“Yes,” Kris whispered.
“So it’s my luck to run into a young one that’s got a backbone and a good eye and knows how to use them.”
“Your Captain Thorpe always seemed to look at me and see my father, Billy Longknife, the politician. Never my great-grandfather, Ray Longknife, the. . .” Kris paused.
“The legend,” Cortez finished for her.
“Something like that. I’m still trying to figure out just what.”
Cortez chuckled. “If you ever do, for God’s sakes, young woman, don’t tell a newzie.”
“Kris,” Nelly said. “The
Wasp
should be above the horizon anytime now. If they stopped the jamming, I might be able to pick him up.”
“Right,” Cortez muttered. “Don’t need that anymore.” He managed to get to his feet, faced his side, and shouted, “Turn off the jammers, Captain.”
A man stood, and shouted up the hill, “Turn off the jammers, Sergeant.” And the message passed up the hill and into the next valley. Kris made the same call back to her line, and a runner took off for the cave.
“So you ran Thorpe out of our sky,” the colonel said. Kris nodded. “If I’d known what I was up against, I might have marched my battalion back aboard our transports and taken off, too. Ain’t hindsight wonderful?”
“Did you think about doing that?”
“Hell no, woman. Run my battalion away from a few farmers! Even if they did have a Marine company behind them. No way I could run. Of course, that was the situation then. Now. . .” He paused. “But then hindsight is always a whole lot better than what you got going in.”
A few moments of silence passed before Nelly announced, “I have the
Wasp
’s signal. Here is Captain Drago.”
“Hey, things look a whole lot quieter down there, Kris. What you doing?” He sounded abysmally chipper.
“I’m having a little chat with Colonel Cortez. Whether we keep chatting or go back to shooting depends on what you say.”
“Like Thorpe is hot to trotting out of here.”
“Did you two shoot it out?” Cortez asked.
“Nope. I showed him my Smart Metal™ armor, and he folded without calling to see what I had under it. Flat folded and started running.”
“The young lady down here told me you had twenty-four-inch lasers.
“Four of them.”
Cortez’s lips formed a bitter frown. “Being abandoned as I am, I have no choice but to accept your terms, Princess Longknife.”
Kris held out her hand. The colonel took it. “If I had my pistol with me, I’d offer it to you.”
“That pearl-handled automatic looks like a personal possession.”
“It is.”
“So long as you don’t violate your parole and attempt to escape, feel free to keep it,” Kris said.
“I’d have to be suicidal to run,” he said, eyeing Kris’s volunteers, who only now, at the sight of the handshake, were standing up from their firing positions.
Across the field, white coats stood, too. The battle was over. For some, it was lost. For some, it was won.
The wounded pleaded for succor. The dead asked only why.
43
Someone had once said that the only sight worse than a battle won. . . was a battle lost. Kris found that she and Cortez shared the burden of both.
Cortez organized his troops to gather most of the wounded at the upper end of the valley, close to where they fell. Kris spent a hurried hour sending all the Marine medical personnel who could be spared to them, then hunted up all the free local medics, medicine, and bandages, and sent them, too. Only then did she take a moment to begin organizing a camp for her troops.
At Peter Tzu’s suggestion, that was also in this valley.
“Put yourself too close to the swamp, and the skeeters will eat you alive. There’s an evening breeze off the hills that the little devils can’t fly against.”
So Kris’s camp ended up not too far from the colonel’s camp.
Kris almost didn’t post guards around her prisoners. After all, where could they run, and her Marines were exhausted. Later that night, when a couple of drunken locals, grief maddened by the loss of one’s girlfriend, the other’s sister, tried to take it out on the unarmed troops, Kris was glad she had.
Next pass, Captain Drago dropped a shuttle full of all the medical supplies he had, and three of mFumbo’s docs, who were actually doctors. That was good, because few of the locally trained medics were prepared for the destructive power of modern weapons. For so many of the wounded they were doing their best, but it was heartbreakingly far from enough.
Sergeant Bruce organized himself a convoy and took off at full speed with a dozen volunteers and a sergeant from the Jerusalem Rifles to contact those left to guard the trucks. They loaded the medical supplies left behind, then added any food available, and were back before supper. The medical gear was much appreciated; the three docs had just about exhausted what they’d brought down. All through the afternoon and evening, they lost patients. Now, with morphine, at least no one died screaming.
While the medics fought their private battles with death, most of the rest of the volunteers were overflowing with joy or exhaustion. . . or both. The animals that had died that noon provided the beginnings of a victory feast. Trucks headed out to nearby farms to get greens, fruit, and other trimmings. They returned with whiskey and beer as well, and the celebration got down and serious.
They had a lot to celebrate. The volunteers’ casualties had been amazingly light. Twenty-six dead and eighty-four wounded. Three Marines died holding the observation post. The two that held it to the end were severely wounded and the first on the table when the three docs set up shop. Gunny lost two dead and a dozen wounded holding his ridge. Jack’s platoon in the rice paddies retrieved three dead and sent another dozen to sick bay. Kris’s middle platoon added a half dozen wounded to those lost at the OP.
Kris’s rump company just kept getting smaller.
Come suppertime, Kris was grabbed by Bobby Joe Fronour and Gramma Polska and steered to a long table set up a bit away from the cook fires. “We need to talk,” was all they said.
“What are we supposed to do with that mound of rifles and armor?” Gramma Polska asked. “We own it now, but there’s not one living soul on this planet that knows what to do with it.”
“You’ve got the right to recruit anyone you want, except Colonel Cortez,” Kris said, noticing that he’d also been “invited” to the senior table.
“You could do a lot worse than hiring Major Zhukov,” he said. “Ivanovich knows the gear and how to train soldiers in its use. Him, a few junior officers, and senior NCOs, and you’ll have the start of an army.”
“If we can trust this major of yours,” Red said. Clearly, anything Cortez said was the last thing he’d ever do.
“It’s your call,” Kris said. “But you can’t count on me being around the next time two ships show up.”
That got the entire table talking. Most of the folks at their dinner couldn’t agree on anything. That they’d better do something was a solid consensus.
When the table talk was down to a dull roar, Bobby Joe turned to Kris. “What’s this United Sentients confederation your great-grampa Ray is setting up?”
Kris gave a quick explanation, careful to point out that exactly what it was— an alliance, a confederation, or a federal authority— was yet to be determined. “The planets with reps on Pitts Hope right now are the ones who will decide it all.”
“Like we ought to be there right now,” Red said, and spat.
“Yes, like we ought to,” Gramma Polska said. “We certainly should be.”
“You’ll need a planetary government,” Kris pointed out.
“We’ll need a planetary government to control our own defenses,” Bobby Joe said. “All that armor and rifles won’t be worth nothing if we don’t set up some sort of militia.”
“I’m willing to command it,” Red offered, and ducked as all at the table, except Kris and Cortez, tossed food his way.
“How long you going to be here?” Bobby Joe asked.
“I have cargo your son bought that needs to get down here. As soon as I can do that, I’ve got to get back to Xanadu.”
“You opening up that can of snakes?” Gramma Polska asked.
“Have to. Human space is expanding. They’re sitting on a major set of jump points. They can’t stay a Hermit Kingdom.”
Bobby Joe raised his mug of beer. “Good luck on that one.”
The table joined in the sentiment.
Aboard the
Wasp
was only a single prisoner— Cortez. All his survivors, including Major Zhukov, had been offered jobs on Panda. Many had three to choose from. None turned them down.
And yes, Zhukov and several other officers and NCOs were training a National Guard for Panda. . . under the close watch of Gramma Polska and Red. They’d be reporting to the federal government on Panda. . . just as soon as Panda agreed what that government would look like and be allowed to do.
Aboard the
Serpent
were representatives of most of the major clans on Panda, empowered to look into membership in United Sentients. The sale of the
Serpent
would buy them tickets to Pitts Hope. They had no other source of funds; Thorpe had taken off with everything of value they had that wasn’t too heavy to lift.
But first Kris had to see how the hornet’s nest she’d knocked over on Xanadu was coming along.
Not eager to think about that, and knowing she had some serious fence-mending to do with the boffins, Kris spent most of her breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with them for the first two days. “Yes,” she promised, “just as soon as we drop off everything at Cuzco, we’ll head out, and I do mean
way out
beyond the Rim.”
Which wasn’t believed at all by the scientists, who took turns telling Kris just how important their bit of research was. Kris did a lot of listening. She didn’t understand a lot. . . but she listened.
So it was just before the jump to Xanadu that she had her first meal in the wardroom.
And found Cortez at the head of the table.
“Why aren’t you in the brig?” Kris demanded.
Cortez looked to Jack, and the Marine captain stood up. “Ah, Kris, we’d just be serving him the same food. And—” Now Jack glanced around the room, and Kris did, too.
The mess was full. Captain Drago was at the main table; most of his bridge staff was scattered around the room. The young Marine lieutenant who’d done such a good job in decoy duty on Panda was at the foot of the table, along with Gunny and most of the Marine NCOs. Penny and Abby were sitting close to the colonel. And Cara was next to his elbow!
“And?” Kris said, giving Jack the frown she’d learned from her father, right after she was found with her pudgy three-year-old hand in the cookie jar.
“And,” the Marine captain continued, after taking a deep breath, “we’re having the. . . ah, well, some really interesting and informative discussions. I feel like I’m getting Command and Staff College courses delivered through a fire hose.”
“Your prisoner is quite an interesting military historian,” Captain Drago added.
“And it’s not like he can go anywhere we aren’t going,” Penny pointed out.
“And he’s a lot more fun to listen to than some old vid lecture,” Cara added.
The colonel took a sip from his coffee cup, then said, “I do sleep in the brig. Having slept on the ground with no blanket, I assure you, your brig is quite comfortable.”
Kris headed for the steam table, drew herself a tray and plate, and started down the line, filling it. “And what is the topic for tonight?”
“
Bocage
, Your Highness. Or hedgerows if you prefer. In the last great European Civil War, midtwentieth-century Earth, the subsequent victors landed on the French coast in an area with thousand-year-old hedgerows. Age and substance had made them just as impenetrable as that mountain you dug into. The attacking side had an impossible time advancing through these hedges and thought they’d made a terrible mistake. What they failed to see was that the hedges had two sides. The subsequent losers wanted to launch their own counterattack and throw them back into the sea. The hedgerows did not let them do that.”
“And that helped them how?” Kris said, and knew she was hooked. To make matters worse, they reserved a seat at Colonel Cortez’s elbow for her, and before long, Cara was sitting at Kris’s feet, resting her head on Kris’s knee.
One old colonel and one twelve-year-old were worming their way into Kris’s heart. Well, maybe it might work for the girl, but just as soon as Kris had someone to turn Cortez over to, he’d leave the
Wasp
in handcuffs.
But for now, he was interesting to listen to.
A few hours later, they jumped into Xanadu space. . . and Kris found herself with a whole lot of nothing to listen to. The planet had gone even quieter than before. And now, it refused to answer their hails, even to tell them to shut up.
“Captain Drago, 1.5 gees, please,” Kris said. “Chief Beni, put together a team of sensor magicians and crack that silence. I want to know something before I stick my head into whatever noose they’ve woven for me while we were gone.”
“We aren’t even finding the heat we found before,” he added.
Kris thanked them for their effort, then let them leave before she turned to her command team, which, at the moment, included one prisoner, Colonel Cortez. “So, any suggestions on what we do now?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. “If there’s no threat to our shuttles, I suggest we land the Marines and have a look around,” he said.
Cortez frowned.
“You have a problem with that?” Kris said.
“No, ma’am. It seems that you must do what you must do. However, I am reminded that both Cortez and Pizarro marched deep into the two empires they approached. It was a trap. The natives intended to kill them. That both of them got out of it alive and as conquerors was never the intent of the locals.”
That left everyone with cheery thoughts.
From orbit they could not find the warm houses from before. “It’s winter down there, isn’t it?” Kris noted.
Chief Beni nodded agreement. “Better put on your woollies, Your Highness, when you go down there.”
“Put on yours, too. You’re coming with me. I want an immediate report on any noise, squeak, or peep.”
“But I can work better up here,” the chief pointed out.
“We’ll be covered from here. You are going with me. Think of it as an adventure.”
The chief just shook his head, dolefully. “Adventures may be fun for you, but I can do without them. People get killed on your kind of adventures.”
It was an honest thought, but not one Kris wanted to dwell on, so she kicked herself off and headed for her stateroom and Abby to get prepared for this newest of adventures.
It only took three shuttles to carry the troops down this time. Sick bay was still full of Marines recuperating from their jaunt down to Panda. Today’s approach to Xanadu was well spread out. Jack insisted the first shuttle be down and its Marines already deployed before the third shuttle came in with Kris.
Kris didn’t much care for that, but, per his authority over her, he could and did order it, and she had no choice but to follow her security chief. Again, Kris was reminded how much she did not like Grampa Trouble and Grampa Ray messing with her life.
By the time Kris finally rejoined the chief of her security detail, he had a whole lot of nothing to report.
“There’s not one active electronic device, one beating heart within a klick, maybe two,” Beni reported. He pulled an item from the top pocket of his battle armor, swung it around his head several times, then examined it. “No woodsmoke. I don’t think there’s so much as a candle burning in this town.”
Kris looked up the street to where the temple towered over the lower buildings. If she was going to find anything, it would be there. She was about to give that order when Beni spoke.
“Hold it; I got a heartbeat. It’s in that building,” he said, pointing to a two-story building that, like everything in sight, had a garden growing on its roof.
Kris held back on the order; now might be a good time to let things develop. A figure climbed the stairs out of the building’s basement. Like the people Kris had seen on their last stop, this one wore a kind of toga. Only as he made his way carefully toward Kris could she make out that he was a man. A man looking often back over his shoulder.
About halfway to Kris’s perimeter, he started to jog as poorly as anyone middle-aged and out of practice. Kris, Jack, and Penny headed for him. Gunny came along with a squad of Marines.
As they approached him, he shouted in a harsh, out-of-breath voice, “You have to get out of here. And take me with you. Please, take me with you.”
“What’s going on here?” Kris demanded.
“No time to explain now. You must leave.”
“I’m getting heartbeats, a couple of them,” Beni shouted. “About half a klick farther out.”
“You have to leave. They’ll kill you. Kill me,” the fellow shouted as he joined them.
Now Kris recognized the man. “Prometheus? Aren’t you the official who was our first contact last time we were here?”
“Yes, yes I was. Now please, get back aboard your shuttles and go. And take me with you. Do it now, before they kill all of you.”