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in loose hands.
The lead truck—and then another, and then another—were playing “tag” with Ernst Hoffman. The scene was utterly comical, for all its deadly potential. None of those truck drivers was trying to miss.
The portly mercenary leader’s horse pitched him after the first truck roared past. Thereafter, Ernst Hoffman was waddling on his own. He lasted for five minutes, scampering through the torn-up fields of what had once been fertile farmland, before he collapsed from fear and exhaustion.
One truck roared up and stopped just a few feet short of ­crushing him. A figure clambered down from the passenger’s side of the cab and stalked over to Hoffman. The mercenary leader looked like a pig, lying on his side, flanks heaving.
Even from the distance, Jeff could recognize Mike Stearns. He couldn’t make out the face, but Mike’s athletic stride was unmistakable. He saw Mike lean over, something glinting in his hand. It was the work of seconds to haul Hoffman’s arms around to his back and put on the handcuffs.
“Yes!” shouted Jeff, his fist pumping. “My man!”
He looked around. All of the mercenaries within sight were surrendering. There had been twelve trucks in that charge. Three of them were near the Catholic camp, protecting it. The rest, except for Mike’s truck, had formed a wide circle around the milling mob of Protestant soldiers. Some of the mercenaries, Jeff suspected, had managed to escape the encirclement. But most of them were lowering their weapons and raising their hands.
“A nice day’s work!” exclaimed Larry. The boy—the young man, rather—was filled with elation. “Just like Mike planned. The Catholic mercenaries are whipped, and these so-called Protestant bas­tards—” He jeered at the huddling knots of soldiers, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to Badenburg. Some of the surrendering soldiers were staring at the town also, obviously longing for the safety of its walls.
Too far, too far. They had been well and surely trapped.
Jeff stated the obvious. “Ernst Hoffman’s reign of terror is over.”

Then, she was there. Jeff had quite forgotten her, in the excitement of the standoff.
She didn’t say anything. Her face still seemed as blank as ever. She just stared at him. Light brown eyes.
She extended her hand. Her hand was large, for a woman, and not at all delicate. The fingernails