will be the first set of new clothing that most of our customers will ever have owned. Most of them will have spent their lives never once buying a new pair of pants. Now they can, and for not that much more than used or twice-used clothing would have cost them before."
"I guess we really are making a difference. Sometimes it doesn't seem like it, but I guess we are."
A lot of people are going to avoid frostbite because of our winter clothing line this year. David remembered seeing pictures of something called a telogreika, a Russian winter jacket and pants. He talked to Bruno, and they worked out a design. If we have to fight a war in the winter, our people will be warm. And if we don't, a lot of farmers will still be warm.
"What do the twins have you working on?"
"Brushes for generators, and we have a new recipe for General Tso's chicken." Darlene grinned. "I'm not sure if it tastes like the real thing, but then again, I'm not sure that what I had in West Virginia up-time tasted like the Chinese version, so who cares? It tastes good and the customers like it."
June, 1635
"I'm being transferred," David said, trying manfully to hide his smile. "I'm to be on General Stearns' staff in the Third Division."
Darlene was having no difficulty suppressing a smile. She doubted if she could call one up if her life depended on it. And the fact that she was eight months pregnant, looked like a whale, and was sure that Johan would follow the little creep into the regular army didn't help. But she didn't say anything. Now was not the time.
****
"You're not going," Darlene said. "I'm about to have a baby and I need you here."
Johan looked at his beautiful, much younger, wife and was very tempted to stay right here. No one could make him go. Young Master David wouldn't even ask him to go. But "on the general's staff" wasn't all that safe a place to be in the seventeenth century and Johan knew that perfectly well, having grown up and lived his life in a world where generals and their staffs led cavalry charges. He remembered the day he had arrived and the discussion that he and the then fourteen-year-old David Bartley had had. Up-timers were good people, but they needed taking care of and Darlene would be right here in Grantville with the best doctors and support in the world. David, on the other hand, would be out on what Frank Jackson called "the sharp end." Johan had to go, much as he didn't want to. For Darlene's sake, Johan had to. But how could explain it to her . . .
"In all the time I served in the armies that fought across Europe from the time I was fifteen, I never fought for a cause. I fought for the money. It was just a job. David is going to fight for the USE. And even if we end up fighting Poland after we take out Saxony, the USE is still something worth fighting for. And the sort of serfdom they have in Poland is something worth fighting against."
"You're going because the so-called emperor is pissed off at his brother-in-law. That's all this is about. Gustav doesn't have as much territory as he wants. He never will have as much as he wants. What's next? Russia?"
"No. I'm going because the USE is involved. And for that matter, the emperor has every right to be more than annoyed with his brother-in-law and with John George of Saxony. I haven't studied as much of your up-timer history as young Master David has, but the JROTC course spent quite a bit of time on your American Civil War. When the southern states seceded, what would have happened to America if the north had let them go? That has been a major topic of discussion since Saxony and Brandenburg effectively seceded from the USE."
"I heard something about that argument," Darlene conceded. "But I don't remember them coming to any conclusion."
"That's because getting a couple of Civil War buffs to agree on what color uniforms were worn by the blue and the gray is the next best thing to impossible. But what David thinks and what I think after listening to them argue is that once the precedent of secession was established, it wouldn't have stopped either in the north or the south. States would have seceded over anything from fishing rights to how they packed a mule. And the United States would have ceased to be united in any real sense."
"That sort of makes sense, but I don't recall hearing much about that conclusion up-time."
"From what I understand, it's gained popularity mostly since Saxony and Brandenburg seceded, so you wouldn't have. But what people are afraid of, at least what David and I are afraid of, is that if Gustav decides to be conciliatory and let Saxony and Brandenburg go, it will spell the end of the USE. Not this year, and probably not next, but other provinces will start seceding or threatening to secede any time the crown or central government does anything they don't like. It wouldn't take much of that to end the USE before it got going."
"Fine. Saxony and Brandenburg have to be forced back into the union, but why do you have to do it? Why does David Bartley have to do it, for that matter? If we were up-time, someone like David wouldn't have been drafted. Not in Vietnam, not even in WWII. They would have taken one look and said 'deferred to vital civilian occupation.'"
"David was fourteen at the Battle of the Crapper. Fifteen at the Battle of Jena and when he stood on the bleachers in the high school gym while Jeff Higgin
s and Principal Len Trout stood against the Croats," Johan told her. "The West Virginia tradition of service is not dead in the down-time world and, well, I don't think David could live with himself if he sat back getting rich while others did the dying. Darlene, when the kids started HSMC, it wasn't because they were trying to get rich. It was because Sarah Wendell explained to them her parent's worries about living on capital. It was done to support their families but even more to support Grantville and the up-timers. It was all they could do to defend Grantville."
"And you?"
"They took me in and made me rich, gave me a place and opportunity. How much less of a man than David would you have me be?"
Darlene sighed. "I'm not happy about this. But I do get it. So, go if you feel you have to. But one of these days, you're going to realize that you are just as important as David Bartley. And you're more important to me than he is."
She struggled to stand, all eight months of pregnancy showing. "I'm going to be really pissed off if you get killed."
****
Johan followed David into the club in Magdeburg. It was actually the Navy Club because Admiral Simpson had established it. But it was quite a nice place and the officers of the army frequented it as well. David was looking around for someone he knew but not finding anyone. Johan looked around too, and found a few familiar faces, people that he recognized from a few years earlier when for a time his unit had been serving with Gustav Adolf. But while he knew a few, none would know him. What officer is going to remember a private that paraded by them at this or that battle or review?
"It seems a bit crowded," David said, and Johan nodded. The place was packed. Magdeburg was the primary staging area for the move into Saxony and the whole city was crowded with military personnel. Any military club was going to be packed.
There was a wave from a table and David looked behind himself to see who was being waved at. No one was there. Then David headed toward the waver, who was holding an opened seat for him.