But von Taupadel didn't make more than token noises of reproach. Except for the Hangman Regiment, the division's casualties had been light. Much lighter, he said, than was usual for an army taking a city as sizeable and as well-defended as this one had been.
"A good day's work, General," was his summary conclusion. "Very good day's work."
"I thought we'd need three days myself," said Derfflinger.
"So did I," chimed in Schuster.
The three brigadiers were giving Mike an odd sort of look. That expression stayed on their faces for the next half hour, too. After they left, he asked his aides if they'd noticed.
Duerr grinned. "They've decided you know what you're doing."
"Not exactly that," said Anthony Leebrick. "Meaning no disrespect, General Stearns, but you're not the subtlest military strategist the world has ever seen and your tactics are not what anyone would call complicated."
Long was grinning also. "You go here and hit them. You go over there and hit them too. Then both of you do it again."
All three officers laughed. Mike couldn't help but join in for a moment. It was true enough, after all.
When the laughter died out, Duerr shook his head. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"None of that really matters, General. Your brigadiers have come to the conclusion that the three of us came to some time ago. You are never indecisive and you are always willing to take the fight to the enemy. In war, that is what's most critical."
Long nodded. "Taking this city so quickly, coming on top of what you did after Swiebodzin. They have confidence in you now, General. They may not agree with your decisions, certainly. Von Taupadel obviously thinks you moved too soon and should have let him take the Poznan road. But those sorts of things do not really matter, so long as they have confidence that their commander will command."
Mike was not a egotist, but he enjoyed compliments as much as any human being does. He wasn't able to savor these, however. Right now, there was only one opinion that really concerned him.
He found Jeff Higgins lying on a cot in one of the back rooms of a somewhat battered but still intact bakery. Jeff didn't seem to be injured, just resting after what had been a nerve-wracking and exhausting day.
When he saw Mike come in, he started to get up, but Mike waved him back down.
"Relax, Jeff. This is an informal personal visit."
Jeff lay back down on the cot, propping his head on folded arms. After a short silence, he frowned and said, "I'm trying to figure something out. Did you set me up?"
The frown was simply an expression of puzzlement, not anger or condemnation.
Mike took off his cap and ran fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't put it that way, exactly. But, yes, I did use you as what amounted to bait in a trap."
Jeff thought about that, for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling. Then the frown faded and he let out a little sigh.
"About what I figured. Did it work?"
"Sure did. We took the town in one day with light casualties-except for your regiment, that is. I've been told that's pretty unusual by people with a lot more experience at this than I have."
"Rough on the bait, though."
"Yes. It was. And I knew it would be when I sent you in."
Jeff lowered his eyes and looked at him. "You should have told me what you had planned, Mike. That's the only thing that pisses me off. But it really does piss me off. The Mike Stearns I used to know wouldn't have manipulated me like that."
"Fair enough. I won't do it again."
Jeff chuckled, in a dry sort of way. "Yeah, you will-and plenty of times. It's not like I don't understand why you do stuff like that, Mike. Just don't do it to me."
There was silence again, for perhaps a minute. Then Jeff sat up on the cot, swiveling his legs so his feet were on the floor.
"What now, boss?"
Mike shrugged. "Gustav Adolf just told me to take Zielona Gora. I don't think he expected we'd do it this soon. I sent him a radio message earlier but I haven't heard back from him yet."
"Hey, maybe we'll draw garrison duty for the rest of the war."
"I wouldn't count on it."
"You think?"
Chapter 29
Near the Warta river, northwest of Poznan
Wojtowicz's agent came into Stanislaw Koniecpolski's command tent, which had been pitched close to the river. It was more in the way of a pavilion, actually. Like the great magnate that he was, the grand hetman traveled in style even during wartime.
"Another message had arrived from Jozef," the agent announced. "And it's good news this time."
He gave the hand-written message to Koniecpolski.
Big storm coming. May last for days.
"Finally," he said. He turned to his aides, who half-filled the tent. "I want the army moving by dawn tomorrow. There's a Swede who needs killing."
Chapter 30
Vaxholm Island, in the Stockholm Archipelago
"Wonderful," muttered Charles Mademann. He stuck his head out of the tavern doorway and looked up at the early morning sky. It was solid gray everywhere you looked. Very dark gray, too. It was going to start raining soon and from the looks of it, the rain would be heavy and go on for quite a while.
And today was their last chance to carry out their mission. Realistically, at any rate. The princess and her entourage wouldn't leave until tomorrow, but when that happened they'd be under heavy guard and the queen most likely wouldn't make an appearance. She hadn't come out to greet her daughter at the docks when she arrived, so why would she accompany her to the docks on her departure? It was now two and a half months since Kristina had come to Stockholm, and relations between her and her mother had reached a nadir.
So they'd been told, anyway. But the information was almost certainly reliable. The Huguenots had developed good relations with several of the palace's servants, using French livres provided by Michel Ducos. He'd embezzled a small fortune from his former French employer, the comte d'Avaux. As a result, for the past two years all of the projects and missions of the group he led with Antoine Delerue had been well funded.
They'd not changed the livres into a different currency, of course. For the purposes of their mission, it would be all to the good for the Swedish authorities to discover some of the palace servants had been suborned with French money. That would cast still more suspicion on the target of the whole exercise, Cardinal Richelieu. No one else in the world, after all, had greater access to the coinage of the French crown.
Well, there was no help for it. They'd simply have to take their positions, as they had done so many days before, and hope that perhaps this final day things would work out.
Locquifier came to stand next to him. "We should leave now, I think."
Mademann nodded. There was no reason to stay at the tavern on the island any longer. If nothing happened today, they'd find lodgings for the night in the city. By tomorrow, they'd either be dead or making their escape from Sweden altogether.
He looked over his shoulder. Ancelin and Brillard were sitting at the center table, watching him. They understood the logic of the situation just as well as he did.
He gave them a little nod. Immediately, the two men rose from the table and headed toward the kitchen. The tavern-keeper and his wife would either be there, or-more likely, this time of morning-still asleep in their bed upstairs. Which would be even easier.
"We should plant the forgeries," said Locquifier, stating the obvious as he was prone to do.
"Yes. Let's see to it."
Stockholm
Baldur Norddahl closed the lid of the last trunk. Then, with a little grunt of effort, placed it on top of the stack of trunks piled next to the door that led into the palace suite that he and Prince Ulrik had shared since they arrived.