"Eric Flint & David Weber - 1634 - The Baltic War42" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

Near Grantville, in the State of Thuringia

December 1633
Colonel Jesse Wood turned off the computer in his office, removed the floppy disk and carefully slid it
into its protective sleeve. It was a copy of the original disk he had already placed in an envelope and
addressed to Mike Stearns, the Prime Minister of the United States of Europe. The copy itself was
destined for Admiral John Simpson, Chief of Naval Operations, advisor to the head of all the USE's
armed forces, and one of the chief architects of the new nation's growing industrial capability in
Magdeburg.
And how he manages all three, I have no idea, Jesse thought. Lord knows I always feel about two weeks
behind in my sleep. At least this report should cheer him up.
The thought wasn't as sour as it would have been some months earlier. In fact, it was rather respectful.
Whatever Jesse thought of the way John Simpson had conducted himself in the two years following the
Ring of Fire, the man's actions after Mike Stearns had put him in charge of the new little navyтАФ
especially during and after the Battle of WismarтАФhad pretty much washed all that old antagonism away.
As it had, Jesse knew, for Stearns himself. Simpson might have been a disaster as a political leader, but
there was no denying that as a pure and simple military commander he had a lot going for him. Even if
his insistence on the punctilio of military protocol still rubbed Jesse the wrong way, now and then.
The colonel squinted out the window at the unseasonably bright, late afternoon sunlight, catching a
glimpse of Master Sergeant Friedrich Krueger giving the welcoming briefing to a bunch of newly
arrived recruits. The sergeant was not being gentle about it. A recruit was on the ground, rubbing his
head, no doubt after having been instructed in some fine detail of service courtesy. The tall German
NCO had well earned his nickname of Freddy Krueger, although Jesse doubted he understood the
allusion.
He watched as the sergeant pointed to the white stripes on the sleeve of the dark brown jumpsuit that
was his uniform. Perhaps he does, though, Jesse reflected. God knows they made enough of those
crappy movies. One's sure to be in town somewhere.
Jesse made a mental note to ask Major Horton to have another word with the NCO about his temper. He
had to admit that Krueger's techniques were highly effective, if rather crude. Still, there was no sense in
beating men who had just arrived, since they probably didn't yet have enough sense to absorb the lesson.
Looking at the assembled recruits, Jesse felt he knew the source of Krueger's irritation. They were a very

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 - Chapter 1


mixed bag, as all of the latest had been. Recalling the roster on his desk, Jesse thought he could spot
their origins, for the most part. Among the fifteen men, he saw several Dutch, a couple of Bavarians,
other Germans of all regions and dialect, two Spanish deserters, and a Swede. One man, by his dress,
appeared to be either a nobleman or the son of a rich merchant.
I wonder what he's running from? Jesse mused. Well, it doesn't matter, he's in Freddy's gentle care,
now. I'll wager not one of them knows a word of English. I wonder how many of them brought families
with them?
They were refugees for the most part, from all over Europe. The same sort of people who filled the ranks
of most of the armies of the era. Mercenaries, at bottom, regardless of the official label of "citizen
soldiers" they had in the United States of Europe.
Unfortunately from Jesse's point of view, although it saved him a lot of grief in other ways, the air force
didn't get too many volunteers from the Committees of Correspondence. He'd been surprised by that, at
first, since Hans Richter had been an airman and Hans was the poster boy for the CoCs. But after a little
experience, the reason had become obvious enough. Lots of enthusiastic CoC members volunteered to