Chapter 1: Germany, 1643

Smoke and ashes filled the night air, thick enough to block out the stars overhead. Tendrils of acrid smoke rose from the charred remains of what had once been a small thriving town, and threaded their way among the ruins. Stone chimneys and walls glowed with a pale red tint reflecting the flames and glowing embers that surrounded them.

The fires, started by the invading Swedish soldiers, had been burning since the early morning. They would continue to burn until the next morning. Homes, crops, and forests ... all had been put to the torch in a frenzy of blood lust.

What little breeze there was did not dispel the smoke. Instead, it merely stirred up ashes to sting the eyes, clog the sinuses, and irritate the lungs.

Now that the soldiers had left, there were very few eyes in town to be bothered. Of the three hundred families that had lived there, only a handful of people had survived the day. All of the others had been cremated inside their burning homes or left for dead where they had fallen. The stench was horrible, but would only get worse.

Pity the poor fellows who had resisted the Swedes and were captured rather than killed. It was better to get cudgeled from behind while fleeing than to suffer the Schwedentrunk, the Swedish Drink. That was a painful death, in which a vile liquid was forced into a person through a tube, until the body was bloated from the effects. If that wasn't bad enough, the hapless victim was then trampled underfoot, to increase the pain.

Women and children had not been spared. Men, feeling the blood fury of battle, savagely used females to satisfy their carnal desires. It didn't matter if the female was a young child, or an old crone. Ten, sometimes twenty men, participated in gang rapes, in which the least resistance or even screams of pain were rewarded with sheer brutish violence. Seldom did the victims survive the beastly ordeal. Those few who survived physically, were left with empty minds. They were made unaware of anything around them, and their eyes stared unseeing into the distance.

The town of peasants, armed only with pitchforks and clubs, stood no chance against well armed and battle hardened soldiers. For the horde, it was take what they wanted, rape the women, and kill anyone in front of them. It was a simple mindset that was unleashed on a battlefield to the north. It continued on, unchecked, to the nearby town. Once the passions had been sated, the horde moved on to the next battle, to repeat the process. Behind them lay devastation.

Siegfried Bauer, on legs that were only just capable of supporting him, stumbled down what had once been the only street of the town. The destruction barely registered on a mind that had been overwhelmed by the brutality he had witnessed over the past ten hours. Dimly, one partially intact building registered in his tired brain. Alone and looking abandoned stood the town's gasthaus. One wall had collapsed, bringing half of the roof down with it.

Siegfried went into the building thinking he might find something to drink. He hoped the Swedes had missed something in their haste. It was a faint hope. Soldiers ransacking a town seldom failed to miss anything that could make them drunk. Beer, wine, brandy, and schnapps ... It didn't matter what it was, so long as it contained alcohol.

He nearly died of fright when he heard a muffled noise from within the ruined structure.

"Who goes there?" Old man Grun asked in a weak voice that could barely be heard.

"Is that you, Grun?" Siegfried asked torn between the fear that he had heard a ghost and surprise at finding the man was still alive.

He looked around but didn't see the man. The roof had collapsed. There was a lot of debris on the floor. He figured one of the dark mounds was Grun.

"Siegfried?"

"It's me."

"Could you help me up? My leg is broken."

"Where are you?"

"Under the roof."

Siegfried dug around in the rubble until he located Grun. It took a little work to free the man from under the section of roof that had pinned him down. He carried the man over to a spot relatively clear of debris. Grun cried out in pain when Siegfried put him down.

"Your leg is broke."

"I know. Do you know how to doctor it?"

"No."

"Get Johann."

"He's dead. I saw his body. It looked like they gave him the Schwedentrunk."

"That's horrible."

"Do you need anything?" Siegfried asked.

"I could use something to drink. I've been trapped under there since morning," Grun said.

"Let me see if there's anything left of your stock," Siegfried said.

"Those damned Swedes probably drank it all," Grun said.

Siegfried went over to the cask that had sat behind the bar. There was still a little liquid left in it. He poured a little out into the palm of his hand. It was the dregs – a little liquid and a lot of sediment. He looked around for something to pour it in.

While looking around, he asked, "What happened to you?"

Grun said, "I heard a noise outside and was heading towards the door to find out what it was. It sounded like a wagon was being pushed against the wall or something. I was standing right where you found me when the wall collapsed and the roof caved in. I was pinned down. The Swedes came in and started drinking. I don't think they knew I was there. Maybe they did. They kept walking over the section of roof that covered me. I thought I was going to die from the pain."

"You were lucky," Siegfried said thinking about how his wife had died.

He found a pewter cup that had been partially flattened when someone had stepped on it. He held it up in the dim light from the fire still burning down the street. The cup would still hold enough liquid to wet the mouth.

"This will have to do."

Siegfried filled the cup with some of the beer from the cask. He took a sip to ease his parched throat before taking it over to Grun. It was vile.

Grun took a drink and then exclaimed, "That's horrible. How in the hell did they drink the cask that low without getting sick?"

"It's better than the water from the well."

"It can't be."

"There's a dead body in the well."

"Who?"

"Does it matter?" Siegfried asked. He had walked past so many dead bodies that he couldn't even count them.

"I guess not," Grun answered.

A voice called out, "Is there anybody here?"

Siegfried shouted, "Schmied? Is that you, Schmied?"

"Yes. Where are you?"

"In the gasthaus," Siegfried shouted.

Fritz Schmied tripped upon entering the ruins of the gasthaus. On regaining his balance, he said, "I was afraid that my family and I were the only ones left alive."

"Your family is still alive?" Grun asked.

He could see that Fritz had been beaten. His left eye was swollen shut. There was blood covering his clothes.

"My wife and son. She's hurt bad."

"What happened to her?"

"The Swedes ... they ... took advantage of her," Fritz answered in a voice that broke from emotion.

The big man wiped his eyes with hands that could bend iron bars. He hadn't even had a chance to fight before being overwhelmed by the Swedes. They had thought it fun to rape his wife and daughters while he was forced to watch. After they had finished with the women, they had taken turns hitting the man. They had left him for dead.

After the soldiers left, his son emerged from his hiding place on the roof of the forge and untied him. Barely able to move, Fritz had gone over to check on his wife and daughters. His daughters stared up at the sky with dead eyes that wouldn't see anything ever again. His wife stared in much the same way. Her mind was gone, though her body was alive. He had hidden his family away before searching for others who might be alive, and could help her.

"What about your daughters?"

"They ... didn't ... survive the Swedes. My wife's mind is gone. She just lays there staring at nothing. Can you help her?" Fritz asked.

"No," Siegfried said.

"Is there anyone else around?"

"Not that I know of," Siegfried answered.

"I've got to find someone who can help her."

"My wife didn't make it. I found her by the stream," Siegfried said remembering what had happened to his wife.

He had been helping his family flee into the woods. He had been carrying his two sons. His daughter and wife were behind him. They could hear the soldiers following them. The hooves of their horses shook the ground and sounded like rolling thunder.

On reaching the woods, he had turned to tell her something and discovered that she wasn't there. He didn't know when his wife had stopped. He glanced back toward the field and spotted his wife being surrounded by Swedes. Knowing that the soldiers would chase her, she had taken off on her own so as to draw the pursuers away from her children. It was the act of a mother desperate to protect her family.

Heinrich Wald stepped into the ruined building. In a low coarse voice, he said, "You're making a lot of noise in here. I could hear you down the street."

"Heinrich! I saw that your place was burnt to the ground. How'd you get away?"

"We hid in the cellar. It's deep and stone lined. It kept us alive even though the house burned down over our heads."

"You were lucky."

"Dieter Weber and his family were with us," Heinrich said.

"At least we won't go without clothes," Grun said.

"All of Dieter's wool is gone. So is my wood. The fire took it all," Heinrich said.

"I'm far more worried about food than clothes or furniture," Siegfried said.

Winter was coming. There wasn't enough time to plant another crop. Their provisions had been burnt in the field.

"You'll be plenty worried about having a roof over your head when winter comes," Heinrich said.

"I'm not sure which is worse: starving, or freezing to death."

"Does it matter? Dead is dead."

Heinrich asked, "Where were the Baron's men? The Baron taxes us to death. He's supposed to protect us."

"I give him three quarters of my crop every year," Siegfried said.

"The Baron is dead," came a voice from outside.

The three men exchanged guilty glances. It wasn't good to be caught talking negatively about the Baron. The Baron wasn't the kind of man to suffer insult lightly. It would be a cruel act of fate to die at the hands of the Baron after surviving the Swedes.

Siegfried worked up enough courage to call out, "Who's there?"

"I'm Manfred Wache."

"Come in here, where we can see you," Grun shouted.

A slender man wearing the uniform of the Baron's guards entered the gasthaus. Where his sword should have been hung an empty scabbard. He looked around at the others gathered there surprised to find only three men. He had expected to find more men alive in the town.

"Where's the rest of his soldiers?" Fritz asked.

"Dead. They're all dead," Manfred answered tiredly.

"What about the Baron's son?"

"He's dead."

"What are we supposed to do without a Baron?" Grun asked.

"There's always been a Baron," Siegfried said.

"Not any more."

Manfred knelt down by Grun. He took a moment to examine the man's leg. It was twisted in an unnatural direction.

"Your leg is broken."

"I know that. Do you know how to doctor it?"

"You – big guy – grab hold of him," Manfred said.

"Why?" Fritz asked.

"We need to fix his leg," Manfred said.

"What are you going to do?" Grun asked.

"Hold him down," Manfred said gesturing from Fritz to Grun.

Fritz grabbed Grun and pinned him to the floor. Manfred pulled on the leg. Grun screamed and then passed out. Manfred continued to pull on the leg until he was satisfied that it was almost straight. It was the best that he could do. He knew that even if it healed, Grun would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

"I need some wood. Give me a couple pieces of wood slats from the roof over there."

"Is he alive?" Siegfried asked looking down at Grun.

"Yes," Fritz answered. "He's still breathing."

Heinrich returned with two slats from the roof. Manfred used the two boards to stabilize the leg. It wasn't the best job, but it was dark and would have to do.

Manfred said, "If his leg doesn't heal, we'll have to remove it. Otherwise, it'll poison him."

"I know that," Siegfried said.

The others nodded their heads in agreement. Everyone knew what happened when a limb started to smell. If the limb had to be removed, the person usually died. Grun didn't stand much of a chance of surviving that. It was just the state of medicine at the time.

Manfred sat down on the floor and looked around. It was a pretty sad looking lot gathered there. An old man with a broken leg and a couple others who probably couldn't fight. There was the one big guy who might be of some use in a fight, but judging by the looks of him he wasn't going to be that good of a fighter.

Tired, he said, "Get your families somewhere safe. Get all of the heads of the surviving families over here. You've got to decide what you're going to do until we get a new Baron."