After they pushed off, Knefler snarled to Reimers: "First thing I'll do when we get back is teach that little whore a lesson. She'll learn the price for cursing an officer."
One of the soldiers cleared his throat. "Ah… Captain. I don't think-"
"Silence, Corporal Maurer!" bellowed the sergeant. "The captain gave you no leave to speak."
Maurer was suitably abashed, and shut up. Knefler sniffed at him and went for his horse.
About an hour later, on the ride back to Jena, Maurer drew his horse alongside Reimers. "Sergeant, you know who that girl was?" he asked quietly, after looking ahead to see that Captain Knefler was too far away to hear them.
Reimers smiled. "Denise Beasley. The daughter of Buster Beasley."
The poor fellow seemed confused. "But… if you knew that… remember the time…"
"This is why you are a mere corporal and I am a lofty sergeant," said Reimers. He nodded toward the captain in front of the little column. "Do you want the shithead for a garrison commander?"
The expression on Corporal Maurer's face was answer enough.
Reimers' ensuing chuckle had very little humor in it. "Sadly, the current fuck-up is probably not enough to get him discharged. But we can hope that his temper is still high when we get back to Grantville, so the idiot goes to chastise the daughter and discovers the father in the way. If we're lucky, we might even get to watch what happens."
It took Maurer a few seconds-he was pretty dull-witted himself, truth be told-but then he started smiling.
"Oh."
Kelly Aviation Facility
Near Grantville, State of Thuringia-Franconia
The take-off wasn't too bad, actually. Lannie would have been in the air force except Jesse Wood didn't want any part of his drinking habits. But he did know how to fly, as such.
Denise suspected that "as such" probably didn't cover all that a pilot needed. But it was a done deal now, so there was no point fretting over it.
"That way," she said, pointing. "It's called 'southeast.' "
"You don't gotta be so sarcastic."
Fortunately, she'd thought to make sure they had a map before they took off. Lannie and Keenan, naturally, hadn't thought of that. Apparently, they thought Denise could navigate by feminine instinct or something-which was a laugh, since feminine instinct when it came to directions was just to ask somebody, and who was she going to ask up here? A fucking bird?
The map was on the grimy side, like most things in Kelly Aviation. At that, it was better than the seat she was sitting on.
Printed across the top of the map, the ink a little smeared, was a notice that read: Property of Kelly Aviation. Unauthorized Use Will Be Prosecuted.
"How'd you talk Bob into letting you use the plane whenever you wanted?"
"Well," said Lannie.
Behind her, Keenan cleared his throat. "It's an emergency, you know."
"Oh, perfect," said Denise. "The first recorded instance since the Ring of Fire of plane-stealing. I betcha that's a hanging offense."
Lannie looked smug. "Nope. I checked once. Seems nobody's ever thought to getting around to making it a crime yet."
"See, Denise?" added Keenan. "Nothing to worry about."
They even seemed to believe their own bullshit. Amazing. Did the jack-offs really think that somewhere in the books there wasn't a provision for prosecuting Grand Theft, Whatever We Overlooked?
But…
This was kinda fun, actually. Except for having to help Keenan attach the two bombs underneath. The bombs weren't all that big, just fifty-pounders, but they were still a little scary. What had been even scarier was watching Keenan do it. He belonged to the what-the-hell-it's-close-enough school of craftsmanship. Fine for chopping onions; probably a losing proposition over the long haul for munitions-handling.
Still and all, it was done. Denise couldn't remember a time she'd ever worried about water under a bridge. Now that she'd almost reached the ripe age of sixteen-her birthday was coming up on December 11-she was pleased to see no signs of advancing decrepitude.
Chapter 8. The Cuirass
Near the Fichtelgebirge, on the edge of the Saale valley
Janos Drugeth was trying to keep his temper under control. Despite his demands-he'd stopped just short of threatening his charges with violence-the up-timers had wasted so much time arguing over which items could be left behind that there had been no way to resume the journey until the next morning. And then, the idiots had wasted half the morning continuing the quarrel before they finally had the two intact wagons reloaded.
But, at least they were on the move again. Luckily, the USE garrison at Hof seemed to be sluggish even by the standards of small town garrisons. There'd been no sign at all that they were searching the countryside. They'd be a small unit, anyway, not more than half a dozen men with a sergeant in command. Perhaps just a corporal. As was the rule with sleepy garrisons in a region not threatened directly by war, they were mostly a police force and would spend half their time lounging in taverns by day and conducting desultory patrols of the town in the evening. The only time they'd venture into the countryside would be in response to a specific complaint or request.
It was even possible that they didn't have a radio. The up-time communication devices were spreading widely, at least in Thuringia-Franconia, but from what Janos understood of their operation-"reception" seemed to be the key issue-the sort of simple radios the Hof garrison would most likely possess might not be able to get messages sent across the Thueringerwald. Not reliably, at least.
So, hopefully, the delay would not cause any problems.
At the edge of the forest, on a small rise, he paused to let the wagons go by. Then, drawing out an eyeglass, scanned the area behind them.
Nothing, so far as he could tell.
He was about to put the eyeglass away when his lingering animosity caused him to bring it back up and study the wagon they'd left behind, the way a man might foolishly scratch an itch, knowing he'd do better to leave it alone. It was still quite visible, being less than half a mile distant.
The only good thing was that at least they'd left the road by then and been making their way across a large meadow toward the forest when the wagon axle broke. Janos had ridden back to the road while the up-timers squabbled to see if the wagon was visible from there. The terrain was flat, but there was enough in the way of trees and shrubbery and tall grass to hide it from the sight of anyone just passing along the road-at least, to anyone on foot the way most travelers on that small country road would be. Someone on horseback would be able to spot it, if they were scanning the area.
Other than that…
What a mess. He'd tried to get the up-timers to repack the wagon with the goods they were leaving behind, so that if someone should happen to come across it they might assume the owners had just gone off to get assistance. If so, they'd either go about their business or-better still-they'd plunder the unguarded wagon. In the latter eventuality, of course, they'd hardly bring the attention of the authorities to their own thievery.
But, no. Careless in this as in seemingly all things, the up-timers had simply strewn the goods about. Anyone who came across it now would assume that foul play had transpired.
Nothing for it, though. Sighing, he started to put the eyeglass away. Then, catching a glimpse of motion in the corner of his eye, looked back again.
Two horsemen were approaching the wagon. Not locals, either, since each of them was leading a pack horse.
He brought the glass back up. But even before he looked through it, he could see the flashing gleams coming from one of the riders. That had to be armor, reflecting the sun.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Noelle.
Eddie shook his head and finished untying the cuirass from his pack horse. "You said it yourself, remember? 'That's got to be them!' Very excited, you were."