''Better that she try it first,'' Jack said.
''And I thought you'd try to lock me in a tower,'' Kris said.
''Only tower around here is at the top of everyone's target list,'' Jack said, opening the door for Kris.
''Chief, you're with us,'' Kris said, leading the way.
''Oh good,'' Jack muttered. ''Three is the charm.''
''If you think my presence is going to keep you alive, you're very wrong. We do not negotiate with terrorists,'' the chief said.
''I am Commander, Naval District 41, Chief. By definition, I can't be a terrorist. Says so in some book I read.''
''You sure it wasn't a fairy tale you were reading. One of those cheap fantasy romances?'' Jack asked.
''Might have been,'' Kris agreed.
They were in line now, the chief in the middle, and had naturally fallen into step. He eyed Kris first, then Jack. ''Why do I have the sick feeling we are all doomed?''
''You've never been on an operation with the princess, here,'' Jack said. ''You always feel that way at the start of things, and are amazed to be alive at the end.''
''Hush, boys, this fairy princess has just one chance to do this right. Hand salute on my order. Hand. Salute.'' The three brought their right hands up in perfect cadence. Four steps later, Kris was as close as she wanted to be to Hank. ''Group. Halt. One,'' she whispered.
In front of two thousand rifles, loaded with intent, Kris's small detail performed the ancient ritual to perfection.
''Commodore, we need to talk.'' Hank waved his sword in what might have passed for a salute in some military circles. Kris whispered ''two'' and her detail dropped their salute.
''I don't have anything to say to you,'' Hank snapped back. ''I demanded that Ron Torn, the hostage taker, come out here. What? Is he hiding behind your skirts?''
''The lawfully elected mayor of Last Chance has asked me to serve as an intermediary between himself and the armed troops that have disturbed, without warning or permission, the quiet of his city. So far, there has been no additional violation of the peace. He would like to keep it that way.''
''I want the sailors he's holding hostage released at once.''
Hank was firing answers from a playbook he'd probably put together that morning. You need a better writer, Kris thought. This shindig is way off your script, haven't you noticed?
Beside Hank, Captain Slovo was studying Kris. This was the first time he'd seen her in uniform, and he eyed her fruit salad with intent. His nostrils flared, his eyes grew wide as he read her service history laid out there for anyone to see.
Except for the Navy-Marine Corps medal, all Kris had were tourist ribbons to show for her service. No Meritorious this, Distinguished that for this girl. But every one of them, even the Navy-Marine Corps ribbon, had a V for having been earned in combat. The sole exception was the Wardhaven Defense Medal.
''Commodore, I think we all want you to have your sailors back,'' Kris said, reasonably.
''Then why don't I have them?''
''Because I think the local folks will only give them back when you are headed home.''
''Greenfeld does not negotiate with terrorists.''
Good Lord, doesn't this boy know anything but cant, Kris thought. What she said was very calming. ''You are not negotiating with terrorists, Commodore, you are talking with me about a mutual problem we have. I would like to solve your problem, Commodore. Wouldn't you?''
''All they have to do is release my sailors,'' Hank demanded.
''There is the matter of significant damages done to several buildings here last night by your sailors,'' Kris pointed out.
''My sailors are gentlemen. Clearly, these damages were done by agent provocateurs hostile to Greenfeld.''
For a moment, Kris eyed Hank. Isn't there anything behind that lovely face, those piercing blue eyes, but second-rate pablum for a brain? Or did you come here for a shoot-out and have no intention of leaving until you've had it?
''There are witnesses that saw your sailors trashing the Beergartens, tearing down a light post, and smashing its wall.''
''They are liars. Paid liars, no doubt.''
This was going nowhere. ''Commodore, if we don't cooperate to solve this problem, things could quickly get out of control.''
Hank opened his mouth to shoot back another one-liner, but the flag captain stepped forward and placed his hand across his mouth. What he said made Hank scowl and curtly shake his head.
''Everything is going exactly the way I intended,'' the young Peterwald insisted.
''Are you sure, Commodore?'' Kris said ''From my perspective, it doesn't look that way. I would strongly suggest that you drop this bit of gunboat diplomacy and pull your troops back to their ships.''
''And what will you do if I don't. Wipe them out?'' Hank snorted at his joke.
Kris said nothing. Beside her, the chief caught the flag captain's attention, then silently guided the officer's eyes to this rifle position, that machine gun nest. Slovo coughed into his hand, and once again leaned next to his master's ear. Hank looked first to one set of weapons, then to another. Then his eyes focused on the tower. ''I don't see anything,'' he snapped.
Oh Lord, Jack and I have done such a great job of getting our shooters to cover that blind Hank can't see them. Kris turned around. ''Ernie. Gale, mind letting our visiting friends see what they face.'' Kris was signing that happy couple's death warrants. Or was if they stood up and countersigned them.
And they did! The crazy pair stood; waved with one hand, held their rifles on their hips with the other. Then they ducked back down into firing positions.
''There's more like them you aren't noticing,'' Jack said.
For the first time, Hank looked worried. ''We can handle those. If need be, we can fall back to those store fronts behind us. My Marines already control them.''
Captain Kratz double-timed up from the rear with a Gunny Sergeant beside him. ''Commodore, we have a bit of a problem.''
The two captains and the commodore put their heads together for a long moment. ''Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?'' Hank demanded, ending the whispered conference.
''You were at the head of the column, sir,'' Kratz answered. ''The Marines tried to solve the problem on their own, sir.''
''And if they bash the doors in,'' Jack said. ''They'll face a hail of fire. I prepared that greeting myself.''
''And if you try to fall back on those shops,'' Chief Meindl added, ''you will be running into claymores. I saw them deployed when the lieutenant here took me for a walk around.''
''You go too far, Longknife. And now that you've tipped your hand, we'll smash it,'' Hank snapped, or tried to. A hard gulp interrupted his words.
''That's what I showed your chief. Did I tip my hand, or just show the tip of an iceberg? You sure you're not facing enough firepower to make this square run knee deep in blood?''
The flag captain looked around the square slowly, taking in carefully what he might have missed before. Kris saw his face harden as he changed his assumptions that he faced amateurs who had no idea how to plan a battle. He glanced at Kris, squinting at the glare off the Wounded Lion in the overhead sun. ''That Earth decoration came after de-evolution, didn't it?''
''Maybe,'' Kris agreed.
Hand again over his mouth, the captain whispered something long and involved to his commodore. Hank's grimace deepened. ''I could shoot you down where you stand, Longknife.''
''And you'd be dead a second later. What do you say we both live long, nasty lives causing no end of trouble to each other?''
''Not an unreasonable idea,'' the chief muttered.
''I want my men back,'' Hank repeated. ''I did not come down here just to get sunburned,'' he said, glancing up. His blue uniform looked summer weight, but Hank had sweated it through.
''I want you to get your men back,'' Kris said, as she might to a particularly difficult child. ''But you have worn out your welcome. There's no beer left on this planet for your men.''