Kris left them to their confusion and headed for Luna's boat. ''You set?'' she asked the merchant skipper.
''As set as can be. Appreciate you letting us have some of them Foxers and Army WP. I know you would like us to hang back out of range, but that ain't what I got in mind.''
''Nelly's developed some bone-jarring evasion schemes.''
''Yeah. A mite rough for these old bones, but those new brain buckets they dropped on us might save what smarts I got left, and I do like the rig your Nelly did to my high-g chair. Where was she when I was a young sprout, kicking up my boots?''
''I was a young chip, learning to count, and couldn't tell a random number from an imaginary one,'' Nelly put in.
''Damn, she's even telling jokes. Can you cook?''
''No.'' Nelly sounded truly brokenhearted.
''Well, you learn how to cook, and I'll think about marrying you. Cooking and singing.''
''Don't encourage her to sing.''
''Singing. I could learn to sing.''
''I think I've created a monster, if you ain't done it first, honey.''
''I'm afraid I did it long ago,'' Kris said and took her leave, Jack at her elbow. They walked along the piers where the other yachts, both armed and rescue boats, were fitting out.
''It's getting more and more complicated,'' Jack said.
''With more people involved. Just look at the crews of these boats.'' There were civilian and merchant marine, Navy and Coast Guard Reserve, mixed together as if they'd been press-ganged to crew boats that had started with one mission in mind, then switched to another. But whatever job they'd drawn, they'd taken to it with a will. Despite van Horn's warning about friction, or maybe because of his ham-handed words, Kris hadn't had a single problem.
Here and there she paused to talk to officers and crew; no one asked her when it would start; they knew the physics of space travel as well as she did. No one asked if they'd sail. With or without authorization from their government, these men and women were committed. Had been for two or three days.
''We're ready, ma'am.'' ''You bet, Your Highness,'' ''We're behind you,'' sounded good.
She found Gabby and Cory at the end of a line of unarmed civilian tugs, two reserve comm tech 2/c's working to get their hijacked boat ready for the next day.
''You'll be trailing the main force,'' Kris told them. Nelly provided a hologram that explained it. ''When we're behind the moon, we don't want them to do something to surprise us.''
''Right, tomorrow, all the surprises are on those bastards.'' The kid laughed.
''That's the general idea,'' Kris agreed. ''You're our link to let us know. If the sensors on the base detect changes in the hostiles, they signal you. You relay it to us. I can't think of anything more critical tomorrow.''
''Besides blowing one of those battleships out of space,'' the old man said.
''We'll do that. You just tell us what we need to know.''
''You can count on us.''
Kris gave them a jaunty thumbs-up and headed back.
''You're feeling guilty,'' Jack said beside her, his eyes still roving. Habit? No one here would harm her.
''More like burdened. They're so sure I'll come up with the right plan, get things just right so we win this thing. They must know how bad the odds are.''
''Doesn't look it from where I'm standing,'' Jack said.
''Faith is a wonderful thing. They have faith, and I'm stuck hoping I can come up with the perfect attack plan.''
''I think that's called the burden of command.''
They were back in Roy's domain. Carts, long tables, and black boxes made up an impromptu assembly line, complete with a quality control station. A woman there rejected someone's work. ''Try holding it together next time with bubble gum.''
''How's it going?'' Kris asked Roy.
''Fine, fine. Couldn't be better. Oh, one thing, if we want the armed yachts to fake it as PFs, maybe it would be good if the PFs occasionally come off looking like yachts. We'd like to put some noisemakers on them. Something that you'd switch on for just a short time that would make you sound like a yacht.''
''Wouldn't that give our location away?'' Kris backed away, folded her arms across her chest.
''Yes, it would, but not much, and not for long. Do it just before you do a radical course change. But if, for just a second or two, you were making noises like your average, garden variety yacht, someone might be less interested in shooting you. We're making the yachts look meaner. Why not make the PFs nicer?''
The idea had logic. It just kind of limped when you added that you'd be doing it by making nice noise that someone could home in on. ''Put the noisemakers aboard. I'll leave it to the Captains how much they use them.''
''Fine, fine. Just remember, you go swagger around looking all mean and nasty, and you'll be first in line to be swatted.''
''Yeah, yeah,'' Kris said. ''Nelly. Could you mix that kind of noisemaker into your evasion plan?
''Doing it, Kris. No problem. I have also accessed the section of the spectrum they are looking at simulating and agree with them. Our design was intentionally worked on to quiet noise in that area. A little noise down there would make us look much more like a regular civilian vessel.
''And you can't hide like a needle in a haystack if you're all shiny. I see your point. Maybe we need some hay seed.''
Done there, Kris and Jack headed for the PF boats … and a surprise. Most of the crews were camped around their gangways. They'd brought air mattresses, chairs of different sorts. It wasn't at all the shipshape Navy look.
''No one going back to barracks?'' Kris asked.
''Don't want to leave the boats,'' Chief Stan explained. ''Most of our trouble started because some yahoo got on board and messed with our engines while we were away. Nobody, but nobody is getting on my boat tonight.''
That brought determined nods up and down the pier. Several of the officers were there; many weren't. A check showed that Kris's mention of the Hilton's availability had sent a few off to check it out. Kris wondered who would be paired with whom, then decided she didn't need to know. She did notice that Phil was among the missing. She hoped he made a better choice than Babs.
Kris settled among the 109's crew when they offered her a chair. ''We're ready,'' Fintch assured her.
''If she don't land us on another golf course,'' Tononi said and got slugged for it.
''Just so long as we make a hole in one,'' the Chief quipped.
''Just so long as we get this over with.'' Fintch sighed. ''I mean, I'm not all that excited about taking on six battlewagons, but this waiting is a big pain in my butt.''
''We got the target when we went after it,'' Kris pointed out.
''Yes, ma'am, Your Highness,'' Fintch agreed, ''and I'm sure we'll do better tomorrow.''
''We're a better boat than we were for that run,'' the Chief pointed out. ''We got better high-g protection. We got rockets to make them keep their heads down. We got a couple a dozen ships riding out there with us, right ma'am? They ain't gonna know what hit them when Eight goes flashing by.''
''We're going to hit them hard,'' Kris agreed. ''And we're going to punch holes in them for other boats to knock bigger and wider. It's not just us out there. Everything Wardhaven can muster, Army, civilian, you name it, will be out there, trailing us. We knock ‘em down. Then they'll put ‘em out.''
It sounded so nice. Kris had been working for this every moment since she came up the elevator. It should work.
But how many of these fine, wonderful people would be here to talk about it tomorrow?
Don't go there. Not now. Not tonight. If you survive, you can worry about it. No need to let this last night be burdened by tomorrows that might never come. Someone brought out a harmonica; a gal on 110 had a guitar. They sang songs for a while. A couple of the guys complained this was too much like summer camp. They wanted a football game.