That got a good laugh from the gathered elders, but the redhead just scowled. ''You can't win a battle unless you fight one,'' he said when the laughter died down.
''No, and depending on how fast Cortez recovers from our little joke, he should be in that battle late tomorrow or early the next day,'' Kris said.
Now she had everyone's attention.
''Where we gonna kill those bastards?'' Red demanded.
Kris did not like the question. It presumed a lot. That they would be able to kill said bastards, and that they would want to kill the same.
Red seemed to have no doubt about either.
Kris could not say the same.
Kris commanded a lot of rifles. Say half again more than Cortez. Kris suspected that the colonel had some doubts about the white coats that made up so much of his ranks. No question Kris had doubts about the civilians that made up most of hers.
Like most civilians, Kris finished college ''knowing'' the military's whole idea of trained automatons was to turn their troops into zombies who did exactly what they were told.
It hadn't taken her long to unlearn that.
Soldiers and Marines had to be able to do their jobs without thought for one simple reason. They had to load and aim and fire without thought when their brains were too numb or shocked or horrified by what they saw. They had to keep doing it until by doing it, they'd brought themselves out of the hell that made thinking impossible and trained action their only hope.
These civilians had rifles. They had their homes to defend. They had little or no training. They'd probably be good for their first shot. Maybe their second. Possibly a third.
But sooner or later, they'd turn. They'd want to run. In the noise and blood and screams, they'd forget why they came, forget everything but their desire to be somewhere else.
Maybe not all. Maybe a few would find what it took. How many? Victory would go to whichever side held on for a second longer than the other.
Kris eyed the redhead, so sure he knew what tomorrow would bring. So ignorant of it. And she took a deep breath.
''We'll fight Cortez among the rice paddies and hills of the Tzu farm,'' she said.
''So that's where we massacre them,'' Red said.
Kris chose not to hear that comment. ''I'll have the Marines take down most of the light infantry with sleepy darts. The gopher rifles the local volunteers carry should knock the heavy infantry silly.''
''But our guns won't get past their armor.'' Red jumped in right where Kris expected. She ignored him for a moment to study the reaction around the barn. Red had plenty of folks who agreed with him. About half. The other half looked more puzzled than on Kris's side.
''From painful personal experience,'' Kris said with a reinforcing wince, ''I can tell you that bullets, even those that don't get through armor, can leave you black-and-blue underneath and quite disoriented. That is what I want. The light infantry snoring for a couple of hours and the heavy infantry very much aware that they've been hit, hit hard, and having a tough time finding something to shoot at.
''Five minutes of that, and Colonel Cortez should be ready to listen to an offer for his surrender.''
''But I want them dead. All of them!'' Red shouted.
''Yes.''
''We don't want them SOBs coming back here.''
''Panda's ours. Why not kill ‘em for trying to steal it?''
Kris said nothing for a long minute while the war party blew itself out. She found Bobby Joe Fronour and Gramma Polska in the crowd. They both looked puzzled, but not ready to join Red in his shout for blood. Finally, old Bobby Joe stood up, and the room fell quickly into silence.
''When we were fighting the Iteeche, there weren't a lot of prisoner taking. Not by us. Not by them. So I'm kind of curious about this idea you got, Miss Longknife. It seemed like your old man was only happy with a dead Iteeche.''
Kris nodded. ''Maybe in that war there wasn't much room for anything but a lot of dead bodies. God knows, we all came close to being nothing but dead.'' Even some of the hotheads nodded along with Kris on that.
Red just scowled.
''Since long before we left old Earth, smart generals knew the easiest way to get an enemy off your land was to threaten their line of retreat. Threaten to make it impossible for them to go home. So a really smart general, when he fought, was careful to leave a hole somewhere that the enemy could run away through. Frequently it was all it took to get them running.''
''So that's it.'' Red hardly looked able to get his words out past his rage. ''They've ripped up our lands, wrecked our property. Killed God only knows how many of us. You're just going to let them walk away?''
Kris curtly shook her head. ''Of course not. My intention is to have Colonel Cortez surrender to us. To have his men lay down their arms and become our prisoners. That is what the laws of war require of me.''
''Of you?'' This was Bobby Joe's question.
''I am a serving officer of the Wardhaven Navy. Despite being rented mercenaries, these men are in the uniform of their respective planets. To date, in this situation, they have followed the laws of war. As such, they deserve the honors of war and prisoner of war status from me. I would think you would want to offer them the same.''
''I want them dead,'' Red said.
''How high a price are you willing to pay for that butcher bill?'' Kris asked softly.
''We kill ‘em. That's the end of them,'' Red snorted.
''Are you sure?'' Kris asked.
''What do you mean? Dead is dead.'' But Red wasn't sounding so sure anymore.
''What do you know that we don't?'' Bobby Joe asked.
''Actually, it's what we both don't know,'' Kris replied. ''What do you know about the latest alliances among the city-states of New Jerusalem?''
''I didn't even know they had city-states,'' said Gramma Polska. ''What kind of alliances do they have?''
''Ever-shifting ones,'' Kris put in quickly. ''I'm not sure Lieutenant Pasley is all that up to date on who's switched to whom and who's trying to gain power or afraid of losing it. That alone would be a full-time job.''
Penny rolled her eyes to heaven. Around the barn a lot more people frowned at each other. Faced with the idea that even a Longknife might not know everything, it began to dawn on them that they might not know it all either.
And what they didn't know just might hurt them.
''But here's the deal, folks. Let's say that a story comes back to Jerusalem, that a bunch of Godless barbarian hicks on this out-of-the-way planet just slaughtered most of a battalion of the Lord's Ever Victorious Host,'' Kris started.
To be interrupted by, ''We're God-fearing Christians, here.''
''Ah,'' Kris said, raising a finger to make the point. ''But are you the right kind of believer? Or is your kind of Christian just as much an infidel as the prays-five-times-a-day Turk?'' Murmurs slipped around the barn as the situation on Jerusalem was hashed over, and everyone came to terms with a whole different take on reality.
''What do you think might happen to us if we used the blood and bones of these invaders to manure our crops?'' Bobby Joe asked.
''Maybe nothing,'' Kris said. ''Only a fool tells you she knows exactly what anyone is going to do. And a planet with a billion people?'' Kris threw up her arms. ''After all, look what someone told Cortez about how easy it would be to take down Panda. ‘They're only farmers.' ''
The barn got real quiet.
Kris spoke her next words softly. Folks leaned forward to better hear her. ''If you look at old Earth's bloodiest periods, there are several patterns that repeat. One is missionaries come. Missionaries get killed. Army comes. Houses and crops get burned. Natives get killed. And the flag comes last. Suddenly a whole lot of local folks find themselves with an empress or kaiser or president they never voted for.