Sleipnir

At the nearest table, Gary had cleared away a spot in the general grime, and had nudged aside several slumbering—no, passed-out drunken—companions to provide a seat for the three of us. He and Rangrid had already helped themselves to breakfast, and were eating when I sat down. Rangrid scooted over to sit beside me. She glanced contentedly from her grandson to her new lover—me, I thought with an amazed flush of realization—then back at her grandson again. She gri

Gary looked so chipper, I wanted to hit him. I felt like a recently mashed potato.

"Have some eggs," he said, dumping about seven fried eggs onto my plate from a nearby serving platter. "And bacon."

"Good God, Vernon, I've still got to worry about cholesterol."

He gri

His expression was entirely too i

"What the hell are those?" They didn't smell like hush puppies.

"You always were a grouch before breakfast—when's the last time you had any coffee? Don't ask what they are; just eat 'em. They're great, if you don't know what's in 'em."

"Vernon..."

He gri

I turned green, and carefully nudged them to one side of my plate. Gary laughed. Rangrid chuckled, then lifted a pitcher and snagged a cup.

"That smells like coffee!"

She threw me a reproachful look. "It is coffee. We're not entirely in the dark ages here, you know. Some of our best guests grew coffee before they joined the guerrillas and got... uh... collected."

Her look was uncertain, so I just nodded. "Speaking of the, er, collectees, I'm going to need help. You two are my officially appointed general staff. The first thing we need to do is get the men sorted into some sort of order, and I'll need a list of potential officers, men with command experience, sound judgment. How soon do you think we can get that done?"

Gary looked thoughtful.

Rangrid answered. "I'll get my sisters busy on it right away. They were a little stu

"By weapons expertise," Gary suggested, "but only for the last one hundred years, or so. Then divvy them up by when they were born, about one hundred years per group, on back to however far back you've been collecting them. That sound about right, Randy?"

"Yeah, that should put men with roughly similar technology and tactics into approximately common groups. We can refine assignments later, after we have a better idea what we've got under arms out there."

"Anything else for today?" Gary asked.

I considered; then shook my head. "Not for you two. Rangrid, get your sisters together, and get that list of commanders back to me as soon as possible. Gary, I'd like to see a list of available weapons systems. Then we've got to get the mess in this building cleaned up, and figure out how to get some discipline established. Without discipline, we'll lose the first skirmish. Where the hell are Hugin and Munin? I need information, stat." A young boy of about eleven slipped in beside us, and retrieved our breakfast dishes. He gri

Nobody had an answer to that one. Not that I'd really expected one. Command responsibility is a bitch. My ravens flapped in from outdoors somewhere, and listened very gravely as I gave them instructions. First: what were the Aesir doing? Second: what was Loki doing? Third: what was Hel doing, and did she consider my contract with her fulfilled? Fourth: what was Surt up to in Muspellheim? And fifth: what was everybody else in the rest of the Nine Worlds doing?

The ravens looked a little awed by my demands; but obediently flew off on their mission. Rangrid left Gary and me huddled in conference—while the civilians I didn't know what to do with quietly cleaned up the hall, roused the slumbering warriors, and got them organized for breakfast. When the noise level rose to that of a minor tornado, Gary and I moved outside. We found a quiet spot under the eaves, and got busy with paper, pencil, and the calculator he'd been carrying the night of the accident.

The two of us made a good team. Compared to getting here in the first place and getting Odin out of the way, this was going to be a snap. All I had to do was organize my troops, figure out how to retrieve the generals I needed from wherever they'd ended up, learn what kind of enemy I was really up against, set up training programs, procure modern weapons systems, figure out what in the world to do with those wretched, inconvenient civilians...

By the end of the week I was begi

Gary and I sat down for twenty-four solid hours, poring over the list of commanders Rangrid compiled. We muttered, gnashed our teeth, and pulled our hair.

"Have we got Patton anywhere?"

"No, dammit; is Lawrence of Arabia on any of your lists?"

"Hell, no. Christ, where's Rommel?"

"We've got Genghis Khan's third nephew."

"Great. Isn't he the one who jumped onto what's-his-face's sword when he was drunk?"

"Yup."

"Get rid of him."

After we'd figured out who to keep, who to dump, and who to bargain for, I made arrangements with a balky Hel to meet with her. I wanted to trade three of my discards for each of the worthwhile generals and other command-grade officers in her domain, which would cull most of the crazy-ass Berserkers from my ranks.

What I wanted to do was eliminate the "die-for-glory" crowd and leave a solid "kill-for-glory" core, which I felt possibly could be hammered into a legitimate fighting force. I didn't really want to do any more bargaining with Hel; but she had what I wanted, and I thought I could offer her something she wanted in return.

All in all, I was pretty well pleased with progress. Hell, I was even begi

A lot of my preliminary plans were going to depend on what Hugin and Munin brought back. I was vitally interested in the sons of Muspell and their allies the Frost Giants, and moderately concerned about Odin's kith and kin back in Asgard. Every couple of days I'd look up at the vermilion sky and wonder what was taking them so long; then shrug and tell myself that a really detailed report took time to assemble.