Sergeant Bruce fired his weapon three times. Cara didn’t look to see what he did. She was crying.
“Okay, honey, things are going to be okay now,” he said, turning to her and lifting up his faceplate so she could see his eyes and his smile better. He safetied and slung his weapon; it still smelled hot and fired like it did when he and Abby went to the range. He put his arms around her.
“Cara, I still have a few things I have to take care of. Remember, today I’m a Marine.” That was a joke between him and Abby. What were they today? Marine and maid? Sergeant vs. second louie? Or just Steve and Abby.
“I know,” Cara said, trying to control herself. “Can I help?”
“I think maybe you can. What’s that big house over there?”
“That’s where the boss lady lives.”
“Are there any slaves inside?”
“Not during the day. She has business and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Let’s disturb her. Second squad, I have a fire mission for you. Rocket grenades, maximum high explosive. Target . . . the big house.”
“Aye aye, Sergeant,” came back from his net.
Sergeant Bruce pulled a rocket from his backpack and sighted it at the house. Cara saw the house reflected for a moment on the battle lenses over his eyes.
“Fire.”
Six rockets took off, leaving small smoke trails behind them. A few seconds later they hit. For about half a second more, the large, cream-colored house just stood there.
Then it came apart. Prefab sections flew in every direction. Fire and smoke went up, then curled back in upon itself.
“That ought to take care of that,” Sergeant Bruce said, grinning. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they store this poison? The drugs?”
“In those big buildings,” Cara said, pointing. “They process the plants and make it into a powder.”
“Those barns?” he asked.
“I think that’s what they call them. I forget.”
“Right,” Sergeant Bruce said with a chuckle. “You’re a city girl.”
“And I never want to be a country girl again.”
“Country ain’t bad when you aren’t a slave,” he said, half-distracted. “Second squad, I have more business for you. Our primary targets are in those two large barns to the right of the burning building. Select incendiary. A fire team, take the right one. B fire team, take the left one.”
The “Aye ayes” were very enthusiastic this time.
Again six rockets rose and fell. This time the walls stayed put . . . for a while. Smoke immediately began billowing from the eaves of the barns. Cara wondered if Oli would manage to get out.
Then she decided she didn’t care.
“Uncle Steve, is there anyplace I could get a drink of water. And something to eat?”
“We’ve set up a medical receiving station at the southern end of the farm, hon. Abby’s there waiting for you.”
Which was obsolete information. Auntie Abby was charging toward Cara even as the Marine misspoke. She was in full armor and pounding drug plants into the ground as she ran for Cara.
“I am so sorry, Aunt Abby,” Cara said, throwing herself on another armored shoulder. It hurt, but it felt wonderful.
“I don’t know whether to tan your hide, child, or hug you and wrap you in plastic.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do anything like that again.”
“No, you won’t, baby ducks. But if you’re my niece, you’ll likely come up with something new and worse. Come on. Doc Izzawa is waiting to get a good look at you.”
Beside them, Sergeant Bruce turned his speaker up to max. “All agricultural workers, you are free now. We have set up a medical station on the southern edge of the farm. We also have food and water for you. We ask you to gather there and help us identify anyone who has been swinging a whip before today. We want to make sure they get the reward they deserve,” he ended dryly.
From around the drug fields, people were standing up, straightening their backs, and groaning before heading south.
Here and there, the rows of plants swayed, but not to the wind.
“Marines, let’s collect the folks going north and bring them along,” the Marine sergeant ordered.
Around the field, men and women in battle armor stood tall and began beating the bushes. Shots were fired twice.
After Marines returned fire the second time, people started standing up with their hands above their heads.
Even the dumbest . . . or the guiltiest . . . could see it was better to risk the uncertain fate of surrender than the certain quick death that came to those who tried to stand against the troopers with the rifles.
38
Kris was delighted when the word came that Cara was in safe hands. If only one thing went right today, she’d settle for it being Cara’s rescue.
Everything sure was going wrong on the station.
It hadn’t started that way. After four or five more hang-ups, the Carita character got the point that no one wanted to talk to her and quit calling.
Nelly and Chief Beni began extracting bales and bales of information from the station computer. They even succeeded in making data calls on several computers dirtside. That got harder around 1000 hours, when the folks down there changed their cipher for the day and didn’t tell the station.
Harder but not impossible. Nelly could still access the networks she’d already gotten into.
Admiral Krätz and his battle squadron docked right at noon. He asked to conduct the operation from Kris’s Tactical Center on the Wasp. She offered to do a sweep of his flagship and kill any bugs so he could stay in familiar surroundings, but he declined and announced he was headed for her work spaces.
Kris spent a moment contemplating what it must be like to not be able to trust your friends or your enemies. May that fate never come my way, she prayed.
Kris greeted the Greenfeld admiral on the Wasp’s quarterdeck. As she expected, it was hard to tell if the admiral was shadowing a certain lieutenant or if it was the other way around.
“I seem to remember that we agreed that this planet would be Greenfeld territory,” the admiral said as he crossed the brow onto the Wasp.
“It certainly is,” Kris agreed, saluting. “Do you want me to start paying docking fees?”
“No, no.” He almost chuckled. “I just didn’t want us to have a misunderstanding. I understand that is easy in alliance operations.”
“This is your planet. We’re just visiting,” Kris assured him.
He smiled and gave a nod to Commander Fervenspiel . . . who saluted and took it for a dismissal.
They had no sooner gotten to Kris’s command center than Chief Beni called with the first of the bad news.
“Somebody got a message off the station.”
“I thought you had us locked down,” Kris said.
“Nelly and I thought we were. But you know we’ve been making data calls on stuff dirtside.”
“Yes,” Kris admitted.
“Well, it looks like someone managed to piggyback a packet on one of our calls.”
“We should have caught it,” Nelly cut in, “but this is a bit of home-field advantage that neither the chief nor I took into account.”
“Don’t you hate it when the bad guys aren’t dumb,” Vicky put in.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Kris said.
By then, the admiral, Vicky, and their entourage of officers were filing into Kris’s Tac Center. Penny stood across the table from them, looking disturbed.
KRIS, YOU NEED TO SEE THIS, she said on Nelly’s command net.
Kris found herself watching as a column of pirates from last night’s boarding party, some still in need of clothes, were marched onto the main deck of the station by Greenfeld Marines.
On Commander Fervenspiel’s orders, the pirates were backed up against a wall. A moment later, a shouted order, and the Marines gunned them all down.