But the man simply turned away. He muttered something to the young man who had helped her. The young man nodded and turned toward Gretchen. She realized that the leader had instructed him to watch over her.

She glanced around. The victors' camp followers were arriving. She was astonished to see a Moorish physician in their midst. Only powerful people could afford Moorish or Jewish doctors. Then she saw two or three women moving through the camp, and was astonished again. Each of them was wearing a white armband with a red cross emblazoned on it. A religious order, apparently. Gretchen almost laughed. The piety of the insignia went very poorly, she thought, with those brazen bare calves. One of the women had a dress so short it showed her knees!

Then, another thought drove out all humor. She turned, looking for help from the same man who had provided it twice already. The man who had helped save her, and her sister, might help her save her brother. If Hans could be saved at all.

"Mein bruder. Hans." The woman pointed toward the battlefield. Jeff, looking, saw that the distant field was now covered with people, moving slowly through He swallowed. There were so many bodies there. So many.

"Pliss," she repeated. "Mein-my-brutter. Hans."

Eddie Cantrell spoke hesitantly. "I think she's looking for her brother, Jeff."

Jeff looked back at the woman. She was not much shorter than he was, he thought. At least, her eyes seemed very level. Light brown eyes.

"Pliss."

"Sure, ma'am," he replied. "I'll be glad to help you look for your brother."

He ignored the chuckles, as he and the woman walked away. With great dignity, he thought. He even managed to ignore Larry's parting remark.

"See? That's an opening line, stupe. Flowers'll work, too." Then, half-shouting: "Beats the last stand at the Alamo, you crazy jerk!"

Chapter 19

As soon as Mike left Jeff and the young German women, he headed for Nichols. The doctor was moving through the crowd of frightened camp followers, quickly inspecting the women and children to see which might need immediate medical attention.

"James!" called out Mike. The doctor turned. Mike reached him in a few quick strides.

"I think you should look at those people first," he said, indicating the cluster of people by the outhouse. He gave Nichols a quick explanation.

The doctor winced. "In there? Jesus Christ almighty. What kind of a world-"

Nichols broke off. "They should be all right, if they haven't been bitten by the wrong kind of spiders. Lucky they didn't suffocate, though. And you're right, Mike-we need to get them to the sanitation center right away. I'll see that they get first priority."

"I already told Jeff and his friends to look after them," Mike explained. "So you can have them escort the girls-the whole family-to the school." Mike glanced back over his shoulder. Seeing the way Jeff was staring at the tall young blonde, Mike's spirits lifted. The sight of a young man so obviously dazzled by a young woman was quite refreshing. Innocence and sanity blooming in a field of lust and murder.

Nichols was observing the same tableau. He grinned. "From the looks of things, I'd have to pry him loose with a crowbar."

He began walking toward them. "I'll take care of it, Mike." James pointed into the distance, back toward the original American lines. His grin widened. "Rebecca's here, by the way. Speaking of prying people loose with a crowbar."

"Rebecca!" Mike spun around, staring in that direction. "What in the hell is she doing here?" For a moment, he began to charge off. Then, guiltily remembering his responsibilities, he forced himself to turn back.

For the next ten minutes, while he organized the disposition of the surrendered Protestant soldiers, Mike's mind was only half on his task. Half, at best. He was fretting over Rebecca.

What is that crazy woman doing on a battlefield?!

Fortunately for him, Harry Lefferts and Tom Simpson cheerfully took on themselves the nitty-gritty work. Between Harry's savage grin (go ahead, Kraut-make my day) and Tom's sheer size and extravagant musculature (yeah, go ahead-I need an arm bone to pick my teeth), Hoffman's mercenaries were quickly rounded up and organized into a column. Hands carefully placed atop their heads, eyes front, meek as could be.

Then Frank showed up, along with Lennox-Frank in his pickup and Lennox on his horse.

Lennox spoke first. "We've got t'Catholics neatly tied oop," he announced complacently. "Mackay's seeing to t'last o' t'strays. 'E'll be coomin' in a minute." Mustachioes bristled. "T'en we'll march this lot into Badenburg an' put'm under guard. Don' expect no trooble."

Frank had his arm perched on the open window of the truck. He was studying Mike with half-quizzical/half-amused eyes.

"Oh, why don't you cut the act?" he chortled. He hooked his thumb toward Grantville. "Just go see the lady, Mike. Lennox and I can handle the rest of this business."

Mike glowered. "What's she doing here?" he demanded. "She could have gotten hurt! She's got no business-"

"Are you that stupid?" snapped Frank. "She's worried sick about you, what do you think? You're the one went marching into battle, not her." Frank snorted. "She isn't alone, either. Half the women in town showed up, looking for their fathers and sons and husbands and boyfriends. Did you think they were going to stay home, waiting for a telegram-with a battle being fought practically on their doorstep?"

"Oh." Mike stared into the distance, looking for the log parapet. The parapet itself was not visible, but the small knoll where Ferrara had positioned his rockets made the location obvious. To his surprise, he saw that the knoll was now covered with people. American women and children, he realized, anxiously trying to spot their menfolk in the field below.

He winced, remembering the carnage on that field. None of the bodies were American, but the sight was nothing he wanted to inflict on children. He'd had a hard enough time with it himself.

"I guess I'd better get over there," he muttered. "Reassure everybody."

Frank grinned. "Yeah, guess so." He got out of the vehicle. "Here-take my truck. I can't bear to think of you tripping and falling all the way back. Fast as you'll be running and paying no attention to where you're going."

Mike was already at the wheel. "Do try not to wreck the thing, willya? It's only two years old-" Off with a roar, fishtailing in the dirt. Frank sighed. "So much for the paint job. Not to mention the shock absorbers."

Mike spotted Rebecca easily. She was standing on top of the parapet, balanced precariously, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. When she spotted the oncoming truck, her scrutiny focused on it. As soon as she was sure that Mike was the driver, she hopped off the parapet and began running toward him.

Mike brought the truck to a halt and climbed out. Not far away, to his left, was a scene of sheer ghastliness. Americans with medical experience, led by Doctor Adams, were picking their way through the battlefield looking for survivors. Mackay and his Scots, meanwhile, had organized the Catholic prisoners to start burying the corpses. But there were so many torn and ruptured bodies. The soil was literally soaked with blood. Flies swarmed everywhere.

But he had no eyes for that. Just for the figure of a woman, running. He had never seen her run before. For all the cumbersome nature of the long skirt, Mike was struck by the grace of her movements. He always thought of Rebecca as stately, because of the quiet poise with which she stood, walked, sat. Some part of him, finally erupting, realized that he was seeing her for the first time. His heart felt like it might burst.