The Baltic War(289)

"Ah, yes. In fact, they're waiting in a room upstairs. The two officers who commanded the attempt on the ironclads. They arrived this morning, and expressed a desire to speak to you."



"Privately, I imagine."



"Yes, Marshal."



"Well, I see no reason I shouldn't. While I'm about that business, gentlemen, the rest of you had best see to the preparations for the march."



Seeing their stares, he smiled thinly. "Our march tomorrow, back to France. Or has it escaped your attention that one of the many unfortunate results of Ahrensbök is certain to be the rapid withdrawal of Düsseldorf's hospitality?"



The officers looked about the big room, their eyes falling upon the tavern keeper. For his part, that worthy fellow had carefully remained at a great enough distance that no one could suspect him of eavesdropping. Now, seeing the officers staring at him, he paused in his vigorous wiping of the countertop and gave them a smile.



"That's a rather thin, tight smile," mused de la Mothe-Houdancourt. "The sort a man has when he's desperately trying to keep from pissing his pants. If I recall correctly—and it wasn't but a week ago—that was a cheerful grin when we first arrived."



"So it was," agreed Lefebvre, scraping back his chair and rising to his feet. "And so it is. The marshal's right. This very moment, in fact, I suspect, the duke of Jülich-Berg is pissing his own pants. He'll want us out of here before we draw the attention of unfriendly and newly enlarged neighbors upon him."



"Fat lot of good it'll do him," murmured Gassion, also rising.





Upstairs, after hearing the reports provided by Anatole du Bouvard and Léandre Olier, Turenne nodded and gave du Bouvard a friendly clap on the shoulders. Then, for good measure, did the same for Olier.



"As you say, a desperate business, and one that was never likely to succeed anyway. No fault of yours, of course."



Seeing the strained expressions of the two young officers, Turenne gave them a serene smile in response. "You may rest assured I will say the same in my report to the cardinal. Now, have you given any thought to the future?"





When he came back downstairs, he said to Lefebvre, "I've given them commissions, but I'd actually like you to take them under your wing, Francois."



Lefebvre looked skeptical. "I have a feeling they're both something in the way of rogues, Marshal."



Turenne chuckled. "Oh, yes. But who better for the purpose? I'm thinking it's time we created a real intelligence division, instead of just relying on your own wits."



"I did, what, exactly, to deserve this honor?"



"You were too good at your job, of course. Haven't you learned by now that no worthy deed ever goes unpunished?"



"So it is." Lefebvre sighed. "There's more news, Marshal. The subaltern we left behind at Wietze has just returned. He's waiting for you outside. With a message from the USE prime minister himself, no less."



As they headed for the door, Turenne lifted his eyebrows. "Stearns came to Wietze? That soon?"



"Well, the note was written by someone else, but apparently it came by radio from Stearns."



"Ah, yes. That 'radio.' Has it struck you yet, Francois, that there's something—"



"Fishy about all that, as they'd say. Yes, Marshal. It has. In fact, there's a Russian word for it—not our Russia, theirs—that the Americans like to use themselves. 'Maskirovka.' It means deception, disguise, a ruse, especially applied to war. I've come to suspect those giant stone towers they've built here and there are a fraud of sorts."



"Look into it, would you?"



"Certainly." By then, they'd passed out the door into the courtyard beyond. The subaltern waiting for him handed Turenne the note.



He read it quickly enough. It was written in both English and German, since apparently they'd had no one at Wietze who could translate into French. Not surprising, of course, given what must have been the chaos still there.



No matter. Turenne was not fluent in either language, especially when spoken, but he could read them well enough.



"So," he said, handing the note to Lefebvre. The intelligence officer read it more quickly, being quite fluent in both tongues.



"Most gracious," said Lefebvre approvingly, when he finished.



"Yes, it is. Gracious enough, I'm thinking, that it would be worth the effort to send a reply along with the report. A request, rather."



"The nature of which is . . ."



"That they pass along to two of their captives a personal letter from me. I feel obliged, under the circumstances, to send Charles de la Porte and the comte de Guébriant my admiration and respects for their valor at Ahrensbök. And I think we should include an offer—slightly veiled, you understand, nothing crude—of commissions should they find themselves unemployed elsewhere in the future, once they've been ransomed."