Intrepid

16

Kris's job was a bit more complicated than the Marines riding behind her. She had to put the LAC into a small lake about fifteen klicks north of the Fronours' latest homestead.

And do it well before Thorpe's ship came over the horizon.

Also, it would be nice to do it without heating up the LAC so much that it just screamed their location to anyone who might want to laser them from space.

Oh, and there might be radars in at least two of the big river towns. Might be. The radars had, like everything on this planet, not shown themselves. But if Kris was running the show, she'd have put at least a platoon in each of those towns and given them radar and antilander rockets.

Some might consider that nasty of her, but she hadn't found herself all that much worse than others who'd chosen her profession.

And definitely no worse than Captain William Tacoma Thorpe.

Kris made her initial approach steep, then went into soft S curves to bleed off excess energy. She did all this while keeping the inland mountain range between her LAC and the potentially deadly towns. Their radars stayed silent until the last moment. Just as Kris was finally able to duck into the shadow of the mountains, she got a beep out of the dime-store radar detector that had been taped to the instrument panel.

So, her sonic boom had gotten someone's attention, at least enough to have them risk their radar. Kris passed the radar information along to Jack. His LAC was farther back and still high. He was also headed for a river closer to those radars.

And his LAC had been modified to carry two antiradiation missiles. The plan called for him to loft them at anything Kris found. It didn't call for him to say anything to her.

She would just have to bite her nails and wait to find out if this bit of their plan worked, failed, or headed for points unknown.

Battles were just so much fun.

Kris skimmed the mountains, balancing height with speed and hoping she was bleeding off the heat buildup that came with reentry. Her butt told her that her seat was cooler than usual; that was the full extent of her instrumentation.

As she caught a thermal crossing the last mountain range, she spotted her lake and put the LAC into a gentle curve for its inviting blue waters. She set the craft down in a shower of spray, then held it nose high as it skimmed over the water, sending cooling waves off the wings and hull and dissipating the heat over a big chunk of the lake. It had been frustrating to be on the losing end of this game of hide-and-seek. Now, she was a player, and her life depended on giving as little away about her whereabouts as the others had given her.

Kris's LAC slowed, so she headed it for the beach. This lake had a sandy edge leading to a wide grass-covered vale. A couple of meters from the shoreline, the LAC ground to a halt.

Kris popped the canopy and sat while the senior tech got out, tested the water and the air, then did a heat scan on the LAC. She shook her head. ''Even the top side is a full five degrees warmer than the ambient, Lieutenant.''

The LAC was a one-way ride; still Kris would have liked to keep it around. She stepped out, and Sergeant Bruce and a tall woman Marine towed the craft out to chest-high water. Then Bruce slit open one side panel and tipped the craft until it sank.

The tech did a second scan. ''This water is a bit warmer than the rest of the lake, but the river it empties into is only a few klicks thataway. With luck, anyone who notices the difference will put it down to sun warming the shallows here.''

By now, the second LAC was drifting up to the beach twenty meters from them. The sergeant in charge of that one took in the situation and immediately began sinking his. The lighter with its large cargo container was a bigger problem.

That one was still hot as it approached the beach. Sergeant Bruce shot a line to it when it went dead in the water a couple of hundred meters short. Some Marines came hand over hand along the line, while others attached their own lines to the main one while collecting on the tail of the lighter.

With that weight aft, the nose rose, the tail sank, water poured into the container, and the whole shebang sank. Five minutes later, all the Marines were ashore and accounted for … though some looked muddy and waterlogged.

Gunny pulled up the rear with a small team vanishing all evidence of their passing. Kris put the Marines in single file, posted a pair of mine hunters ahead of her, and led off at a jog for the latest burn north of the Fronour place. The speed heated them up, but their battle suits were intended to make that go away. Heat, whether from the machinery or the human inside, collected in a central reservoir, where it powered up dissipation units called ''hoppers'' by the troops and something else, which no one recalled, by the suits' manufacturers.

The idea was for the hoppers to spread the heat over a wide area when they were jettisoned. However, with her Marines in single file to avoid leaving a lot of footsteps, dropping hoppers would more than likely leave a heat arrow pointing right at Kris.

''Hold your hoppers for when we walk through the fire area,'' Kris ordered. ''Pass it down the line.''

What a battle she was headed into. Orders passed by voice. A map with nothing on it. Did these folks have horses? Was she going to end up riding one into battle?

No. Goats were what they used for terraforming. No way was she or a Marine under her command going to ride a goat.

Assuming she could find Andy's people. They had to be around here somewhere. Probably close to their farmstead. Not too close. Not too far either. But how to spot them?

Behind Kris, Sergeant Bruce ordered his tech to check the air, then suggested that Kris might want to put them on local consumables. ''Don't know when we'll need the air we brought.''

Kris passed the order down the line.

And kept right on gnawing at her main problem. How to make contact with people who didn't much care to say, ''Howdy.''

They had gone to ground. But even moles needed air. Air was the one weakness of any subterranean existence.

But before Kris could say, ''Hi,'' to anyone, she had to survive the next pass from Thorpe's ship.

This battle was being played out like an old chess game. Kris had made her move. Now she'd better find a place to shelter up and wait out Thorpe's move.

The line of march took them along the side of the still-burning field. ''Fire hoppers to the left,'' Kris ordered, reducing her heat signature. Ahead was a field dotted with goats. A couple of evil-looking rams wandered over to inspect these invaders of their domain.

''Are they dangerous?'' Sergeant Bruce asked Kris. The wrong person. She called for Andy.

''They can be pests,'' he assured them, kicking one that got too close. That one retreated, joining the others a comfortable distance out to crop grass and eye the Marines.

''I think I've found the only thing that smells worse than a Marine after a week in the field,'' Bruce concluded.

''They spend all year in the field,'' Andy said, in defense of his farm stock. If only a very minimal defense.

''This place looks good,'' Kris called out to her platoon. ''Let's spread out the netting. It's nap time, crew.''

She could see lips but did not actually hear anyone say, ''Yes, Your Highness.'' They were a good team.

Hopefully, they'd be alive five minutes from now.

* * *

''Where is she?'' Thorpe demanded as soon as his ship, the Golden Hind, rose above the horizon of the human-settled area of Pandemonium. ''They didn't kill our communication and observation satellites just to announce they were here. A Longknife would need to make a big splash, and do it quickly.''

''They also took out our radar at Bluebird Landing,'' Sensors reported.

''Did they pick up anything first?''

''Something coming in from the northwest, but it was masked by mountains for all but a second. Colonel Cortez reports they spotted an incoming pair of missiles and went silent. However it must have been fire-and-forget as well as antiradiation. It went right through the radar emitter.''

''Our investors should have provided something better than that old crap,'' Thorpe said with a scowl he was sure to turn toward Mr. Whitebred. The man was back on the bridge though otherwise well behaved.

He was, however, one of those blind optimists among the investors who had been sure they'd be facing nothing but farmers with squirrel rifles. He had the good sense to blush and keep his mouth shut now.

''Well, they wouldn't be throwing missiles at our radars if they weren't bringing in troop transports behind them. Sensors, find their landing sites. I'm sure Colonel Cortez and his gravel crunchers would be most happy if we blasted this nosy princess from orbit. Let's make it happen.''

Two minutes later, with only moments before the Golden Hind lost any line of fire at a target in the settlement area, Thorpe was ready to pull his hair out.

''They've got to be down there somewhere,'' he said, glaring at both his sensors and weapons leads.

''Yes, sir. The problem, as it has been with the farmers, is where?''

''We seem not to have surprised them,'' Thorpe said.

''The ones we have captured don't claim to have been warned. They haven't seen a ship in nearly a year.''

''Save this for later. I want Longknife now. Her ships just landed. Where?''

''We've searched every inch of the settlement. They didn't land on any of what they call roads. No landing runs on any fields. They could not have landed in the trees. We'd see wrecks all over the place. Could they have jumped and their landers recovered back aboard their ship?'' the young man on sensors said helpfully.

''Colonel Cortez reported no such sonic booms,'' Weapons interjected. ''Booms when they came in. Nothing going out.''

''Let's stick to the likely, shall we,'' Thorpe said. ''Longknife likes water landing for her LAC, at least she did when I knew her. What have you got along rivers and lakes?''

''Nothing, sir,'' reported Sensors. ''Those landers should be hotter than two-dollar pistols. We've got nothing on infrared either pulled up on the beach, or floating. Even if they did cool them, we show nothing on visuals. If she landed, the earth has swallowed them up.''

''Like it has the rest of these people,'' Thorpe muttered. He was tired of hearing that line.

''There is one thing, sir,'' Weapons said.

''What?'' Thorpe demanded.

''Well, sir, we know that they have to be carrying a lot of heat from reentry. Nobody, not even a Longknife, can do a reentry and stay calm and cool.'' She risked a smile at her own joke.

Thorpe allowed a thin one to encourage her. She, at least, was using her head.

''There are two heat anomalies,'' Weapons began.

''Anomalies is right,'' Sensors cut in. ''Easily explained by natural causes.''

''Two,'' Thorpe said.

''As if she had split her forces, sir, one out on the fringe in a lake, the other closer to the center but spread all over. Maybe a strike force and a reserve?''

''You're setting up a straw enemy to fit nothing but a bit of sun-warmed lake.''

''Where?'' Thorpe demanded.

The forward screen was replaced with a map of the settled areas. Weapons highlighted a section of the screen. ''This river suddenly warms here, but is cool again five klicks downriver. This lake is snowmelt cool, but down here near the river that empties it, it's warmer.''

''Less than a tenth of a degree. It could just be sun warming shallow water,'' Sensors pointed out.

''Radar says that lake is deep, a hundred meters or more. And it rises quickly at the shore,'' Weapons said softly.

''Who owns this homestead?'' Thorpe asked.

''Ah, just a moment, sir,'' Sensors stuttered. ''A Robert Fronour, sir.''

''Isn't he the original settler of this planet?'' Weapons said, her voice rising. ''Didn't that Longknife girl claim to have someone of his family and cargo for him?''

''Yes she did,'' Thorpe said, making a snap decision with no doubt that it was the one to make. ''Weapons, two targets. The Fronour farmhouse. Target with one eighteen-inch laser. Use the other eighteen-incher to hit the warmest part of that lake. Let's see if anyone is trying to hide in the bottom mud.''

''I have the target coordinates loaded, sir,'' Weapons said. Pushing off from his chair, she flew arrow-straight for her station. She snagged her station chair with one hand and made final adjustments to her firing solution with the other. ''We will lose our line of fire in five seconds.''

''Fire on the count of three,'' Thorpe ordered. His ''One, two, three'' was short, but it got the job done.

The lights dimmed as the pulse lasers drew all the power they could into two coherent beams of light and death. Thorpe's only regret was that he'd have to wait over an hour to find out if he'd finally gotten that spoiled brat.