Kris fired a long, high burst as she raced forward, past the tree row occupied by her troops and into the space beyond. A pair in front of her threw up their hands and fell to their knees. Kris would have sleepy darted them, but there was no time for that now. ''Run! Damn you!'' she shouted.
Instead, they fell on their faces in the mud as bullets smashed into the tree near them. Kris spotted the shooter and sent him sprawling backward with a long burst.
Kris slid to ground behind a tree trunk. ''B Team, prepare to advance. Advance. Tom, what's it look like on your front?''
''Damned if I know,'' was an unusual reply from the ensign. ''We have people all over the place. Some running. Some advancing. Kris, I have no idea what is happening.''
''Courtney, can you hold?''
''I've pulled half of us back so that they have a longer walk to get around us. I think more of them are running than fighting. Maybe. Just a second.'' Lots of rapid small arms fire over Courtney's live mike. ''Yeah, more are running.''
''Scouts, how is the right flank?''
''Plenty of targets, ma'am. Someone's pushing them at us, and I can't seem to find the bastard. We could use any spare help you got.''
Kris stood up, trying to listen to the sounds of the battle around her. Damn! What she'd give for thirty seconds of Sky Eye feed. The wind whipped the rain in her face as she turned to her right flank, bringing with it the crackle of small arms fire. She'd robbed Peter to pay Paul, helping out Courtney on her left. Now it sounded like her right was going all to hell. ''Spens, you take charge of this line, link up with Ensign Lien, and keep pushing the bandits toward the hills.''
''Yes ma'am.''
''I'm taking the three Navy I can see,'' Kris said, signaling the only trigger pullers in sight; one was a marine. ''Wherever the other two marines are, fall out of line and join me on the right.''
''Yes, ma'ams'' answered her.
Kris dropped back through the orchard rows, collecting her handful around her. The sound of fire grew louder. She kept her crew moving but did not return fire, even though an occasional stray fusillade came their way. This was her last reserve.
Whoever was hitting her right still could roll up her flank; the day was not over. Her one hope was to hit them so suddenly that they broke and ran before they knew what faced them. Through rain-dripping goggles, Kris struggled to make out forms ahead of her, heat images, movement, fire. Her front came to her in a kaleidoscope of light and darkness with no possible pattern.
''Ma'am, this is Petro, I'm in the lead. I think I can see one of our guys ahead of me.''
''Scout One, can you see us yet?'' After a pause, ''Negative, ma'am.''
''Let's go another tree row,'' Kris ordered.
''Petro, ma'am, that sure looks like Navy ahead of me. He's firing to my left, and I'm taking a lot of incoming from there.''
''I see you now,'' Scout One announced.
''Okay, everyone, load a full magazine,'' Kris ordered, ''and get a second one handy. Anyone dry?''
That got no answer.
''On my mark, hose them down, empty a full clip. Then we reload and charge. Any questions?''
None.
Kris loaded her own new magazine. That left her one last clip of 200 rounds and whatever was left in the one she'd taken out. It was going to be close.
''On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.'' Around Kris the woods came alive with one continuous explosion. Like a jackhammer from hell, each rifle stitched the air, woods, flesh, with one continuous sweep. Kris had read about mad minutes. The M-6 didn't need a minute to empty a 200-dart clip. The fire from Kris's ten troopers raised the mad minute to new levels of insanity and gave back a good thirty seconds.
Kris's rifle closed on an empty chamber. She yanked out the old clip and drove home a fresh one. ''Charge,'' she shouted, coming to her feet. ''Up and at them,'' she screamed.
''Go, go! Charge' em,'' and a roar that said nothing and meant only insanity came over the net as her command was obeyed.
Here and there survivors of the slashing volley hugged the ground, trembling, trying to raise their hands. A man stood, screaming at the others to follow him. Kris got him in her sights, but he was hit from so many different angles that he couldn't fall but danced a macabre jig, dead but not allowed to drop. The bandits farther back were running. Most had already thrown away their weapons. Not all. Kris hit her mike.
''Those with a weapon will be shot,'' rang through the woods, overpowering rain and wind. ''Throw down your weapon, and you will not be harmed. Keep it, and you will die.
Most of the runners with guns took only a second to correct their error. A few did not. Maybe they were too confused to notice what was still in their hands. Maybe they were the bully boys and could not think of facing the world unarmed. There was no time to ask. Kris and other sharpshooters put them down quickly. A few of the armed runners who were not among the first to die took the extra moment that chance gave them to correct their blunder. Others didn't. More died.
''The Sky Eye is back,'' came quietly in Kris's ear, reminding her that she was supposed to be the commander here. Reluctantly, she lowered her rifle, mastered the blood thirst raging in her gut, and fought to regain the calm that a commander needed. She took two deep breaths as she pulled her reader from her pocket. Rain and mud splattered it; Kris stepped beneath a tree and stooped beside its thin trunk for cover.
The bandits were running from her troops all along the line, fleeing for the hills to the west of the orchard. It looked like they were making a beeline for a stream and the cover of its wooded ravine. She could head them off, easily. Then she remembered; this wasn't a battle for a body count. Most if not all of those running were harmless.
''Colonel, can you get me a scan that shows if any of those are armed?''
''They using old-fashioned metallic hunting rifles?''
Kris glanced around, saw five or six dropped weapons. ''They look to be.''
''Magnetic mass is very low,'' the Colonel answered.
''My call would be they're down to their bootlaces and belt buckles.''
''Thanks, Colonel, I'd rather not pursue. Casualty report,'' Kris changed the subject with hardly a moment's thought.
''I have two wounded, one kind of bad,'' Courtney reported. ''Corpsman is already here.''
''Roger. Anyone else?''
''One flesh wound,'' Tom reported.
''Oh shit, this is Scout One. I've got… I've got…''
''Where are you?'' Kris turned. The riflewoman to her right was waving and pointing out of sight. Dread growing, Kris called up her last reserve of energy to jog where she was pointed.
She found the three she had left to hold the right flank standing over a body. One, the woman that had been behind Kris for the drive, sat on her knees, tears mixing with the rain. The marine that had been Scout One looked up as Kris joined them. ''He was okay. I swear to God, he was okay. I saw him start to stand up when you ordered the charge. I figured he was right with us. I thought he was.''
Kris stared down at the recruit she had only known as the wanna-be hero. The bullet had taken him in the forehead. He'd fallen on his back, so his blue eyes were open, staring expectantly into the gray rain. His belt clips were gone; the magazine in his rifle must have been his last. He'd more than made up for this morning's freeze. How will I explain to his mother, his father, what he won and what he lost this day?
There were a thousand feelings, questions, demands tumbling in Kris's brain. But not now. Now she had a battle to clean up. ''Tom, get the trucks moving in here. See that the wounded are collected by the road for pickup. All hands, we've got a lot of firearms lying around. Form a picket line, police up this mess. I want all guns left behind rendered inoperable.''