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Silence. Stillness, at last. Mike waited, studying his watch. He and Rebecca had decided on five minutes of peace. A "tension-builder," she had called it.
When the five minutes were up, Mike gave the order and the catapults began to fire. An ancient design, coupled to modern materials, hurled cannisters onto the battlements of the Wartburg.
These first missiles, though they contained a small explosive charge, were still part of the psychological campaign. They burst over the castle and showered leaflets onto the thousands of soldiers huddled inside the walls. The leaflets were written in Spanish and German, calling on the soldiers to surrender and promising good treatment to those who did.
Over the loudspeakers, Spanish-speaking soldiers in the U.S. army called out the same terms of surrender. Food. Water. Good treatment. No atrocities. Recruitment—at good pay—for those who choose to join the army of the United States.
When the catapult barrage ended, the voices calling over the loudspeaker were replaced by more music. Rebecca had selected these pieces also; choosing, this time, for a different purpose. The Spaniards had been given one alternative. Now, the other.
The tranquil strains of "Morning Mood" from Grieg's Peer Gynt filled the dawn. To Mike, and Frank, and Mackay and Lennox, and all the U.S. soldiers surrounding the castle, the music came like a balm. They could well imagine its effect on the Spaniards.
"Morning Mood" faded away. In its place came music even more serene, spreading with the daylight. Like peace and hope, after the night.
Frank seemed transfixed. Gently, seeing his friend's face, Mike said: "Becky thinks this is the most beautiful piece of music ever written. Though she admits it's a matter of taste."
"She's got good taste," whispered Frank. "Makes me think of a bird, soaring through the sky."
Mike nodded. The Lark Ascending, by Ralph Vaughan Williams, had been inspired by the composer's own beloved English countryside. But it filled the air over central Germany as if it belonged there.
"As it does," said Mike softly. "As it does. Here—and everywhere."
He turned his head, looking to the east. There, somewhere under the rising sun less than a hundred miles away, his wife would be in their kitchen. Rebecca was an early riser. Mike knew that she would have already prepared breakfast for her beloved father, even though she was moving more slowly these days due to her pregnancy. The German family which had once lived in Mike's house had found new lodgings, and Balthazar had moved in with them. He and Mike's invalid mother got along well, and Balthazar wanted to spend the rest of his days watching his grandchild grow up.
"Here—and everywhere," Mike repeated. His voice was very soft, and very loving.
The Lark Ascending faded away. Frank cleared his throat. The sound was regretful. More like a sigh than anything else.
"They won't surrender," he said. "Not yet."
Mike shook his head abruptly, banishing thoughts of love and tranquility.
"No, they won't," he said harshly. He turned to face the castle. "But I don't think it'll take much. Just a touch of the fire."  As it happens, Mike had misjudged. Rebecca had risen much earlier than usual, that day. Melissa had asked her to come to the school early that morning, to discuss something before classes started.
So, at the very moment when Mike ordered the catapults to start firing again, Rebecca was walking along Route 250. She had just left the outskirts of the town and was enjoying the solitude and the tranquility of early morning.  Others were not enjoying the morning.
When Jeff awoke, he discovered that his fever had broken. But he still felt lousy. His whole body ached.
Gretchen came into the bedroom, carrying a bowl of porridge. She was already dressed, wearing, as always, her beloved blue jeans and sneakers.
"Eat," she commanded, driving down her husband's protest. "You will need your strength today." She smiled. "You'll have to fend for yourself until evening. I promised Dan Frost I'd help teach his new batch of recruits."
Gretchen's smile twisted, became slightly derisive. "German girls! Still don't really believe a woman can use a gun."
Jeff had wondered why Gretchen was wearing her bodice and vest. She usually preferred a simple blouse, especially in warm weather. He eyed the heavy garments, looking for the pistol. He couldn't spot it. Gretchen's pregnancy was still not showing in her belly. But Jeff thought it was definitely showing itself in her already impressive bust.
It was a happy thought. Gaily, Gretchen slapped his head. "And stop staring at my tits! What a scandal!"

* * *
Four hundred West Gothlanders, Finns and Lapps were also not happy that morning. Captain Gars had roused his little army long before daybreak, and driven them ever since. The pace he was setting, on horseback through an unknown forest, varied between recklessness and downright insanity.