Kris concentrated on what she could do. The water was starting to lap at the clearing around the trailhead. Akuba's fall seemed to show that the climbers had edged to the right of the trailhead, the upriver side. ''Those of you who want a job can start lugging the hay bales over here,'' she announced in a calm, carrying voice that cut through the low rumble of ongoing babble. Some hurried to obey; others stayed on their knees. At the moment, Kris wasn't willing to bet who was right.
''Damn you, Nabil,'' came from the commlink. Kris got ready to dodge more falling bodies. ''He made it,'' Tom continued, his voice half awe, half laughter. ''That son of a bitch made it!'' That coming from the usually soft-spoken Tommy got a raised eyebrow from Kris as she tapped her wrist unit.
''Made what?'' she asked softly.
''Not to the top,'' Tommy quickly corrected. ''But he was hanging on by a hand and a foot, and it didn't look like he was going anywhere. He's back to climbing, now.''
''The climber's safe,'' Kris shouted to the ranchers. Several crossed themselves. Others whispered, ''Praise the Lord.''
''Kris,'' came plaintive from Tommy.
''Yes, Tom.''
''Ensign Longknife, you down there,'' came in an all-too-familiar and none-too-happy voice.
''Thank God you're here, Colonel,'' Kris screamed. ''The Navy's here,'' she yelled, loud enough to be heard at the top of the cliff without benefit of net. ''They're here.''
''The marines have landed, Ensign, and the situation better not be out of hand. Drove all night like the devil to make it, but we're here and alive. Ropes are going over the side, so look out below. How many people you got down there?''
''Ropes coming down,'' Kris yelled; people backed off as six of her hired gunmen from Port Athens rode ropes down the hill. ''Eighty to ninety, sir. And sir,'' she said turning back to the commlink, ''we can't trust those boat bridges.''
''So I learned. One went poof on me as I was pulling it back to move on. The other left a convoy on the wrong side of a very deep ravine. Third time ain't no charm with these jokers. Left me with a half-loaded convoy, so I came back to base early to find one of my ensigns had gone off half cocked.''
''Yes, sir. Sorry about that, sir.''
''You almost sound like you are.''
''It's been a rough day, full of learning experiences.''
''Ensign, I want you on the first rope up.''
''Sir, we've got some pretty sick people,'' was Kris's answer.
Sam had come up beside her. ''She'll be on the first one,'' he shouted over Kris.
''At least somebody down there has sense. Who'm I talking to?''
''Sam Anderson. I own this ranch.''
''Colonel Hancock, here. I own that ensign's ass. Ship it back to me.'' So Kris found herself on the first rope lift up, half climbing, half being dragged. There was applause as Kris started up the cliff. She put it down to the joy of the rescue starting. It couldn't have been for the little she'd done. The cliff was not straight up. Some sections were rock, gravel, and mud at no more than a forty-five-degree angle. Kris climbed and slid her way up those, helping guide basket stretchers with three of the really sick civilians. Other parts were a rocky face, too damn close to straight up to make any difference. Kris let herself be pulled up those.
As expected, the Colonel was waiting for her at the top. Jeb was there, too, with a good chunk of her warehouse crew. Jeb had the winches well in hand; at least the Colonel didn't seem inclined to over-supervise him. ''My truck,'' was all he growled at Kris. But he handed her a blanket as he growled.
Kris found Tommy in the back of the truck the Colonel waved her to; huddled in a blanket, sipping on a hot cup of coffee with a big, satisfied grin on his face. He pointed at the thermos and Kris poured one for herself, took a sip, and almost choked. This was very Irish coffee. Someone had been quite liberal with the whiskey.
''No wonder you like it.'' She coughed.
''Good coffee, but not worth what I went through.'' He held out a hand, raw and bleeding. ''I'm never so much as climbing on a chair for the rest of my life.''
''The medic should be up next lift. He can look at your hand.'' Kris held up her bandaged one. ''Barbed wire makes a lousy lifeline.'' Tom sipped his whiskey-laced coffee in silence. Kris held the cup in her numb hands, letting its warmth seep into her. The whiskey she could do without.
A few minutes, or maybe a year later—time seemed quite flexible at the moment—the Colonel settled into the backseat. Kris and Tommy made room for him. Two civilians piled into the front seats. The driver goosed the engine to life, slipped the rig in gear, and headed them into the pouring rain. Wipers struggled against it. Maybe from the front seat they could see something; it wasn't visible to Kris in the back.
''Is that fear I see in your eyes, Ensign Longknife?'' the Colonel chided her. Kris leaned back in her seat, concentrated on her coffee. Wouldn't do to have the Colonel think that after all she'd been through she was afraid of a little drive in the country…even if the driver were charging blind into the dark. ''We've got the worst cases and the medic in the back, so don't get too unwound,'' the Colonel advised the team up front. They both leaned forward, faces almost in the front windshield.
''Right, boss. We get you there fast. Maybe even alive. No extra charge.''
''Civilians,'' the colonel growled. ''Almost as dumb as some ensigns I know. Just what did you think you were doing, Longknife?''
Kris had been expecting this. ''Sir, the Anderson ranch had a medical emergency that involved a threat to the public health of this planet. Exercising independent judgment and within calculated risks, sir, I led a boat expedition to their relief. Our efforts were hampered by what I can only assume at this time is a flaw in the design of the liquid metal boats. We were in the process of rescuing the ranch hands when you arrived, sir.'' There, she'd made her report, and every word of it was true … even if the color was off a bit.
Hancock just shook his head. ''So you didn't have time to call me, to run your approach through your commanding officer?''
''Sir, you were committed to a convoy mission. There were no roads to the Anderson ranch. A boat was the only way to reach it,'' Kris said, knowing full well the truck she was riding in raised certain questions about her estimate of the situation. ''Until the liquid metal boat just became liquid it wasn't going so bad, sir. The boat formed up like it should. I even repaired the prop when it got bent—on a log. Sir, we didn't have any other choice.''
Colonel Hancock's face remained a hard mask as Kris tried to explain why she'd done what she did. If anything, the tightness around the eyes got tighter. ''You'd activated the boat modification system twice already.''
''Yes, sir. But I didn't know it was a problem.''
''If you'd touched that keypad one more time on the way up, it would have dumped you and your entire party into the river.''
''Yes, sir,'' Kris agreed lamely.
''I found out the damn system was a piece of crap while using it for a bridge. It broke while no one was on it. In one day I already knew we had a problem, and no lives were put at risk. None but yours, because you didn't have any choice.'' Kris didn't have an answer for that.
''Ensign Lien, Tom isn't it.''
Kris was grateful to have the Colonel's full attention shift from her, then felt guilty all the same. Tom hadn't done anything she hadn't asked. No, this was the Navy. She'd ordered him to do what he did. She was the senior. She was responsible.
''Yes, sir,'' Tom answered.
''Did you have no other choice?''
''No, sir. I had choices.''
The Colonel already had his mouth open. He closed it and eyed Tom for a moment. ''What makes you say that?''
''We always have choices, sir. At least, that's what my grandma always says. No matter how bad it looks, there are always choices.''
''What choices did you have today that Ensign Longknife didn't seem to notice?'' God, the sarcasm was thick.