before the Croat sabers arrived.
The first Croat charged up, saber held high. Jeff went to meet him. The Croat had time to be amazed at how quickly the big man in front of him moved, before the butt of the shotgun shattered his jaw.
A saber cut into Jeff's right shoulder, knocking him to the floor of the gym. Instantly, his entire arm and side were soaked with blood. The muscle was cut through to the bone. Only the tough leather jacket had kept that sword stroke from amputating his arm entirely.
Half-dazed by the shock, Jeff stared up at the man who had slashed him down. Snarling, the Croat raised the saber again.
Then, to Jeff's amazement, the Croat's head exploded. Cut in half, rather, by a saber which descended like the hammer of an ancient war god. The Croat was driven to his knees. A twist of the powerful wrist holding the saber broke the blade lose from the skull and cast the victim aside.
Jeff found himself staring at a huge man, grinning down at him. Immense, he was. Tall, broad, heavy as an ox. His pale blue eyes, peering down over a powerful nose, were gleaming like glacier ice.
Captain Gars led the charge into the gymnasium, still roaring his battle cry. Anders was at his side, roaring the same. Not half a step behind came dozens of the Vдstgцta and Finns. Walls which had once rung to the sound of cheerleaders' slogans now shook with the fury of the Northmen.
Gott mit uns!
The captain himself cut down the Croat who had been about to kill the young American on the floor. Then, standing over him like a protective idol, he bellowed commands to his soldiers. It was the work of less than fifteen seconds to drive the rest of the Croats to the rear wall of the gymnasium.
Led by Anders, the Vдstgцta flooded the area in front of the tiered seats, protecting the students. At the captain's command, his Finns moved forward against the enemy.
At the end, the surviving imperial cavalrymen-perhaps twenty in all-tried to surrender. They received the traditional Finnish terms.
Haakaa pддlle!
Julie and Gretchen reached the broken doors of the gymnasium at exactly the same time. Dan Frost was a few steps behind.
As soon as she saw Jeff, Gretchen raced to his side. By now, several of the students trained in first aid were clustered about him, removing his jacket and staunching the wound. Gretchen forced her way through, knelt, and cradled his head in her lap. Weeping as she had not wept in years.
'S'okay,' her husband mumbled. He even managed a wan smile. 'S'okay, sweetheart-honest. Nothing but a little flesh wound.' Then his eyes rolled up and he fainted.
Julie stood in the doorway, staring at Captain Gars. Her eyes seemed as wide as saucers.
The captain was also having a wound tended to. Nothing major, to all outward appearance. But at Jцnsson's insistence, the captain had removed his buff coat and blouse. His upper body was bare and exposed. Very pale-skinned he was, with a carpet of blond hair on his chest. Thick muscle bulged under layers of fat.
'You see?' he grumbled. The captain pressed the heavy flesh aside, exposing the cut along his ribs. The gash was shallow, and perhaps three inches long. Plainly enough, it would soon be nothing but a minor blemish on a torso which was already heavily scarred. Captain Gars seemed utterly oblivious to the blood soaking his hip.
'It's nothing,' he insisted. Anders sighed with exasperation and handed him a scarf. The captain pressed the cloth against the wound.
Motion caught his eye. Captain Gars turned his head and squinted at the person coming toward him. When the figure finally came into focus, he grinned.
Julie covered the last few steps in a rush. A moment later, equally oblivious to the blood, she was hugging the huge body of the captain fiercely. Much like a chipmunk might embrace a bear.
The captain seemed startled, at first. Then his fierce warrior's face softened. After a few seconds, he was returning the embrace. A bit gingerly, at first. Afraid, perhaps, that he might crush the girl in his arms. But then, as he felt the muscle beneath his hands and remembered the sheer force of her spirit, the embrace grew warm and tight.
'Iss all right,' he murmured, in his thick and awkward English. 'I not bad hurt.'
Julie's head popped up from his chest. Craning her neck, she glared at the captain.
'You could have gotten killed!' she squealed. 'What are you-
'Yes,' stated Anders gloomily. 'The captain is a madman. It is well known.'
When Rebecca came into the gymnasium a minute later, Julie was still hugging the captain.
Finally! Someone to call the madman to his senses!
Rebecca burst into soft laughter. Dan Frost, standing next to her, was frowning with puzzlement.
'I don't get it,' he hissed. 'Does Julie know that guy from somewhere? They say his name's Captain Gars.'
Rebecca choked off the laughter. 'Oh, yes. They've met before.'
She stared at the immense man in the center of the room. Her own eyes softened.
'What a lunatic,' she murmured. 'He has not done this in many years. Not since he was a young man, according to the history books.' Again, she laughed.
Dan was scowling fiercely. 'I still don't-'
'Captain Gars,' said Rebecca. 'To the best of my knowledge, he is the only king in history who ever actually did it outside of fable. Travel in disguise, I mean, assuming the pose of a simple soldier. The books claim that he scouted half of western Europe in that fashion.'
The police chief's eyes widened. His jaw sagged.
'Oh, yes,' chuckled Rebecca. 'Captain Gars. Gustavus Adolphus Rex Sueciae.'
Part Seven
Chapter 59
By the time they reached Grantville, Mike had reached his conclusion. He didn't much care for it, in many ways. But he knew it was-by far-the best alternative.
If nothing else, listening to Harry Lefferts' monologue during the drive from Eisenach had convinced him. Once they got word over the radio that the imperialist raid had been driven off, with light casualties, everyone in the relief column had been able to relax. Cheerfully, enthusiastically-even gaily-Harry had spent the last two hours explaining all the many ways in which the United States could be made safe from any future invasion or attack.
Barbed wire. Land mines. Fortresses along every approach bristling with Gatling guns-we can make 'em, Mike, I'm telling you!-and napalm catapults. Greg says we can make phosphorus bombs too-way better'n napalm! A much bigger army-universal dra
Outside of the poison gas, Mike had no particular problem with any of Harry's specific ideas. But, taken as a whole, he understood the inexorable logic involved.
When the relief column reached the center of Grantville, driving slowly through the cheering crowd, Harry stopped the APC. He turned to Mike, smiling broadly.
'So, chief-whaddaya think?'
Mike did not return the smile. 'What I think, Harry, is that your proposal is just Simpson all over again. Only bigger.'
Harry's smile vanished, replaced by a look of bewildered outrage. The young coal miner
Mike couldn't help but chuckle. At that instant, Harry reminded him of a small boy, accused of liking
'Think it through, Harry.' Mike listened to the roar of the crowd, for a moment. Even through the steel plate armor, the sound penetrated easily. There was nothing about that sound that Mike disliked, in and of itself. It was just the roar of a triumphant nation, saluting its soldiers. Nothing to fear-as long as it ended soon enough.
But if it went on, and on, and on…
It was obvious that Harry still didn't understand. Mike began to sigh with exasperation, but forced himself to control his impatience. Like a schoolteacher, explaining things again. And again. And again-as long as it took.
That image brought a smile to his face.
He bestowed the smile on Harry. 'Didn't you wonder? Why Wallenstein sent most of his Croats against the school-instead of the town?'
Harry frowned. 'I dunno. He's a murderous bastard, from what everybody says.'
