Redoubtable

9

Two hours later, Kris led her Marines out from the Annam plantation in a convoy of twenty-six trucks. First and second platoons took up only the first six. The last dozen or so were empty, ready to provide mobility to the yet unlanded third and fourth platoons. It was the other six trucks that left Kris with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

In them rode over a hundred volunteers from the Annam farm, armed with their scroungings from the noon battlefield.

Few of them had ever fired a shot. Even fewer knew how to hit what they aimed at. Worst, Kris doubted any of them knew a thing about taking orders.

But every one of them wanted blood.

And if Kris ignored them, they swore they would follow her into her next fight and do God only knew what kind of harm to themselves.

And to Kris’s professionals.

Kris took Jack aside. “First time I took a bunch of half-trained sailors into a firefight, lots of them had never fired a shot. Most forgot to take the safeties off their weapons. See if some of your Marines could teach this bunch of idiots the basics and maybe scare them into good sense.”

Jack assigned a half dozen Marine sergeants to introduce the locals to the functioning of machine pistols, rifles, and pistols, with special emphasis on which end gets aimed at the other side. They made sure to explain clearly to the uninitiated the workings of the safety system of their weapons.

There was no ammunition to spare for practice shots, but at least the locals now knew about a sight picture and the safety.

Sadly, few saw the error of their ways and dropped out.

Mr. Annam wished them all well and sent them forth with a blessing. As a practicing Buddhist, he could not bring himself to join them.

Kris had been taught early by her politician father to smile nicely at any blessing that came her way. She did so now. But more so, she hoped the local’s blessing had some power to it. In the next hour or two, she would likely need all the good luck she could beg, steal, or borrow.

Kris was not worried about her Marines. Her job was to get them to a place where they could do their job. She would do her part, and they would take care of their end of the bargain.

The volunteers were a question mark Kris did not need.

She’d been there several times when hardly trained, lightly armed enthusiasts went into a fight. She knew the bloody mess that usually ended up in.

She’d seen it again just that noon.

Now a small rabble pulled up the rear of Kris’s column. With any luck, the fight would be over before the volunteers found out it was happening and figured out how to get out of their trucks.

For now, Kris concentrated on what lay ahead of her.

Chief Beni and Penny stood on either side of her as she held on to the cab of the truck she rode in. A canvas cover protected her from the sun . . . a bit, and from any overhead observation . . . a very little bit.

“Chief, talk to me.”

“So far, I have nothing to report,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve got scouts out there hunting for any kind of noise that Jackie’s eyeballs might make, but we’re getting nothing. I don’t think the woman knows boo about eyes in the sky or search bots.”

“Nelly tells me there’s nothing on the radio frequencies.”

“Nelly’s right about that,” the chief said. “So far, this Jackie is deaf, dumb, and blind. I kind of like her that way.”

“Don’t assume that just because she’s not using any of your high tech,” Penny said, “that she’s as blind as you think. Once we get into the city, anyone looking out a window could make a call and turn us in. No, correction, there will be folks just waiting to let her know where we are and what we’re doing.”

“Is Penny right about that?” Kris asked.

“She’s got a point,” the chief allowed.

“We can close down the phone system,” Nelly offered.

“I’ve got Da Vinci working on spitting out a bot to do just that,” the chief was quick to add.

“I’ve already got a bot in the air,” Nelly said.

Around the house, while Kris was growing up, there had never been a really serious case of sibling rivalry. Not really. Well, maybe a bit, but nothing like Nelly and the chief.

“Both of you, hold your horses,” Kris said, then turned to Penny. “Am I wrong, or wouldn’t it be better if we took down the phone system just as we rolled into town. I’d prefer that this Jackie character didn’t know she had a problem until she was up to her neck in it.”

“That’s the way I’d do it,” Penny agreed.

“Okay, you two send out your bots, let them hook into the local net, but don’t shut it down until I say so.”

“Aye, aye” and “Yes, Kris” answered her.

“Ah, do you want it totally closed down?” the chief asked, “or would you like to just block all traffic relating to us.”

That raised Kris’s eyebrows. “Could you do that?”

“Da Vinci could monitor all calls,” Nelly quickly said. “He could hold up all of them for a few seconds while he listens in. Those that don’t relate to us, he could let go through. Those that do, he blocks. Or maybe answers himself.”

“You sure this isn’t getting too fancy?” Kris asked.

“More like too smart by half as my auntie used to say,” Penny added.

“We can do it,” Nelly insisted. “I can have some of the kids work with Da Vinci to make sure everything gets covered. We can make this happen.”

“You two work it out,” Kris said dubiously. She glanced at Penny.

The intel lieutenant was gnawing her lip. “Things are still quiet at the stadium,” she said. Then she frowned. “We got developments on Tranquility Road.”

“Give me your view,” Kris said. Her stomach rebelled at what she saw.

Jackie Jackson stood on the balcony and liked what she saw. The lawn, a lovely green without a single weed, was usually patrolled by dogs. Big ones with loud barks and nice sharp teeth. The first couple of heads on the gate spikes had been fools who tried to slip in late at night and failed to get past the dogs.

They’d begged Jackie to cut their throats before they died. The heads went on spikes. The dogs got the rest.

Jackie’s family had worked for four generations for Greenfeld State Security. Great-grandfather had complained that these young Peterwalds were soft until the day he died. Grandfather and Dad told stories of the good old days when people on the street went out of their way to avoid looking a black shirt in the eyes.

Jackie got stuck working for lightweight Henry the twelfth. The guy had no backbone and no taste for blood. Until he turned on his own. Until he shot his own black shirts.

Peterwald had no respect for loyalty. None at all.

Jackie hotfooted it out of St. Pete with her best and most loyal troopers. And guns. Plenty of guns and explosives.

She’d realized the way the wind was blowing right after General Boyng failed to persuade Peterwald that he was more valuable to him alive than dead. Others had stayed to protest their loyalty. To point to years of service to the state.

Most of those fools were dead, as well they deserved to be.

Here, Jackie was making her own world. If Peterwald came calling, she’d turn it over to him from her very own hands. He’d know exactly what she was worth to him.

And if he didn’t bother coming to call? If he failed in his mad purge of his most loyal subordinates? Well, Jackie had friends there, too. They’d be glad to have her present them a world ready for the riding.

A commotion down on the lawn distracted Jackie from her thoughts. A hostage had broken loose from the chains that held her in place as live cover for Jackie’s machine-gun emplacements.

A dog handler quickly slipped the leash from his beast’s neck.

The dog was beautiful to watch. It was on the fleeing woman in four mighty bounds. First, it knocked her down. Then it ripped her throat out in one fluid motion.

The woman’s dying scream ended in a gurgle.

Which was more than could be said for the other hostages. Yells and bellyaching swept around the lawn as if it would do anything for the dead woman.

Jackie drew an automatic from the holster at her hip and fired one shot in the air. Other than a few sniffles from the kids, that got her the quiet she wanted.

“As you can see,” Jackie said loud enough for all to hear, “you cannot run away from your service to me. When you are told, stand up and keep your mouths shut. If you do as you are told, you may live. Defy me, and the dogs will eat you.”

“Your Terribleness,” one of the guard leaders called to her from below. She really liked that title. It let everyone know exactly where they stood before her.

“Yes, Sergeant.” She knew this one. He’d been a fresh-caught private back on St. Pete. He’d earned his sergeant’s stripes by catching one of the first assassins to come over the fence.

“Some of the hostages are digging up the lawn, trying to make foxholes or something. Should we shoot those who do?”

Now that he mentioned it, there were messy dents in the grass. Of course, where her guards had dug machine-gun nests, there were really big holes in her turf.

She had liked the look of her lovely lawn. The thought of killing anyone who messed it up worse than Jackie needed was tempting.

Still, there was no telling when that Longknife woman would show up . . . and it was possible that if she killed too many hostages, she might not be able to replace them in time.

She shook her head. “Just make sure they know. When we tell them to stand, anyone who doesn’t will be shot.”

“Are you at any risk of running out of hostages?” Captain Belou asked from where he stood inside the door, looking out.

“I’ve got rifles on every roof for the next three blocks. Machine pistols at every window. And where there are two or three of my henchmen, I’ve got five or six hostages in front of them. There are plenty more if I need them. You were on the ships that brought a lot of them here, weren’t you?”

“A couple. I’d still be on one if you hadn’t promised me my own ship, chasing down loot for you and your friends.”

“Yes,” Jackie said, turning back to the captain and marching for her desk. There wasn’t much on it. She hated to let things pile up unfinished. She was very good at finishing matters.

She picked up the printout on the Wardhaven Scout Ship Wasp that she’d made from Jane’s All the Worlds’ Warships. “It seems that our helpless merchant ship had claws.”

“And a Longknife to boot.”

“Yes, there is that matter. A Longknife that some news reports say is reluctant to kill.”

“She killed five thousand passengers on that liner without so much as a blink,” the captain pointed out, not at all reluctant to argue with Jackie.

Jackie could develop a taste for that in a man . . . provided it was in small quantities. A spice used sparingly. “Other stories say she was brokenhearted at the slaughter. I wonder which reporter got the story right.”

The captain shrugged—and glanced out the window. “I guess we’ll know pretty soon.”

“Yes, I will,” Jackie said. “Meanwhile, there’s the matter of getting you a ship.”

“None is available at the moment.”

“I’m not so sure the Wasp is beyond our reach,” Jackie said. “I understand that the shuttles that landed at the Annam plantation sucked water weeds into their intake valves.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“Few have, but I have my eyes everywhere,” Jackie said with a smile designed to curdle blood, milk, or anything else she aimed it at.

The captain took a step back. “So, you want me to work for my ship.”

“I like it when a man knows what I want from him without all those messy explanations.” She changed her smile . . . to something a cobra might permit itself.

“What do you have in mind, Your Terribleness?”

“You can catch more flies with honey. And I bet you can catch more shuttles if you turn on a landing beacon for them.”