Mutineer

CHAPTER ELEVEN

First thing next morning, Kris checked in at the warehouse; Jeb and a dozen of his team had worked through most of the night. They expected to complete the inventory by noon; Kris left them to it. Tommy showed up a few minutes later. Millie had appeared at the barracks front door that morning with a small army of ex-hotel employees. ''We can handle things from here, Kind Sir, if you will just get out of our way, Kind Sir, we should have everything spick-and-span by supper, Kind Sir, now, Kind Sir, please, get lost.'' Tommy had several ideas about how to get the rolling gear rolling, so Kris left the ''Kind Sir,'' to himself and concentrated on what she wanted to do.

Ester was back at her soup kitchen, a spick-and-span building in need of paint on the outside but as homey as could be on the inside. The woman sported a bandaged head but didn't let it slow her down one bit. Nelly had discovered a local bank with rolls of Wardhaven dollars in its vault. Kris plopped four rolls, a hundred dollars, on the table in front of Ester. ''How long will it take to get armed guards on each kitchen?''

''They're already here,'' Ester answered. Behind the serving table, two young women smiled and produced rifles from under the table. ''My daughters,'' Ester explained. ''Their husbands are out front.''

''And the other kitchens?''

''All have guards today. No man wants his wife put through this,'' she said with a wave at her head.

Kris pointed at the rolls of dollars. ''See that everyone gets his or her pay. And Ester, it will be a problem for me if my Colonel is embarrassed by something done by our guards. Could you see that they understand that while they take our dollar and eat our food, they are…?''

''On their best behavior,'' Ester smiled. ''Yes, I will let them know that Grandma Ester expects only the best from her men.''

That was not exactly Kris's words, and it certainly wasn't the way a Marine Colonel would express his expectations for discipline within the ranks. Still, it was probably the best this lash-up would allow. Kris hiked back to the base.

Somehow word had gotten out that Tom needed machinists and mechanics; the warehouse fence was already lined with men and women with automotive skills seeking employment. For a repair shop, Tommy identified a large building next to the warehouse that could be easily included in their perimeter fence. One of the hires was the owner of a failing truck firm halfway across town. He was painfully eager to sell his inventory for ten cents on the dollar. Kris was uncomfortable at the idea until the man admitted his off-world bank was selling him off just that cheap. If Kris would buy him out, he could pay off his debt and be in a position to buy it back from the Navy when they left.

Under those conditions, the Displaced Farmers' Fund happily wrote a check and got the gear moved inside the fence.

While the actual work was quickly done on a handshake, the paperwork required Kris to coordinate with both Supply, Finance, and Administration. Kris quickly discovered why Supply and Finance wanted nothing to do with Admin. She had no problem getting the petty officers in the two sections that usually would have reported to Admin to sign off on all the required paperwork. Getting Pearson to approve anything turned into a Herculean task.

''Why do we need all this stuff?'' the lieutenant sniffed.

''If it's broke, we have to fix it.'' Kris had to go to the Colonel to get that answer declared acceptable. Still, five, times the Admin chief bounced Kris's paperwork for minor corrections. Five times Kris resubmitted it.

''Why are you putting up with this?'' Tommy asked.

''I wouldn't, if we had some trucks to work on, but the ones due yesterday still aren't even in orbit,'' Kris sighed and played the lieutenant's game. When the dozen trucks finally did arrive, Kris was glad for her pre-work. Donated rigs, the newest truck had a hundred thousand miles on it. The mechanics took one look at them, shook their heads, then turned to and totally rebuilt them, using every machine and tool Kris had laid her hands on.

Kris didn't let Pearson and her runarounds eat up all her time. Mornings she quickly did her Navy duties. Afternoons, she devoted most of her time to the Ruth Edris Fund. If she failed to hitch a ride with a supply truck, she hoofed it, making the rounds of soup kitchens, checking how everything was going. There were no more robberies, no more beatings. The rain still came down in sheets as Kris traveled the flooded streets of Port Athens, the people still hunched against it as they splashed from puddle to pothole, but now they seemed less beaten.

Whether she hitched a ride or walked, she wound up soaking wet by sundown from the top of her hat to the soggy soles of her boots. The only thing between Kris and utter misery was the humidity controls in the barracks, and when Millie reported the entire unit ready to give up the ghost, Kris paid extra to hire the only man on planet able to nurse the collapsing system along. A dry, warm room each night was cheap at any price.

Pearson was still developing policy when the mechanics wiped grease from their hands and declared six of the trucks as ready as they were ever going to get for the roads up-country. Kris didn't intend to wait any longer for policy; the farm stations were starving. She collected the people she'd met on her rounds and put the question to them: ''Where do we start?''

''I think down south is having it harder,'' a farm implements sales manager advised. ''Up north, the land runs to hills and gullies. The gullies are taking up a lot of the water. Down south, it's flatter. Water doesn't have any place to go. It's going back to swamp.''

Across the table from her, a priest and minister nodded their heads. ''That's what we hear, too,'' said the priest. ''But young woman, the gangs are also worse down south. A lot of gunmen are running down there. And with the swamps, there's no way anyone can trace them.''

''We've got some pretty smart gear, Padre,'' Kris answered.

''I know you do, but I haven't seen any of it flying around here,'' the red-faced priest answered back. ''Is it only my imagination, or is this whole effort being done on the cheap?''

''Father!'' Ester Saddik swatted his wrist. ''My mother taught me to say ‘thank you' when someone offered a helping hand, not count the fingers.''

''Sorry.''

''Nothing I haven't thought, Father,'' Kris acknowledged. ''Tomorrow, I'll take a half-dozen trucks south. Should be back in a day. Thanks for your help.''

''Do you want a few of our armed men with you?'' Ester asked.

Kris had been thinking a lot about that. Armed civilians riding shotgun for the Navy didn't feel right. A few witnesses? No. ''This is a Navy show, ma'am. We'll do it the Navy Way.''

The trucks were eight-wheelers. Each wheel was supposed to be good for both traction and steering; Kris was just happy if they turned. Each cab had a front and backseat.

The days of troops riding on the truck bed were gone…no safety belts back there. Kris assigned three gunners to the backseat of each truck. That left room for a driver and a boss in the front seat. Kris would command the first truck. She should have assigned Tommy to command the last truck, but he asked to be her driver; there might be an advantage to having both officers up front. With her pair of third-class POs, that only put a supervisor in three of the six trucks. Her accountant insisted on commanding one truck. ''I get out of the office, or the auditors are going to find really weird things,'' was a threat Kris respected.

Unfortunately, when you give in to one threat, you only get more. ''Burnt toast if I don't get a truck,'' Courtney smiled. So she got a day away from the mess hall.

The sixth truck was all marines.

Her convoy on the move, Kris found herself with time on her hands and a puzzle that would not go away. Everyone here was supposed to be armed to the teeth; the city folks certainly were. So, how come the farm stations were off net with rumors they'd been beat up? The orbital photos showed most of them were in the middle of wide fields, clear lanes of fire as far as any shooter could sight. Anybody trying to rob a farm station should have been very dead five hundred meters out. Maybe someone could sneak up on one or two, but Kris was scheduled to stop at five. Five! Something was wrong here.

To the three recruits riding shotgun in the back, there was definitely something wrong, but nothing like what worried Kris. ''I didn't join the Navy to be no errand boy,'' one young spacer said, not caring if Kris heard.

''Hell,'' the next one agreed, ''if I wanted to do deliveries, I could have stayed home and worked for my dad's shop. At least there, after you put in your eight hours, your day is your own. No offense meant, ma'am. It's not your fault we have to take night watch once a week.''

''None taken,'' Kris assured him, knowing full well that all the troops knew she was the reason for the night duty.

''Wouldn't do you any good to have spare time,'' the third, a woman, chimed in. ''No place to go, and if you do, it's raining, raining, raining. Join the Navy and see the mud holes.''

The first one was ready to come back in. ''I joined up to be a gunner. I got the highest score on Tuckwillow in SpaceFighter. Nobody can zap those bug-eyed monsters like I can.''

''We haven't found any more aliens,'' Kris pointed out. ''Getting chow to starving people is a bit more pressing than getting ready for hostiles we haven't met.''

''Yeah, I know. You're an officer, ma'am, and you have to think like that. But me, just give me a four-inch laser and a squadron of incoming badasses, and you'd see what I can do. This stuff, it's just making the do-gooders back in their overstuffed couches on Earth feel like they did something good when they paid their taxes. They ought to come out here and play around in this mud.''

Kris didn't tell him Wardhaven had do-gooders, too, and that was why she joined the Navy.

The first station on their list was big: owners, their kids and wives, grandkids—maybe a few of those getting up marriage high—filled several dozen family-size houses. A number of families from small stations had also taken refuge there. Before it went off net, they reported groups of horse- and truck-mounted bandits roaming the area. Kris shook her head; they ought to have been able to field a continuous watch. They ought not to have gone off the air.

Approaching the station, Kris matched the map on her reader against reality. The muddy road was wide enough for two trucks but in need of repair; Tom slipped and slid from side to side looking for the shallower potholes. The fields on either side of the road were muddy from a crop that never grew and rain that never stopped. She had an unhindered line of sight across those sodden fields to a creek that had overflowed its banks, swallowed the trees around it, and flooded hundreds of meters more. An abandoned tractor was up to its hubs in water. This muck would have channelized any attack; the raiders had to hit them from the road. They should have been mowed down.

What were Kris and her tiny convoy driving into?

''Lock and load,'' Kris ordered as they came in sight of the station. That made a few troopers' day. Tom left his rifle in the scabbard hanging from the door.

''Can't use it and drive.''

It had been a successful farm, if three large barns said, anything about its pre-volcanic wealth. A big house held pride of place facing a central yard. Other houses and outbuildings turned the station into a small village. There was no one in view.

Kris ordered the other trucks to halt and go on over watch, then explained that meant them watching, rifles ready, while she had Tom drive slowly in. Maybe she spotted motion behind a window. Maybe the barrel of a gun protruding out a door. With a fatalistic grimace, Kris ordered Tom to stop at the gate, dismounted, and started to walk the rest of the way in.

Activating her mike, Kris announced, ''I am Ensign Longknife of the Society Navy,'' when she was a hundred meters from the nearest outbuilding. Her voice boomed from her truck's loudspeaker. ''My rigs have food. You went off net several months ago. Do you require aid?''

A barn door opened; three men slipped out before closing it, then started walking toward Kris. At the big house, several women appeared on the porch, two with babies in arms. They also made for the center of the commons. Kris did, too.

They met in the middle. A tall, bald man held out a hand to Kris. ''I'm Jason McDowell. My father started this station.'' He waved at the thin, graying woman leading the other women. ''This is my wife, Latishia.''

Kris shook his hand, then the woman's when she joined the group. ''I have food packages for you. I was hoping to leave about a month's supply. How many people do you have here?'' The man shook his head. ''A hundred or so, but a month's worth of food is too much. They'll just come back and take it,'' he said bitterly.

''We could hide some, Jason,'' his wife whispered. ''They'd make us tell. Someone would give it out. They'd make us.''

The wife looked away but nodded agreement.

''I guess we can come out here once a week,'' Kris offered, not really wanting the workload. Others now came from the barns, houses, and outbuildings; the number kept growing. Kris had expected to see guns. There weren't any.

''Before I can leave the food, I'll need every person's Identacard to verify the delivery.''

''Don't have any. They took ‘em.'' Jason dropped the words like lumps of hot iron.

''Does that mean you can't help us?'' Latishia asked, her hands knotting her apron. The two silent women beside her clutched their children.

''We didn't drive all this way to tell hungry folks we can't feed them because of a paperwork snafu,'' Kris said. And Lieutenant Pearson can finish her policies in hell.

She chinned her mike. ''Tommy, bring' em in.''

Still, losing Identacards was no minor matter. For the last month, these people could have had their bank accounts emptied, their personalities misused on the interplanetary web. Anything could have happened to them while they were off net and unable to say a word in their defense. This did not sound like the work of local hooligans. ''With no IDs, I'll need photographs of everyone,'' Kris said, then ordered Tom to break out a camera.

''Brother, if they've got a commlink, I could check our bank account,'' one of the men with Jason said.

''You do that, Jerry.''

''Tom, see that this man gets a link to the net.'' Tom took the flood of orders with a grin and a ''You got it, ma'am.''

''Can you get everyone out here?'' Kris asked.

''My mother is bedridden,'' Jason said. ''I guess we could bring her down here, but…''

''I'll go see her. I'm just trying to keep the damn auditors from flaying me too badly when this is over.''

''I understand. We're in business…'' Jason stopped, glanced around, ended up staring at the muddy yard. ''We were.''

''We will be again,'' his wife said, offering a hand that he flinched away from. As a commissioned officer, Kris ought to leave this well enough alone. Still, Judith would never have let Kris get away in therapy with dodging what these two were running from, and Kris owed Judith her life. In the mud room of the house, Kris shucked her poncho before taking the stairs slowly to the third floor. The house was made of wood, finely polished by work and use.

In a bedroom hung with the needlework of years, a woman lay alone on an oversize bed. She moaned in pain. With three quick steps, Kris knelt by the bed, lifted the covers from the old woman. Her weathered skin showed the blue and yellow discoloration of a several-weeks-old beating.

''I've got a corpsman in the convoy. Can I have her take a look at your mother?''

''We've done what we could for Mother,'' the man said, eyes flinching from the woman.

''Do you have painkillers? They took ours,'' his wife said.

''Tom, send up the corpsman. Have her home on my commlink.''

''Yes, ma'am.''

Kris turned from where she knelt, looked up at the couple. ''Are you going to tell me what happened here? Everybody told me when I got orders to Olympia, watch your back. Everybody carries a gun. Our Colonel doesn't want us on the streets at night. Too many guns. Well, I haven't seen a gun in this compound.'' Kris pointed at a gun rack hanging on the wall beside a window—empty. ''Where are your guns?''

''Gone,'' the man said. ''They're just gone. Leave it at that, Navy.''

''My husband went to the fields,'' the woman began softly.

The man turned on his wife, his eyes begging her for silence. She met his eyes with her own, level, unflinching. When she didn't turn away, he fled to the farthest corner of the room. ''A farm isn't something that you take care of when you feel like it, not if you're like Jason and his family. His pa carved this station out of a grant. It was swamp when they came here fifty years ago. They drained it. The pumps have to be checked. Now especially. And the pumps are close to the swamps.''

''There were five of us,'' Jason said to the floor. ''All armed. We knew that''—he failed to find a word—''those men were out there. We figured we'd see them coming.'' Jason looked up at Kris. ''We're good shots. Pa had us practice every week, and there are things we locals call a buffalo in the swamp that can trample a crop into the mud. We're good at hunting them.

''They came out of a ditch. Must have been breathing through hollow reeds or something. They had the drop on us before we even knew they were there. If we'd gone for our guns, they'd have slaughtered us.'' The man looked up at his wife. His voice choked. ''Honey, I wish to hell we'd fought.''

Now the woman went to her husband's side, gave him a shoulder as he sobbed. Kris had rarely seen men cry. On the bed, the old woman struggled to find a comfortable place, moaned. Kris stood, her hand going to the butt of her pistol. There were things she'd joined the Navy to take care of. At the moment, the local bad guys were two up on her. She didn't like the score.

As her man wept, the wife continued the story, her voice a low monotone that screamed, Wrong, by its very softness. ''The trucks stopped four hundred yards out. About a dozen got out. Any of them that weren't one of ours, we had them in our sights. Then someone shouted. ‘Woman, I got a pistol at your husband's head. You have your men and womenfolk drop their guns, and everyone's gonna come out of this alive. People start shooting, and he dies first.' ''

''I told you to shoot.'' The man's voice was begging for understanding, forgiveness. ''I shouted at you, screamed for you to shoot.''

Kris wondered what she would have done, as wife, as husband.

''More men got out of the trucks,'' the wife continued, ''spread out in the mud, went to ground. There must have been thirty or forty riflemen. We had children,'' she looked up at Kris, pleading for understanding. Kris nodded, tried to give what the woman wanted. The wife shook her head and went on. ''Some of the men were for fighting it out, let the devil take the last one standing.''

The woman looked Kris hard in the eye. ''We have our children here. We women voted to put the guns down.'' The woman glanced down at her husband. ''Maybe if we'd known what came next, we'd have fought. Some of us say we wish we had. Most of us don't.''

Almost Kris told the woman that she didn't have to finish the story; already Kris knew the ending. But the wife had come this far; the rest tumbled from her mouth. ''They took our guns first, then our food, IDents, anything that seemed important or that they wanted. Then they had the men tie each others' hands. There, in the mud, in front of our husbands and children, they raped us. That seemed to add something to it for them. Jason's father, her husband,'' she nodded at the old woman in bed. ''He fought them, tied up, he fought them.''

''Why didn't I? Why didn't I, too?'' Jason moaned.

''Because I told you not to. Because if you had, they'd have killed you like they did him. Probably beaten me like they did her.'' A large sigh racked the woman. ''We're alive. Over at the Sullivan place, they're dead. They slaughtered the kids like pigs because they tried to fight them off. We are alive, Jason,'' she took her husband's face in her hands. ''We are alive. We will come through this.''

''And we will hang those bastards,'' Jason whispered.

''If we can. It's all in God's hands.''

The medic arrived; Kris left the wife to work with the corpsman and headed downstairs. Outside, she paused; her mission plan called for delivering food. The rules of engagement only allowed her to return fire if fired upon.

''Come on you sons-a-bitches,'' she whispered to the leaden air. ''I got thirty trigger pullers and no kids in this convoy. You know we're here. You know you want what we got. Come get it. Please.'' As Kris marched across the yard, the man who'd asked to check on finances came walking back, shaking his head.

''They sold the farm. Right out from under us, they sold it.''

Kris stopped him. ''I'm recording what I'm saying for a legal deposition,'' she told Nelly and the man.

''You can do that?''

''That and more.'' Quickly Kris recounted how she'd found the farm station, stripped of IDents and communications. ''Any financial and legal actions taken between the time this station went off net and now are not legal and binding. I, Kristine Anne Longknife, do testify to that in any court of law,'' she finished.

''Thank you,'' the young man said.

''We'll see what else I can do,'' Kris said, spotted Tom, and shouted, ''We done?''

''Think so. I've got photos of everyone. Even Pearson should be happy.''

''Good. Let's pack it in and get moving. We got a lot more to do.''

''Yes ma'am.'' Tom stepped close. ''Kris, is something wrong? You look like…well, like you want somebody dead.''

''Nothing wrong with that,'' Kris snapped. ''We're armed, and there are bad guys out there. Everybody, let's saddle up. We got things to do, places to go.''

The troops began to collect by their rigs. They seemed in no hurry to be gone. Several of them were still holding small children, helping them to stuff their faces.

''Ma'am?'' one of Kris's backseat guards started. ''The bad guys are just going to come back. Take what we left them. Could we, maybe, at least take the kids back to town? They've been starving for the last month. That mom told me the little kids don't have the stomach to digest the grass and other stuff keeping the grown-ups alive.''

''Next week maybe we will. Not now.'' Kris cut him off.

''I said move it, troops. I expect to see you moving,'' she shouted. Navy and Marines got moving.

Jason came out of the large house, spotted her, and began a slow jog toward Kris. As emaciated as the man was, still he put one foot in front of the other until he came to hang on Kris's truck door.

''Listen, those guys use the swamps for their hideout. If you keep away from the worst of the swamps, you might avoid them.'' Kris called up her planned track on her battle board and shared it with Jason. He shook his head. ''There, four, five miles down the road, you're headed into Dead Cow Swamp. You've got to go around.''

''Can't,'' Kris found that she was grinning. ''Everything around that road is flooded. It's the only elevated road left. We're going right up it.''

''They'll be waiting for you.''

''I kind of hope so,'' Kris said, letting her grin take over her entire face. Grampa Trouble would be proud.

''Just so you know what you're getting into,'' Jason said.

Kris turned around, glancing down the line of trucks. ''Got no children. Only Navy and Marines. This is what we get paid for.''

''Be careful, Lieutenant, or Ensign, or whatever you are. I thought I could take anything that came. God, I was wrong.''

''I may have some photos for you and your wife to ID next week when we come through. You may not have to wait until this mess is over before you watch a few of them swing.'' Damn, I'm starting to like this.

''Oh God, be careful.''

''Not what they pay me for,'' Kris said, leaning out the window, looking back. All her troops were mounted up. ''Tom, move us out.''

''Yes, ma'am.''

In the rearview, Kris watched as Jason went from group to group, saying something. Some of the women fell to their knees in the mud, hands clasped in prayer.

''Say your prayers for the bastards ahead of us. Not for me and mine,'' Kris whispered through tightly drawn lips.

''Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?'' Tom asked, eyes locked straight ahead, hands in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. ''I am your second-in-command, and I am supposed to take over if something happens to you.''

Kris popped her mike. ''Troops, you just saw why we're here. Those folks are starving because a bunch of thugs stole what they raised. They killed an old man and beat up his wife. They raped most of the women you saw back there.''

''Raped!'' echoed through the backseat like an electric shock. So, not everyone had gotten full disclosure. Well, they had it now.

''Even the little girls,'' Kris snapped. ''Some of you are tired of being glorified delivery boys. Maybe you could have stayed home and delivered pizza for what we've done so far. Well, I'm told that our road is going to get a bit dangerous in a few minutes. These cruds like to steal things, and our trucks are the only things on the road worth stealing today. Lock and load, crew. Payback time is here, and we'll do the collecting.''

Kris turned to Tom; while she talked, he had called up the route on the truck's display. Overlaying that with a photo, he stabbed a finger at Dead Cow Swamp. ''There?''

''Looks it.''

Tom studied the map. ''We could double back about five klicks. There's that other road that stays to high ground.''

''Looks flooded to me,'' Kris cut him off. ''We've got food to deliver. If we go wandering all over the place, we'll never make it back to base tonight.''

''We could camp at one of the farm stations. Those folks are friendly. They'd be glad to have us stay a night.''

''We've got other deliveries to make tomorrow. Tom, we are going up this road. I suggest you check your weapon. I've never seen you fire one.''

''I qualified at OCS. I had to, to graduate.''

''What did you shoot?''

''The minimum required,'' Tom said, not looking at her.

''For God's sake, Tom, you're a Navy officer. You knew this was part of the job when you took it.''

''You may have noticed, I'm driving a truck, delivering food to starving people. Didn't the priest back home preach ‘Thou shalt not kill,' every time there'd be a barroom fight in town and someone'd be cut up. I joined the Navy to get my college loans forgiven, not to kill.''

''Even men who rape and kill and steal food from starving kids?'' Kris spat.

Tommy looked out over the sodden land. ''This wasn't what I had in mind.''

''But it is what you've got now.'' Behind Kris, while she and Tom talked, the backseat got very quiet. What were they thinking? Did it matter? They had their orders. They would follow her. Why was she wasting time arguing with Tom? She had things to do. Again, she tapped her mike.

''Longknife here. Roll the windows down. We don't want flying glass in the cabs.'' Kris looked up, examining the front window. She spotted a release, hit it. The window on her side of the cab swung down to rest on the hood as the rain began to soak her. She told the rest of the convoy to do the same. For a long moment, they rode in silence, swaying from side to side as Tom hunted for more road and less pothole.

''Ma' am,'' came quietly from the backseat.

''Yes,'' it was not the expectant hero. He looked white as a sheet as he stared out the window. It was the young woman behind Kris. She'd been in the middle on the ride in.

''We can shoot these people?''

''They'll be shooting at us. Yes, we shoot back.''

''My momma and the preacher, they always said death belonged to God, God and the doctors. That's why the gangs were wrong. Now you're saying it's okay to kill. You sure, ma'am?''

Kris had grown up a politician's daughter where you did anything you had to do to win the next election. Grampa Trouble had come in like some knight in shining armor when she was so far down there was no up. She'd loved to read the history books about what he'd done in the war. He and Grampa Ray. Even Great-grannys Ruth and Rita were in the history books, fighting for what was right. Of course, Kris had learned ''Thou shalt not kill.'' But for her, it had never been absolute. True, rather than kill a spider, Harvey would take it outdoors to keep his wife happy, but he'd fought side by side with Grampa Ray at the Battle at the Gap and was damn proud of it.

''As I hear it,'' Kris began slowly, hunting for the words that would release the safety on her troopers' souls, ''there's a time to build and a time to tear down. A time to live and a time to die. I say if those men up there shoot at us, it's their time to die. Or they can throw their weapons down and their hands up. And hang after the courts get done with them.''

Kris turned in her seat to study the three young recruits behind her; they were pale. The guy in the middle licked his lips nervously. The girl fingered her weapon as if to see if it was real. The hero-to-be glanced at Kris, then went back to staring out the window. ''What those men did back there took them outside the bounds of humanity. If they shoot at us, we kill them like the wild dogs they've become. Those are your orders. You will execute them. If I'm wrong, I'll be the one that stands trial, not you.''

''But they'll be just as dead whether a court says you were right or wrong,'' the middle said.

''Kind of like the Colonel,'' the woman agreed.

This was not going the way Kris had expected. In the history books, there were no reluctant soldiers. Then again, these were Navy types, hardly out of boot camp. Maybe Kris ought to have the marines pull their truck up closer to the front.

Maybe I ought to rethink this whole thing.

Kris swung around in her seat. While she'd talked, the open fields had given way to mangled trees and scrub. Some trees were down, big root balls standing in the still waters. Kris eyed the road ahead of them and what stretched out behind them. Just road and water. Probably a ditch alongside the road. How could she turn this parade around? Couldn't even if she wanted to. Licking her lips, she put that option aside. For better or worse, this convoy went forward.

Kris concentrated on what lay ahead in the next few minutes. Had she done everything? What had she forgotten? That was supposed to be the perpetual question of the commander. What's left undone? She felt a rising panic. What had she missed? She didn't remember that being mentioned in the history books.

Kris checked her gun, eyed the trees growing closer and closer to the road. She activated her mike again. ''Crew, we can expect our targets to be hiding behind trees. Your rifles have range finders that automatically set the charge for your darts. They'll set them too low to shoot through tree trunks. Turn your selector to maximum.''

''Ma'am,'' came a shaky voice. ''Which switch is that?''

''The forward one,'' Kris answered, then thought better. ''The one closest to the end of the barrel. Ahead of the selector for sleepy darts.''

''Thank you,'' the automatic civility seemed out of place at the moment. Anything smacking of civilization seemed wrong just now. Kris started to say that, then swallowed hard as the truck came around a curve. The trees that had blocked her view ahead now fell away to Kris's right. Ahead, two, maybe three hundred meters, a tree lay across the road.

Kris took the scene in quickly. There was no root ball on this downed tree; a freshly cut stump stood beside the road. Kris switched the sights on her rifle to thermal. Yes, three people lay behind the downed log. Kris quickly scanned the woods to the left and right. Yes, more thermal images: a dozen, twenty. A lot. Kris remembered the man's story, people rising up out of the water. She tried to scan the ditch alongside the road. Some of the water seemed warmer than that around it, but the current in the ditch formed it into a long blur.

Beside her, Tom was slowing. ''How close do you want to get, Longknife?'' he asked through gritted teeth.

Kris went through her options fast. Drive into the trap and stop, let the bad guys shoot first, then take them. She had more people…Correction: she had recruits. Her targets were desperate killers. Kris eyed the water ahead; riflemen coming from the water had gotten the drop on the farmer.

''Stop here,'' she ordered. Tom braked slowly to a stop in the middle of the muddy road a good two hundred meters from the downed tree. For a long minute, Kris watched the roadblock as nothing happened.

''Throw down your guns and nobody gets hurt,'' blared over the swamp, sending birds squawking and flapping into the leaden sky. Kris scowled; she was about to say the very same thing.

Well, that settled the question of intent. Kris sighted her rifle at the right-most thermal shadow behind the downed tree. She chinned her mike. ''Open fire, crew.'' Obeying her own command, Kris sent a long burst into the tree, walking the darts from right to left. Someone tried to get up, run away. He didn't get very far.

Kris switched her concentration to the ditch to the left of the road and sent a long burst into any water that looked warm. A man stood in a shower of bubbles and spray, started to aim at Kris. He fell backward as her rounds took him in the chest.

Forms were slithering from the ditch to crawl up on the road to Kris's right. She slapped the door. As it came open, she dropped through it to settle into a squat beside the forward tire. She fired a quick burst at the closest of the gunmen, lying prone on the side of the road. He slumped over his rifle.

She took aim at the next one. He tossed his gun away, rolled over on his back, and held his hands up in the air. ''Throwaway your guns, and you live,'' Kris heard her voice boom over the swamp, amid the rattle of guns. ''Keep them, and you're dead.''

Five, six people along the road edge were on their knees, hands up. Kris swept her rifle sights along the trees to her right. People were standing, hands waiving high in the air. She glanced over her shoulder. The left-hand side of the convoy looked the same.

''You,'' Kris snapped at the woman recruit still in the backseat of the truck. ''Put those prisoners under guard.''

''Yes, ma'am,'' the woman voice was a ragged whisper. She stumbled as she got out of the truck. Kris flinched away from her rifle, then realized that was the least of her fears. The woman still had the safety on her weapons.

''Unsafety your rifle,'' Kris whispered. She got a blank look in reply. Kris reached across, flipped the safety off. ''Now it will shoot.''

The spacer recruit glanced down. ''Oh,'' and went back to waving her weapon unsteadily at their prisoners.

''You in the swamp, walk to the road slowly,'' Kris ordered. ''No sudden moves. Those of you on the road, get up here in the middle of it and lie down.'' Kris glanced in the truck. Tom was just getting his rifle out of its holster on the door. The would-be hero and his friend were frozen in place, eyes and weapons covering the left side but doing nothing.

''Are you okay?'' Kris asked. When they didn't respond, she repeated, ''Are you okay back there?'' The hero-to-be blinked twice…and was violently ill.

From the back of the convoy, two marines advanced with their weapons at the ready. At least their boot camp seemed to have taught them to take the safety off their weapons. ''Cover this side,'' she shouted to them. They waved fists in agreement.

Switching around to the left of her convoy, Kris found three marines coming forward, keeping their weapons leveled at the slowly moving prisoners.

''I got that one,'' a marine chortled.

''No, I got him,'' the one beside him disagreed.

''No, I was shooting at that bunch in the tree.'' The marine indicated a clump of trees. One body was flung backward over a low snag.

''So was I, buddy boy. I got him.''

''You both got him.'' Kris cut off further debate. ''Keep the others covered. I don't want any getting away.'' One of the prisoners picked that moment to trip. He went over with a splash. Kris waited for him to get back up, but he didn't. Switching to thermal sights, Kris searched the water, but it was too mixed up to give any kind of target.

''I think one of them is getting away,'' Tom observed as he dismounted the truck.

Kris scowled. ''You prisoners, be careful. The next one of you that trips gets shot on the way down.''

''But they're unarmed,'' the woman spacer behind Kris said.

''They're escaping,'' Kris pointed out ''And until we check them out, we don't know who's unarmed. You spacers in the trucks get out here. I need some hands to pat down the prisoners for weapons.'' The rest of the trucks began to empty.

The recruits brought their weapons, but about half of them still had their safety on. Most of the other guns didn't look like they'd need cleaning. Now Kris realized why the fight had seemed so quiet around her. She and the marines had been the only ones shooting. Them and the bad guys.

Pairs of Navy recruits went down the slowly forming line of prisoners. While one kept a rifle on a prone figure, an unarmed recruit frisked the captive, making sure they were no longer armed. ''Hey, this one's a girl,'' a spacer said, taking two steps back from the muddy figure he had started to pat down. The woman's response was in no way ladylike.

Kris waved a female spacer over to frisk that prisoner and paused to watch as the pile of gear taken from the prisoners slowly grew. No communications gear, no computers; plenty of knives and usually one gun each. Little ammo, though. The prisoners, stripped to their shorts in most cases, showed thin and hungry. Not the starvation level of the farm people, but even the bad guys had been on short rations.

Bad girls, too. Four of the fourteen were women.

Kris turned from the live ones to study the dead. Behind the roadblock, two lay, insects already settling to feast. Kris swallowed hard to keep her own stomach where it belonged. One face was contorted in death. Rage, anger, agony, Kris could not tell, and the dead were not likely to answer her question. The one next to him seemed asleep on his side, quietly drawn up like a child; he provided the only commlink among them. The third rifleman was gone, just a pool of blood showing he'd been shot. Back in the trucks, a medic was caring for his wound. He'd be in fine shape for the hanging.

Kris walked back up the road. Two more bodies lay between the ditch and the roadbed. ''You and you,'' she pointed at two prisoners, the youngest among them, hardly more than boys of fifteen, fourteen. ''Pick up these bodies. Hang them by their feet from those trees,'' she said, pointing to the four standing next to the freshly cut stump.

Tom was at her side in a moment. ''It's not right to dishonor the dead.''

''And leaving them down here to be gnawed by whatever wanders by is better than hanging them up there as a warning to the rest? I am not taking time to dig a hole here and bury them.'' She glanced up and down the road. ''No place to dig, anyway.''

Still, Tom shook his head. ''Kris, this is out of bounds.''

''You two, start doing what I told you. Marine, see that these two do what they're ordered.'' The assigned marine nudged the two boys to their feet with his rifle. They'd been dead-fish-belly pale before. Now they were almost ghostly white. Terrified ghosts.

Kris turned to Tom. ''Tape the live prisoners' hands and load' em on the trucks. Once they're down, tape their feet to something on the truck. I'm not losing any prisoners.''

''Yes ma'am.'' Tom snapped to a caricature of attention, threw her a parody of a salute, and stomped off to comply.

''And send me any wrapping tape or rope you've got free.'' Kris called after him. If it was possible, Tom stomped harder. Half an hour later, the convoy moved slowly past Kris's stark message to the denizens of the swamp. A new team was in town. Get out before you join these.

At least, that was the message Kris wanted them to hear.

The next farm on their list was empty of life. A few bodies still lay where they'd fallen or been cast aside. ''Guess this is what happened to a farm that fought,'' Kris observed dryly to Tom as they slowly drove through the farmyard.

''Maybe she isn't such a bitch?'' someone muttered on a live mike. Kris chose not to hear.

The next farm was a repeat of the first. Kris distributed the food quickly, neither asking how they had come to be in this fix nor offering to listen to the silent screams behind dry eyes. She did refuse to let any of her troopers turn their backs on their prisoners long enough for the farmers to get quick vengeance. ''They are Navy prisoners. I will turn them over to local officials at Port Athens. You can get your justice there,'' she snapped when the knife-wielding wife of the farm owner had to be forcibly hauled from one of the trucks.

''You think you can get them back there?'' her husband asked.

''I captured them. I keep them.''

''Good luck. You know, they're not the only band out here.''

''How many?''

''Couple of hundred.''

''Who are they?'' Tom asked. ''What turned them rogue?''

''Ask them,'' the owner spat.

Two farms later, the trucks were sitting higher on their axles, but Kris was no closer to understanding the dynamics of what made someone a killer and another the starving victim. She didn't like that.

She also was getting a bad feeling about her route back to Port Athens.

The last farm was the smallest on her list, but it had three times the people of the others. They seemed less brutalized; at least, there was no effort to knife her prisoners. Two women even went from prisoner to prisoner, giving them a drink of water, a taste of the rations.

The owner was a lanky, middle-aged man who stood aside and let his people organize themselves to quickly unload the trucks into bunkhouses and several small houses, including one he shared with two other couples and a dozen children. By now, Kris's team had their drill down, so Kris and Tommy joined him watching.

''Much appreciate the food. We've been down to eating grass and leaves.''

''You've got an awful lot of people,'' Kris asked, not quite knowing what the question was.

''Yeah, I didn't let go of my indentured workers when the crop failed. Where would the poor bastards go?''

''Indentured workers?'' That was the great thing about being a boot ensign, all the time you were learning new stuff.

''Yeah, New Eden slashed its welfare budget a few years back. Get a job or get a ticket to Olympia or a couple other new colonies where the fields aren't big enough for agribusiness.''

''And they'd work for you,'' Tommy said.

''No, they'd work to pay off their ticket. For one year's work, I'd pay for a seventh of the ticket. Seven years and you're free and clear.'' The man squatted down to pluck a blade of grass. He eyed it like someone might a vintage wine before sticking the end of it in his mouth. ''Of course, the poor damn workfare types got no grubstake, no cash. The lucky ones end up working in town at the processing plants.''

''We're feeding them out of soup kitchens,'' Kris told him.

''I wondered how they were making out,'' the man said.

Kris did a quick count around the farmyard. Lots of kids, lots of old, lots of in between. ''You had a lot of firepower when the gunmen came.''

''Gunman didn't come here.''

''Smart of them.'' Kris grinned.

Tommy frowned. ''Then how come you went off the net?''

''Windmills died. No power.'' The man shrugged.

''We'll leave you some batteries,'' Kris said. Tom nodded. ''But why were you the only farm not attacked?''

The guy looked at Kris like she was a very slow learner. ''Woman, you still don't know who the swamp runners are, do you?''

''You kept your indentured workers,'' Kris repeated slowly, then saw where that led. ''The other farms didn't.''

''Yep.''

''The folks in the swamps are unemployed field hands.''

''Yep.'' He kind of smiled.

Tommy blinked rapidly for a long moment as his mouth slowly opened. ''So the raping, the stealing, the killing was all done by folks that had worked for the farm owners?''

The guy looked up at Tommy. ''Maybe. Maybe not.''

Kris stooped down beside the farmer; he offered her a strand of grass. She sucked on it; there wasn't much taste. Probably not much food value. Then, she'd eaten a full ration in the truck jostling along between farms. Lack of food was not her problem. People were.

As Tommy sat down, his eyes wide with puzzlement, Kris shook her head. ''You can't tell me that a bunch of ex-welfare types who've been doing grunt work out in the fields here stole the IDents, fenced them off world, and in some cases sold entire farms.''

''For a Navy type, you're not too dumb, kid.'' The farmer smiled. ''Cops on Eden sweeping up welfare flakes maybe pick up a few extras. Punks, thugs, mafioso wanna-bes, troublemakers they'd like to be rid of. Problem child wakes up on the ship, already under boost. That's one that won't bother those cops again. Bright boy lands here, we put him to work along with the others. Maybe he works, maybe he sets up a floating crap game. Somebody always has something to risk. Then he brings in the alcohol, maybe some drugs, too. No matter how poor folks are, they seem to find money for that.'' The man shook his head.

''And when all hell comes calling,'' Kris took up the story, ''the likes of him can see their ticket out of here.''

''Right. Collect some tough henchmen, some guns, go find the folks starving in the swamp, promise them a meal if they'll help you get back at the folks that put them down in the mud. You know the rest of the story.''

Tommy shook his head. ''But the raping.''

''Not always just the big men and the henchmen. Some of the hands have a lot of anger. But there's a few women I've taken in whose brothers or husbands tried to stop it. They got a bullet or beat up for the trying.''

Kris eyed her prisoners. Somehow, they seemed less loathsome. ''Think I have any kingpins or henchmen here?''

''I don't know. Some of my folks still have family in the swamps. Maria, who was giving your prisoners water, has a boyfriend out there.'' Kris frowned at the farmer. He shook his head. ''Milo has a job here anytime he wants it. Sad part is he also has a kid brother who thinks being a gunman is what being a man is all about. Milo's trying to keep the kid out of trouble until he can talk him down.''

''What about these?'' Tom waved at the prisoners. ''What will happen when we turn them in to the authorities at Port Athens?''

''Don't know. Even if they aren't murderers or rapists, they were running with them. The people that'll be sitting on the juries are gonna be desperate, scared, and mad. Doesn't make for a good combination where justice is concerned.''

''So much for the search for truth.'' Tommy sighed.

Kris nodded, but she was replaying her little skirmish in the swamp. ''I shot the gunmen behind the roadblock tree first off, including the man with the megaphone. I got the first ones out of the water on both sides.''

''And after that the rest didn't fight much.'' Tommy nodded ''Most seemed ready to break and run. What's that make our prisoners guilty of? Being as hungry as their victims. Looking the other way when the toughs get their jollies. Damn. On Santa Maria, no man touches a woman that doesn't want it. A man gets that wrong, and any man or woman in hearing will help him learn that lesson fast.''

Pain ran across Tommy's face as he shook his head. ''My priest taught me a poor man has a right to steal a rich man's bread to feed a starving family. He didn't have much of an answer when I asked about poor stealing from the poor. Damn, Kris, this is a hell of a mess. But nobody touches a woman. No man doesn't answer a woman's call for help.'' He glanced at the trucks now loaded only with prisoners. ''Damn, this is a mess you've gotten me in, Longknife.'' Kris only half listened to Tommy's moaning about who was right and who was guilty. She had a bigger problem.

She'd pissed off a lot of bad guys with guns. Now what do you do, smart girl?

''How you getting back to town?'' the man asked.

''Up the road,'' Kris waved absentmindedly.

''Through Wildebeest Wallow?''

Kris pulled out her reader and shared her map with him. The road went fairly straight through a grove of trees. Surprisingly well-kept trees, now that Kris looked at them.

The farmer pointed at them with pride. ''That used to be a bit of a swamp. We planted walnut trees in there to build up the land, change the acidity of the soil. In another couple of years, I can cut them down and double my acreage.''

''Since there didn't seem to be a lot of standing water, I thought it would be a safe route home.''

The farmer shook his head. ''Been a lot of trucks going that way this afternoon. I think you kicked over a hornets' nest. If people like you and your food convoy can run around free hereabouts, won't be long before the police come looking for the likes of them. Maybe they can buy a ticket off planet, maybe they don't want to. Maybe some of them think they got enough money to buy this mud ball. I hear that squatters are already moving onto some of the farms, the ones that got shot up when they fought back.''

''We didn't see anybody at the Sullivan place,'' Kris told him, mouth running while her thinking was still elsewhere. ''One of the McDowells found that their farm had been sold off planet to someone using their IDents.''

''Seems the history books are full of this year's bandit being next year's revolutionary and an established politician the year after that,'' Tommy observed dryly.

''Yeah, nobody's very demanding of a rebel leader's credentials,'' Kris agreed. But that was next year's problem; right now Kris had to survive today. ''How many riflemen would you say were headed for that grove of trees?''

''Maybe two hundred,'' the farmer said. ''Everyone they got.''

''How many of those do you think are ringleaders and their bully boys?''

''Thirty, maybe forty.''

''Problem will be separating the two,'' Kris muttered. The rain started getting heavy again; the last few hours had been just gray and misty. She tapped her commlink. ''HQ, this is Ensign Longknife. I need to talk to the Colonel.''

''Wait one,'' was the reply.

The wait was a lot less than a full minute. ''Let me guess, Ensign, you want some more advice.''

''Seems that way, sir.''

''What's your situation?''

Kris reported on her earlier skirmish and what looked to be building up ahead of her. She emphasized the divided nature of the opposing force.

''I'd been hearing stories that some of the worst problems might be just hungry folks the local establishment here didn't view as deserving poor,'' the Colonel drawled. ''You came up with some pretty cagey ideas here in town for feeding everyone, no questions asked. The level of violence went down as the number of full bellies went up. Think we can do the same out there?''

''Doubt it, sir. The murder and rapes out here have people polarized but good. A lot of them just want payback.'' Like me.

''You got yourself a tough tactical problem, Ensign,'' was his crisp reply.

It was nice not to face one of Father's rants about responding with her emotions rather than thinking with her head. ''Doesn't help that I won't know where it is until it starts shooting at me,'' Kris answered, staying on the present problem, not rehashing a past that couldn't be helped. ''I'd give my right arm just now for a Stoolpigeon.''

''I figured you might be asking my advice at a time like this. Stoolbirds are too fragile for weather like this, but a big old Spy Eye can fly in a damn near hurricane. I ordered one out of storage on Wardhaven, almost a museum piece. It arrived last night. I'll have it over you in an hour.''

''Thank you, Colonel,'' Kris breathed in half a prayer.

''Don't thank me until you've got yourself home.''

''Any suggestions, sir?''

''None that you haven't already thought of. Try not to get any of your people killed. Try not to kill any more civilians than you have to. You know, the usual crap. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a Spy Eye to launch, and I may be the only one here old enough to remember how to wind up the rubber band. Hancock, out.''

Kris glanced around slowly, reviewing her assets and none too happy. Sleepy darts gave her the option to shoot them all and sort them out later, but the wind was kicking up. Low-powered sleepy darts would be blown all over the place and hit nothing. Face it, Princess, this is going to be a live fire exercise.

Hunching her shoulders against the rain, Kris stood. ''Tom, let's mount ‘em up.''

Tom got to his feet, shook himself, glanced around. ''I think I'm glad this problem is yours,'' he muttered. As he strode toward the trucks, he began the usual patter. ''You heard the boss gal. We're out of here. Truck leaders, mount your teams.'' It didn't take long. The civilians gathered for a celebration. Some of the recruits looked to have gotten invited, but when their leaders hollered, they came. Tom was standing beside the lead truck, watching as the other ones filled up when Kris joined him. ''So, what's it going to be? We going to use the Colonel's Spy Eye to go around these guys, or are we going to kill some more rapists?''

''What would you think of a fight?''

Tom blew out a long breath. ''There's two hundred of them. There's only thirty of us, and we showed what a great bunch of berserkers we are this morning. Still, my da would whip my butt if I didn't come when a woman hollered for help. But my grandmother would be most disappointed if I didn't come home. Tell me, Ensign Longknife. What are we going to do?''

''The only thing we can do. Fight the ones that want a fight. Let the rest run if they will.''

''Even if they're rapists? Even if they looked the other way?''

''We need to break the back of the bad guys. I want to get us home safe. I can't afford to worry about anything else.''

''If we wanted to get home safe, we'd go around this bunch,'' Tom pointed out.

''We've got to break them.'' Kris would not give on that. ''It will be easier doing it when they're all together.''

Tom shook his head. ''They'll massacre us. Half of us didn't get our damn safeties off. Most of the rest didn't have the stomach to shoot. At least this morning, it was thirty of us against twenty of them. Now there's two hundred of them!''

''That was this morning. We've been there once. Now we're veterans.''

Tom looked at her like she was crazy.

''Or maybe I've just learned a few tough lessons. Listen, Tom, we have to do this.''

Tommy looked at her for a long moment; then, with a rattling sigh, he said, ''Didn't me da warn me. ‘You take the king's coin, he gets you body and soul. And you do what you're told.' '' Tom turned and went to his side of the truck.

Kris pulled herself up onto the running board, tried to shake as much water as she could from her poncho, and settled into her place with a smile of encouragement for the three recruits in the back. They were wriggling out of their ponchos, getting ready for a long ride back to base. The woman glanced at Kris, noticed that she was not doffing her slicker. The recruit's eyes grew wide. The friendly chatter that had started in the backseat fell to silence as the men followed her glance to Kris.

''Oh shit,'' the failed hero snorted.

''Marines, I want truck six up behind me.'' Kris spoke softly into her mike.

''That mean you're gonna have some targets for us, ma'am?''

''We'll be stopping a few klicks down the road to talk about that,'' Kris advised everyone on net. Silence came back to her.

The five trees stood alone beside the road, open fields giving Kris a good view of anyone approaching. Their bedraggled canopy gave some protection from the rain. Kris gathered her crew around her by truck teams; they came quietly. She waited until they stood around her, then she told them to take a seat. She wanted them comfortable. Besides, it was harder to run when you were sitting down.

''Between us and the port are about two hundred bandits,'' Kris said bluntly. There were low whistles and bitter swearing at her announcement.

''The good news is that not all of them are armed and most of the rest aren't really interested in opposing us. Thirty, maybe forty of them are looking for a fight. The others are just part of the crowd that's hungry and wants to eat. You saw this morning how hard our prisoners fought once their leaders were down.'' That got Kris several thoughtful nods. Kris quickly filled her team in on the makeup of their opposition.

''So most of them are just hungry farmhands the farm owners here tossed out when things got hard,'' Courtney said.

''Most. Not all. The guys who sold the IDents off planet, the toughs that are their enforcers, those guys can't have us moving freely here. If we show everyone that we can, they lose, and civilization starts to win again on Olympia.'' Kris paused to let that sink in. Then she took a deep breath.

''I made a mistake this morning. I threw you into the middle of a firefight without preparing you for it. Some of you may have heard about the hostage rescue op I ran a few weeks ago.'' That got nods. ''Me and my team had four days to prepare for that.'' And most of her marines were four- or six-year vets. No need to mention that. ''I should have given you more time to get ready, to familiarize yourself with your weapon. It's one thing to be issued a rifle. It's another thing to be comfortable with the idea of using it. That's why we stopped here. I'm assigning a marine to each truck team of Navy recruits. I want the marine and your petty officer to take you through all the switches and doodads on your rifle. Yeah, they did that in boot camp, but how many of you ever thought you'd need to use a piece of obsolete technology like this?'' she said, grinning as she hefted her rifle. ''I don't know about you, but I did some quick studying when I pulled the short straw and found myself stuck with a night drop and hostage rescue.'' That drew nervous laughs.

''Finally, I want each of you to fire a full clip of darts. There's nothing like the feel of a rifle actually kicking back against your shoulder, the sight of darts hitting what you aimed at. It lets you know you really can do this.'' Kris paced off two steps, made them move their heads to follow her.

''One last thing. I'm assigning the marines and petty officers the responsibility for putting down the boss men among the bandits and their thugs. The job for the rest of you is to put rounds in the air, in the ground, knocking splinters out of trees, show anyone willing to cut and run that now would be a good time to do just that. Put the fear of the Navy in them. You send the hungry ones running, and the marines and your petty officers will put down the ones that need it real bad.''

''If we see someone not running, can we shoot ‘em, too?''

''Have at them. Just anyone who shows you their back, let them run.''

''Where can they run to, ma'am?''

''I think the last farm would be glad to take them in.''

The troops glanced around at their other team members. Some actually had nervous smiles for one another. Quiet. ''We can do that.''

''Yeah, that's not too hard.''

''If they run, let ‘em. That's okay.''

Kris let that sink in for a moment, then sent each truck team to its own corner of the small wood. Tom seemed actually happy to take the lead for Truck One. Kris moved from one team to another, observing, encouraging, stomping firmly on one marine who exuded the impression that his survival of the Corps basic training gave him the right to lord it over his navy students. The next marine had a better handle on training. Weapons skill was a light to be shared, not a hammer to belabor the student.

Kris stood beside her hero wanna-be as he sent rounds into a clump of weeds two hundred yards out. ''Good shooting,'' she said.

''Not bad for a coward,'' he spat into the rain.

''I don't see a coward.''

''I locked up this morning. Didn't do a damn thing.''

''How long did that shoot last, nine, ten seconds?''

''I don't know. Seemed like forever,'' the guy said, staring at his rifle.

''I checked my rifle's computer. Nine point seven seconds from first shot to last. Didn't give a hero or coward much time to react. This time, I'll see that you get more time going in. Then you tell me which you are, coward or hero.''

''You think so?''

''I wouldn't have you wasting my ammunition if I didn't. How many rounds you shoot in boot camp?''

''I was only halfway through, ma'am, when they pulled me off for this. Never did get to shoot.''

Damn! Kris suppressed a snarl at herself. I should have rechecked this crew's records before I took them on the road. ''Now you have fired a rifle. What do you think of it?''

''It's sweeter than any sim.''

''Then keep shooting,'' Kris said and continued her walk. By the time each recruit, including the marines, had fired off a clip, there was an air of confidence mixing with the rain.

As rifle practice finished up, the first Spy Eye coverage of the problem woods came in. It showed a lot of thermal images and human heartbeats. At least this bunch of robber barons hadn't thought to invest in high tech. Thank God the Colonel had arranged for the Spy Eye. While the last rounds were fired, Kris and Tom studied the enemy's array.

''Sloppy,'' Kris concluded. ''They're expecting us to come right up the road.''

''Yes,'' Tom agreed. ''But this bunch seems a bit smarter than the last. They haven't cut down a tree. They want us to drive into the trap before they start shooting.''

Kris shrugged. ''So we make their trap into our trap.'' As she turned back to the trucks, her eyes fell on one of their dejected prisoners, leaning half out of the back, trying to catch water on his tongue.

''Tom, we're going into a fight. POWs cannot be subjected to hostile fire. Tie them to the trees here. If things work out, we'll come back and get them. Otherwise, I'll call that last farm, tell him to come pick them up. Any he wants to offer a job to, we'll call it even. Any he wouldn't hire, I'll pick up next week.''

Tommy eyed the prisoners for a moment, then brought his hand up in salute. ''Yes ma' am.''

''Now let's put it to some real bastards,'' Kris said, returning the salute.