1636: The Cardinal Virtues by Walter H. Hunt, Eric Flint Page A

with that.”
    “Then . . .”
    “When the Spaniard crosses the Pyrenees, as he surely will, it may not be with trumpets sounding and banners flying. We will need to know what he intends to do and where he intends to go. It will be this for which we will need your expertise. I believe the up-timer term is ‘small unit tactics’—infiltration and precision attack at a distance. One rifle—one shot.”
    “Snipers.”
    “I have heard that term used, yes. I originally thought it meant a sort of hunting exercise, but I have come to understand it as something far more deadly and effective. My men can shoot, yes, but not all of them can perform this mission.” He pointed at Sherrilyn. “I want you to find the ones who can.”
    ◊ ◊ ◊
    And so she had. She had divided them into groups of twenty to see which ones met the minimum standard: decent eyesight, skill in the manual of arms, and careful use of their weapon. Once she could see which ones could see the broad side of a barn, she picked out the ones who looked like they had a chance of actually hitting that barn with reasonable skill. Those whose marksmanship—and poise—impressed her made it into a second, smaller group.
    Turenne’s quartermaster went to the marshal to complain on the first day regarding the extravagant waste of powder. Turenne thanked him and ignored him. He appeared each of the next two days, still hopping mad at Sherrilyn for squandering resources—and each time the marshal heard him out and turned him away. The fourth time he appeared at the villa there was a short closed-door meeting from which he emerged chastened: that was the last time anything was said about it.
    She taught her little group of thirty-five every trick that the Wrecking Crew had managed to use during its active career. The hardest lesson was convincing them to think for themselves (as opposed to simply thinking about themselves—which mostly involved thinking with what was in their breeches.) There were thirty-one left after that lesson.
    By the spring there were only twenty-four, for various reasons—but it was worth all the powder and shot, all the sidelong looks, the snide remarks, and the two brawls.
    To fill out her company— Maddox’s Rangers was what they decided to call themselves—there were sixteen regulars who could handle themselves well in a close-in fight. A winter’s worth of conversations with Turenne’s sergeants and NCOs helped pick those guys out.
    It wasn’t exactly the varsity at Grantville High—but it was what Turenne wanted.
    It was just a matter of putting it to use.

    March 28, 1636
    Lyon, France

    Dear Ed:
    Thanks for sending me the nice going-away gift when I decided to give up Marseilles for this place. It sure seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’d rather have some soft Mediterranean breezes than the wind off the Massif Central. One winter in this place would probably be enough. It’s colder than old Mr. Mulder’s classroom at the high school, when he’d leave all the windows open.

    Mulder had never been a teacher at Grantville High. That was a keyword from the cipher book, telling them what page to use. Windows open meant that the army was in camp, and hadn’t been given orders to deploy anywhere.

    Things have been pretty smooth here. The best part has to be the food. The boss treats us very well, nothing but the best. He’s even arranged for the best forks and knives to be put in all of the troopers’ hands, and they’ve all learned to eat with them. Some of them are still a little sloppy, but mostly they put the food in their mouths.

    The connection between Mulder and the windows had been clever. This reference was a little less subtle— forks and knives meant weapons, and the best weapons had to refer to the Cardinal rifles. And they’d been given to all the men, and they all knew how to shoot.

    The head cook comes up with amazing recipes. They told me that originally the food wasn’t fit to eat—it made