The Eastern Front(24)

Being fair, Jeff himself thought the house would suit them. There was plenty of room for all the kids, even when you factored into the equation the small army of "security experts" that Gunther was determined to foist upon them.

Gunther Achterhof. A kindred spirit of Gretchen's grandmother, if you set aside politics. Achterhof was as radical as they came and Veronica was about as conservative as you could get and still (grudgingly) support Stearns' regime. So what? They both knew what they knew and if you didn't like it, so much the worse for you.

"Security experts." Yeah, sure. Back up-time, Jeff would have labeled them thugs without even thinking about it.

On the other hand, he reminded himself, he wasn't up-time any longer. And as many enemies as Gretchen piled up, it was probably just as well that they'd be sharing the apartment building with guys who'd scare motorcycle gangs if there were any such gangs in the here and now. Which there weren't, of course, unless you wanted to count Denise Beasley and Minnie Hugelmair as a two-girl motorcycle gang.

But that'd be silly; and besides, Denise and Minnie would get along fine with Achterhof's guys. Those two teenagers would scare Jeff himself, if he hadn't married a woman who was probably their role model when it came to unflinching pugnacity in the face of danger.

But all he said was, "Yeah, Ronnie, I think it'll suit us just fine."

Veronica met that statement as she would have met a statement that it was raining in the middle of a thunderstorm. A brief dismissive glance.

"So. Annalise and I will be off then. Mary Simpson is meeting us for the journey to Quedlinburg."

Gretchen frowned. "But school won't be starting for two months."

"Yes. Delightful. Two months of quiet with not a squalling child to be found anywhere. I leave that to the two of you. At long last. Come, Annalise."

And off they went. Gretchen's expression was on the sour side.



It got a lot more sour two hours later, when Jimmy Andersen showed up.

In uniform.

"Hey, man, how come you're still in civvies?" he demanded, squinting at Jeff's decidedly unmilitary clothing.

"Already?" Gretchen said, frowning. The word was half a complaint and half a wail. Some of the wailing component, Jeff knew, was because his wife was unhappy at his looming absence. Most of it, though, was because she now faced the prospect of dealing with the kids on her own.

Jimmy looked dense, but he wasn't. Certainly not with regard to technical issues, and occasionally—much less often—with regards to emotional affairs.

"Jeez, Gretchen, what's the problem? Just appoint some of these goons you've got lounging around as babysitters."

Gretchen bestowed an unfavorable look upon him. "There's more to taking care of children than beating them, you know."

"Well, yeah. But I'm pretty sure those guys can feed themselves. As big as they are. All you got to do is make sure they feed the kids, too." He looked her up and down. "They're scared of you, you know."

Gretchen looked dumbfounded. Jeff managed not to laugh. His wife had an odd streak of modesty in her. Odd, at least, given her reputation in the world at large—which he knew Gretchen didn't fully grasp. Her own self-image was still mostly that of a small-town printer's daughter, not the ogress that noble and even royal families were reputed to use to frighten their children into obedience.

Of course, Gunther Achterhof's handpicked CoC muscle didn't really fear that Gretchen would eat them. Still . . .

Gretchen caught his smile. "And what do you think is so funny?"

Jeff, on the other hand, wasn't afraid of her at all. "You. My leave was brief, special, and only happened because I sweet-talked Frank Jackson and he probably sweet-talked Stearns and you knew perfectly well it'd be over soon."

Jimmy nodded. "Way it is, Gretchen. Frank Jackson sent me over himself. So he wouldn't look bad. Well, look worse. On account of every grunt in the army figures Jeff only got that leave 'cause he's your husband. Good thing they're mostly CoC, or they'd be holding a grudge. Still, all good things have to come to an end."

"Fine for you to say!" snapped Gretchen. "You'll be staying here in Magdeburg on Jackson's staff—what do they call them? rear echelon mother-fuckers?—while Jeff goes to the front."

Jimmy looked wounded. "Hey! S'not true! Not any longer. I requested a transfer to the Third Division. Well, okay, Stearns asked me to 'cause he wants a good radio man, but it's not as if I put up an argument or anything."

"Stop picking on him, hon," Jeff said mildly. "You know perfectly well Jimmy's not an REMF. He was with us all through France and Amsterdam, remember."

"We gotta go now, Jeff," said Andersen.