1635 The Papal Stakes (50 page)

Harry’s eyes were grim. “The Ghetto?”

Miro nodded. “Over a hundred killed outright or tortured to death. However, for now, we must look beyond the human costs. As Sherrilyn rightly pointed out, the losses sustained during this first rescue attempt—both in terms of personnel and infrastructure—compel us to completely reconceive our operations. And our first problems are not tactical, but logistical.”

Thomas sighed. “They always are.”

“So it seems. First, the most pressing logistical need we had in Italy—getting enough gasoline to Venice so that we can fly Pope Urban to safety—is no longer at the top of our list. Now, instead, we have to ship in more security for him.”

Owen seemed surprised, maybe a bit indignant. “And why is the pope not flying to safety immediately?”

“There are two equally good answers to that question. First, the repairs to the Monster will not be completed for another three weeks, so getting the gasoline here sooner than that does us no good. Consequently, it becomes more important to ship in further reinforcements for the papal protection detail; the more time Borja’s agents have, the more likely they are to locate Urban and attack.”

Sherrilyn frowned. “Jeez, Estuban, the roster I’ve seen for Urban’s security detail makes me think that he has more than enough guards already. There’s almost twenty in the Marine detachment assigned to the embassy, and two of the Wild Geese. And then there’s Ruy, who’s worth about ten more, all by himself.”

Miro nodded. “Yes, that is sufficient to maintain immediate, bodily security. But if those forces are to have any advance warning that Borja’s agents are surveying their facilities preparatory to attack, they will need pickets. The current security complement is not large enough to keep watch over a reasonable perimeter
and
provide terminal defense. And now it seems we may need to provide that defense for quite some time to come.”

They all heard his leading tone. “C’mon,” Sherrilyn said finally, “don’t be coy, Estuban. Just spit it out: what’s the new fly in the ointment?”

Miro sighed. “The pope is not willing to leave Italy. At least, not yet.”

“
What?
” Sherrilyn blurted. “Why the hell not?”

It was Owen who answered. “Miss Maddox, I am only guessing, but I suspect that Pope Urban is weighing the consequences of seeking asylum with the USE.”

“Oh, so we’re good enough to save his life when he’s on the run, without a friend to his name, but when it actually comes to voluntarily associating with us—”

“Miss Maddox, please. I suspect that Urban the man and Urban the pope are of very different minds on this matter. Urban the man is not insensible to gratitude; he has risked scandal in the Church by showing up-timers as much favor and trust as he has. When you come right down to it, your involvement in Galileo’s trial is probably what set Borja, at the head of the Spanish cardinals, on his current course of action.

“Which brings up the matter of Urban the pope. Can a pope seek sanctuary in a Protestant land?”

Harry frowned, then murmured, “The USE strictly—aggressively—enforces freedom of religion.”

Owen nodded. “True enough, and an amazement to us all. But the simple fact is that the USE still has Gustav Adolf at its head. He is not merely a Protestant, but the symbol of its successful wars against the Church. He’s left plenty of its sons strewn lifeless across the face of Europe—and their families aren’t likely to forget who killed them.” Owen held up a hand to still Thomas’ incipient retort. “I’m not arguing the right or wrong of the war or its combatants, Thomas; I’m simply stating facts as they’ll be seen by most Catholics, who have never met up-timers, visited your town, or served alongside you. We—they—are creatures of this world, and bear the stamp of this century’s religious warfare and persecutions. So Pope Urban must choose his next steps very carefully.”

Sherrilyn crossed her arms and frowned. “Okay,” she said. “I get that. But you’ve gotta admit that, pope or no pope, this is one royal pain in the ass.”

Owen cocked an eyebrow. “If you would change your terminology to ‘a divine pain in the ass,’ I would happily agree with you.”

The smile between them was quick but genuine: no hard feelings, and another issue set to rest—for now.

But Owen wasn’t done. “Don Estuban, I trust you will send word of my unit’s—losses—to Fernando’s court in the Low Countries?”

Miro nodded. “I shall. Although I am reluctant to do so; I worry that you might be ordered to commit the rest of your unit to the pope’s security detachment. Although I have no reason to hope or ask it, I would much rather you remain part of our rescue operations.”

“I have thought the same thing, Don Estuban. I see only one sure way to avoid receiving new orders to guard the pope: to be gone before they get here.”

Miro managed not to smile.
Here’s a man after my own heart.
“I quite concur, Colonel. And I am very grateful that you are still willing to be a part of our rescue operations. There is, of course, nothing to obligate you to do so.”

Before Owen could respond, Sherrilyn had slapped her hand down on the table. “In fact, there’s every reason
not
to try another rescue—with simple sanity heading the list of those reasons. Estuban, are you really serious? Do you really think we can, or should, try to spring Frank and Giovanna again? Hell, they’ll be waiting for us this time.”

“Sherrilyn, as you so eloquently point out, they were waiting for us
this
time. They were probably far more certain that we would try at least once than they are that we will try again.”

“And how does that do us any good? They kicked our asses around the block, Estuban; what makes you think they won’t do it again?”

“I can’t answer that until we see what the Spanish do next. But we can be sure of this: we need to stay close to Frank and Giovanna, if we’re going to be able to act effectively. We no longer have a radio operator in Rome, we no longer have an observation network via the
lefferti
or Nasi’s former agents, and we can no longer trust nor should we further impose upon the Jews of the Ghetto. In short, we have to gather our own information, now.”

“Which is simply another way of saying that we’re all alone, from here on,” Sherrilyn mumbled. “Damn, the odds just keep getting better and better, don’t they?”

Miro folded his hands and looked her straight in the eyes. “Until we get on site and see things with our own eyes, we really can’t assess what the odds of success are. For the second matter, we are talking about Tom Stone’s son and daughter-in-law. By electing to come on this mission, you implicitly promised him to get those children back; I explicitly promised him the same. Since you started as a volunteer, it is your business if you go with us on a second rescue mission. But I will. Alone if I must.”

“You will not go alone,” Owen announced.

Miro looked down the table, surprised. “Colonel, your continued commitment to the rescue mission is very welcome indeed. I suspect it will prove crucial. But this intensity of resolve—why? This is not your fight, after all.”

Owen Roe O’Neill ran a surprisingly fine-boned hand through silvering red hair. “I’m not about to give an answer that would allow a
sassenach
to accuse me of typical Irish romanticism.” He checked for, and saw, the friendly smile on Thomas’s face before he continued. “So let’s leave it at this: you’ve the right of this fight, plain and simple. Besides, that bastard red hat who’s dangling these two newlyweds like butterflies over a furnace needs to be shown that there are limits to what even a would-be pope may do. I’ve suffered through enough scenes of Spanish ‘justice’—legal and clerical—in my time. I’ll not stand by and watch more of it meted out to innocents. Enough is enough.”

Thomas was repressing a grin. “Owen, my partner Liam Donovan is a bog-hopper like you, so I’m quite accustomed to the way you Irish use your supposed romanticism to conceal shrewd underlying practicality. What else is driving you?”

Owen grinned sheepishly. “Caught as red-handed as only an O’Neill can be. Very well, here it is: you’re the future.” He looked around at their surprised glances. “Come now, I’ve told true, so you’ve no right to act as though you’re puzzled. You know exactly what I mean: up-time ideas and ways are remaking the world around us. Hugh O’Donnell—the earl of Tyrconnell over Sean Connal—visited your Grantville and saw it plain enough. He brought back new tactical training, the idea for the pepperbox revolver, and proof that Madrid was using the Wild Geese as a pawn in a greater game—a pawn they were ready to sacrifice, former promises of honor and repatriation notwithstanding. Hugh O’Donnell woke us up—those who were willing to listen.”

Owen sighed. “I wasn’t among that number, not at first. But you know the saying: the late-come convert is the most ardent believer. I’ve not only seen what you can do, but who you are, what you value. My oath is to Isabella of the Low Countries, but here and now, I’m casting my lot in with you. There: is that plain-spoken enough?”

Miro did not know what to say; he merely nodded.

Thomas was smiling, however. “It’s said that the support of honorable men is the greatest adornment of any cause. You have just become the diamond at the pinnacle of our cause’s tiara, Colonel O’Neill.”

Harry surprised them by speaking in a clear, firm voice. “I’m glad everyone is getting along so well, because we’ve got a hell of a task in front of us, now. And Estuban is right; we can’t let up and we can’t fail. Our promise to Tom is one factor. The pope’s personal and political attitude toward us is another. Remember, Urban married Frank and Gia. That probably makes them extra-valuable to Borja as prisoners; for him, toying with the two of them is like pissing in the pope’s own recently consecrated well. And no doubt Urban knows that and feels an additional responsibility to them. Either way, he’s going to judge us—our moral character, that is—partly upon our determination to do the right thing by Frank and Giovanna. If we walk away, he’ll have reason to wonder if we’re really as good as our word. But if we press on, no matter the difficulties—”

“—then he knows that when we talk the talk, we’ll walk the walk,” concluded Sherrilyn with a nod. “Okay; suicide mission or not, I’m in.”

Miro shook his head. “I do not believe in suicide missions. We have many hurdles before us, yes, but I refuse to see them as insurmountable.”

Thomas frowned. “Maybe they are not insurmountable, but some of them are unalterable. Time, for one. Unless I am much mistaken, we cannot wait for further reinforcements or specialty equipment via balloon from Grantville; that would mean a two week delay. Given the young Ms. Stone’s delicate condition, we cannot risk that. We must leave immediately.”

Miro nodded somberly. “That is regrettably true.”

Sherrilyn frowned. “That is regrettably our epitaph. As I count it, Owen has only six men left who aren’t already guarding the pope, and that includes the doctor. Thomas here has his four Hibernians. And the Crew is at half strength: there’s me, Harry, Donald, Matija, and Paul. George can’t be brought into the field, not yet. So, even though I was only a gym teacher, I’m still pretty sure that it all adds up to seventeen people. So tell me: how is taking seventeen persons to rescue Frank and Giovanna from a well-defended Spanish prison not suicide?”

Miro smiled. “The balloon arriving tomorrow will be bringing some answers to that question, Sherrilyn.”

“They’d better be great answers.”

“The first is that you can increase the size of our contingent by six: that’s how many additional Hibernians will be arriving.”

“Bloody good of you to let me know how you’ve decided to use more of my troops,” Thomas commented with one raised eyebrow.

“You’ll need to work that out with your partner, Liam Donovan—who negotiated a very good rate with Ed Piazza, I’m told. These six men were originally slated for the papal protection detail, but I think we have to divert them to this operation, now.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. We need the manpower. Particularly men who are familiar and equipped with lever actions rifles and revolvers. We’ll need that volume of fire to offset our small numbers.”

“Damned straight,” agreed Sherrilyn. “And what’s the other good news?”

“Well, although there weren’t any other combat personnel ready to travel, we did know that we would need the very best equipment for our modest forces—”

“You had them stop in Chur and pick up the rest of the Crew’s gear?” Sherrilyn leaned forward eagerly.

“That, and more. While we were sharing the long road from the Val Bregaglia to Padua last month, Colonel North was good enough to review the various categories and models of ‘ready equipment’ he knows to be in reserve at Grantville—since so much of it is the object of his professional lusts. I was surprised to note that there was one weapon system he coveted that was still readily available to us in considerable numbers, so I decided to request ten copies of it, on the notion that you would all consider it a useful addition to our resources.”

Sherrilyn frowned. “What are you waiting for, Estuban: a drum roll? What did you whistle up for us?”

“Ten SKS’s. And, according to the people in Grantville, enough magazines and 7.62 x 39 millimeter ammunition to, I quote them, ‘fight the Viet Nam war all over again.’”

Sherrilyn actually pumped her fist up and down in time with her very extended, “Yyy-Esssss!”

Thomas North smiled and nodded. “Well done, Estuban, very well done.”

Owen stared. “A little explanation might be helpful for the down-time bog-hopper,” he put in.

North grinned. “Sorry. The SKS is a semiautomatic carbine. It uses the same round as a famous Russian assault rifle, the AK-47, which was the SKS’s successor.”

“The SKS is a great weapon,” emphasized Harry, with more animation than he had evinced so far. “Reliable, handy, accurate out to one hundred and seventy yards, reasonably effective out to four hundred, and it fires a pretty damned lethal round. Best of all, you can fire ten times—as fast as you can squeeze the trigger—before you need to reload with a stripper clip. Or, in the case of the ‘M’ series, with a thirty-round magazine.”