Mike’s eyes moved over to the truly impressive stock of firearms and other weapons Harry had also brought up from Grantville. Some of those weapons . . .
“What the hell is that?” he demanded, pointing a finger.
Harry’s grin seemed fixed on his face. He nodded toward the German soldier standing at his side. “Something Gerd came up with. He can’t shoot a gun to save his life, except close range—where he’s purely hell on—well . . .”
Harry managed to keep the grin, but let the sentence trail off. Mike didn’t push the matter. He knew, from private sources, of the personal revenge which Gerd had taken on several of Tilly’s mercenaries shortly after he’d arrived in Grantville. The police had chosen to look the other way, at the time. The killings had taken place outside their jurisdiction, for one thing. For another . . .
Some people just plain needed killing. Harry and Gerd saw eye to eye on that, and Mike couldn’t really say he disagreed. Certainly not on this evening, waiting in Magdeburg while his wife was under Spanish siege in Amsterdam and several young men he thought the world of were about to face war’s destruction in Wismar.
Harry glided on through the momentary, awkward pause. “But he’s a whiz with a crossbow, and we decided we could fix us up some kind of—well, what would you call it? Think of it as a poor man’s mortar, howzat. And we’ve got several different kinds of ammo for it too, that’s the best part.”
Harry spent the next minute or so cheerfully explaining the variations he’d be able to play in the future on the general air of havoc. A projected fugue of mayhem; composed by a 17th-century young German veteran of Tilly’s savage armies, and orchestrated by a young hard-ass from the hills of West Virginia.
Mike made a token protest. “You’re just trying to get into Amsterdam,” he pointed out.
Harry shook his head firmly. “Stick to politics, Mike. You’re not thinking ahead, the way us secret agent types gotta do. What happens after we deliver Anne and the stuff to Amsterdam? Huh?”
As it happened, Mike had given some thought to that, but he’d kept his speculations entirely to himself. They were too wild and woolly at the moment to advance openly.
He looked back and forth from Harry to Gerd. Captain Wild and sidekick, Sergeant Woolly.
“It’s England next, for sure,” pronounced Harry. Gerd nodded firmly. “Gotta be.”
The grin was still there, but it was a lean and savage thing now. “Keep our people locked up, will they? Including my good buddy Darryl? Fat chance.”
“We’ll start in Scotland first,” added Gerd. “We’re not rash, you know. Just bold. So it’d be nice to have Julie and her rifle along. For that matter, Alex Mackay is a nasty character in a pinch.” He swelled out his chest. “Can’t shoot a gun either, of course. Men of our times! Brave, fearless. Muzzle-in-the-belly types, stare the Devil in the eye.”
Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or roll his eyes. He wound up doing both.
“Just make sure you wait for orders,” he growled. He gave Harry the sternest look he was capable of. “You’re a soldier now, you know. Full-grown, too. So I want none of your wild and woolly kid-stuff stunts.”
Both Harry and Gerd looked aggrieved. “Well—hell, yes!” protested Harry. “Who ever heard of James Bond types not following orders?”
Remembering several movies he’d seen, Mike was not entirely reassured. But . . .
They were the best he had. Nor was he sorry of it. Mike was quite certain that if anyone could bring life into Amsterdam and death into London, it would be Harry Lefferts and his hand-picked wrecking crew. Especially with Darryl and Tom Simpson and the Mackays waiting at the other end in Britain.
“Oh, well,” he muttered. “I guess the tourist trade was pretty well shot anyway.”
Later that evening, after sundown, Harry and Gerd invited Mike to join them for a drink at the tavern near the naval yard which had become the unofficial watering hole of the U.S. Navy and the CoC militants who were their fierce partisans. Mike hesitated, for a moment. Then, deciding that there was really nothing further he could do until news came the following day of the impending battle at Wismar, he gave his assent.