Under other circumstances, Larry would have chuckled at the troopers' hang dog attitudes. Unlike the cavalrymen, Jцnsson was not armed with a flintlock rifle. In fact, he didn't carry a rifle at all, and he'd already discarded all of his wheel locks, as well. Instead, he wore a shoulder holster which contained a single HK.40-caliber USP automatic. It was one of the half-dozen or so most expensive handguns to have made the trip back from the 21 st -century, but no one in Grantville begrudged it or the four high-capacity magazines which had accompanied it when Mike Stearns presented the black, polymer-framed pistol to Jцnsson. Given that assassination was an acknowledged if officially frowned-upon way of dealing with problems in this day and age, anything which made it more difficult for someone to get past Gustavus Adolphus' personal bodyguard struck most Americans as a very good idea indeed.
Larry reached the side of the building slip just in time to hear the tag end of Jцnsson's caustic homily. It was in Swedish, which was still a foreign language-in every sense-for Larry, but he didn't need to be able to understand the words to grasp the meaning. He tried hard not to grin at the discomfited troopers. Actually, when he thought about it, he was in favor of paranoia on their part where the safety of their monarch was concerned. As long as that paranoia wasn't expressed by pointing rifles at his own personal body, at least.
"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" Jцnsson inquired, switching to heavily accented but clearly understandable English and nodding courteously as Larry trotted up to him. The bodyguard carried no official rank, but Larry had privately decided that his effective rank had to be somewhere around that of a colonel, so he paused to come to attention and salute in the fashion Simpson insisted upon. It still felt more than a little unnatural, but it no longer felt silly; and Gustavus' bodyguard returned the formal military courtesy with unsmiling dignity.
"I have an urgent message for the king," Larry told him, puffing slightly for breath after his hurried trip.
Jцnsson regarded him for a moment, then nodded. He said something to the Tott officer in Swedish, then gestured politely for Larry to accompany him and led the way up a ladder to the deck of the incomplete warship. A couple of workmen glowered at them for getting in the way as they stepped onto the partially planked deck, but Jцnsson ignored them as he and Larry crossed to the powerfully built figure of the king of Sweden.
At the moment, that regal monarch was covered in sawdust from head to toe while he stood glaring down at the building draft spread out over a pair of sawhorses and waved his arms energetically. The man facing him across the sawhorses was much smaller and even more heavily coated in sawdust, and he did not appear to be greatly daunted by his king's vigor. He stood with his arms folded, frowning ferociously, then shook his head firmly. He stepped forward, tapping an index finger on the building plans, and spoke emphatically. Gustavus frowned back, even more ferociously, and tapped his own finger on the plans, but the other man was singularly unimpressed and only shook his head again. Gustavus glared at him, then threw both hands in the air, and turned to stomp away from him.
Jцnsson made a beeline toward the king, and Larry followed in his wake. Gustavus looked up, still frowning, as Jцnsson spoke to him in Swedish. Then the king's expression altered. The frown remained, but the emphasis was completely different.
"You have a message, Lieutenant?" he said. His accent was much heavier than Jцnsson's. In fact, it was more than a bit difficult for Larry to follow at times, but he knew Gustavus read English as readily as he did several other languages.
"I do, sir," he replied, and unbuttoned his shirt pocket to extract the single sheet of paper upon which Adam Jeffreys-now officially Petty Officer 1/c Jeffreys-had copied the transmission from Grantville.
The king took it with a courteous nod, unfolded it, and began to read. The blue eyes moved rapidly across the neatly lettered text, then froze. They moved back to the beginning and then down the lines once again, reading slowly and carefully, and his lips compressed. That was absolutely all the change in expression he allowed himself, but it was enough for Larry to sense Jцnsson's entire body tightening in reaction.
Gustavus reached the end of the brief message, then refolded it with slow, meticulous care before he turned back to Larry.
"Thank you for delivering this so promptly," he said. "Now, you will take me to your… 'radio room,' it is, yes?"
"Of course, sir," Larry replied.
"Good. I need to ask your President a number of questions."
Chapter 29
Jesse and Hans were seated in the overstuffed chairs near the tower, reviewing the fourth in a series of instructor training flights. Jesse was determined to ensure that Hans could train other pilots as well as he could fly himself. Otherwise, the growth of the Air Force would be limited to the strength of Jesse's back. Which, he reflected, isn't any too strong, now that cooler weather is settling in.
On this flight, Jesse had played the part of a particularly dense student, unable to properly combine the use of rudder with ailerons. Hans was patiently explaining the theory and feel of coordinated flight when Woody, the tower duty officer, leaned over the rail and yelled down.
"Colonel Wood! Telephone!"
Jesse reflected that an extension phone on the ground floor would be handy, as he ran up the rickety stairs of the tower. He stepped inside and noted Woody standing at attention.
"At ease. Who is it?"
"The operator at Government House, sir," the young officer replied. "A message from the President, he said."
Jesse picked up the phone. "This is Colonel Wood."
"Colonel Wood, this is Capitol," came the immediate response. "Be advised that President Stearns requires immediate transportation to Magdeburg."
"Understood, Capitol. Transportation to Magdeburg. Anything else?"
"No, that's it. He's on his way now."
Jesse nodded at the duty officer and burst out the door. Hans was standing below looking up at the tower.
"Lieutenant Richter!" he bellowed. "The Belle II should be fully fueled. Go preflight her. The President is going flying."
Fifteen minutes later, Jesse had told Kathy where he was going, grabbed his homemade aeronautical chart, and reached the Belle II. He noted gratefully that Hans had already started the engine, as concerned as his commander that the cold engine might balk with the President looking on. Jesse returned the thumbs-up Hans threw him and saw the President's pickup pull into the yard.
Mike Stearns was obviously in a hurry. He ran up to the aircraft.
"Hello, Jesse," he said, shaking the pilot's hand. "Are we ready to go? Simpson swears he's got the landing strip shipshape and ready for us."
Jesse nodded. He and Hans had both made the Magdeburg trip twice-once together, once each solo. He didn't doubt that Simpson had the landing strip "shipshape." From what Jesse could tell, Simpson had a fetish about always having everything shipshape, and at all times.
The man probably has an exact routine for how he folds toilet paper. But Jesse let the thought drop, almost as quickly as it formed. Partly because a considerable part of him-certainly the part which was going to have to land a plane in Magdeburg before too long-actually approved of Simpson's precision. Mostly, though, because Jesse didn't like to think about toilet paper. Or, more precisely, its absence.
"Let me get in and then you take the right seat," he told Mike. "Mind the prop, okay?"
A minute later, Jesse began to taxi as the President struggled to strap himself in. The radio was already on Tower frequency.