Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2)

by Mike Shepherd

  While the tanks got rid of their trailers and headed off to firing positions, several of the tracks took off with their loads of food for the parking lot in front of the terminal.

  Vicky was about to follow them when Cindy rode up on a lovely black Friesian.

  “What happened to your horse?” Vicky cried.

  “It needs more time to graze. Blacky, here, was Herbert’s favorite mount. He’s well fed. What’s going on?”

  “Gunmen are headed toward us on the town road. There are hungry people mixed in, but there are a whole lot of gunmen.”

  “And if they start shooting, a lot of innocent bystanders will die,” Cindy finished for Vicky.

  “You got it in one,” Vicky said.

  “You’re putting food out for the people,” Cindy said, standing tall in the saddle to watch what was happening down the road.

  “We hope to get the people to stop at the food. With any luck, they’ll take to the ground when the shooting starts.”

  “What if a lot of people took food down the road and stopped all of them before they got here?”

  “The gunmen wouldn’t be happy.”

  “The gunmen are hungry, too,” Cindy said. “You feed them, and they might be open to anything you suggested.”

  “Something like that happened at the other food sites this morning, but there were a lot more hungry people and a lot fewer gunmen there.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about getting more people out there among the gunmen.”

  “Is that wise?” the Grand Duchess asked.

  “Do you want a bloodbath?”

  “No,” Vicky said. “I don’t think it would be good for Kolna or its people.”

  “Me neither. Let me see what I can do,” and Cindy kicked her horse to a trot.

  Vicky found herself the observer as two quite different plans came together.

  Three, if she admitted that the Rangers and Marines were playing different games themselves.

  The Marine tanks formed a line in the space between the terminal and the hangars. Several tanks disappeared around the front of both sets of buildings to extend that line. The infantry tracks delivered the trailers and Rangers to several rough lines across the parking lot. Once those were unhitched, the tracks and their infantry withdrew to join the tanks in a deadly defensive array.

  The Rangers off-loaded as much of the food as they could while keeping a wary eye on the approaching crowds out on the roads. Unloading sped up as more and more civilians from the apartment buildings to the north of the spaceport and the warehouses to the east joined the Rangers around the trailers.

  Off in front of the apartment buildings, more people milled about in a growing mob. Cindy circled them on her Friesian like a sheepdog out to win a blue ribbon. That crowd grew both as more joined them from the apartments, but also as some who’d been helping the Rangers unload took off, lugging food sacks to the waiting crowd.

  Some ration biscuits got gobbled up, but more than Vicky expected stayed ready in hands.

  At the moment of Cindy’s choosing, the mob headed down the road, following their mounted guide like an army behind its equestrian general.

  Vicky asked Kat to rustle her up a mount of her own, but her minion instead came back with the two colonels. Between the six of them, it was somehow settled that Vicky would not get closer to today’s hot business than the line of tanks.

  “What are we now, a democracy?” Vicky spat, but it did her no good. She was outvoted five to one. The two colonels and the commander were no surprise. But Kat and Kit going against her!

  Voting should be banned.

  But what Vicky did see, even if it was from a distance, was quite a show.

  The two mobs met about a thousand meters forward of the farthest line of ration bags. The mobs collided, mingled, and became one milling collection of humanity.

  It quickly boiled into one mob that didn’t seem all that interested in going anywhere.

  This confused state of affairs lasted for a couple of minutes as food was passed around from those who had it to those who desperately wanted it.

  While that went on, nothing much happened.

  Then the guns came out.

  Someone fired a long burst in the air. Then someone fired a second long burst, and there were screams of agony.

  Like a wave, the mob went to ground, leaving several standing. Many of them were waving guns. Several more were bringing them out. There was a lot of shouting, then more bursts of automatic weapons fire.

  Try as Vicky might, she could not make out what they were firing at.

  However, from among the Rangers came a ragged staccato of single shots. The Marine tracks added short bursts from their chain guns.

  The results downrange were immediate and horrible. Where the Rangers’ snipers picked off a gunner, the man dropped. When a Marine 20mm cannon took out a gunman, blood and body parts flew in every direction.

  In a blink, no one was left standing.

  “Somebody out there can learn,” the commander said from beside Vicky.

  “Get me a bullhorn,” Vicky ordered.

  “Your Grace,” the commander said. “You’ll make yourself a target.”

  But Kit had already scrambled up on the tank next to them and was returning with a mic. “Key it that way and several tanks will make sure everyone hears what you say,” the tiny killer told her.

  Vicky took the mic and keyed it. “This is Your Grand Duchess, Victoria of Greenfeld. I’ve brought food for all of you. I promise you that there will be jobs for all of you soon. To those of you with guns, I can offer you a job distributing food, but only if you turn in your guns immediately. This is an offer for this morning only. You can turn in your guns, get a job with us, or you can hold on to them—and risk having to fight my Marines and Rangers later.”

  Vicky paused to let her words sink into minds that were dense in the best of times and likely starving in the moment at hand.

  “You’ve seen what they can do. Now the choice is yours. Make it quickly.”

  In front of Vicky, men were scrambling to their feet, rifles or machine pistols held over their heads. Quickly they made their way through the still-prone crowd to the first line of Rangers.

  The Rangers checked the guns, safetied most of them, and sent them farther up the line to Marines who were now ready to take the weapons in return for sacks of biscuits.

  Cindy, who’d never dismounted through the entire affair, now trotted up to Vicky.

  “You know, of course, that a lot of women will want to press charges against those pieces of crap for what they’ve done.”

  “I know,” Vicky said.

  “So, what are you going to do?” the young woman challenged her Grand Duchess.

  “I’m going to keep them close where I can see them, for the moment,” Vicky said, “while you get your father and his friends back in here from the hills. I’m sure he can find us some judges eager to restore the rule of law. Then, I assume, matters will take their natural course.”

  “Good,” Cindy said, uttering one word that Vicky had never heard carry so much venom.

  CHAPTER 43

  THE afternoon saw Vicky buried up to her eyeballs in adminutiae to the point where she found herself looking back on the near battles of that morning with fondness.

  Her one break from paperwork was provided by Herbert himself.

  He somehow took it in his head that he could ride out to the spaceport with two of his most trusted henchmen and carry out his own attack where his minions had failed.

  He had three horses that the raid had missed because they were grazing behind the palace that night. Now he and his two biggest, baddest thugs rode them.

  The drone take caught him before he was two blocks from the palace even though he was keeping to side streets.

&nbs
p; People began gathering around him before he’d gone four blocks.

  He tried to outrun them, but his horses were spent before they put spurs to their flanks.

  He tried to shoot his way out, but he only had so many bullets and people would flit into view, then drop out faster than he and his panicked gunmen could react.

  His horse didn’t take well to all this. It reared, and his poor horsemanship was revealed to all as Herbert slid off its hindquarters. The horse wisely bolted, leaving the scene before Herbert could pull himself off the ground and dust himself off.

  He called for one of his trusty henchmen to give him his mount.

  His trusty henchmen were already retreating at a gallop.

  Herbert whirled in place, firing his two six-shooters at shadows.

  A rock hit him, likely thrown from the upper window of a house.

  More rocks flew. He went down.

  Then the people closed in.

  Vicky ordered the drone view moved to somewhere more important to the mission.

  Later that day, two emaciated skeletons each brought a pearl-handled six-shooter to the spaceport. They offered to turn them in for jobs.

  They were hired on the spot. Vicky found this out when the colonels offered her the six-shooters.

  She gave one each to the colonels as trophies of this fight.

  Vicky now considered her main job to be getting Kolna back to some shade of normal. She could feed people for a month, maybe two. What she needed was people to do what they’d done in better times.

  She tried to jump-start the economy immediately by giving people jobs distributing food. Others were sent as a kind of town crier to shout job opportunities to those in line for rations. Vicky found some of the skills she needed among the starving people, but most of those left in town were those who had been too weak or unwise to flee.

  So Vicky went hunting for Cindy. “You going to live on that horse?” she asked the young woman.

  “You mean I can’t,” had a shy smile behind it.

  “You’re the only one I know that knows where your dad is. I got a Ranger gun truck reserved to run you back up into the hills. I really need him back down here.”

  Clearly in pain, Cindy dismounted and joined the motor Rangers.

  Vicky got a call as dark was settling in that evening. Cindy had indeed found her father’s fishing lodge, and her family was safe.

  Vicky talked to Mr. Arnsvider. He did have several of his business friends and associates close at hand. Many had their own places along the streams leading into a fine lake. Many had brought with them some of their most devoted or critical subordinates when they chose to run.

  Most had cars, trucks, or all-terrain transport; what they needed was gas.

  Vicky ordered a fuel truck to head out west that night. Next day, a convoy arrived at the spaceport. No surprise, Cindy shared a ride with Judge Valburg. He had taken two of his clerks to safety with him. He was eager to see his court back in session.

  After dropping Cindy off, he drove straight to his chambers.

  Now the LCIs and LCTs were dropping with supplies, spare parts, and small machinery. The emergency association of businessmen met with the businessmen Vicky had brought from St. Petersburg.

  The bargaining was hard. Everyone needed everything.

  Vicky sat in but avoided the temptation to step in. She’d seen just how bad she was at the business end of bargaining when she blew it the first evening above Presov. She promised herself that she would keep her mouth shut and ride to the rescue only later this time without making a fool of herself early on.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to rescue anyone.

  The factory owners, administrators, and managers of Kolna had a pretty good idea of what had to come first.

  “We all want to get our businesses up and running again, yes. But we need water and power if we’re going to live in our homes,” said Cindy’s dad.

  “And sewage treatment about fifteen minutes after you get the water running,” another added. “Oh, to take a dump in my own warm bathroom.” He sighed.

  Everyone laughed, but everyone agreed.

  The operator of the fusion plant had a short list of what was necessary to get his reactors back up and a long list of what he’d really like to have.

  The St. Petersburg men had most of the stuff on his short list. Vicky was able to get the rest released from Navy stores. Until the local could round up all his workers, Vicky arranged for Navy reactor specialists to be on loan from the fleet in orbit.

  Two days later, the lights started coming on.

  Not all. There were problems with the distribution network that would need some careful work, but at least most of Kolna had lights that night.

  The waterworks went through a similar process. St. Petersburg had sent the consumables to get water purification going again. The waterworks needed repairs, but there were plenty of welders and small-machinery mechanics either looking for work or available aboard the ships. Water came on.

  Several sections of town with electricity didn’t get water and vice versa. Vicky sighed. “What do they call it in Longknife space? Murphy at work.”

  “I believe in Greenfeld, we call it sabotage,” the commander grumbled.

  “Maybe we need a better sense of humor for our beloved Greenfeld,” Vicky countered.

  The cargo of the four freighters was quickly transported down into the empty warehouses, with the ready help of the Crocodile’s landing craft.

  At first, the Rangers did guard duty, but Kolna had a police force, and the many unemployed cops were eager to get it working again. Sadly, they found the chief of police and his wife murdered in their home. Likely, they were the first of Herbert’s victims. The police chief’s friends remembered that he’d been proud of a glass display on his wall of two pearl-handled revolvers that he said came from old Earth, where an ancestor had been a Texas Ranger.

  Among the weapons collected from hungry thugs were police automatics. They were returned to the recovering police force. The rifles were mostly taken from farmers and ranchers up-country. These folks usually came in to claim their guns even as they trucked the extra hands they’d hired for security back into town to see about their old jobs.

  The machine pistols from State Security were placed under lock and key. No one wanted them issued, but no one wanted them destroyed, either.

  How they’d end up wasn’t something anyone wanted to address at the moment. It didn’t seem to matter; they recovered very little ammunition for the machine pistols.

  When the Biter arrived with the next four freighters, Vicky was ready to take this half of her Fleet of Desperation back to St. Petersburg. The Crocodile stayed in orbit to help with the unloading, but Vicky wanted to return to see how matters were developing on what she was now thinking of as home.

  The first fleet had carried goods and gear, much of it to be given away. Vicky was heading back with plenty of equipment orders from Poznan, accompanied by loan papers already filled out. Poznan now wanted to buy what St. Petersburg had to offer if the money could be found for loans so they could pay for it.

  Vicky wondered how much a Grand Duchess’s encouraging word would be worth. She dearly hoped that she wouldn’t be required to cosign the loans; she was not at all sure she could stand surety for an entire planet’s needs.

  All that was in the future. For the moment, the Attacker was headed home from a job well done. Vicky asked and was granted permission to stand the bridge watch as the Attacker made its jump out of Poznan system.

  It wasn’t a Kris Longknife thing. No, not really. It was just that it had been a long time since Vicky stood a watch on the Fury. Who knew what the future might hold? She really should have a solid feel for how a warship got around in space.

  Tomorrow might hold many surprises. Someday, Vicky might have to fight
a ship in space.

  This jump was taken very carefully. The cruiser was dead in space, the freighters strung out behind her, as the skipper of the Attacker went through his prejump checks.

  Having a Grand Duchess at his elbow seemed to make him loquacious. Vicky had seen the Fury go through jumps many times under Admiral Krätz’s watchful eye.

  But he had never explained what he was doing.

  Captain Bolesław explained every part of his routine, and Vicky listened with her computer on RECORD so she could listen to it again until she had it memorized.

  Maybe I’m not the only one who thinks it would be nice if a Grand Duchess knew how a warship goes about its business.

  As the final step, the captain ordered everyone to tighten their seat belts. “Some captains take their ships through a jump with them standing around, gawking. I remember the old ways. ‘Get your ship ready because you can never tell when you’ll be in a fight on the other side,’ my first skipper insisted. We young ensigns thought he was a Nervous Nelly, but let me tell you, you really don’t know what’s on the other side of that jump.”

  Vicky tightened her seat belt.

  The jump buoy went through to warn the other side to keep their distance.

  They edged through the jump at a few kilometers an hour.

  There was that moment of disorientation, as the stars wavered and changed. Then there were new stars.

  And something else.

  “What the hell is that doing there?” the captain blurted out as he hit the general-quarters button on his command chair.

  CHAPTER 44

  EVEN as the Attacker beat to quarters, the ship was rocked by laser fire.

  The hull-breach alarm sounded as the cruiser spun up quickly to the normal battle defense of twenty revolutions a minute, intended to spin the damaged hull armor away from any searing laser hits.

  And the Attacker had taken hits. Damage control boards to Vicky’s left lit up with flashing red lights showing where the cruiser had been hit fore and aft.

  “Forward batteries. Fire,” Captain Bolesław ordered, and the lights dimmed as the forward 8-inch batteries responded. At least two of the twin turrets fired. The third had been nailed by incoming fire and was one of the red flashing lights that Vicky struggled to ignore.