The Bavarian Gate

35

Points of View

Greszak had long since lost any real interest in the training project. Life had grown monotonous, boring, to the point that al looked forward to--all any of them looked forward to was returning to Hithmearc. Next to the boredom, the worst thing about this place was being cut off from the hive mind- except for the fragment consisting of their own small group. One got used to it, but only to a degree.

For him, the high point had come to be the spring birds caroling in the new day-he'd been getting up at daybreak to hear them-and the low point, this week, been the antics of the human guardsmen bouncing and shouting on the -dawn in some grotesque rite of spring. Watching through a window, he wished them ill as they filed back into the building.

At first, training Germans in magic had seemed a challenge, but had become essentially a defeat. In Hithmearc, training humans in magic had never even been contemplated, of course; first it was undesirable, and secondly, few showed talent. Even in the two races that had-the Saanit and the Ylver-the talent had been quite limited. As a precaution, both peoples had been dispersed-destroyed so far as possible. The remnants of the Saanit had f led into the vast harsh taiga east of the grasslands. While the Ylver who'd survived-the island Ylver-had fled west across the ocean sea, an escape his people would never forgive.

The Germans had no more talent than usual for humans: A few showed one or another ability, but always minor. Still, it had been interesting for a while to see what could be spade of them. Some had gained modestly, but soon reached a limit, perhaps because they lacked the hive mind. The most successful had been the one named Montag-amusing to be named for a calendar day-but even Montag had reached his limit well below adept.

Nonetheless it had heartened Landgraf and Kupfer to send him off against their enemies, and in fact, Montag should prove useful to them. But overall, as a magician he was no more powerful than the Ylvin magicians of ancient record.

Meanwhile Greszak's staff went through the motions of teaching, while looking forward to going home. The Crown Prince would arrive through the gate shortly, bringing a circle of seven adepts and a power master, and after two days of acclimation and briefing, would send them with the Germans to some meaningless place on the northwest coast, to repel invaders.

And when they'd been sent, the Germans would complete their part of the bargain. They'd already delivered detailed diagrams for building large sailing vessels-their most vital contribution-and had tried to deliver powerful explosives. Now they would deliver tools, models, and less utilitarian artifacts, along with a medicine they claimed to have against seasickness.

It would be interesting to go north themselves, he and his staff, and in an early stage of planning, it had been considered But the Crown Prince had decided otherwise. There were risks, and they all were masters, well beyond the level needed by the Germans; adepts would serve nicely.

A sensation touched Greszak: The gate had begun its daily activation. He felt its energy rising, shaping. In perhaps half an hour, the Crown Prince and the team he was bringing would arrive at the schloss on foot, their disorientation and queasiness repaired by the run.

A bird landed on the window sill and looked in at Greszak. The baron didn't know the names of Bavarian birds, but this one looked rather like the speckled thrush at home. He grinned at it, and it cocked its head as if to say, "Who are you?"

"I am Baron Greszak," the Voitu replied, "and who are you?"

its answer was to flirt its tail and fly. Probably, Greszak thought, it had a nest close by, perhaps under the eaves.

He returned his attention to the gate energy. Activation involved frequency acceleration, and he sensed it culminate. Then, after the brief and customary waver, it stabilized-and at that same moment cut sharply off.

Greszak's face froze. Aborted! What had happened to the gate?

His consternation lasted only a moment. Nothing was wrong with the gate itself. Their spell had simply collapsed. I been inevitable, but Kurqosz's calculations had predicted eleven lunar cycles before it happened After a period of dangerous irregularity, it should settle on its natural timing-midnights nearest the full moon. Meanwhile he would salvage the situation on this side; in the absence of the new team, he'd fulfill the agreement using his staff, himself acting as power master. To panic a human army would be no challenge at all. More like entertainment.

Colonel Landgraf had been disturbed at Greszak's news. The Crown Prince's magnetism and power had more than made up for his arrogance, and the colonel had felt assured by his presence. But Greszak had promised that the project would be carried out despite the mishap, and Landgraf did not doubt him.

The buzzer on his desk rasped. "What is it, Kupfer?"

"There is a local farmer to see you, sir, about a matter that seems quite important. I believe he should tell you himself." Landgraf frowned. What would a local farmer have to say that Kupfer couldn't take care of? "Send him in, Kupfer"

A moment later the farmer entered, a middle-aged man of middle-height and sturdy build, in work clothes, his battered felt hat clutched in a thick fingered hand. In the other was a large paper bag. His bald skull was ivory above sun-reddened cheeks, his eyebrows yellow-brown, the eyes beneath them blue. In all, he resembled many of the farmers in Landgrafs home district, though Landgraf knew that when the man spoke, his dialect would spoil the resemblance.

"Guten Tag, Herr Oberst," he farmer said apologetically, and bobbed an almost bow. "I have found something the colonel may wish to know about."

"Let us see it, sir. "

The farmer opened the paper bag and took out a small orange parachute perhaps seventy centimeters across, with a long, orange sack attached, both of some silk-like material.

"It was caught on the wire fence at the north end of my pasture woods," he said. "I do not know how it came there, but it seems to have been deposited forcibly. See how it was torn!" He spread the material to show a ragged tear.

And in its sack I found this." He drew from it what the colonel recognized as either fuse or detonation coal, depending on its origin. The farmer laid it on the colonel's desk, reached in the bag again. `And these," he added. Taking out a drawstring pouch, he emptied it carefully into his hand and gently laid a handful of brass capsules beside the fuse. "I was a sapper in the Kaiser's army," he said. "These are detonators, as for dynamite. "

Landgraf's face went wooden. What did this mean? "In your pasture woods?" he said. "Let me see the parachute."

The farmer handed it to him. Numbers were stenciled along its edge, and in small block letters, "u. s. ARMY. "

Lieber Gott! Landgraf breathed, and looked up at the farmer. "You are to be commended for bringing this to me. What is your name?"

"Gruber, Herr Oberst. Wilhelm Gruber."

Landgraf turned his gaze to the door and stood up. "Hauptsturmfuhrer Kupfer!" he called, "see that Herr Gruber receives a proper commendation for this!"

Kupfer been waiting by the door, and looked in. "Yes Sir, Colonel. "

Landgraf extended a hand. After brief hesitation, the farmer took it, and they shook. "You are dismissed, Herr Gruber. "

"Yessir colonel sir," Gruber replied, did a rusty about face, and left. Kupfer closed the door behind him, then Landgraf keyed the intercom to the watch room and snapped an order. In scarcely a minute, Lieutenant Lipanov arrived with three men. The colonel showed him what the farmer had brought.

"I do not know what this means," Landgraf said, "but you and I are going to visit the magazines."

They marched from his office then, not through Kupfer's, but directly into the hallway, downstairs into the cellar corridor, and down the corridor to the magazines. A corporal unlocked the first magazine door and opened it. To Landgraf's eyes, everything seemed all right.

"Search it!" he ordered, and the three enlisted men entered, all of them for the first time. A minute later the corporal looked apologetically at the commanding officer.

"Sir, I find nothing out of order! "Good. Let us look at the other." They moved to the next room. It too passed.

Landgraf stood frowning. Are there ways into the cellar from outside?

"Yes sir, colonel," Lipanov said. "At the end is a back entrance, with a door that is kept barred. And the coal bunker room has a small door for a coal chute, that a man could crawl through."

"Have them both checked immediately. And Lieutenant, I want two men on guard here at the magazines. At all times. Also one in the furnace room, and double the guards at the front entrance. This finding may have nothing at all to do with us, but we must take no chances."

Then he turned and left the cellar, muttering about phoning Munich. He'd tell them once again that they really needed to remove this high explosive. Since the aliens could not use it, it served no purpose here.

Munich. And after all, he did wear the Iron Cross, the old one that really meant something. At some time in his life he'd been a warrior and a hero.

Meanwhile, Lipanov told himself, I'll set lookouts on balconies during the day. And guards outside at night, in pairs, with orders to shoot anything that moves. American paratroops are all criminals-rapists an murderers released from prisons to fight us-everyone knows that. They scruple at nothing.

Lipanov watched him leave. Was that all? he wondered Three guards in the cellar and two more at the entrance? Who had dropped that parachute? Americans, obviously. And to whom? A demolitions team, of course. As for why. This was the only military installation for many kilometers, so obviously the schloss was the target, the schloss or perhaps the aliens. Yet the colonel was treating the affair as if they were dealing with ordinary criminals. What they should do was request a battalion be sent to hunt them down.

Well. Perhaps he intended to, he'd mumbled something about phoning someone.