who you’ve lost until you regroup at the edge of the town, where you may find that every other man who charged in under your colors is gone, never to be found.”
Miro felt a chill run up his spine. “And this-this separation and confusion-was this the ill fortune that exacted such a heavy toll in Rome?”
Owen Roe looked up, eyes sharp. “Oh, there was no ill fortune about it, Don Estuban. It was all part of our enemy’s plan. We couldn’t approach him unless we came at him in small, separate groups; he made sure of that, and he used it against us.”
Miro heard a flat, heavy undertone of remorse. “And you foresaw this, Colonel O’Neill?”
For the first time since meeting him, Miro noticed Owen Roe’s gaze waver a bit. “No-no, it wasn’t anything I foresaw. I’m not sure anyone could have. It’s just-just a matter of learned instinct, y’might say. On battlefields, every plan is always trying to go wrong on you from the outset. It’s what Colonel North tells me the up-timers call ‘Murphy’s Law.’ Assaulting a tricky, twisty place like the insula Mattei just made us especially susceptible to failures or surprises-and the canny barstard we were facing built a gauntlet loaded with both.”
Miro nodded, having heard his indirect answer in Owen Roe’s equivocating response: Harry had probably been a little overly optimistic about the operation, and when things went wrong, he discovered that it was not due to chance, but enemy intent. Which made the consequences much worse than they would have been if the culprit had been chance. On the plus side, Harry had escaped with the great majority of the rescue party intact: no small feat, that. But on the negative side, the civilian losses were heavy-and were probably hanging about Lefferts’ neck and spirits like a millstone. Well, nothing to be done about that here. The only useful response was to move forward.
Miro straightened and gazed at all of them in turn. “So. This means that we have a new mission to consider, and I need all your energies and attention focused on putting together the best plan possible.”
Sherrilyn frowned. “A new mission?”
Miro shrugged. “Actually, no; it is the same mission-to rescue Frank and Giovanna-but it will be more difficult, now.”
Sherrilyn’s eyes were wide. “More difficult? Really? You think?”
Miro heard her tone growing arch, thought of interrupting the coming tirade, but realized that he shouldn’t. She needed to let it out. They’d all been fleeing alongside their troops for more than a week, unable to give voice to their own anger and frustration.
Sherrilyn grabbed the opportunity with uncommon ferocity. “Let me tell you just how much more difficult a rescue is going to be this time, Don Estuban Miro. We lost six combat effectives-and friends-in that fight, and most of the survivors are wounded. George is whipsawing between grief and a fugue state. The cadre of our Roman sympathizers has been gutted: Piero is on the run, and Giovanna’s brother Fabrizio was killed. Benito, the kid she and Frank all but adopted, was almost killed as well, although luckily we were able to get him out alive.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Best estimates tell us that another thirty lefferti were either killed or immobilized, and close to forty of the rioters were shot or trampled to death. So, yes, Don Estuban, I suspect we’re going to find it a little harder to mount another rescue attempt in Rome from now on.”
Sherrilyn finished leaning across the table, face white, eyes wide. It was Harry who reached out and touched her arm lightly for a moment. Sherrilyn leaned back, sighing. “I’m sorry, Estuban. But-”
He waved a hand that dismissed any concern. “I understand. And I sympathize. And I have another sad addition to your list.” All three looked at him. “One of Don Francisco Nasi’s agents-who was apparently instrumental in passing inside information along to the lefferti — fled Rome. That is how we knew you were coming back at all. But he had other news.”
Harry’s eyes were grim. “The Ghetto?”
Miro nodded. “Over a hundred killed outright or tortured to death. However, for now, we must look beyond the human costs. As Sherrilyn rightly pointed out, the losses sustained during this first rescue attempt-both in terms of personnel and infrastructure-compel us to completely reconceive our operations. And our first problems are not tactical, but logistical.”
Thomas sighed. “They always are.”
“So it seems. First, the most pressing logistical need we had in Italy-getting enough gasoline to Venice so that we can fly Pope Urban to safety-is no longer at the top of our list. Now, instead, we have to ship in more security for him.”
Owen seemed surprised, maybe a bit indignant. “And why is the pope not flying to safety immediately?”
“There are two equally good answers to that question. First, the repairs to the Monster will not be completed for another three weeks, so getting the gasoline here sooner than that does us no good. Consequently, it becomes more important to ship in further reinforcements for the papal protection detail; the more time Borja’s agents have, the more likely they are to locate Urban and attack.”
Sherrilyn frowned. “Jeez, Estuban, the roster I’ve seen for Urban’s security detail makes me think that he has more than enough guards already. There’s almost twenty in the Marine detachment assigned to the embassy, and two of the Wild Geese. And then there’s Ruy, who’s worth about ten more, all by himself.”
Miro nodded. “Yes, that is sufficient to maintain immediate, bodily security. But if those forces are to have any advance warning that Borja’s agents are surveying their facilities preparatory to attack, they will need pickets. The current security complement is not large enough to keep watch over a reasonable perimeter and provide terminal defense. And now it seems we may need to provide that defense for quite some time to come.”
They all heard his leading tone. “C’mon,” Sherrilyn said finally, “don’t be coy, Estuban. Just spit it out: what’s the new fly in the ointment?”
Miro sighed. “The pope is not willing to leave Italy. At least, not yet.”
“ What? ” Sherrilyn blurted. “Why the hell not?”
It was Owen who answered. “Miss Maddox, I am only guessing, but I suspect that Pope Urban is weighing the consequences of seeking asylum with the USE.”
“Oh, so we’re good enough to save his life when he’s on the run, without a friend to his name, but when it actually comes to voluntarily associating with us-”
“Miss Maddox, please. I suspect that Urban the man and Urban the pope are of very different minds on this matter. Urban the man is not insensible to gratitude; he has risked scandal in the Church by showing up-timers as much favor and trust as he has. When you come right down to it, your involvement in Galileo’s trial is probably what set Borja, at the head of the Spanish cardinals, on his current course of action.
“Which brings up the matter of Urban the pope. Can a pope seek sanctuary in a Protestant land?”
Harry frowned, then murmured, “The USE strictly-aggressively-enforces freedom of religion.”
Owen nodded. “True enough, and an amazement to us all. But the simple fact is that the USE still has Gustav Adolf at its head. He is not merely a Protestant, but the symbol of its successful wars against the Church. He’s left plenty of its sons strewn lifeless across the face of Europe-and their families aren’t likely to forget who killed them.” Owen held up a hand to still Thomas’ incipient retort. “I’m not arguing the right or wrong of the war or its combatants, Thomas; I’m simply stating facts as they’ll be seen by most Catholics, who have never met up-timers, visited your town, or served alongside you. We-they-are creatures of this world, and bear the stamp of this century’s religious warfare and persecutions. So Pope Urban must choose his next steps very carefully.”
Sherrilyn crossed her arms and frowned. “Okay,” she said. “I get that. But you’ve gotta admit that, pope or no pope, this is one royal pain in the ass.”
Owen cocked an eyebrow. “If you would change your terminology to ‘a divine pain in the ass,’ I would happily agree with you.”
The smile between them was quick but genuine: no hard feelings, and another issue set to rest-for now.
But Owen wasn’t done. “Don Estuban, I trust you will send word of my unit’s-losses-to Fernando’s court in the Low Countries?”
Miro nodded. “I shall. Although I am reluctant to do so; I worry that you might be ordered to commit the rest of your unit to the pope’s security detachment. Although I have no reason to hope or ask it, I would much rather you remain part of our rescue operations.”
“I have thought the same thing, Don Estuban. I see only one sure way to avoid receiving new orders to guard the pope: to be gone before they get here.”
Miro managed not to smile. Here’s a man after my own heart. “I quite concur, Colonel. And I am very grateful that you are still willing to be a part of our rescue operations. There is, of course, nothing to obligate you to do
