1635_ The Eastern Front - Eric Flint [5]
Unlike Wilhelm, Georg had taken into account the problem of disposing of the bodies. You simply couldn't leave that many corpses lying around, in an area with as many villages as the Upper Vogtland. Leaving aside the problem of the children—some would be terrified and upset at seeing the bodies; still worse, others would be thrilled and begin mutilating them—there was the ever-present danger of disease.
Digging a grave for that many bodies was a lot of work, though. Hard work. Kresse was a popular commander of irregular soldiers not only because he kept their casualties to a minimum but because he kept their labor to a minimum also.
So, he let the wounded live, and had them dragged off to the side of the road. He provided them with no medical care, though. If they died, they died—and, indeed, several did in the time it took the five survivors to dig a mass grave some thirty yards into the woods. Wilhelm knew that the only reason Georg was keeping the wounded alive at all was to give the toiling grave-diggers the hope that they might be allowed to live.
Digging the grave took almost the whole day. By the time all the bodies were hauled to it and dumped in, it was late afternoon. That work was done by the deserters also, of course. Kresse's men and the militiamen spent a pleasant day lounging in the shade and watching.
By sundown, it was all done, except for shoveling the dirt back over the corpses. Unfortunately, that last bit of work would have to be done by Kresse's people and the militiamen.
At Kresse's command, the five survivors were hauled to the edge of the grave. Two of them began shouting protests, but only one made any attempt to resist. He was immediately clubbed senseless and fell into the grave. The other four were shoved roughly to their knees.
"All right," said Kresse. "Shoot them."
Three of the four bodies fell into the grave on their own. The last one was sent in with a rough boot.
Kresse pointed to the one still-living Holk soldier, the one who'd been beaten unconscious. "Him too."
"Bury him alive!" shouted one of the militiamen. That was old Selig Hirsch, the local tanner. Kuefer didn't blame him. One of his sons had been murdered by soldiers a few years back, along with two of the son's children.
But Kresse shook his head. "We're not savages. Shoot him, I said."
Wilhelm had been expecting that order also, and did the shooting himself. Georg Kresse was as harsh a man as ever lived in these mountains. But only his enemies claimed he was cruel. None of his irregulars would have used that term, not would any of the farmers and townsmen in the Upper Vogtland. He was simply, and fortunately, what the times had produced.
By the time they returned to the mine, Kresse had come to a decision. The first person he spoke to was the woman with whom he shared a small cell in the mine constructed from old timbers. That was Anna Piesel, his betrothed.
"Anna, I want you to go to Magdeburg." He hooked a thumb at Kuefer. "I'll send Wilhelm and some other men as an escort until you're into Thuringia. After that, you should be safe enough. Take Friedrich and Hannelore, also. They could both use some rest in a tavern, and they're old enough to pass as your parents."
He smiled, seeing Piesel's little glare. She was a good woman, but a bit vain about her looks. "I said, ‘old enough.' I didn't claim there was any resemblance." Friedrich was downright ugly, and the best you could say for Hannelore's appearance was "dumpy."
"Why do you want me to go to Magdeburg? That'll take weeks, Georg!"
"At least six, I'm figuring. Quite possibly more. But we're not going to be doing much here during that time. It'd be idiotic for us to launch any major attacks, when the Swedes and the USE army are going to be spending those same weeks pounding the Saxon army into a pulp. I figure we may as well just sit and wait. The real struggle will come then, not now. What