Eric Flint - 1636:The Saxon Uprising

And not one of them would consider using his professional services as such. Even by volley gun crew standards, that man was a little scary. Berlin, capital of Brandenburg province Colonel Erik Haakansson Hand was also contemplating the use of poison that night. In his case, though, the thought was neither idle nor fanciful. He had a real problem on his hands.

Unfortunately, after weeks of welcome slothfulness and incompetence on their part, one of Gustav Adolf's doctors was taking a genuine interest in the case. Instead of a perfunctory few minutes breezing in and out of the king's room every other day or so, this bastard was starting to spend time there.

A full hour, yesterday. Luckily, there had been no signs from the king that he was starting to recover from his condition. He'd been asleep most of the time and when he did wake up, immediately started shouting at the doctor in fury.

Incoherent fury, too. The annoying man had fled in five minutes.

But if he kept coming around, there was bound to be bad luck sooner or later. And once any of the doctors assigned to the king began to think the king might be recovering, he'd be sure to tell Oxenstierna.

Or if one of them didn't, the king's chaplain would. That was the Pomeranian Jacobus Fabricius. He'd been wounded in the battle at Lake Bledno but not badly enough that he hadn't been able to start attending the king after a few weeks. But he'd resumed those duties too early and in his weakened state he'd fallen badly ill. A stroke of luck, that was, since the chaplain hadn't been present during the recent period to see Gustav Adolf's growing flashes of coherence.

Hand didn't think any of the doctors, and certainly not the chaplain, wished any ill upon his cousin. But regardless of their motives, any of them who noticed was sure to inform Oxenstierna. Nor would it matter if the chancellor had already taken the army to Magdeburg by then. He'd be taking a radio with him. Several, in fact. Just as he'd be leaving several behind in Berlin. He'd get the news within hours.

And then…

There was no telling what would happen. But Erik now feared the worst. Three months ago-two months ago-perhaps even one month ago, he'd have sworn that Oxenstierna would do no personal harm to Gustav Adolf. Not to his own king, and a man who'd been a good friend for many years.

But Axel Oxenstierna had been changing, and the change had sped up rapidly over the past few weeks. The course of action he'd set for himself had careened out of his control, something which was now obvious to everyone except those reactionary imbeciles who guzzled the palace's wine, gobbled food from its kitchens, and sang praises and hosannas to Oxenstierna every drunken evening.

It was certainly obvious to Oxenstierna. Most of his followers might be dull-witted but not the chancellor himself.

Nothing had gone the way he'd planned. His enemies had not reacted as he'd foreseen. There'd been none-very little, anyway-of the chaos he'd expected and had partly been depending upon. Wilhelm Wettin had dug in his heels once he stumbled across outright treachery and had had to be arrested. The princess had not knuckled under to pressure. Indeed, she and her consort-to-be had defied Oxenstierna in the most flamboyant fashion imaginable. Dresden had defied him and held out against Baner. And now Stearns had come out in open rebellion and marched his troops back into Saxony. By all reports, there would be a battle soon between his Third Division and Baner's mercenaries. Only a new storm was delaying it.

As each setback and misadventure came, the chancellor's mood darkened. No, not just his mood, his very soul. Always a hard man, Oxenstierna was now becoming a savage man, something he'd never been in the past.

So what would he do, if the final blow fell and he learned his king was returning?

Submit-knowing full well that Gustav II Adolf would not approve of his actions?

Maybe. And then…maybe not. The chancellor had men who were loyal to him, first and foremost. By now, he probably had entire regiments who were mainly loyal to him. He'd certainly have enough such men to overwhelm Hand and Erling Ljungberg and the king's Scot bodyguards.

A few blows to the head-no need, even, for outright murder-and it would be done. Those who knew the truth silenced, some absurd concoction presented to the world in public-another treason plot, the details left vague-and the king condemned to everlasting madness, his brains turned to pulp.

So. Cyanide or arsenic? Those were the only viable alternatives. Magdeburg, capital of the United States of Europe Restlessly, Rebecca moved through the empty rooms of the town house, looking out of the windows to watch the snow fall. She had already made two complete circuits of all the rooms on the top floor except those of her children, whom she didn't want to awaken.

She didn't go down to the lower floors. Now that the crisis was reaching its peak, there were people there at all times. Her house had become the operating command center for the Fourth of July Party. Couriers raced back and forth from here to the Freedom Arches, where the city's CoC had its center, every hour of the day and night. They were needed because the telephone lines were often overwhelmed.

The people in Magdeburg had good intelligence coming from Berlin. As always, servants were the weak link in the aristocracy's armor, when it came to espionage. You'd think they'd learn not to talk in front of their servants, but some habits were just too deeply ingrained. That was especially true of the sort of cast-iron diehards who'd gathered in Berlin.

So they knew Oxenstierna was coming, and bringing his whole army with him. And while their intelligence didn't extend so far as to know his precise intentions-Oxenstierna himself was far too shrewd to speak in front of servants-no one had any trouble guessing what they were.

Tonight, though, Rebecca wasn't concerned about her own possible fate a few weeks or months from now. Not even that of her children. Tonight the snow was falling, and she knew what that meant.

Thought she did, at least. She'd gotten no messages from Michael. He wouldn't have divulged his tactical plans to her anyway. But she knew her husband very well.

Mike Stearns was a charming man. Even his enemies would allow as much. Gracious, pleasant, courteous, rarely given to expressing a temper.

All of it was even true. But what the qualities disguised from those who didn't know him as well as she did, was that he was also utterly pugnacious. Not belligerent, as such. He did not go looking for fights. But when a fight did come he would throw himself into it with a pure fury. Rebecca had never seen him fight with his fists, but she knew from Melissa Mailey what his record had been. All but one of his professional fights he'd won by knockout before the end of the fourth round.

So how would such a man fight as a general?

Snow was falling. Not only here but all across the Germanies. She'd checked the weather reports.

It would be falling in Saxony too. White, cold-and gentle, as snowfalls were. But tomorrow it would be bathed in blood. She could only hope Michael's blood would not be part of that gruesome, incongruous mix.

Or not too much of it, at least. She was a Jewess. Her people had learned long ago that you had to be practical about these things.

The Saxon plain, near Dresden Johan Baner was awakened by the sound of gunfire. He came awake instantly.

"Fucking bastards! I warned them!"

He began pulling on his pants, calling for his orderly and his adjutant. The orderly arrived first, piling into the little room on the upper floor of the house. He'd have been sleeping just outside, in the hallway. The hallway was small and narrow, too, as you'd expect from a village home that wasn't quite a hovel but came close.