Colonel Cortez took a deep breath of morning air. It was clear and clean, too nice a morning for dying. Yet he’d rousted the Marines out of bed at Oh Dark Early to come out here and kill or die trying. That was the business they’d chosen. Lovely or not, that was the business they’d do today. His job was to decide who did what and who took the greatest risks.
He turned to the young man beside him on the road. “Lieutenant Troy, withdraw most of your men from the immediate area of this roadblock. I’d suggest setting up a CP back in those rocks,” the colonel said, pointing to a rocky outcrop a hundred meters up the hill to the left of the checkpoint. “Leave me a shooter and a tech with good sniffers here, and the rest of you get well back.”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, sir, but I was about to make the same suggestion to you. Those rocks would give you a good observation point for controlling matters after the truck explodes. I figure we’ll be charged by the other dozen trucks.”
Colonel Cortez found himself grinning at the young Marine lieutenant. “Mister, my suggestion was intended to carry the weight of an order.”
“I kind of figured it was, Colonel. But I also remember that in my trade school they taught me that senior officers don’t belong up on the line. I figure your school taught you the same, so, sir, I respectfully suggest that you get your ass up there where it won’t be blown into little bitty pieces in the first second of this fight. Respectfully. Sir.”
“What is it about this Longknife girl? Everybody who spends a few seconds around her gets totally insubordinate,” Cortez said, totally failing to swallow his grin.
“Very contagious, sir. I’m told it was just as bad around her great-grandfather General Trouble. General Ray Longknife, too.”
“Bad family. Makes you wonder how they kept from all being hanged.”
“Yes, sir, now, if you will get the hell out of my roadblock, I’ll see what I can do about finding a couple of hidey-holes for me and my fellow forlorn hope.”
“What’s a lieutenant doing on a roadblock, Mister? Shouldn’t you delegate it to a sergeant?”
“Yes, sir. No, sir. I’d never order one of my men to go where I wouldn’t, sir.”
Colonel Cortez shook his head. The young man was giving all the right answers to all the worst questions. He was about to prove that you can be right, but dead right.
“Carry on, Mister. Find a good hiding place,” the colonel said, and began the climb to his new command post. From it, he did have a very good view of his borrowed command.
First platoon with its lieutenant was two squads of troops spread out on the hill above the roadblock. Second platoon, under Gunny Brown, was another two squads spread out in the trees below the road. There wasn’t a lot of room there before the land dropped to a rocky stream. Both platoons were shy a squad. They were still in Denver standing guard over the princess’s sickroom. But the heavy-weapons squad had bulked up the two platoons as much as they could.
On the road, the lieutenant, a rifleman, and a woman tech rummaged around the ditches on both sides, testing them for depth. A tree lay across the road to stop traffic. A sheet of spikes would halt any traffic that didn’t take its hint from the tree.
The Marines uphill and down were digging themselves in, getting ready for the opening shots of what they expected to be a very short exchange of small-arms fire. After all, they were Marines. Cowboys didn’t really stand a chance against them.
Only one thing was missing. Body armor.
Oh, and reloads. Most Marines were carrying two hundred rounds per rifle. A shuttle had taken off to get more ammo and armor from the Wasp, but it wasn’t due back for two orbits. If they shot themselves dry in the meantime, matters could get interesting.
Colonel Cortez had lost his last fight when he went up against these Marines. Then, they’d been led by the princess.
It would be a crying shame if he couldn’t do any better than she.
35
Kris came awake slowly. This time she remembered a few things. She was in a hospital. She was in bad shape.
She still didn’t remember why.
She tried opening her eyes. They didn’t argue with her. There was Jack, sitting at her bedside. He was shaved now, his hair wet from a shower. His uniform looked slept in but tidy.
When he saw her eyes open, he said “Nurse,” and one came, not as part of a charge of the medical brigade like last time, but just one. She checked Kris’s pulse, fussed over instruments Kris couldn’t see, then asked, “How are you?”
Kris tried to mumble “Thirsty,” but what got out past the twelve-inch pipe stuck down her throat didn’t sound like anything to Kris.
The nurse removed the breathing tube. It not only felt a foot wide but about a mile long. Strange, under eyeball observation, it revealed itself to be neither.
“Water,” Kris croaked.
Jack grabbed a water bottle with a nozzle and sprayed a few drops into Kris’s mouth. Her throat felt like hell on a bad day. Course, the rest of her felt worse. Kris needed a whole new way of defining pain.
“More,” Kris gasped.
Jack held the nozzle to her lips. She got a lip-lock on it and sucked. Water flooded her mouth. Some got up her nose. She ended up sputtering and spraying the water all over Jack.
The nurse wiped away the mess and then held the bottle to Kris’s mouth. “Let’s take it easy, girl. Just a little bit to start with. Trust me, it’s not going anywhere.”
Kris trusted her. One small sip followed another. It tasted delicious.
Done for a moment, Kris got the words out that were pounding in her brain. “What happened?”
“What do you remember?” Jack asked.
“I was walking. Talking. Working with Nelly. Working with ...”
“Bobby DuVale,” Jack supplied.
“He . . . okay?”
“Yes. You threw yourself over him. Took most of the explosion. He looks a lot better than you do.”
Kris relaxed back into the bed. Good. Someone else had gotten too close to one of those damn Longknifes. At least he hadn’t paid for it with his life.
Then a whole lot of memories flooded back into her mind. Memories of an angry Jack not making it into an elevator.
Kris closed her eyes for a second, then leaned forward for another sip. “I’m sorry, Jack,” came out this time.
“For what?”
“Not waiting for you. Not letting you do your job.”
“If you had, I’d be in the next bed. Most of my Marines weren’t in armor. The bomb would have killed them.”
Kris leaned back into the bed to mull that idea over for a few seconds. After the next swig of water, she said, “We’ve got to get your Marines spider-silk armor.”
“Definitely,” Jack said.
“Who did it? Why?”
“We don’t know. But we think who did it is about to attack the ski lodge. They seem to want some kind of bloody event for something.”
“Don’t you hate it when people won’t just come out and say what they mean? Want,” Kris said, and found that about exhausted her.
“Jack, I think I’m falling back to sleep. Do you need anything from me?”
“No. We got things pretty much under control. Funny thing about this ops going down at the lodge, we were told twenty trucks were headed in. After the word got out about the attack on you, there were only thirteen. We’re kind of wondering if you took out a third of the attack from your surgery.”
Kris tried to laugh at the joke. It hurt too much. She closed her eyes and was asleep before she took the next breath.