Eric Flint: 1635: The Eastern Front

He also claimed-this might be subterfuge, of course-that he was what he called a "civil engineer," not a "grease monkey." He said the only reason he'd been assigned as the APC's "mechanic" was because he was the only one in the crew who knew a "crescent wrench" from a "phillips screwdriver."

He seemed aggrieved over that issue also.

Still, despite Ellis' very apparent disgruntlement with the foreign policies of the USE's political leadership-"how many fucking times do we have to refight the Vietnam War in another fucking universe?"-he insisted he was a patriot and would therefore provide Lukasz with no information that might harm his nation.

As he had just done again. Since they'd been speaking in German, the two Cossacks did not understand what the up-timer had said. Had they understood it, they would have burst into riotous laughter.

As it was, the two hussars both grinned.

Lukasz didn't doubt at all that the up-timer would start babbling profusely if he was subjected to torture. But information gotten from tortured men was always questionable. More importantly, Lukasz was almost sure the grand hetman wouldn't want to torture any Americans for political reasons. Poland had done quite well in the war so far, but any realist knew that in the long run the USE was the stronger party in the conflict. Sooner or later, they'd need to seek a political settlement.

Despite their small numbers, the up-timers were very influential in the USE. From what Jozef had told him earlier, it seemed they were not enthusiastic about the war with Poland, which they saw as the product of Gustav Adolf's dynastic ambitions rather any national interest of the USE itself. Mark Ellis' statements certainly supported that interpretation.

Would it be wise, then, to infuriate the Americans? Which they most likely would be, if they discovered that one of their own had been badly mistreated by his Polish captors.

Finally, it might all be unnecessary anyway.

He turned to the last member of the small party standing by the APC. This was a young Polish nobleman by the name of Walenty Tarnowski. He was in his mid-twenties, about the same age as Mark Ellis, and had been a student at the University of Krakow. He was now teaching at Lubranski Academy right here in Poznan. The reason he was teaching here was because he and a few other young scholars in the Commonwealth were trying to establish a new academic discipline they called "Advanced Mechanics." The University of Krakow was the oldest and most prestigious university in Poland; and, like most such institutions, very set in its ways. It had refused to accept Advanced Mechanics as a suitable subject for scholarly study.

So, being just as stubborn as they were, Tarnowski had come to Poznan. The Lubranski Academy had been founded over a century ago but was still not recognized as a full university. The University of Krakow restricted that status jealously, and refused to allow Lubranski Academy the right to issue degrees. By accepting Tarnowski and allowing him to create a curriculum, the Poznan scholars were thumbing their noses at Krakow.

Opalinski thought the University of Krakow was being very shortsighted. Be that as it may, for his purposes and those of the Poland's grand hetman it didn't matter what they thought. The man and the skills they needed were here in Poznan.

"Can you do it alone?" he asked Tarnowski. Deliberately, he spoke in German, so the up-timer could follow the conversation.

"The question is whether I can do it. Alone or not, doesn't really matter." He gave Ellis a dismissive glance. "He's a civil engineer, not someone knowledgeable in advanced mechanics."

"The difference is…?"

"He designs and build roads. Canals. Dams. Sewers. That sort of thing. Basically, he knows how to assemble dirt and rocks and bricks together in various useful ways."

"Hey!" protested the up-timer.

Tarnowski ignored him. "As to your question itself…?I believe so, yes. At least, so far as design is concerned. I doubt if we will have the technical skills and mechanical resources to actually make one of the things. We will have to 'gear down,' as the Americans say. Use what we learn to create something much simpler and more crude, but which will serve Poland well enough on the battlefield."

The American was now glaring at Tarnowski.

"Look at it this way," Lukasz said. "Would you rather be tortured?"

A horse-litter along the Elbe river, in Saxony

A covered litter carried by horses was a better form of transport than a carriage, anywhere except on the very best roads. Still, it had gotten pretty miserable once they'd passed out of Magdeburg province and entered Saxony. The former elector's realm had never been part of the CPE or the later USE except as a political technicality. Even that, John George had discarded as soon as he could, to his eventual ruin. The roads here were so bad that the litter lurched and threw Jozef about almost as badly as he would have been in a carriage.

Well, no. That was hyperbole brought on by exasperation. Wojtowicz hadn't gotten a single bruise. In a carriage, he'd probably have broken a bone by now.

Still, despite the discomfort of the moment, Jozef was in excellent spirits. The solution had come to him before he'd even left Schwerin's city limits.

Dresden, of course. What better place for a Polish spy to hide in the USE at the moment? It would the last place they'd ever think to look.

It would be pleasant, too. He'd been to Dresden on three occasions and liked the city.

More than anything, Jozef Wojtowicz dreaded tedium. At least the time he spent in Dresden would be interesting.

Linz, Austria

Janos Drugeth lounged on the river bank, gazing at the Danube. He always found the sight of moving water soothing, for some reason.

He needed soothing, at the moment. He'd decided to take a break from his exhaustive and seemingly endless round of discussions with the officers in command of the Austrian forces stationed in Linz. He'd forgotten how set in their ways garrisons could be. You'd think that sort of rigid and routinized thinking wouldn't infect soldiers who would be the first to feel the blows if Wallenstein invaded. But it did.

It was probably the pastries, Janos thought. They were certainly delicious. An officer who ate such pastries every morning and evening of every day of the year-which most of them did, judging by their waistlines-was probably bound to lapse into a sugary view of the world.

Surely the Bohemians would share that outlook, and not invade. They had excellent pastries in Prague as well.

Janos had brought a tablet and a pen with him. Sitting up straight, he brought them out and began composing a letter to Noelle. He was doing so simply because he felt like it. He wouldn't be able to post the letter for a while since he had no idea where she was at the moment. Possibly Magdeburg, possibly Prague, possibly Grantville.

That she might be in Dresden never crossed his mind at all. Noelle was a sensible woman. Why would she choose to be in a city that was clearly on the edge of chaos and ruin?

Zielona Gora

"It happened weeks ago!" Thorsten Engler was a very even-tempered man, but he was feeling decidedly peevish at the moment. You could even say, angry.

"Weeks," he repeated.

The radio operator who'd handed him the message was looking simultaneously apprehensive and indignant, the way a man will when he can see he's about to get blamed for something that was no fault of his own.

Jason Linn put a hand on Engler's shoulder. Not to restrain him, simply to remind him that there was an external world that had an objective reality outside of the swirling furies of his mind.

"Captain, there's no sense in yelling at Corporal Schwab. He's just the one the message passed through."