The Saxon Uprising(5)

“Ah! I hadn’t realized that,” said Thorsten. The slight frown on his face vanished. “There’s no problem then, from a legal standpoint, unless the prime minister or General Torstensson tells him he can’t do it. But I don’t see any reason to even mention it to anyone outside the division yet. Right now, we’re just dealing with our own logistical needs.”

The expressions on the faces of all the down-timers in the tent mirrored Engler’s. But Jeff Higgins was still frowning.

“I don’t get it. You mean to tell me the USE allows any currency to be used within its borders?”

He seemed quite aggrieved. Bartley was grinning, however.

“You’re like most up-timers,” David said, “especially ones who don’t know much history. The situation we have now is no different from what it was for the first seventy-five years or so of the United States—our old one, back in America. There was an official United States currency—the dollar, of course—but the main currency used by most Americans was the Spanish real. The name ‘dollar’ itself comes from the Spanish dollar, a coin that was worth eight reales. It wasn’t until the Civil War that the U.S. dollar was made the only legal currency.”

“I’ll be damned,” said Jeff. “I didn’t know that.”

He wasn’t in the least bit discomfited. As was true for most Americans, being charged with historical ignorance was like sprinkling water on a duck.

Jeff had been sitting long enough, and the stools weren’t particularly comfortable anyway. So he rose and stretched a little. “What you’re saying, in other words, is that there’s technically no reason—legal reason, I mean—that the Third Division couldn’t issue its own currency.”

“That’s right.”

A frown was back on Captain Auerbach’s face. “I can’t think of any army that’s ever done so, though.”

David shrugged. “So? We’re doing lots of new things.”

“Let’s take it to the general,” said Jeff, heading for the tent flap. “We haven’t got much time, since he’s planning to resume the march tomorrow.”

Mike was charmed by the idea. “Sure, let’s do it. D’you need me to leave one of the printing presses behind?”

Unlike every other general in the known world, Mike Stearns would no more undertake a campaign without his own printing presses than he would without guns and ammunition. In his considered opinion as a former labor organizer, one printing press was as valuable as two or three artillery batteries.

Bartley pursed his lips. “Probably a good idea, sir. I can afford to buy one easily enough. The problem is that I don’t know what’s available in the area, and we’re familiar with the ones the division brought along.”

“Done. Anything else you need?”

David and Jeff looked at each other. Then Jeff said: “Well, we need a name for the currency. We don’t want to call it script, of course.”

Mike scowled. “Company script” was pretty much a profane term among West Virginia coal miners.

“No, we sure as hell don’t,” he said forcefully. He scratched his chin for a few seconds, and then smiled.

“Let’s call it a ‘becky,’ ” he said. “Third Division beckies.”

Bartley looked dubious. “Gee, sir, I don’t know…Meaning no offense, but isn’t that pushing nepotism a bit far?”

Higgins laughed. “In the year sixteen thirty-five? For Christ’s sake, David, nepotism is the most favored middle name around. Most rulers in the here and now get their position by inheritance, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Mike’s grin faded a little. “Relax, Lieutenant. The problem with nepotism is that it can lead to incompetence and it’s often tied to corruption. But neither of those issues are involved here. It’s just a name, that’s all.”

Bartley thought about it for a moment, and then seemed relieved. “Okay, I can see that.”

A moment later, he looked downright pleased. “And now that I think about it, naming the division’s unit of currency after your own wife is likely to boost confidence in it. The here and now being the way it is.”

The rest of the division resumed the march to Prague early the next morning. Jeff and his officers spent the rest of the day and most of the next three getting the regiment’s camp established.

That took some time and effort, because Jeff had decided to billet the regiment’s soldiers in or next to the Thun castle on the hill, instead of in the town itself. The castle was vacant since the owner had fled, and Jeff figured he could use the fact of the nobleman’s flight as proof positive that he’d been up to no good.