Then she slid down not too far from Kris, only slightly out of breath, and explained the grin on her face.
''Captain Drago sends his regards and respects and reports that Captain Thorpe and company have left orbit, running for all they are worth.''
If Kris hadn't been hearing it from so reputable a source, she never would have believed it. Thorpe was running!
This was a tale she wanted to hear from Drago himself.
But that would have to wait.
Kris reached for the largest branch around and looked at it sourly. It was hit in several places and tended to bend in many of those; still, when she held it up high, it stood tall.
''Now all we need is something white. Anyone got a bedsheet?'' No one did.
''Big bandage? Handkerchief? Anything white, please?'' she finally said, as all her questions drew blank stares.
One of the Fronour girls said, ''I'm wearing white panties.''
Kris doubted the mentioned unmentionables would be all that large, but they were white.
''I'll take them, please.'' Kris said.
The young woman reached around under the calf-length dress she wore and, in a moment, produced the offered garment.
''I been trying to get into your panties for months,'' one of Red's boys said. ''All she does is ask, and you give them to her.''
''She said ‘please,' '' the woman shot back, and tossed Kris the necessary white for her banner.
Sergeant O'Mally offered plastic-cuffs to fix the makeshift flag in place, and Kris got up on her knees.
Sergeant O'Mally only got as far as clearing his voice. But the comm tech already rested her hand on Kris's flag.
''Ma'am, it's my job to come up with protocols that allow dissimilar systems to communicate with each other.'' She glanced around the battered and bleeding field. ''This is my job.''
Kris wasn't sure the battered staff would survive a tug-of-war.
Peter Tzu settled the matter. ''I took this out of the dead hand of a man in my house,'' he said, producing the bullhorn that the sergeant had used to blast his demand for their surrender. Peter handed it to the comm tech.
She took it, and the flag, as Kris released her hold on the staff. Kris would let this dangerous job of matching dissimilar systems fall to the woman who demanded it.
The sergeant smiled.
Kris found it hard to believe that, after this battle, a sergeant could smile contentedly over winning such a minor thing as a battle of wills with one princess.
Then, Kris didn't have to report to Jack … too often.
Lying flat on her back, the comm tech waved the white flag several times. No one took a shot at her.
''So far, so good,'' she whispered, and stood, still waving the flag with its tiny bit of white. Still, no shots.
She began the slow process of walking forward. Kris listened to the crunch of her footfalls and the calling of two birds. Maybe more. Still, no shots.
The comm tech stopped after covering about two hundred meters or a third of the way to where the white coats had gone to ground. Raising the bullhorn, she called. ''My commander requests a parley with your commander on this field of valor.''
Nice words. Kris wondered at her choice. Valor seemed far too clean and neat for what lay around her.
A white coat came to his feet. ''Maybe my commander will spare your commander the time for a few words if the subject is your surrender,'' he called back.
''It is not for junior hirelings like you and me to bandy words when matters of import wait upon our masters' bidding.''
Kris had to suppress a giggle. She knew those lines. What was the book? The media event had been a mere ghost, cut down to fit in two hours and robbed of so many of the book's good parts.
SARACEN BLADE, Nelly supplied.
Right, that was the delightful fantasy. And romance. Kris had loved it. Up and down the line, the women Marines were grinning proudly. The guys were making as if to throw up.
What gave Kris pause was the kid from Jerusalem. He'd gotten his lines word for word right. Had that book sold there, too? Or had he played the straight man with no coaching?
Kris waited to see what the comeback would be, but an older man was standing now, dusting off his camouflaged armor and holstering his pistol.
He looked like the man Kris had watched before the attack began.
''As you were, Lieutenant,'' the man said in a voice that needed no bullhorn to carry over the stilled valley.
And the white coat flinched and went to stand beside the speaker. That man took off his gun belt and said something to the younger. The man stood to attention, shouted, ''Yes, sir,'' and saluted. Then he ran off to find someone.
And the senior began walking toward Kris's comm tech.
Leaving her rifle where it lay, Kris stood. She unbelted her holster and dropped it beside Sergeant O'Mally and began her own long walk to the parley field.
As Kris passed even with Gunny's ridgetop position, she could hear the murmurs of the drugged wounded. As she approached her opposite, she came in hearing of his wounded. Many had yet to receive any care.
''Princess Kristine Longknife, I presume,'' said a soldier with salt-and-pepper hair escaping from his helmet. The exhaustion that slowed his movements didn't show up in a bent back or bowed shoulders.
''Colonel Henry Cortez,'' Kris said, and offered her hand.
He shook it firmly. ''I go by Hernando. Should I call you Princess?''
''Not unless you want to start another war,'' Kris risked. ''I go by Kris.''
''And we are stalling,'' the colonel said with a bit of a scowl. ''You sent forward the flag. Say what you have to say?''
''Before I start,'' Kris said, ''nothing I'm planning on saying would require us to start shooting at each other for thirty minutes or an hour. You have many wounded on the field. Would you like to tend to them?''
The colonel turned around, his frown growing deeper as he surveyed the butcher bill. ''I'd like to remove them, but in truth, I don't have all that much gear to tend them with. You may recall where my transport is stuck.''
''I have Marine medics and some of my civilian volunteers are doctors and nurses.''
''You have more medical supplies than you need?'' he said, giving her a questioning glance.
Kris had no idea, but now was no time to stint. She wanted … needed … to get this proud man comfortable with the idea that he was the supplicant and she the one dispensing benefits.
''Yes. We've been defending. Keeping our heads down.''
''If we'd gotten down among you—'' Cortez started.
Kris cut him off. ''But you didn't.''
''But we didn't,'' he echoed. ''Yes, I agree to a cease-fire for two hours. Does that satisfy you?''
''For this valley, or the swamp side of the ridge as well?'' Kris asked. The quiet here was still broken by the sound of gunfire from the other side of the ridge.
''Just how low are your farmers on ammunition?''
''Low on ammunition?'' Kris echoed back a doubting question. The prime minister would have been so proud of his daughter's skill at lying with a straight face.
Colonel Cortez snorted. ''So be it. A cease-fire between all my forces and all those under your command. Can you guarantee the behavior of your irregulars, Lieutenant Longknife?''
''They've followed my orders so far. Corporal, take this flag of truce to the other side of the hill. Tell them what has been agreed upon here. And tell any of our volunteers that they are free to render medical aid to anyone who will accept it.''
''Yes, ma'am,'' the comm tech said. She saluted, then paused. ''Are you comfortable without this parley flag, Your Highness?''
Kris glanced at the colonel.
''I'll roast the eyes of any of those psalm singers who toss a shot our way. But don't worry. I doubt any of them could hit a barn door at this range.''