"The Lions?" choked Nichols.
Mike grinned. "Yup. They're keeping it quiet, of course. Give them some credit, James. Sure, Gretchen and her firebrands make them twitchy, but even the town's stodgiest businessman knows we're in a fight for our lives. The Knights of Columbus aren't even trying to keep quiet about their own donations. As Catholics, they're determined to prove as publicly as possible that they're the most loyal citizens around."
James grunted. In the sometimes bizarre way that history works, the officially Protestant Confederated Principalities of Europe-in that portion of it under U.S. jurisdiction, with its rigorously applied principles of freedom of religion-had become a haven for central Europe's Catholics. By now, between the influx of immigrants and the incorporation of western Franconia after the victory of Gustav and his American allies over the Habsburgs at the battle of the Alte Veste, the majority of the population of the United States might well be Catholic. Catholics were certainly approaching parity with the Protestant population-and, typically, were even more devoted to its (by European standards of the day) radical political principles.
Mike spread his hands. "So, like I said, look on the bright side. We're buying time, James. I know as well as you do that we could get struck by an epidemic. But, if we do, we'll at least be able to deal with the crisis with a population that's alert, getting better organized by the day, and is probably already better educated than any other in Europe outside of maybe Holland."
"I still don't see the logic of devoting so much of our resources-military ones, I'm talking about-to those ironclads Simpson is gung-ho about," said James sourly. "Those things are a damn 'resource sink.' Leaving aside all the good steel we had to turn over-I can think of better things to do with miles of steel rails left over from the Ring of Fire than just using them for armor-we had to cannibalize several big diesel engines, the best pumps in the mine…"
He trailed off. "Okay, I grant you, I wasn't at the cabinet meeting where the decision was made, since I was in Weimar dealing with that little outbreak of dysentery-at least that's something we can deal with-but your summary explanation afterward never has made much sense to me."
Mike pursed his lips and stared out the window. He wasn't surprised his synopsis of the logic hadn't made a lot of sense to James, at the time. That was because it really didn't make much sense, in purely military terms, to build an American navy allied to Gustavus Adolphus which could only operate along the rivers of central Germany. It was a pure "brown water" navy, not even a coast guard.
Mike hesitated. He was reluctant to get into the subject, because the real reason involved such cold-blooded "Realpolitik" and Machiavellian thinking that he knew most of his American-born-and-bred cabinet members would choke on it. Melissa Mailey would have had a screaming fit. Fortunately, although she'd been at the cabinet meeting, Melissa generally found all military issues so vaguely distasteful that she hadn't really carefully examined this one on its own merits. For which Mike was thankful. Whenever the woman looked past her own biases and preconceptions, she had a fiendishly sharp mind.
Nichols, as a doctor-even leaving aside his romantic involvement with Melissa-would be just as likely to choke. Especially given that, unlike many doctors Mike had known in his life, James Nichols took his profession as a healer dead seriously. The Hippocratic oath was not something James Nichols had rattled off quickly just so he could get his license and start raking in the cash.
On the other hand…
Mike studied James for a moment. The rough-featured, very dark-skinned black man returned his gaze stonily, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. There were scars on those hands which hadn't come from medical practice. Before Nichols turned his life around, he'd grown up as a street kid in one of the toughest ghettoes in Chicago. Blackstone Rangers territory that had been, in his youth.
Screw it. If this damn job requires me to lie to one of my best friends, it's not worth it.
"All right, James, I'll give it to you straight. The reason Gustav Adolf wants those ironclads is in order to secure his logistics routes in case the CPE is attacked from without. In this day and age, military supplies can be transported by water far more easily than any other way. If he can control the rivers-the Elbe, first and foremost, but also the smaller ones and the canals, especially as we keep improving them-then he's got a big edge against anyone trying to invade. But that's only part of it, and not the most important part."
He sat up straight. Harshly: "The more important reason is because he needs them-or, at least, thinks he might-in order to hold the CPE together in the first place."
Nichols' eyes widened slightly. Slightly, but… not much.
"Think about it, for Pete's sake," Mike continued. He waved his hand at the window. "The Confederated Principalities of Europe is the most ramshackle, patched-together, jury-rigged so-called realm"-the word dripped sarcasm-"the world's probably ever seen. A Swedish king ruling over a crazy quilt of German princedoms, independent imperial cities, an outright republic like ours founded by expatriate American 'up-timers'-you name it, we've got it. All of it riddled by religious bigotry and intolerance, not to mention the periodic outbursts of witch-hunting. It's something straight out of a fantasy, or a madhouse. And half of Gustav's semi-independent 'subjects'-let's start with John George of Saxony, who rules the most powerful of those princedoms-would stab him in the back in a heartbeat. While most of the rest of them-"
Nichols snorted. "Would take bets on how deep the stab wound went. And then start quarreling over who got to hold the money."
"Exactly. The whole thing could fly apart in an instant. So. Consider how the situation looks from the emperor's viewpoint. If he can improve the rivers enough, and if he can build new canals and upgrade the ones that exist, and if we can provide him with a handful of river-going ironclads which can hammer the living crap out of anybody within range, then the CPE starts looking like a viable proposition. At least, from the standpoint of naked force. Take a look at a map sometime-I can assure you Gustav Adolf has, because our surveying team provided him with the best there is today-and you'll see what I'm talking about. Consider the Elbe as the spinal cord and the aorta combined. Then look at all the branches-some rivers, some canals, some a combination of both-which tie everything together. Connects the Baltic Sea to Thuringia, Hesse-Kassel to Saxony and Brandenburg."
He smiled wolfishly. "Consider, for instance, the Finow canal which connects the Elbe and the Havel and the Oder-which, as you may know, is one of the ones Gustav has prioritized for rebuilding and upgrading. Second only, in fact, to the canals connecting the Elbe to the Baltic ports of Luebeck and Wismar. Consider what things will look like then-from the standpoint of the elector of Brandenburg, George William, who's almost as untrustworthy as the Elector of Saxony-as he contemplates one of Simpson's ironclads floating on the Havel in Berlin. With its ten-inch guns pointing at his palace."
"They could wreck the canals," protested James. "Destroy the locks, at least." But the protest was half-hearted.
Mike shrugged. "Easier said than done, James, and you know it as well as I do. With a good engineering corps-and Gustav has the best-they can be rebuilt. Besides, that all presupposes a bold and daring and well-coordinated uprising on the part of several princes acting in unison. Which-"