The Tangled Web(135)

Brahe nodded.

"Over here in Fulda, though . . . First of all, since our original contingent arrived in 1632, I haven't gotten a single new recruit sent out from Grantville, down-timer or up-timer. It's almost the same with the up-time civilian administrators, for that matter. The administration, first NUS and now SoTF, just plopped us down on what for them was the edge of known civilization and left us here. Except for the exchange of Springer for Jenkins, there hasn't been any new blood. Technically, I think, the proper word is 'marginalized.' "

Brahe nodded again. " 'Edge' . . . 'margin' . . . Etymologically speaking, that is quite appropriate."

"So even though we've been doing very well, medically speaking—the people at Barracktown are happily surprised at how many of them are still alive—I've still had vacancies to fill. I recruit locally, one man at a time or a few men at a time, and there's just no way I can afford to send them over to Grantville so Lane Grooms can put them through his basic training routines. Just the travel expense . . ." His voice trailed off. "So we train them ourselves. First it was just me and the other up-timers waving the pamphlets around. Now I have quite a few down-timers who can train others using the up-time manuals, but it's still closer to what Washington was doing during the Revolution than what happened during later American wars."

Brahe shrugged. "My regiments do it pretty much the same way. Drill, maneuvers."

Utt grinned. "Those things. On a lot of those things, we let Hartke and the other down-timers train us up-timers. I figured that until the whole regiment was equipped with modern guns, they probably knew more about how to handle the available weapons than I did. Two-way OJT—on the job training for the actual campaigning. Among other things, I've had all the infantry guys also taught to ride and got them horses, so they can double as dragoons at a pinch. It's not cavalry, but I have more mobility than I would have otherwise. That's a big consideration when your manpower is so limited. There's no point of dreaming of mechanization over here when the big campaigns will be on the eastern front."

Brahe nodded, this time thoughtfully.

"Then also . . . Well, other things started when we hired this boy named Pierre Biehr. He was a would-be university student who ran out of tuition. We hired him to teach school for the Barracktown kids, but then he started working with the regiment on music training. That went pretty well. I started to think about organizing other kinds of indoor training in the winter, during bad weather. Why let them laze around in the barracks just because it's sleeting out? And why does everyone who trains soldiers have to be one? Turns out young Pierre has two older brothers and two older married sisters, everybody looking for a job. The oldest sister's husband was an unemployed drawing-master in Frankfurt-am-Main. I brought him up for one winter. Now almost every man who was already in the regiment that winter can not only read a map decently—he can also draw a reasonably good one. Not like a surveyor would, but by counting his steps to estimate 'how far' and recording what his eyes see. Sure, topo and trigonometry and GPS would be better, ideally, but they fall into the category of the push for the perfect driving out the 'adequate for the immediate purpose' and leaving you with the 'nothing at all.' I could come up with a poster: 'Fulda Barracks: the home of it'll do for now.' "

He looked at Brahe. "Are we going to get any sleep tonight?"

"We should probably try." Brahe tossed his wine into a vase of dried flowers and corked the bottle.



"Margarethe is locked in," Tata said. "Friedrich hugged her and kissed her. Then he went with Sergeant Hartke, down to sleep at Colonel Utt's quarters in case he needs them during the night. Tante Kunigunde is sleeping in the room with her and Papa locked the door. Mama will see to it that she stays here. If she is completely unreasonable, Mama will take her back to Fulda by force and turn her over to Dagmar. That will settle the issue."

"It should." Eberhard laughed. "If it doesn't, Dagmar can always call on our dear but indomitable sister Antonia in Strassburg for reinforcements. Kiss me goodnight, sweetheart. This could be our last featherbed for quite some time."

"Our last featherbed, but not our last bed." She snuggled down under the duvet. "I'm coming with you."

Eberhard yawned. "I know."



Sarreguemines, Lorraine, March 1635

"Thank God that we're finally indoors for a change." Deveroux looked around the comfortable inn in Sarreguemines. "How much farther?

Butler spread his best, now rather tattered and water-stained, map on their unwilling hostess's dining room hutch. "We've come probably close to three-fourths of the way to Merckweiler. There should be about fifty miles to go. It's fairly easy riding as far as Bitche, not too bad to Niederbronn, but from there on east . . ."