Jack turned from the map he'd been studying, came to attention, and returned the chief's salute. ''I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Chief.''
''I wish I could say the same, sir.''
''So Princess Kristine is letting you in on the slaughter pen we're setting up for the green kid you've got running your show.''
''It appears so, sir,'' the chief said carefully.
''Well, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do and not much time to do them in,'' Jack said, turning his back on them.
''Mr. Mayor, would you take the chief outside a ways.''
''No problem, Commander,'' Ron said.
They watched while the mayor and chief headed back out. ''Kris, are you crazy?''
''No more than usual. It doesn't do us a lot of good to win the battle we don't want to fight.''
''But we don't want to lose it if we have to fight.''
''Agreed.''
''Okay, I'm headed for the buildings close to the berm. See that they're covered if Hank sends his Marines out as flankers.''
''That could put us in contact sooner than I want.''
''Not if I stay with this screen and see that it collapses ahead of the flankers. But doesn't collapse past about two rows of shops back. We've got to cover Wee Willy's back.
''I kind of wanted you with me,'' Kris said.
''And that is exactly where I want to be. You know anyone in this lash-up that we can trust to give ground, but not too fast?''
''Be careful Jack.''
He snorted at the sentiment. ''You do the same.'' There was a series of sonic booms outside; the shop seemed to take on a permanent tremble as the booms kept coming. ''Lots of launches incoming. I better get a move on. Where you headed?''
''I'm going to take the chief up the tower to watch the opening moves, then down to the jail. You?''
''The scouts have set up a command post of sorts just this side of the berm. They've got land line in case things go flaky. I'll stay there for a while. I understand there's a rain sewer under this place that you can move people through. So don't be surprised if I get back to you.''
''I'll look for you. Now I got to get moving. Good luck.''
''Good luck yourself, Kris. You usually make your own.''
Kris rejoined Ron and the chief; they were eyeing the sky. Contrails merged as more and more launches entered the lower atmosphere. ''Ron, you might want to go to your Command Center. I'm going up that tower to watch it live. Chief, you're with me unless you think it would be safer in your cell.''
''I've had enough of that stinking jail. No thank you.''
Kris and the chief climbed up the tower, past a machine gun and two M-6-armed gunners, a rocket launcher, and several sniper teams. ''Will you shoot the officers?'' Meindl asked.
''Not if they don't shoot at us,'' Kris answered.
Kris joined Ernie at the top floor of the tower. They had one spectacular view of Last Chance. The sky above them was a liquid blue that seemed to go on forever. Only the contrails of the approaching launches marred it. Ernie had binoculars and called down to a sniper team to loan their glasses to Kris.
She surveyed the highway she'd picked for Hank's landing. Empty, it shimmered in the noon heat. So did the line march into town. Inside the berm, people flitted from one shop row to another. Not a single car or truck was parked anywhere to provide temporary cover to someone caught on the street.
''He'd have to be crazy to march in here,'' Kris muttered to herself. The chief kept his opinion to himself.
''You holding to name, rank, and serial number?'' Kris asked.
''Actually, all they asked me for was my name. They are civilians,'' he said, scorn for that status flicking his words.
''We'll see who is the dumb one soon enough,'' Kris said.
''You're going to lose. These situations always go our way. Civilians can't stand up to Greenfeld bayonets.'' He looked at Ernie. ''You don't have the stomach for more than one volley from my sailors. Even this Longknife brat will not make a difference.''
''You learned your catechism well,'' Kris said. ''And you may be right, not even a Longknife brat may turn this around. But you sure that Greenfeld sailors can survive the leadership of a Peterwald brat?''
Chief Meindl looked away. He was too honorable of a man to lie to Kris. Yes, he could spiel the official line at her, but make up a lie of his own? No, not this sailor.
''Well, they're landing where you said they would, Your Highness,'' Ernie said, singing a slightly different tune now.
Kris watched through her borrowed glasses. The landers had their own power because the lead one taxied up and angled to a stop at the overpass that led to the Southern Industrial Park. The next taxied to a stop, nose to the far side of the road, leaving more room. From the first lander, a full color guard marched forth, unfurling their flags as soon as they were on solid ground. Behind them came…
''Damn, they brought a marching band,'' Ernie marveled.
''They are armed,'' Chief Meindl growled. ''You gave me a few obvious freebies. I can give you one or two.''
Launch after launch came in, landed, rolled to a stop, then rolled ahead to angle itself right or left. And as soon as the doors opened, shouting sailors ran to form up on the right shoulder. Kris raised the power on her glasses. Yep, there were mortar rolling behind pairs of sailors, extra ammo wheeled along by the next pair. This was a well-practiced ritual.
''The commodore will be in the last lander,'' Meindl said.
The twentieth launch barely cleared the last overpass, but Hank was down safely and the pilot was breaking hard. The final lander didn't have much spare road to break on, but it came to a halt well clear of the nineteenth. Troops raced to formed ranks outside it. Hank, in blues on a day this hot, strode from the lander last. He received and returned salutes and then…
''My God,'' Kris muttered. ''He's going to review his entire force. That's got to be over a half mile to the exit.''
''More like a whole mile,'' Ernie said. ''Then he's got close to a four mile walk in here.'' The man looked at his watch. ''Unless he's hired busses, we have a long wait ahead.''
Kris eyed Chief Meindl.
''They will march,'' the chief said, not a shred of doubt in his words. ''They are men of Greenfeld. ‘Marching is what puts strength in their backs and power in their fists.' ''
''And those fists put a couple of my friends in the hospital last night,'' Ernie snapped.
The chief examined his skinned knuckles. ''If your people had not so enthusiastically returned blow for blow with my people, you might not have so many of my people in your hoosegow.''
''Excuse me for being glad we've got them here rather than out there,'' Kris said.
The chief grunted and muttered something under his breath.
Ernie brought his comm unit up to his mouth. ''Folks, we've got an hour or two to nap, get some chow, or so until our visitors…'' He frowned at his unit, shook it. Then scowled.
''Nelly,'' Kris said.
''Halfway through his signal, a jammer cut in, Kris. The local net is off-line, or at least off the air.''
''That's not supposed to be possible,'' Ernie growled. Beside him, the chief smiled happily for the first time.
''Okay, so we go with Plan B,'' Ernie snapped. ''Gale, you got an extension for that land line you lugged up here?''
''I told you you'd need it, Ernie.''
''And I'll pay my debt tonight, woman of my life.''
A tall, slender woman backed up the stairs, unwinding cord from the reel in her hand, and gave Ernie a quick kiss and a phone. ''Now what will I have to talk on?''
''You may actually survive a few hours in peace and quiet.''
''Oh, you are so wasted when we get home, little man.'' They exchanged blown kisses as Ernie punched buttons. ''Tower here. They are down on the road. They have no transport and they've got a two-hour walk ahead of them.'' He listened for a moment. ''Yeah, she's here,'' he said and gave Kris the phone.