Resolute

Chapter 16

''What are you doing?'' Ron asked as they walked to the jail.

''Do you have a list of who's locked up here?'' They passed from bright sunlight to shadow; open air to the stink of vomit and sweat.

''An should.'' Ron turned into an office off the foyer.

''Only a partial list. Who you want?'' a blond fellow said.

''A Chief Meindl, I believe.''

''I think I have all the chiefs listed. Yeah, Meindl, third floor, cell 3A7, Boss. You want to have him hauled down here?''

''No,'' Kris said. ''I'd rather go up for him.''

''Suit yourself, Spade, Rori. We're releasing a Chief Meindl from 3A7. You want to take the mayor up there and see that only one of them gets out and the rest don't cause much trouble.''

Two men with corporal strips on their green uniforms came out of chairs in the break room across the way and led Kris up two flights of stairs to a cell on the top floor. Iron bars closed off the front, concrete formed its walls. Sized for two prisoners, today, six or eight sat on the lower bed, lay on the floor, stood at the bars. The eyes that watched Kris looked feral and angry. This place only needed an excuse to explode.

''Hope those bars are set in there solid,'' Ron said.

''After last night, I'm real sure they are,'' Rori told his mayor. They paused in front of a cell with 3A7 over its door.

''Chief Meindl, are you in there?'' Kris asked.

''Yo,'' came defiantly from the top bunk where one man lay.

''Prisoner, front and center,'' Rori called. ''Someone's here to see you.'' The chief rolled lithely from the top bunk to land in the small space not occupied by one of his juniors. His glower for the guards ended with a sharp intake of breath as he spotted Kris. He came to attention. ''Sir.''

''I would like to have this man released to me,'' Kris said.

''He's all yours,'' the guard answered.

The chief reached back onto the bunk for his tie, jacket, and hat. Kris got her first look at his uniform. His hash marks and crow were gold; the fruit salad on his chest showed three good conducts to support that. He also sported the long cruise ribbon with four stars; hopefully earned on the same cruise as Slovo. It would be helpful if they knew each other. His sharpshooter badge also had four white lines on it. Maybe Jack was overly optimistic about the swabbies being out of their element in a land bound shoot-out. Now was not the time to worry about that.

The chief returned himself to proper dress and marched smartly to the door. Rori eyed the other prisoners, and several suddenly felt the urge to press themselves up against the back wall, well clear of the opening door. The chief squared his corners as he presented himself, hat under his left arm. ''Senior Chief Meindl reporting as requested, sir.''

''Please walk with me, Chief.''

''As you wish, sir,'' came with full formality. But then, he was in the hands of his enemy and under the eyes of his sailors.

Kris said nothing as they retraced their steps. Chief Meindl spotted a full-length mirror and took a moment to correct the lay of his collar and hang of his coat. He donned his cover, as they exited the jail. He breathed easier in the sunlight. Then he turned to Kris, ignoring Ron. ''Do you just want me to walk with you, or do you want to tell me something, sir?''

Kris took a few more steps toward the Fire Training Center, then called. ''Ernie, things going fine with those machine guns?'' The tower was an obvious target. When the shooting started the race would be on to do as much slaughter as possible before Hank's crew brought it down.

The short man stood in a fourth floor window and waved. ''It's in, and I got the snipers in place. Bring'em on.''

''Oh, I wish he hadn't said that,'' Ron muttered.

Kris said nothing, just eyed the chief, as he swept his gaze slowly over the edge of the parking lot. His nostrils flared and his eyes took on a squint that had nothing to do with the sun.

''Follow me,'' Kris said, and turned for the row of businesses that would be behind Hank. If the fire from the Municipal Center grew too heavy, this would be their obvious rallying point. Kris caught one glance from Ron. ''Are you crazy?'' pretty much summed it up. But he didn't say a word. Good man.

''It's good to see you,'' Wee Willy said from the shaded walkway that covered the entire front of the shops. Kris spotted short jerks of the chief's head as he took in an automatic weapon sandbagged behind a window; a woman with a rocket launcher in a door. Men and women stacked more sandbags behind more windows.

''Step carefully,'' Kris said to the chief as they entered a shop. ''That's a claymore.''

''Kris, I've got this area pretty much done. I'm gonna start working on…''

''As you were, Lieutenant,'' Kris said to cut Jack off. ''I've got Chief Meindl with me, and while I want him to know something about what his commodore faces, I do want a few surprises.''

Jack turned from the map he'd been studying, came to attention, and returned the chief's salute. ''I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Chief.''

''I wish I could say the same, sir.''

''So Princess Kristine is letting you in on the slaughter pen we're setting up for the green kid you've got running your show.''

''It appears so, sir,'' the chief said carefully.

''Well, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do and not much time to do them in,'' Jack said, turning his back on them.

''Mr. Mayor, would you take the chief outside a ways.''

''No problem, Commander,'' Ron said.

They watched while the mayor and chief headed back out. ''Kris, are you crazy?''

''No more than usual. It doesn't do us a lot of good to win the battle we don't want to fight.''

''But we don't want to lose it if we have to fight.''

''Agreed.''

''Okay, I'm headed for the buildings close to the berm. See that they're covered if Hank sends his Marines out as flankers.''

''That could put us in contact sooner than I want.''

''Not if I stay with this screen and see that it collapses ahead of the flankers. But doesn't collapse past about two rows of shops back. We've got to cover Wee Willy's back.

''I kind of wanted you with me,'' Kris said.

''And that is exactly where I want to be. You know anyone in this lash-up that we can trust to give ground, but not too fast?''

''Be careful Jack.''

He snorted at the sentiment. ''You do the same.'' There was a series of sonic booms outside; the shop seemed to take on a permanent tremble as the booms kept coming. ''Lots of launches incoming. I better get a move on. Where you headed?''

''I'm going to take the chief up the tower to watch the opening moves, then down to the jail. You?''

''The scouts have set up a command post of sorts just this side of the berm. They've got land line in case things go flaky. I'll stay there for a while. I understand there's a rain sewer under this place that you can move people through. So don't be surprised if I get back to you.''

''I'll look for you. Now I got to get moving. Good luck.''

''Good luck yourself, Kris. You usually make your own.''

Kris rejoined Ron and the chief; they were eyeing the sky. Contrails merged as more and more launches entered the lower atmosphere. ''Ron, you might want to go to your Command Center. I'm going up that tower to watch it live. Chief, you're with me unless you think it would be safer in your cell.''

''I've had enough of that stinking jail. No thank you.''

Kris and the chief climbed up the tower, past a machine gun and two M-6-armed gunners, a rocket launcher, and several sniper teams. ''Will you shoot the officers?'' Meindl asked.

''Not if they don't shoot at us,'' Kris answered.

Kris joined Ernie at the top floor of the tower. They had one spectacular view of Last Chance. The sky above them was a liquid blue that seemed to go on forever. Only the contrails of the approaching launches marred it. Ernie had binoculars and called down to a sniper team to loan their glasses to Kris.

She surveyed the highway she'd picked for Hank's landing. Empty, it shimmered in the noon heat. So did the line march into town. Inside the berm, people flitted from one shop row to another. Not a single car or truck was parked anywhere to provide temporary cover to someone caught on the street.

''He'd have to be crazy to march in here,'' Kris muttered to herself. The chief kept his opinion to himself.

''You holding to name, rank, and serial number?'' Kris asked.

''Actually, all they asked me for was my name. They are civilians,'' he said, scorn for that status flicking his words.

''We'll see who is the dumb one soon enough,'' Kris said.

''You're going to lose. These situations always go our way. Civilians can't stand up to Greenfeld bayonets.'' He looked at Ernie. ''You don't have the stomach for more than one volley from my sailors. Even this Longknife brat will not make a difference.''

''You learned your catechism well,'' Kris said. ''And you may be right, not even a Longknife brat may turn this around. But you sure that Greenfeld sailors can survive the leadership of a Peterwald brat?''

Chief Meindl looked away. He was too honorable of a man to lie to Kris. Yes, he could spiel the official line at her, but make up a lie of his own? No, not this sailor.

''Well, they're landing where you said they would, Your Highness,'' Ernie said, singing a slightly different tune now.

Kris watched through her borrowed glasses. The landers had their own power because the lead one taxied up and angled to a stop at the overpass that led to the Southern Industrial Park. The next taxied to a stop, nose to the far side of the road, leaving more room. From the first lander, a full color guard marched forth, unfurling their flags as soon as they were on solid ground. Behind them came…

''Damn, they brought a marching band,'' Ernie marveled.

''They are armed,'' Chief Meindl growled. ''You gave me a few obvious freebies. I can give you one or two.''

Launch after launch came in, landed, rolled to a stop, then rolled ahead to angle itself right or left. And as soon as the doors opened, shouting sailors ran to form up on the right shoulder. Kris raised the power on her glasses. Yep, there were mortar rolling behind pairs of sailors, extra ammo wheeled along by the next pair. This was a well-practiced ritual.

''The commodore will be in the last lander,'' Meindl said.

The twentieth launch barely cleared the last overpass, but Hank was down safely and the pilot was breaking hard. The final lander didn't have much spare road to break on, but it came to a halt well clear of the nineteenth. Troops raced to formed ranks outside it. Hank, in blues on a day this hot, strode from the lander last. He received and returned salutes and then…

''My God,'' Kris muttered. ''He's going to review his entire force. That's got to be over a half mile to the exit.''

''More like a whole mile,'' Ernie said. ''Then he's got close to a four mile walk in here.'' The man looked at his watch. ''Unless he's hired busses, we have a long wait ahead.''

Kris eyed Chief Meindl.

''They will march,'' the chief said, not a shred of doubt in his words. ''They are men of Greenfeld. ‘Marching is what puts strength in their backs and power in their fists.' ''

''And those fists put a couple of my friends in the hospital last night,'' Ernie snapped.

The chief examined his skinned knuckles. ''If your people had not so enthusiastically returned blow for blow with my people, you might not have so many of my people in your hoosegow.''

''Excuse me for being glad we've got them here rather than out there,'' Kris said.

The chief grunted and muttered something under his breath.

Ernie brought his comm unit up to his mouth. ''Folks, we've got an hour or two to nap, get some chow, or so until our visitors…'' He frowned at his unit, shook it. Then scowled.

''Nelly,'' Kris said.

''Halfway through his signal, a jammer cut in, Kris. The local net is off-line, or at least off the air.''

''That's not supposed to be possible,'' Ernie growled. Beside him, the chief smiled happily for the first time.

''Okay, so we go with Plan B,'' Ernie snapped. ''Gale, you got an extension for that land line you lugged up here?''

''I told you you'd need it, Ernie.''

''And I'll pay my debt tonight, woman of my life.''

A tall, slender woman backed up the stairs, unwinding cord from the reel in her hand, and gave Ernie a quick kiss and a phone. ''Now what will I have to talk on?''

''You may actually survive a few hours in peace and quiet.''

''Oh, you are so wasted when we get home, little man.'' They exchanged blown kisses as Ernie punched buttons. ''Tower here. They are down on the road. They have no transport and they've got a two-hour walk ahead of them.'' He listened for a moment. ''Yeah, she's here,'' he said and gave Kris the phone.

''Don't you think you ought to come down?'' Ron asked.

''He won't touch the tower when he's this far out,'' Kris told the mayor. ''That would give away his intent and assure he had a shoot-out on his hands. No, Ron, I'm as safe as you are. Can you connect me with Jack?''

''I don't know how he stands you doing what you do.''

''It's what I do, Ron. It's what a Longknife does.''

''You're crazy. Jack, here's that crazy woman of yours.''

''What's wrong with him?'' Jack asked.

''I think he's discovering that I'm not quite the nice girl he was thinking it would be fun to fall in love, or at least infatuation, with.'' Then Kris switched to the business at hand and briefed Jack on what she could see from the tower.

''You tell me to be careful when I sneak out in front of our main line of resistance, and then you climb to the top of the main target in town. No wonder Ron is shaking the dust of you from his sandals.''

''I'll get down before Hank gets too close, which is more than I can say for Ernie. He's staked the place out for himself and his favorite mistress. They're plotting sex games for tonight based on who does the craziest thing up here.''

Ernie's beaming grin did not disagree with her.

''I got to quit hanging around you, girl. I got to. Okay, I'm going to keep the watch here. There're a couple of crazy teenagers who want to help. I've frisked them for switchblades, guns, relativity bombs, the basics, and I'm letting them ride skateboards on the berm. They'll let us know when Hank's close.''

''He has a brass band.''

''Hank does? Still, he might let them have a break. And who knows how long this land line hookup will work.''

''Send the kids out. Make sure they know to get gone when the sailors show up.'' Kris rang off, picked up her binoculars and checked. Hank was halfway down the review line of troops.

''This waiting is going to be the pits,'' Ernie said. ''Maybe we could send him some busses.''

The chief raised his eyebrows in a knowing smile. ''Yes, professionals know that. Keeping your courage for hour after hour of waiting, that is the hard part. Dancing on adrenaline for a minute or two. That is easy. That is what we humans have been doing since we first killed mastodons. But waiting for the beasty to wander down to the water hole. That is the hard part.''

Kris sat on the shady side of the room; it still smelted of smoke from its last training run. ''You have a family, Chief?''

''Wife, boy, girl,'' he said. ''If you'd let me run down to the booking room, I'd get my wallet. Pictures.'' He grinned.

''Nope, you're staying right beside me. And please don't make me shoot you by trying to escape.''

''Ever killed anyone?'' the chief asked. Ernie quit studying the sailors getting ready to march in and glanced at Kris.

''Does Greenfeld add Vs for Valor on campaign ribbons when they're earned in a fight?'' Kris asked.

''No,'' the chief paused. ''No, come to think of it, some of the recent, ah, antiterror campaigns have had Vs added to them for those who were involved in combat. Yes, there are those.''

''I don't notice any Vs in the salad on your chest.''

''Nope. I'm just a sailorman's sailor.''

''Have you checked my collection?''

The chief squinted down at Kris. Then sat down in the shade across from her, careful to stay away from the soot on the walls. ''Aren't you rather young to have all those. And that Devolution Service Medal. I was there, swilling beer. Nobody earned a V.''

''I guess it's a clerical error.''

''I've heard stories about how slipshod things are in the Longknife Navy,'' he said, but it was clear from the way he studied Kris now that something had changed in him. He was no longer dismissing her as a ''girl'' or a spoiled brat of the wealthy. ''What's that gold trinket?'' he said.

''Earth's Order of the Wounded Lion.''

He leaned back, lost in thought, not noticing that he was smudging the back of his coat. When he leaned forward, he eyed Kris hard. She gave him steel for steel. ''They give you that because you're the Longknife brat?''

''On Greenfeld, do they hand out a lot of fruit salad to Hank because he's Peterwald's brat?''

''And if they did?''

''That's Greenfeld. I earned mine.''

He leaned back again, seemed sunk in thought for a long, long time. Finally he roused himself and eyed Kris. ''You intent on slaughtering my sailors?''

''Not if I can help it.''

''Not like you did those sailors in the pirate battleships that attacked Wardhaven.''

There it was again. The canard. Kris let her anger show as she shot back. ''First, you're an experienced Senior Chief. You know as well as I do that Magnificent-class battleships don't pop out of empty space. They need bases to build them. They need bases to operate them. I haven't heard of any pirates big enough to operate more than one ship, and a tiny one at that. They get bigger, we come out and take them down hard. At least that's what we do in Longknife space.''

''That's what we do in Greenfeld space,'' the chief said with a frown. He was coming with her. Not happy about where this conversation was going, but he was too honorable a man not to see the truth when his nose was rubbed up against it.

''So where do six humongous battleships come from?'' Kris demanded. ''And after they've killed my best friends, don't you think I'd want to know the answer to that? Don't you?''

Slowly, the chief nodded. ''I would.''

''Well so did I. But every last sailor or officer was dead in his pod. Not a few of them, but all of them. Dead men tell no tales. You tell me who got the benefit of that silence.''

''The sailors are coming up to the berm,'' Ernie said.

Kris stood and refocused her glasses. ''Yep, there in the lead is your commodore. He must be sweating horribly in blues. Everyone else is in whites. Strange that?''

The chief came to stand beside Kris. ''He took a dress-for-success course once, or had a consultation, I don't know. Anyway, he says the camera will always focus on the person in the darker suit over those in lighter ones. He does love his blues.''

There was no military value in what the chief said, but it told Kris volumes about what the junior officers and senior NCOs thought in the privacy of their own whispered spaces.

Kris watched as the kids skateboarding on the berm waved at the parade coming up, then did one last rad ride down before taking off for points well out of firing range.

''Good marching,'' Kris said for the chief. ''Better than in most vids. At least everyone is in step. Well, most everyone. I think your commodore is out of step with the music.''

''No, ma'am. Everyone is out of step with him.''

Kris weighed that and found it interesting. Especially the ''ma'am'' part.

''What are you going to do with those Marines?'' Kris asked, studying the column.

''Is that question directed at me?'' Chief Meindl asked.

''No. I don't intend to ask you anything that will cause you trouble when you are returned to Greenfeld control.''

The chief frowned. ''And the ones in the jail?''

''Unless something goes horribly wrong, all should see Greenfeld again. Remember, I don't shoot prisoners.''

''Aren't you worried about a riot when they hear the band?''

Oh, now you have given me something. Was that intentional?

''I kind of expect one, Chief. There are sleepy grenades rigged on both floors. No one should be hurt, but they won't be causing us any trouble, and they won't be in any shape to pick up a rifle and join their liberators in mowing us down, either.''

The chief nodded.

Kris refocused the glasses. ''Yes, yes, he is doing something smart for a change.''

''May I ask what?'' the chief said.

''He's deploying his Marines as flankers, sending some of them up the berm to have a look and report back. Ernie, can I borrow your phone.'' Kris listened for a dial tone, then said, ''The forward scouts please.''

While she waited to be connected, she turned to Meindl. ''Chief, if you cause us any trouble now, I'll have to put you down hard. Should I return you to your cell, or can I have your word that you will not attempt to communicate with your forces?''

''It's my duty to try to escape,'' he said.

''Gale, love, I need for you to escort someone down the tower,'' Ernie called out to below.

''But I think my duty to Greenfeld is better served if I observe you and report what I see to intelligence. I will not attempt an escape until shots are fired.''

''That's good enough for me, ‘cause if this comes out right, there ain't going to be any,'' Kris said. ''Jack, there are observers on the berm.''

''We see them. We're falling back from the first line of businesses. How much longer are you going to hang yourself out there for anyone to shoot at? Do I have to come back there and personally drag you down?''

''Not much longer, Jack. Good thing you're out of that first row. Hank just ordered Marines to trot over and look them over. He's covering his flank with Marines.''

''Smart, but slow. He's already coming up on the second row if the phone calls we're getting are right. We'll hold the flankers three rows out. I just wish I knew if his own radios were being jammed by this.''

''No way to tell. Take care, Jack.''

''Now ain't that a joke coming from you. Get down from that tower. Your hair's not nearly long enough to climb.''

''Rapunzel is leaving the tower,'' Kris said and hung up.

''Your boyfriend?'' the chief asked as they headed down.

''Why is it that everyone thinks that except him? No, he's the scourge of my life, the head of my security. The one man that can tell me what to do and I have to do it.''

Ernie snickered. ''Gee, I hadn't noticed him being any more successful than I am with Gale.''

''Or Gale is with you,'' came from below.

''A woman does what a man tells her to do,'' the chief said.

Kris doubted words could change the chief's mind; with him in the lead, she went down fast and walked quickly to the Fire Training Center. There were lots of trigger pullers looking out the windows; glass was going to fly if bullets did.

''Where's Ron?'' Kris asked as they passed a sandbagged machine gun behind the wide glass doors.

''Upstairs.''

She found him in the second-floor conference room, dividing his time between the map on the table, a phone, and the window that barely offered him a view down the road.

''He's coming,'' Ron said as Kris entered.

''He wants to present Chance to his dad on a silver platter.''

''Yeah. At college, his dad seemed to come up a lot,'' Ron said. ''I shrugged it off then. I'm rethinking it now. Oh, you still have the chief?'' He left the rest of the question hanging.

''Yep, we've been looking at what we've got set up for Hank.''

Ron shook his head. ''Whatever you want. I guess.''

Kris, Ron, and the chief watched the coming parade, the band getting closer and louder. ''Chief, is there anyone you could talk to in the jail to cancel the planned riot?''

The chief shook his head. ''No one would listen to me.''

Kris called the jail. ''You have the sleepy grenades?''

''Yes.''

''Please use them on your Greenfeld prisoners. They've been ordered to riot when the music gets loud enough.''

''Ah, can I talk to the mayor?''

Kris handed Ron the phone. ''Yes,'' he said. ''Yes, do it.''

''Yes, I know it's against our articles, but this whole mess is against it. Do it. I'll be running for reelection next month. You want to run against me?'' Ron said, and hung up.

From across the yard came the popping of sleepy grenades. There were shouts, a scream, and quiet very soon. Ron rubbed his forehead. ''I'll be doing good to stay out of that jail, Kris.''

''It's either prison or a medal,'' the chief said.

They watched as Hank continued his march. ''Good Lord, but that boy cannot get in step,'' the chief muttered as they watched the flags whip in the slight breeze, the band play, and everyone but Hank march in step.

The phone rang, Ron answered, but quickly passed it to Kris.

''We're falling back slowly. The Marines have a problem,'' Jack chortled. ''We're locking all the doors behind us. Most are old-fashioned key locks. Apparently, the Marine's orders don't allow for just kicking in the doors yet. They had to find a lock pick. I'm going to fall back now to your location.''

Kris hung up and went back to the window. Her view really wasn't good enough to command the situation, but she had no communications to command anything anyway. This was almost prehistoric. A bit of poetry came to mind. ''The shot heard round the world,'' she muttered.

''Huh,'' Ron said. The chief eyed her with a slight smile.

''A shot fired in a situation very much like this at Concord or Lexington. I don't remember which. British Red Coats marched up, formed ranks in the open. Militia formed up across from them, near a bar, I think. No one knows who fired the first shot. By the time the last shot was fired, years later, a new country was born. But that day, the militia got massacred.''

''That's what I was taught,'' Chief Meindl said.

Ron went over to the phone; dialed. ''Greta, do a last call around. Remind folks we do not want to fire first. Yes, I know you already did that. Do it again. For me. Thank you.''

Ron came back to the window. ''Now what do we do?''

''You wait and sweat,'' the chief said.

''I don't like this,'' muttered the mayor.

''That is why we win,'' the chief said.

Five long minutes later, they watched from behind the glass doors at the entrance of the Fire Training Center as Hank marched in; flags flying and band playing. Sailors moved in precise drill as their chiefs wheeled them right and left, to fill up the square. It was a drill designed long ago to show off the skill of the army you faced, to inspire fear and terror.

Kris glanced down at a young man and woman manning a machine gun. They didn't look terrified. No, if Kris read them right, they were determined fighters defending their homes.

Hank, you miscalled this, Kris thought. The only question left is how many people have to die for your blunder.

Hank kept eyeing the upper levels of the jail, as if expecting something that wasn't there. He turned to Captain Slovo at his rear often, to talk about something. Kris had a pretty good idea what that was. Beside both of them the squadron's Command Master Chief stood motionless.

Kris did a quick count. There were twelve blocks of sailors not quite a hundred each. Machine gun and mortar teams trailed each. As columns halted, mortar teams unlimbered to the rear, MGs to the flanks. She faced close to a thousand sailors. The ships must be on a minimum watch. It was tempting to call Steve. Kris revised her greeting to Hank.

The music stopped on a signal Kris missed. The Command Master Chief, at a nod from Hank, ordered, ''Squadron.'' That was answered by ''Ship,'' and followed by ''Division'' in perfect order. ''Fix. Bayonets.''

The troops answered with a mighty shout as metal scraped on metal. It was a horrible sound. The type of sound that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. And your sphincter go weak. The young woman who knelt ready to feed the ammunition belt into the MG whispered, ''They do look fearsome.''

''They won't look nearly as good a second after I pull this trigger,'' the gunner beside her said.

Jack joined Kris. He smelled moldy; she was surprised how relieved she was to have her nanny back. ''I miss anything?''

''Not yet, but I think Hank's about to raise the curtain.''

Hank drew the sword at his side and took a stepped forward. ''Ron Torn, you have taken sailors of Greenfeld hostage. I declare you a terrorist, acting outside the law, and demand you release them to me or face intergalactic justice.''

''I better go talk to him,'' Ron said, taking a step.

Kris grabbed his elbow. ''You go out there and you are dead. You stay here. I'll go.''

Ron glanced back at her. ''You think you can settle this, Longknife to Peterwald?''

''Better that she try it first,'' Jack said.

''And I thought you'd try to lock me in a tower,'' Kris said.

''Only tower around here is at the top of everyone's target list,'' Jack said, opening the door for Kris.

''Chief, you're with us,'' Kris said, leading the way.

''Oh good,'' Jack muttered. ''Three is the charm.''

''If you think my presence is going to keep you alive, you're very wrong. We do not negotiate with terrorists,'' the chief said.

''I am Commander, Naval District 41, Chief. By definition, I can't be a terrorist. Says so in some book I read.''

''You sure it wasn't a fairy tale you were reading. One of those cheap fantasy romances?'' Jack asked.

''Might have been,'' Kris agreed.

They were in line now, the chief in the middle, and had naturally fallen into step. He eyed Kris first, then Jack. ''Why do I have the sick feeling we are all doomed?''

''You've never been on an operation with the princess, here,'' Jack said. ''You always feel that way at the start of things, and are amazed to be alive at the end.''

''Hush, boys, this fairy princess has just one chance to do this right. Hand salute on my order. Hand. Salute.'' The three brought their right hands up in perfect cadence. Four steps later, Kris was as close as she wanted to be to Hank. ''Group. Halt. One,'' she whispered.

In front of two thousand rifles, loaded with intent, Kris's small detail performed the ancient ritual to perfection.

''Commodore, we need to talk.'' Hank waved his sword in what might have passed for a salute in some military circles. Kris whispered ''two'' and her detail dropped their salute.

''I don't have anything to say to you,'' Hank snapped back. ''I demanded that Ron Torn, the hostage taker, come out here. What? Is he hiding behind your skirts?''

''The lawfully elected mayor of Last Chance has asked me to serve as an intermediary between himself and the armed troops that have disturbed, without warning or permission, the quiet of his city. So far, there has been no additional violation of the peace. He would like to keep it that way.''

''I want the sailors he's holding hostage released at once.''

Hank was firing answers from a playbook he'd probably put together that morning. You need a better writer, Kris thought. This shindig is way off your script, haven't you noticed?

Beside Hank, Captain Slovo was studying Kris. This was the first time he'd seen her in uniform, and he eyed her fruit salad with intent. His nostrils flared, his eyes grew wide as he read her service history laid out there for anyone to see.

Except for the Navy-Marine Corps medal, all Kris had were tourist ribbons to show for her service. No Meritorious this, Distinguished that for this girl. But every one of them, even the Navy-Marine Corps ribbon, had a V for having been earned in combat. The sole exception was the Wardhaven Defense Medal.

''Commodore, I think we all want you to have your sailors back,'' Kris said, reasonably.

''Then why don't I have them?''

''Because I think the local folks will only give them back when you are headed home.''

''Greenfeld does not negotiate with terrorists.''

Good Lord, doesn't this boy know anything but cant, Kris thought. What she said was very calming. ''You are not negotiating with terrorists, Commodore, you are talking with me about a mutual problem we have. I would like to solve your problem, Commodore. Wouldn't you?''

''All they have to do is release my sailors,'' Hank demanded.

''There is the matter of significant damages done to several buildings here last night by your sailors,'' Kris pointed out.

''My sailors are gentlemen. Clearly, these damages were done by agent provocateurs hostile to Greenfeld.''

For a moment, Kris eyed Hank. Isn't there anything behind that lovely face, those piercing blue eyes, but second-rate pablum for a brain? Or did you come here for a shoot-out and have no intention of leaving until you've had it?

''There are witnesses that saw your sailors trashing the Beergartens, tearing down a light post, and smashing its wall.''

''They are liars. Paid liars, no doubt.''

This was going nowhere. ''Commodore, if we don't cooperate to solve this problem, things could quickly get out of control.''

Hank opened his mouth to shoot back another one-liner, but the flag captain stepped forward and placed his hand across his mouth. What he said made Hank scowl and curtly shake his head.

''Everything is going exactly the way I intended,'' the young Peterwald insisted.

''Are you sure, Commodore?'' Kris said ''From my perspective, it doesn't look that way. I would strongly suggest that you drop this bit of gunboat diplomacy and pull your troops back to their ships.''

''And what will you do if I don't. Wipe them out?'' Hank snorted at his joke.

Kris said nothing. Beside her, the chief caught the flag captain's attention, then silently guided the officer's eyes to this rifle position, that machine gun nest. Slovo coughed into his hand, and once again leaned next to his master's ear. Hank looked first to one set of weapons, then to another. Then his eyes focused on the tower. ''I don't see anything,'' he snapped.

Oh Lord, Jack and I have done such a great job of getting our shooters to cover that blind Hank can't see them. Kris turned around. ''Ernie. Gale, mind letting our visiting friends see what they face.'' Kris was signing that happy couple's death warrants. Or was if they stood up and countersigned them.

And they did! The crazy pair stood; waved with one hand, held their rifles on their hips with the other. Then they ducked back down into firing positions.

''There's more like them you aren't noticing,'' Jack said.

For the first time, Hank looked worried. ''We can handle those. If need be, we can fall back to those store fronts behind us. My Marines already control them.''

Captain Kratz double-timed up from the rear with a Gunny Sergeant beside him. ''Commodore, we have a bit of a problem.''

The two captains and the commodore put their heads together for a long moment. ''Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?'' Hank demanded, ending the whispered conference.

''You were at the head of the column, sir,'' Kratz answered. ''The Marines tried to solve the problem on their own, sir.''

''And if they bash the doors in,'' Jack said. ''They'll face a hail of fire. I prepared that greeting myself.''

''And if you try to fall back on those shops,'' Chief Meindl added, ''you will be running into claymores. I saw them deployed when the lieutenant here took me for a walk around.''

''You go too far, Longknife. And now that you've tipped your hand, we'll smash it,'' Hank snapped, or tried to. A hard gulp interrupted his words.

''That's what I showed your chief. Did I tip my hand, or just show the tip of an iceberg? You sure you're not facing enough firepower to make this square run knee deep in blood?''

The flag captain looked around the square slowly, taking in carefully what he might have missed before. Kris saw his face harden as he changed his assumptions that he faced amateurs who had no idea how to plan a battle. He glanced at Kris, squinting at the glare off the Wounded Lion in the overhead sun. ''That Earth decoration came after de-evolution, didn't it?''

''Maybe,'' Kris agreed.

Hand again over his mouth, the captain whispered something long and involved to his commodore. Hank's grimace deepened. ''I could shoot you down where you stand, Longknife.''

''And you'd be dead a second later. What do you say we both live long, nasty lives causing no end of trouble to each other?''

''Not an unreasonable idea,'' the chief muttered.

''I want my men back,'' Hank repeated. ''I did not come down here just to get sunburned,'' he said, glancing up. His blue uniform looked summer weight, but Hank had sweated it through.

''I want you to get your men back,'' Kris said, as she might to a particularly difficult child. ''But you have worn out your welcome. There's no beer left on this planet for your men.''

''Nobody tells me when to leave,'' Hank said petulantly.

''I'm not saying that you have to leave, but I am saying that no one wants any of your men in their restaurants, stores, or eateries. You have worn out your welcome,'' Kris repeated.

Hank frowned at Captain Slovo. He nodded. ''Civilians are within their rights to do that, sir. No one can force another person to do business.''

A shot rang out as if for emphasis.

Sailors, arms tired from holding their weapons at high port, were slow to react. But they did look around, hunting for the source of the shot. It was as if a great beast held its breath for a moment before it roared.

Kris stepped into that space. ''Hold your fire.''

For a moment the shock of a woman's voice ordering obedience must have caused the monster pause. Kris raised her arms, spread her hands as if she was personally holding the two sides apart.

''Don't shoot. Hold your fire,'' she commanded. ''Jack, find out who fired.''

Jack was already running toward the Police Training Center where Kris thought the shot was from. His automatic was out and raised. He raced to a window where the sun now highlighted a crack running from top to bottom, a hole shining like a star. ''You there, put that man under arrest. Now.''

Someone must have obeyed, because Jack quit running, scowled at the Police School in general, holstered his weapon, and turned back to his place beside Kris.

''How much longer do we keep this up, Hank? Until one of your men faints and looses rapid fire into your ranks. Me, I got a whole lot of amateurs aiming guns at you with their safeties off. For God's sake, man, let's take it down a few notches so we can talk without some poor dumb schmucks shooting us in the back.''

Hank, perfectly sculptured face and all, looked like some kid who had just been told he wasn't getting a Christmas pony. For a moment, he seemed ready to refuse, then he didn't quite stomp his foot, but snarled. ''Do what you have to, Captain.''

A nod to the Command Master Chief immediately had him shouting, ''Squadron.''

''Ship,'' echoed, followed by ''Divisions.''

''Order. Arms.'' Nearly a thousand rifle butts struck the pavement at once. ''Parade. Rest.'' A thousand booted feet stomped down.

Well, at least one side followed orders. Kris turned to her side of the square. ''Put those safeties back on,'' she shouted, ''and those rifles down. Don't go away, but for God's sake, let's not have any more accidents.''

A low murmur swept the yard. Behind Kris, sailors looked around, measured the level of noise, and frowned worriedly.

''You do have a thousand rifles out there,'' Captain Slovo whispered behind his hand to Kris.

''Give or take a few hundred.''

''I have more machine guns,'' Hank insisted.

''Maybe,'' Kris said, conceding nothing.

Captain Slovo turned to the gunny sergeant. ''Please advise your commander that we are standing down. Have him withdraw his Marines back a row of businesses and hold himself in readiness.''

''Aye aye, sir,'' the Marine saluted, and double-timed off.

''Now, shall we talk in private?'' Kris said.

''I won't enter any terrorist's lair.''

''Good. How about walking halfway over to the Fire Training Center. They teach people to fight fires,'' Kris added drolly.

Ron and Gassy came out the glass doors, giving Hank a good view of a machine gun aimed right at him, as Kris lead them toward the Fire Center.

''I will not be intimidated,'' Hank said.

''Fine. We're not trying to,'' Kris said.

They met in the middle. ''I want my men back,'' Hank snarled.

''I want to know who raped our coeds,'' the mayor snapped.

''My men did no such thing.''

''Good, then you won't mind us taking swabs from every mouth.''

''I will not have my men's privacy violated.''

The two men glared at each other.

''How about the mayor agrees to give you back your sailors and you agree to leave this planet?'' Kris said.

''Kris, my police have two fully worked up rape kits. We have the DNA of the men who did this. It doesn't match any in our files. It likely came from off planet. I want justice for my women. Don't you?'' That hit Kris in the gut. She'd never been raped. Not yet. Her idea of what to do to a rapist started with a rope and ended with him dead. Still. Here? Now?

''So, what do you want to do, Ron, go back to where we were a few minutes ago and see who has the last gunner standing?''

''That's fine with me,'' Hank snapped. ''We will prevail.''

''Don't be so sure. I've got grenadiers ready to barbecue your launches. And with all your men dirtside, Lieutenant Kovar would easily take your ships. Even if you win here, you've lost. This sally was not well planned, Captain Slovo. Very sloppy.''

''Some might say so.''

Kris turned back to Ron. ''How high a price are you willing to pay to get those rapists?''

Ron turned slowly to take in every part of the square; sailors, his riflemen, the machine gunners. He gritted his teeth and turned back to Kris. ''Not that high a price. No, I can't.''

''Are you willing to give up the sailors in your jail with no further judicial proceedings?'' Kris said.

''If they are not identified by their fellow sailors, yes.''

''No, I will not leave any of my men behind,'' Hank shot back.

''You would defend rapists,'' Ron roared, and moved in on Hank.

Hank whipped his saber out, not expertly, but well enough to almost take Ron's nose off. Made Kris glad for once her breasts weren't any farther out. ''I will defend my sailors,'' he shouted.

Someone must have given Hank the five-second lecture on loyalty up in return for loyalty down. ''Ron?'' Kris said.

''I never want to see a Greenfeld ship docking at High Chance again. If one comes, we will not let it hitch on. You hear me?''

''I'm sorry you feel that way, Ron. I thought we were friends,'' the commodore said diffidently, sheathing his sword.

Kris pushed Ron back as he lunged for his fellow alumni. ''This is settled, Mayor. Let it stay settled.''

''Go and don't come back.''

''That will take some arranging,'' Hank said, turning to Kris. ''Lieutenant, I assume you will stand pledge for this agreement.''

''As Princess Kristine Longknife, I will assure that you get your sailors back, based on the promise given me by Mayor Torn,'' Kris said, biting out each word.

''Very good. Captain, arrange matters with the good lieutenant. I and the chief are leaving.''

''You will have all your shuttles tied up returning these troops to your ships for now, won't you, Captain?''

''Yes,'' Slovo agreed. Kris noticed that Hank had withdrawn far enough to nod to the Command Master Chief who began marching the men off, but the commodore stayed well within earshot of whatever agreement was being made in his name.

''I would suggest you send ten launches down when you are ready to depart. I believe I can arrange for them to be launched as you are departing from the piers.''

''You allow the first launch to take off and I will have the flagship undock,'' Captain Slovo said.

''With luck, we can have the last launch heading down the runway as your last ship cuts loose from the last tie-down.''

The captain looked over his shoulder; the commodore nodded. ''Agreed, Your Highness,'' he said, and saluted Kris. She returned the honor. Chief Meindl stepped over to stand beside Flag Captain Slovo and saluted. They turned and joined their commodore.

The sailors marched off by divisions. Kris watched until they were well on their way, then sent Jack up the tower to keep the watch. A cheer started. ''Stow it,'' Kris commanded. ''This isn't over until it's over. Gassy, you might want to visit with your NCOs or whatever you have. Get that message across. This situation isn't over until the last lander is off the ground.''

Gassy glanced at his boss. ''Do it,'' Ron said, and the cop trotted off as ordered.

''Sorry, I didn't mean to forget who was in charge here.''

''There was no question who commanded here, Kris. I think Gassy was just showing he remembered who signed his paychecks.''

''Every time I get into one of these things, it's with a cat-knitted ball of yarn for a chain of command.''

Ron stood at the single step up to the Fire Center, watching the last sailors march out of the square. ''I'm really going to let the rapist get off scot free,'' he muttered.

''I didn't agree to that,'' Kris said.

''Didn't we just agreed to return Hank's sailors?''

''Yes. But we said nothing about their condition at return.''

Ron frowned. ''What are you up to? You've just stopped a war, Longknife. I know that's unusual for your family. Are you going to start another one now?''

''I doubt it. Are you aware of the gauntlet?''

''A strong glove, maybe fire resistant?''

''But also an ancient form of punishment. You form two rows of nice, kindly folks with clubs, then someone runs between them. I'm surprised one of your commissioners hasn't done one.''

''Who are the nice people you're thinking of?''

''The two girls that were raped. Their friends; boys and girls. Who do you think might be interested?''

''Half the planet,'' Ron sighed.

''I'll head topside as soon as the last launch is off. I'll let you know when the fleet will be leaving. You figure out what you want to do about getting the sailors to the landers.''

Ron nodded and walked off. Jack stayed at Kris's elbow. ''You hoping the girls flinch. Won't want to club the sailors?''

Kris thought about it for a moment. Things could get dicey if sailors got hurt. Was it better not to? Would she want to beat up the coworkers of someone who raped her and…

''I know I'd want to take a lead pipe to anyone who hurt you,'' Jack said.

Kris looked sideways at Jack. Whichever way it turned out, it was nice to learn that one thing about her nanny. Very nice.