But sooner or later, he would be back. Leading the same soldiers who defeated the Poles at Zwenkau and Zielona Góra, and now had their comrades threatened by Banér. Did they think those soldiers would refuse to follow Stearns?
Were they mad?
And what did they think Torstensson would do with the rest of the USE army? At best, he would hold them in Poland, out of the fray—because if they joined that fray, they would certainly not join it on behalf of Oxenstierna.
The whole nation would dissolve into civil war. There was no way of knowing in advance who would win, but if Ernst had been a gambling man—which he most certainly was not—he would not have placed his wager on Berlin.
There was a blindness that came with power, if the man who wielded it was not careful. One got accustomed to obedience, to having one’s will enforced. The idea that it could be thwarted—certainly by a wretch who’d been no more than a printer’s daughter and a near-prostitute—faded into the shadows. Became unthinkable, even. The practical realities of power transmuted as if by a philosopher’s stone into a self-evident law of nature.
I am mighty because I am, and therefore always will be.
He sighed, shook his head, and returned to his desk. Sitting down, he pulled some sheets of paper from a drawer and took out his pen.
No miserable quill pen, this. He only used those for public display. This was an up-time fountain pen, which he’d purchased in Grantville. The type that could be continually refilled, not the much cheaper kind that had to be thrown away after a while. He’d had it for two years now, and adored the thing. It was worth every dollar—the very many dollars—he’d spent on it.
Later, he’d write to his brother Wilhelm. That letter would be useless anyway, since Wilhelm had made it quite clear he was no longer listening. Ernst would write it purely out of a sense of family obligation.
The letter he would write first would be equally useless, of course, if you looked at it solely in terms of its immediate effect. But Ernst was not one of those idiots who confused days with months and years with centuries.
He would give no legitimacy to this madness. Come what may, to him as well as the city. He also did not confuse a life with eternity.
He did not bother with the customary salutations. Under the circumstances, flowery prose was just silly.
General Johan Banér—
I remind you that I am the administrator of Saxony. The appointment was given to me directly by Gustav II Adolf, Emperor of the United States of Europe, and has not been rescinded by him.
Dresden is in good order. There is neither cause nor justification for your army to enter the city. I therefore order you to keep a distance of fifteen miles, lest your presence provoke disturbances.
Ernst Wettin, Administrator of Saxony, Duke of Saxe-Weimar
Chapter 15
Tetschen, near the border between Saxony and Bohemia
The plane taxied over to the newly built hangar and came to a stop just before the open doors. Soon thereafter, a figure emerged out of the cockpit. When Jeff Higgins recognized who it was, he whistled softly.
“To what do we owe the honor of a visit by Jesse Wood himself?” he said.
Standing next to him, Thorsten Engler made no reply. He figured they’d find out soon enough.
When Jesse came up, he shook both their hands. “Good afternoon, Colonel Higgins. Captain Engler.”
“Not that it isn’t always nice to see you, Jesse, but since when does the air force send its commander to fly routine reconnaissance patrols?” Jeff asked.
Colonel Wood gave him an exasperated look. “Don’t play stupid, Jeff. This is hardly ‘routine.’ We’re on the edge of a civil war, in case you hadn’t noticed. I wanted to see how things stood for myself. I’m flying down to Prague to meet with Mike as soon as we’re done here.”
“Let’s get inside,” said Higgins. He gestured toward the airfield’s administration building. It was a small two story edifice that officially served as:
The field’s weather station—with no equipment beyond a mercury thermometer and a crude barometer.
Its control tower—with nothing to control; Wood’s plane was the first one to ever land here.
Its radio tower—with no radio capable of reaching Dresden or Prague except under perfect conditions.
Its only real function so far, a place to get out of the cold and warm up over a pot of tea. There was quite a comfortable lounge on the bottom floor.
“Would you like me to have your plane rolled into the hangar, Colonel?” Thorsten gestured at a small ground crew standing in the hangar’s wide doorway.