1636： The Saxon Uprising ARC - By Eric Flint Page 0,122
was a given in February.
“Fucking Hans,” muttered one of the guards. “He has got to be the greediest provisioner in Saxony.”
“In Königstein, anyway,” agreed one of his mates. He shifted the musket strapped over his shoulder. “Of course, he’s the only military provisioner in the town.”
“All the less excuse he has,” said a third guard. He was the corporal in charge of the little detachment. “He’s got no competition. So why is he forcing poor Heinrich out in this miserable weather?”
The fourth guard was more philosophically inclined. “It’s February and we’re in Saxon Switzerland. When is the weather not going to be miserable? At least this way, coming this late, Heinrich and his son can spent the night here. Better than that hovel they live in down in the valley.”
The cart had come nearer. The first guard frowned. “That’s not Heinrich’s son with him. It’s some fellow I don’t know.”
He wasn’t alarmed. There could be any number of reasons the teamster was being assisted today by someone other than his son.
“That’s a new cart too,” said the second soldier. “Big damn thing. What’s he hauling in it, do you think?”
“Turnips, what else?”
As it turned out, Heinrich’s big new wagon was full of soldiers. Soldiers who were better armed than the four guards and a lot more alert.
The teamster’s new assistant turned out to be a captain in the fabled Hangman Regiment of the Third Division. Who would have guessed?
There was no violence. The guards were quick to see reason. Besides, they didn’t much care anyway. They worked for General von Arnim, who hadn’t moved once out of Leipzig since all the trouble started. What clearer signal could one ask for?
“We’re not part of this,” insisted the corporal, as he handed over his musket.
“Not any longer, for sure,” agreed the Hangman captain cheerfully. “Now, fellows, we’d appreciate it if you’d open the gate. And show us to the mess hall. Most of your mates will be gathered for supper now.”
They had good intelligence too.
Once the gate was opened, hundreds of soldiers materialized out of the woods below the fortress, like ghosts. They were wearing peculiar white camouflage outfits. Quite superb, really, for Saxony in winter. Who could have known they were there?
The capture of most of the garrison in the mess hall went smoothly and easily. Those soldiers were even less inclined to put up a fight than the guards, since most of them were completely unarmed.
Who brings weapons to eat supper in the mess hall? Only someone expecting a surprise attack, and who would expect that?
The garrison’s commander was captured in his own rooms, where he was having a private supper with the servant who doubled as his concubine.
She screeched with outrage. He put up no fight at all.
The captain in charge of the armory was a jackass and proved it once again. He did put up a fight—such as it was; a pistol against four rifled muskets, and he fumbled the wheel-lock mechanism to boot—and got shot to pieces for his efforts.
Good riddance, was the general attitude. A man like that could get you killed.
And for what? Von Arnim was late with the pay again. To make things worse, that probably wasn’t even his fault. The Swedish chancellor was turning out to be every bit as unreliable a paymaster as the late and unlamented Elector of Saxony.
“You want a different job?” Heinrich asked the corporal who’d been at the gate. The teamster was in a good mood now that the danger had passed with no harm done to himself or his equipment. He’d quite forgiven the soldiers of the Hangman Regiment for high-jacking his wagon and locking his son in a closet. “I think business is going to pick up. The Hangman pays with beckies. And people I know in Tetschen say they never stiff you either.”
It was worth thinking about. The soldier’s trade had some major drawbacks. It wasn’t as dangerous as handling livestock, if you could keep from getting sick. But the erratic pay could get nerve-wracking. Besides, the corporal was getting to an age where he should start thinking about getting married. Not too many women were willing to marry a soldier, unless he was an officer, and the ones who were…
Tetschen, near the border between Saxony and Bohemia
“I wasn’t expecting you here this soon, sir.” said David Bartley.
Mike Stearns looked around the airfield. A platoon of soldiers from the Hangman was standing at attention nearby. An honor guard to escort him to the regiment’s headquarters,