and that comes straight from the top. Things are dicey right now, but General Jackson will be flown back to Grantville, hopefully in the next couple of days. I imagine we'll all know more then. Dismissed."
With that, Henderson Coonce strode out to face the press once again. From what Jabe could catch from his muttered grumbles, the captain was expressing severe reservations concerning the wisdom of the Founding Fathers when it came to the much-overrated value of freedom of the press.
Magdeburg, October 8, 1633
Mike Stearns imagined that he looked like hell. He felt even worse. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before and wasn't counting on getting much tonight. Mike had walked from the radio shack to his rooms so many times the last few days he could have made the trip in his sleep.
It may yet come to that, Mike thought. He stood up and stretched, stepping away from the radio. The radio window for the evening was now closed, and Mike could do no more here tonight.
He called for his escort for the evening. "Pete! I'm ready to head back."
Pete McDougal opened the door. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look like nine kinds of rough," he said.
"Ten kinds, Pete."
For the first few moments, they walked in comfortable silence. The two had been fellow UMWA officials in their local before the Ring of Fire and had known each other a long time.
Mike shook his head. "Medals don't seem like enough, Pete. I wish I could do more. If we were up-time these kids would have been all over TV. Dateline NBC , Sixty Minutes, the whole works."
After hearing Pete's response, Mike abruptly changed course, leaving Pete scrambling to keep up. "What a great idea! Let's go get Frank out of bed."
Grantville, October 10, 1633
Mike had hoped to have Jesse Wood fly Frank Jackson back to Grantville the day before, but things hadn't worked out quite that neatly. As Frank and Jesse touched down, the American general found himself, for once, a little grateful he was in the early modern world. At least, Frank thought, the thirty-minute news cycle was a thing of the past. Or future, depending on how you looked at it.
By now, it had been officially acknowledged that Eddie, Larry, Hans, and Swedish sailor Bjorn Svedberg had been killed in action at Wismar, but the situation in Magdeburg had not left time for the release of a detailed statement. Until now.
Frank found Henderson Coonce waiting for him at the airstrip, truck engine running. Coonce saluted, and they drove to the high school. Even if Frank had been vain enough to think his rank entitled him to a chauffeur with captain's bars, Henderson put paid to that notion by complaining the whole way. By the time they pulled up to the high school, Frank was ready to recruit an entire regiment's worth of press officers, just to shut Coonce up.
"If you don't want to wait, Captain, I'll ring when I'm done," said Frank.
"I can wait," said Coonce.
"I said you'd get your press officer."
Coonce smiled. "I heard you, Frank. Why do you think your ass ain't walking back?"
Military protocol in the new little United States still had a long way to go. Frank just shook his head and went into the school.
He found Janice Ambler and Jabe McDougal waiting for him. Jabe sprang to attention. Prudentia Gentileschi sat quietly in a corner, sketching something off of a television screen.
"At ease, Jabe. We're not in the barracks."
He went straight to the subject. "You still have all that video stuff you were doing after the Ring of Fire? That oral history project you were working on?"
"Sure, sir," replied Jabe. My tape's almost gone, though."
"Have you got footage of Eddie and Larry? Hans?"
Jabe nodded.
"Good. Can you put something together? By noon tomorrow?"
* * *
Jabe hesitated. He was only a self-taught video documentarian and even before the Ring of Fire he was far from certain he'd wanted to make a living making movies of any kind. Jabe had thought of his video projects
With that, Henderson Coonce strode out to face the press once again. From what Jabe could catch from his muttered grumbles, the captain was expressing severe reservations concerning the wisdom of the Founding Fathers when it came to the much-overrated value of freedom of the press.
Magdeburg, October 8, 1633
Mike Stearns imagined that he looked like hell. He felt even worse. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before and wasn't counting on getting much tonight. Mike had walked from the radio shack to his rooms so many times the last few days he could have made the trip in his sleep.
It may yet come to that, Mike thought. He stood up and stretched, stepping away from the radio. The radio window for the evening was now closed, and Mike could do no more here tonight.
He called for his escort for the evening. "Pete! I'm ready to head back."
Pete McDougal opened the door. "If you don't mind me saying so, you look like nine kinds of rough," he said.
"Ten kinds, Pete."
For the first few moments, they walked in comfortable silence. The two had been fellow UMWA officials in their local before the Ring of Fire and had known each other a long time.
Mike shook his head. "Medals don't seem like enough, Pete. I wish I could do more. If we were up-time these kids would have been all over TV. Dateline NBC , Sixty Minutes, the whole works."
After hearing Pete's response, Mike abruptly changed course, leaving Pete scrambling to keep up. "What a great idea! Let's go get Frank out of bed."
Grantville, October 10, 1633
Mike had hoped to have Jesse Wood fly Frank Jackson back to Grantville the day before, but things hadn't worked out quite that neatly. As Frank and Jesse touched down, the American general found himself, for once, a little grateful he was in the early modern world. At least, Frank thought, the thirty-minute news cycle was a thing of the past. Or future, depending on how you looked at it.
By now, it had been officially acknowledged that Eddie, Larry, Hans, and Swedish sailor Bjorn Svedberg had been killed in action at Wismar, but the situation in Magdeburg had not left time for the release of a detailed statement. Until now.
Frank found Henderson Coonce waiting for him at the airstrip, truck engine running. Coonce saluted, and they drove to the high school. Even if Frank had been vain enough to think his rank entitled him to a chauffeur with captain's bars, Henderson put paid to that notion by complaining the whole way. By the time they pulled up to the high school, Frank was ready to recruit an entire regiment's worth of press officers, just to shut Coonce up.
"If you don't want to wait, Captain, I'll ring when I'm done," said Frank.
"I can wait," said Coonce.
"I said you'd get your press officer."
Coonce smiled. "I heard you, Frank. Why do you think your ass ain't walking back?"
Military protocol in the new little United States still had a long way to go. Frank just shook his head and went into the school.
He found Janice Ambler and Jabe McDougal waiting for him. Jabe sprang to attention. Prudentia Gentileschi sat quietly in a corner, sketching something off of a television screen.
"At ease, Jabe. We're not in the barracks."
He went straight to the subject. "You still have all that video stuff you were doing after the Ring of Fire? That oral history project you were working on?"
"Sure, sir," replied Jabe. My tape's almost gone, though."
"Have you got footage of Eddie and Larry? Hans?"
Jabe nodded.
"Good. Can you put something together? By noon tomorrow?"
* * *
Jabe hesitated. He was only a self-taught video documentarian and even before the Ring of Fire he was far from certain he'd wanted to make a living making movies of any kind. Jabe had thought of his video projects
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