1632

He pointed to the bridge over Buffalo Creek. The bridge was now blocked off by one of the school buses which served the town as its public transportation. 'Get the recruits over there, Gretchen. You stay with them, you hear? As long as you're there, they won't lose heart.'

Gretchen nodded and started bellowing orders. A few seconds later, her 9mm gripped in her hand, she was leading the young Germans who were being trained as new police officers onto the bridge. There were eighteen of them, four of whom were female. All of them were armed with shotguns and revolvers and, like Dan and Gretchen, were wearing bullet-proof vests.

The bridge and the three-way intersection next to it was the center of Grantville. The intersection formed something in the way of a small plaza. The buildings on all sides were two and three stories tall. People were still pouring into those buildings from all the houses and trailers on the north side. Many of the men and some of the women were carrying rifles and other firearms.

Fortunately, Rebecca's warning had come in time to evacuate the part of town directly in the path of the oncoming Croats. It had also enabled the police force to organize the citizens into an impromptu militia. True, most of the able-bodied men and women were with the army in Eisenach or Suhl, but there were still plenty of people who could use a gun-especially firing from within buildings. Rebecca's plan still grated Dan Frost's soul, but he had bowed to the logic of it.

The police chief turned to Fred Jordan, one of his deputies. Before he even asked, Fred was answering. 'They're all in place, Dan.' Jordan swept his outstretched hand in a half-circle, indicating the buildings lining the intersection. 'Got deputies in every one. They'll organize the other people with guns. Biggest problem we're having is keeping the hotheads from charging right off to the school.'

Dan nodded. He studied the intersection for a few seconds. 'Good enough. All we need is something to draw their attention and suck 'em into the ambush.'

He was already marching toward the intersection before he finished speaking. For a moment, Fred was rooted in place. Then, realizing what the chief intended, he started hurrying after him.

Hearing his steps, Dan turned around. 'Get out of here, Fred,' he said quietly. 'Take position in one of the buildings. We don't need two people for this.'

Fred started to squawk a protest, but Dan waved him down impatiently. 'Do as I tell you, dammit!' His face twisted into a wry grin. 'As long as this town seems bound and determined to make me Wyatt Earp, I may as well do it up right.'

***

Lowering the radio, Mike's face was ashen. 'Oh, Christ. We've been suckered.'

Frank Jackson, Harry Lefferts and Alex Mackay were gathered around him. Frank turned his head and glared at the Spanish prisoners being herded into a makeshift 'prison camp.' The camp was nothing more than a large stretch of farmland below the Wartburg's hill. The prisoners were held in place not by fences but by the crude expedient of guns pointing directly at them. Even the guns did not surround them completely. The area to the west of the prisoners was bare and open. But the three catapults were standing by, ready to lob hellfire into their midst in case of any trouble.

'All this?' Frank demanded. His voice was choked. 'They sent an entire fucking army-just to get a clear shot at Grantville?'

Mike sighed. 'Yes, Frank. That's exactly what they did. That-and the army that marched on Suhl. Just diversions, that's all.'

Silently, Mike cursed himself for an incompetent fool. He glanced at Mackay. 'It's not as if you didn't try to warn me,' he muttered.

The Scottish colonel shook his head. 'You are missing the point, Mike. The problem is not that you made a mistake.' He pointed to the Spaniards. 'That is an army. Had you not come here to meet them, they would have been no diversion at all. They would have sacked Eisenach and poured into Thuringia. And if Heinrich and Tom hadn't done the same in the south, Suhl would now be burning.'

Half-angrily: 'So what else could you do?'

Mike said nothing. Again, Mackay shook his head. 'You must face a reality. You are simply too small, Mike. Half of Europe-no, two-thirds of it!-is now arrayed against you.'

He jerked his head toward the prisoners. 'The Spanish army is perhaps the most powerful in the world. On land, at least. If they ever get over their obsession with reconquering Holland, God help the rest of Europe.' Pointing to the southeast. 'And now Wallenstein has amassed that huge army outside Nьrnberg. A hundred thousand men, he must have by now-a force equal to the population of Thuringia.'

He shrugged. 'And if you defeat all of them, then what? Can you march into Spain and Austria and crush the Habsburgs in their lair? And what about Richelieu, and the power of France? They are also now your enemies, clearly enough.'

He waited. Mike was silent. Mackay moved his stare to Frank and Harry. They, too, said nothing.

'If you do not destroy the Habsburg dynasty-and the French, and the Papacy and the Poles and the Russians, for that matter-they will remain an ever-present threat. And you have no way of doing that. Before too long, the ammunition for the M-60 will be gone. Within a year, even with your capacity for reloading, you will run out of ammunition for your modern rifles. Long before the Habsburgs will run out of money and soldiers. Then what? How long can you hold Europe at bay, even with your technology? The powers arrayed against you can gear up while you gear down-and they are immeasurably larger than you are.'

Silence.

Mike heaved a sigh. 'Yeah, Alex, I know. I've been thinking about it a lot, lately.' He managed a rueful smile. 'It's about all I think about, in fact.'

'Well, think about it later,' snapped Frank. 'We've got today to deal with. What do you want to do?'

Frank's question broke through Mike's paralysis. He stared at the Spanish prisoners for a few seconds. Then:

'Let 'em go. All of them except the officers and the priests. We can keep those locked up in Eisenach for a few weeks. March the rest of them straight west for maybe ten miles and then send them on their way. Tell them we'll kill any who turn back.'

Jackson started to protest but Mike waved him silent. 'We haven't got time to mess around with them, Frank!'

Alex was nodding his agreement. 'I can leave you Lennox and a few hundred cavalrymen to ride flank. The rest of my men and myself will start back to Grantville.' He left unspoken the obvious: Not that cavalry can get back in time to do any good.

Mackay's support crystallized Mike's determination. 'Right. Frank, you and the infantrymen stay here, until you're sure the Spaniards are gone for good. Harry, gather up the APCs and cram as many men into them as possible. We're heading back right now.'

He glanced at his watch. 'Even on that road, the APCs can make it back in three or four hours. So let's go!'

He left unspoken the obvious: Not that three or four hours will be in time either.

Chapter 57

Most of Grantville's residential areas were south of Buffalo Creek. The Croats had begun their approach to the town on that same side of the creek. But their commanders, wanting to maintain surprise, had crossed the creek miles downstream and circled to the north. There, in the uninhabited hills between the town, the school and the power plant, the imperial cavalry had been able to move unseen.

Almost unseen. They did encounter a small crew of tree trimmers, engaged in clearing foliage away from the power lines. Croat light cavalry were superb woodsmen, so the tree trimmers were caught by surprise. The three men in the crew were butchered within seconds. The cavalrymen were prepared to linger over the woman, but an officer arrived and demanded dispatch. For all their well-deserved savage reputation, the Croats were not undisciplined freebooters. They made only token protest before decapitating her.

Once they reached the northern outskirts of Grantville, the commanders of the cavalry detachment sent against the town-about a third of the entire force-ordered the charge. Whooping their war cries, seven hundred Croats began pouring through the small streets, lancing and sabering Three dogs, a cat, and Mrs. Flannery. As pigheaded and irascible as she had been throughout her eighty-one years of life, the widow had refused to evacuate. The Croats found her standing in her yard, shrieking the same imprecations at them which she had visited on her neighbors for decades. The cavalryman who cut her down even hesitated for five seconds, he was so bemused by the sight.

For a few minutes, the Croats' attack was delayed as the cavalrymen smashed into the deserted houses, looking for victims. Kill everyone, they had been told. Especially Jews.

The qualifier, as Wallenstein's officers had foretold, was pointless. The Croats had only the vaguest notion of how to distinguish Jews from gentiles, and they were not, in any event, a soldiery given to making fine distinctions. As far as they were concerned, the operative phrase was: Kill everyone.

But there was no one to kill.

'Empty-again!' barked the officer, as he led his men out of yet another house. His commanding officer was waiting on the street outside, perched on his horse. While the officer made a hurried report, his men amused themselves with vandalism. But even the vandalism was petty-smashed windows and sabered furniture-since the cavalrymen were under orders not to linger.

The commander's snarl was ferocious. 'They've been warned.' He pointed to the center of town, whose taller buildings were clearly visible not more than two hundred yards away. 'But they can't have gotten far. Gather the troops!'

It was the work of another few minutes to round up the soldiers from their futile house-wrecking. By the time the Croats reassembled, several of the homes were starting to burn. But even the arson was petty. The cavalrymen had been expecting a lightning strike aimed at massacre. They had brought little in the way of incendiary supplies and were not given enough time to set proper fires.

'Charge!' the commander bellowed. The order was relayed to the separate detachments gathered in the streets. Seven hundred Croats pounded toward Grantville's center, shrieking with murderous fury.

***

The fifteen hundred Croats surrounding the school were also shrieking, but theirs was a frustrated fury. Coming down onto the school from the ridge to the north, they had found no easy access into the buildings. Nor had they expected any. Their scouts had already reported that the school's vulnerability was on the south side.

Then, after circling, the Croats discovered the buses blocking off the entrances. For a moment, they milled around in confusion, hundreds of horses stamping their hooves on unfamiliar pavement. Within a minute, the large parking lot south of the school was covered with soldiers, staring at the bizarre yellow contraptions barring their way.