The Ram Rebellion(95)

Riding closer, it became obvious there was a watch being kept on the road also. Anse could hear voices calling from the trees alongside the road, and people were gathering at the road block.





"Let's keep it low-key, Captain," Anse said to Captain von Dantz, who was riding beside him. "They have men in the woods and we're flanked." Only after he spoke did it occur to him that von Dantz might not understand the American colloquialism.





But, apparently, he did—or at least the gist of it. Von Dantz nodded and said softly, "And there are men on the roofs, too. Someone in this village has experience."





"Halt! Stehenbleiben! Wer sind Sie?" a voice called out from the village. Anse's German was good enough to translate that last word into an demand to know who they were.





While Rau called out that they were a party of the New U.S. Army escorting two civilians to Suhl, Anse eased back until he was beside the wagon.





"Gaylynn, don't touch your rifle, but see the guys on the roofs?" Gaylynn nodded. "They're yours if any shooting starts."





Before anything could happen, a new voice called out from behind the roadblock. "Gaylynn Reardon? Is that you?"





Gaylynn almost jumped out of her seat. "Yes! Who wants to know?"





"It's me, Pete Chehab." A young man walked from behind the cart roadblock.





As the man approached, Anse could see he was a N.U.S. sergeant in his early twenties. He was dressed in the tie-dyed camouflage that was replacing the uptime hunting outfits as they wore out.





"Relax, everyone," Gaylynn said. "I know him. That's Pete Chehab. He's from Grantville and used to ask Gary for advice when he was in tech school."





After introductions were made, Chehab continued. "Me and Hans Koeppler were bringing some dispatches from the garrison at Suhl to General Kagg in Grantville."





For a moment, he looked disgruntled. "Why the hell they didn't just use the radio is a mystery to me. Probably because the garrison commander is an old-fashioned down-timer and his uptime `military liaison'—that's that jer . . . —ah, Lieutenant Horton—seems to think the radio's some kinda virgin, can't get its cherry popped."





Noelle Murphy laughed. No little titter, either, but not so loud as to attract attention. Anse himself had to fight to keep from grinning, in the interests of military protocol. Since Chehab hadn't quite come out and publicly insulted his superior officer, he decided he could let it pass.





Besides, jerk was a pretty good depiction of Lieutenant Johnny Lee Horton. If anything, it was on the mild side.





"We just got here a couple of hours ago," Chehab continued, "and we found the village like you see it now. They had some trouble with bandits a few days ago. They ended up with two houses burnt so the've blocked off the little roads up into the hills and they're forting up at night. They move a couple of carts off the trade route during the day to let the traffic through. Once they check their documents. All these refugees on the road are making them even more nervous. I was just getting ready to go on to Grantville when you showed up. Do you have any idea what's going on? Some of these guys act like we just shot their dog."





Anse shook his head. "Last time we heard, everything was calm clear to Nürnberg. How was Suhl when you left?"





"Suhl was quiet. Well, as quiet as a town where every other house is hammering out gun barrels can be. But there was nothing like this. No refugees coming through. They must have been taking back paths around the city."





"Sergeant," Captain von Dantz broke in, "can you delay your departure until I write a message to the general?"





"Sure, Captain. We're a regular pony express."





The captain walked to the wagon, shaking his head. Anse had to smile. The captain spoke good English, but now he was learning American.





As they passed through the village after seeing Sergeant Chehab and his party depart, Anse saw that most of the home owners had painted red and white stripes on their doors to show their allegiance to the government in Grantville. In the middle of the crossroads, they had planted a flagpole and were flying the flag many of the Committees of Correspondence had adopted. The thirteen red and white stripes were the same as the American flag, but the snake painted across them was not the semifamiliar timber rattler. Instead, it was an adder.





Just south of the village, the normal commercial traffic became heavier. They were passing parties every mile, and Rau was reduced to riding only a hundred yards in front of the wagon.





"Herr Hatfield, we are going too slow," von Dantz complained. "At this rate, we will never make it to Suhl before nightfall."