1632

"We can't," replied Rebecca. "Not easily, at least-although our experts think we could, over time, make something equivalent."

Now it was her turn to grope for words. "To do so would require machines which we do not have. And machines to make those machines-which we also do not have. The Ring of Fire brought only what was available in the town of Grantville. Sooner or later, many of our machines and instruments will wear out. They cannot be replaced, not directly. The computers, for instance, presuppose an entire electronics industry-"

She broke off, realizing that she was using meaningless terms, and went directly to the point. "We call it gearing down." She pointed to the micrometer in Torstenson's hands. "With that-which will last a very long time, if it is not abused-we can make simple cannons which are far more precise and accurate than guns made anywhere else. And there are other items we can make."

Tom Simpson interrupted. His German, though not up to Rebecca's fluent standards, was much better than Piazza's. "Rifled muskets, for instance, using Miniй balls. Possibly some simple breechloaders." He chuckled. "There's quite a wrangle going on, among the gun buffs. Some want a Ferguson, some a-"

He broke off, seeing the renewed looks of incomprehension. Those terms, also, were meaningless. "Never mind," he said. "The gist of it is this. We can't recreate the world we left behind. But we can make things which are far in advance of anything here and now."

Smoothly, Rebecca took over. "That's part of it, Your Majesty." Half-apologetically: "Not to speak ill of your own munitions industry in Sweden, of course, but we can provide you with a much closer supply of good ordnance. Better ordnance, in all truth."

All traces of apology vanished. "And money."

Those words-truly magic!-brought dead silence to the room. Money was the essential blood of warfare, far more than pikes, horses, guns and powder-or even soldiers. For the Swedes, especially, the perennial shortage of cash was their biggest handicap.

"How?" demanded the king. He cocked his head skeptically. "I assume you are not offering a direct subsidy?"

Rebecca laughed softly. "Please, Your Majesty! Do I look like Richelieu?"

"Not in the least," muttered Torstensson. The young artillery officer was having a harder time than his monarch keeping his attention focused on Rebecca's mind.

Rebecca ignored the admiring remark. She pressed on: "A subsidy, no. But we can serve you in two other ways. First, southern Thuringia is rapidly becoming an economic center for Germany. Very rapidly, given the chaos in most of the Holy Roman Empire. Construction, manufacturing, commerce-all these are growing by leaps and bounds. The end result, among other things, is that we can provide your army with most of the supplies you need-"

"Food, too?" asked Torstensson. "And what about horses and oxen?" The professional soldier's mind had come back in focus.

Rebecca nodded. "Both. I might mention that American seed and livestock is better than the German, and they have begun a careful breeding program to preserve the strains. And we can offer you much better prices than you could get anywhere else-especially for the ordnance."

She gestured at the micrometer, still in Torstenson's hand. "Our metal-working methods are not simply more precise, they are also much faster and more efficient than anything you could find anywhere else in Europe. Or anywhere in the world, for that matter."

She hesitated for an instant, thinking. Then: "Gunpowder itself, for the moment, we cannot supply directly. Nor textiles, in any quantity. But because of the stability we have brought to the area"-she gave a quick, half-stubborn/half-apologetic glance at Wilhelm-"merchants and traders are pouring in. We cannot supply gunpowder or textiles, but we can definitely serve as a conduit for them. And, again, at a better price than you would find elsewhere."

Gustav rubbed his nose. "What you are proposing, in essence, is that Thuringia-your part of it, at least-can become my supply center and depot. Sweden's arsenal in central Germany."

"Yes," stated Rebecca firmly. The king gave her a shrewd look. She shrugged. "We understand that this will probably bring the wrath of the Habsburgs down on our heads."

Tom Simpson chuckled. "They'll be in for a surprise, if they try to hammer us under."

Mackay frowned. "It's not that simple, Tom. A cavalry raid can do a lot of destruction, even if it does no more than pass through the area. And it's a lot harder to stop."

The huge American got a mulish look on his face. Mackay tightened his jaws a bit. "Listen to me, Tom! If I were your opponent, I assure you I would be a lot harder to counter than one of Tilly's clumsy tercios."