Rebecca snorted. "What woman in her right mind would listen to such?" She smiled slyly. "This requires feminine sagacity."

They were at the door, and relinquished the embrace. Rebecca paused before entering. "I will speak to the lady," she announced.

Mike eyed her skeptically. "And say what? Your own words of wisdom?"

"Absurd," she replied. Idly, her fingers stroked her hair. "I said nothing of 'wisdom.' Only sagacity."

She swept through the door. Over her shoulder: "You would not understand, Michael. You do not read enough poetry."

"Not any," grumbled her fiancй. Thereby, quite unknowingly, proving her point.

Once he entered the room, Mike pulled up a chair and sat down at the conference table. Glancing around, he saw that the entire committee was already gathered except Frank Jackson.

"Frank will be along later," he explained. "Along with Gretchen Higgins. They're seeing to the new prisoners." He turned back to Rebecca, who had taken her usual seat next to Melissa. "I'd like to start the meeting with a report on the Swedish movements."

Rebecca clasped her hands on the table, as she always did when giving a report. Then:

"Gustav Adolf left a garrison in Erfurt-after stripping the town clean of all its hard currency-and marched straight south. He passed through Arnstadt on the seventh. Yesterday. He did not stop, however. According to reports from some of the hunters, he was driving his army very hard. By now they must be south of the Thuringenwald."

Rebecca's face was creased with worry. "The Swedes have stripped the entire central province of the bulk of its stored food. They paid for it, mind you. There was no looting." She laughed harshly. "Except for the archbishop's gold in Erfurt, of course, which is what they used to buy their provisions."

Willie Ray Hudson snorted. "Great! So everybody in central Thuringia's got a pocket full of money and no food. Except us, and Badenburg. We were apparently too far east for the Swedish quartermasters to reach in the time available."

"And winter's a-coming," muttered Nat Davis.

Mike held up his hand. "Later for that. I want to get filled in on the political situation first. Who did Gustav leave in charge of Thuringia?"

"Well, most of it officially belongs to the Saxe-Weimar brothers," said Rebecca. "But Bernard, according to reports, is staying with the Swedish army." Again, that harsh laugh. "It seems he has developed a bit of a military reputation and finds that profession more interesting than taking care of the people he supposedly rules."

"What a surprise," sneered Underwood. "Goddam noblemen!"

Mike grinned at him. "Hey, Quentin-it's okay by me. The fewer noblemen hanging around here the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Rebecca cleared her throat. "Wilhelm, on the other hand-he is the oldest-stayed behind. He has set up his headquarters in Weimar. But the word is that he will not be staying long. He is supposed to recruit eleven thousand men. Field Marshall Banйr is to raise an equivalent number in Erfurt. Added to the forces Banйr already has, the Swedes think that should be enough to go after Pappenheim while the king himself continues south after Tilly. Pappenheim is apparently running an independent operation now."

Mike did not press Rebecca for an explanation as to the sources of her information. He didn't need to. Her father and uncle were both experienced spies, and by now they had created a network throughout central Germany. The network was broader than that, actually. Working through the Jews scattered all over Europe, the two brothers had informants penetrating large parts of the entire Holy Roman Empire.

He tapped his fingers on the table. "It sounds as if Wilhelm will be leaving soon also."

Rebecca nodded. Mike's finger tapping turned into a decisive little rap. "So. The long and the short of it is this."

His eyes slowly scanned the room, while he held up his fingers one at a time.

"One. The war has now moved south of Thuringia, over to the other side of the Thuringenwald. Two. Official 'order' has been restored in Thuringia-and is about to be removed again. Three. Most noblemen in the area-the ones active in political life, anyway-are either gone or going. The Catholic ones will have fled and the Protestants are seeking fame and glory with the Swedes. Four. The economic situation in the province is going to be desperate in a few weeks. Five. On the other hand, the area is flush with hard currency."

He turned to Rebecca. "That about sums it up, I think." Again, she nodded.

Now, Mike slapped the table top with his palm. The hard, cracking sound matched his voice.

"Wonderful! Couldn't have asked for anything better!"

Everyone was staring at him. Mike laughed gaily. "And will you look at you?" he demanded. "Problems, problems-that's all you see."

He clenched his fist and held it half-raised. "Now's the time," he stated firmly. "While the cat's away, the mice will play. The war's come and gone until next spring, at the earliest. Probably next summer. The only thing that's going to matter between now and then-six to eight months-is who can keep this province's people alive. Alive-and by God well!"

Quentin Underwood was the first to see Mike's point. That was not surprising. As often as he and Underwood clashed in the committee meetings, Mike had found that his former mine manager usually had a better grasp of economic realities than anyone. Moreover, unlike most of the Americans, Quentin's hardheadedness did not lead him to flights of fancy concerning American military supremacy. As a young man serving aboard an aircraft carrier in the South China Sea, he had gotten a good lesson in the limits of hardware. The technological disparity between the aircraft which flew off that carrier and the men they bombed in the forests below had not been substantially different from that between Grantville's Americans and seventeenth-century Germans. Once before, in another universe, Quentin Underwood had seen machinery defeated by men. He intended to be on the other side of that equation, in this new world.

"You're right!" he exclaimed excitedly. "And the timing couldn't be better, from our point of view. We're set."

Underwood began counting on his own fingers. "First, we're out of the woods on the power plant. The coal's been coming in for the last week."

Bill Porter nodded. "Enough of it for the time being, anyway. Once that steam locomotive gets finished, we'll be flush. We should be free and clear until next summer, when critical parts might start going. And by then the new power plant should be ready to go on line."

Underwood continued. "Second, we've got more food coming in than we'll need ourselves." He chuckled dryly. "It's kind of amazing how many little farms there were tucked away all through these hills and woods. Every one of which is now eager to sell their produce, since we've brought some security and stability back into southeast Thuringia."

Willie Ray snorted. "What's so surprising about that? Think farmers are stupid?"

Quentin ignored the quip. "Three, the machine shops are roaring full blast. Three shifts, round the clock-seven days a week."

Nat David grinned. "Had to start hiring lots of German help. Take me awhile, training them to be modern machinists. But I'm only hiring men with metal-working experience and there's a lot of them in this area. Biggest problem I've got is a shortage of metal."

Ed Piazza picked up the thread. "Not much longer, Nat. Uriel Abrabanel just told me there's at least four suppliers ready and willing to start shipping in raw material-as soon as we can come up with the hard currency." He laughed dryly. "Credit's not real big in Germany, this time of the millennium."