Freehold
Page 39
Dak, Sandra holding a bouncing, wiggling Riga, Eric and Brian their two teenage boys, and Vikki lined up. Kyle was out on patrol, but the intruders had no way of knowing that. The soldiers skipped Riga at first, saying there was no need to check a child. When Dak asked, "Don't children qualify for your help?" they made a show of giving her a quick scan. The omission was definite evidence that their concern was adults only. And that meant their concern was with rebellion. He shook inside at that confirmation.
The soldiers politely insisted on checking the area. Their search was laughable. They checked vehicle hatches, but not inside the equipment compartments where the weapons were hidden. They made a quick mag-scan of the immediate grounds, but didn't bother going out to the far shed where other gear was hidden. They didn't find the secondary crawlspace where Kendra hid in blackness among cobwebs, rats and snakes, trying desperately not to scream in disgust.
Finally they left to hassle the next farmstead. Dak wished them all an early death silently, while wishing God's Blessing on them publicly.
They waited to pull Kendra out for another half div. As she rose, Dak handed her a bottle of liquor and let her take several gulps before downing some himself.
"I'm alive," she thanked him, then shook. "Ewww."
Nodding, he replied, "I felt utterly dirty professing your religion as a hoax. It's obscene to have to hide behind something I don't believe."
"I'm sure God will forgive you," she said. Her religion, a comforting background against the world, was becoming more important to her as she faced daily capture and death. She'd put in a word personally when she next got a chance to pray. Say, as soon as she was sober. She followed them upstairs to clean up and change.
Chapter 35
"Mundus Vult Decipi."
—James Branch Cabell
Not all Freehold military personnel had been captured. There were always detachments and personnel in transit who slipped through any system. While not organized, these troops found bolt holes and tried to get messages through to someone, anyone with intelligence and command resources.
Commander Naumann had been one such, flying between installations when the attack hit. He sent such orders as he could to his exec, told her she was in charge and ordered his pilot down. He sheltered in a small town near the mountains and organized the forces at hand. There were quite a number of veterans, several reservists and a precious few active duty personnel. He began slipping them out clandestinely to bring in others.
One such catch arrived and Naumann, usually reticent, smiled broadly. His mind immediately began sorting through plans. "Sergeant Hernandez! Do I have ideas for you!"
"Professional, sir? Or military?" she joked. It was good to see familiar faces, especially since she had no idea if Rob or Kendra were alive. "Or personal?"
"All three," Naumann replied, laughing aloud. "Let me gather some other personnel and I'll tell you what I have in mind."
* * *
The local militia units were networking now, messengers relaying data. It was usually a few days old by the time it arrived, but it was intelligence. It wasn't as good as the no longer existent satellite feed, which had been destroyed after being located. Vid had been down for most of a month while that happened, as if to drive home the point, then brought back up to keep the propaganda flowing. Kendra mapped units, plotted and led and sent her farmers to harass them further. There was word that the UN headquarters in Jefferson was having a near mutiny. Apparently, guards were refusing to be stationed at the gates and were willing to be court-martialed and jailed over it.
A recent message indicated that a nearby militia squad wanted to meet with her, to discuss combining forces. She took Kyle, Dak and Sandra with her. She'd known them the longest and wasn't about to travel alone.
It was a long drive, almost two hours and one hundred kilometers, all along ragged country roads. They detoured several times to avoid UN roadblocks, warned by subtle signs tied to gates and fenceposts. She gritted her teeth, hoping none of the locals were turncoats. They might pass a roadblock . . . or be searched in depth or scanned. That would be the end of her operation and maybe her life. She could dress as a farmer's wife, but couldn't disguise her DNA. Nor were they about to travel unarmed. Stashed under junk and scrap in the back of their truck were rifles.
They should have just hopped in an airtruck, there being no really heavy cargo. But the UN was requiring notification of all air travel and unreported flights were all subject to forced landings and detailed examination. They lacked the personnel to check more than a few percent, but it still would draw unnecessary attention. They stuck to the ground.
It was dark, past curfew, when they finally arrived. The farm looked like any other and they swapped signals cautiously. Kendra hissed as they entered the house. Not him . . .
"Hello, Kendra," Jim Wayland said, smiling his trademark grin.
"Jim," she replied levelly, feeling her temperature and pulse shoot into the stratosphere. Jesus Christ! How did he wind up in charge and what did he want?
"So, you've been hurting them?" he asked.
He seemed earnest enough, so she nodded and detailed her efforts.
"That's it?" he replied. "We've taken out thirteen trucks, six generators, a radar and have at least twice that many kills."
"It's not the number of kills, though," she objected. "It's the effect of them."
"What, a few cooks?" He had a half-sneer on his face. "And you think that will beat them?"
She said, "We aren't going to beat them here, Jim. That's going to be done—" but he cut her off.
"It sounds like you don't have faith in your people . . . or in us. We're Freeholders, Kendra. Maybe the UN can't handle the task, but—"
"I am a Freehold NCO, Jim, unlike you, who are a civilian. I'm serving my nation the best way I know how and you have no right to suggest otherwise. I'm not a traitor."
"Look lady," Wayland said, exasperation in his voice. "I'm not saying you can't live here. I'm not even saying you can't be trusted. But it ought to be obvious that you have a weak spot for Earth. You have to admit that."
"Why? Because you don't agree with my targets?" she snarled. It was taking desperate effort to keep calm.
He snickered derisively. "What, a bunch of cooks?"
"Enemy activity in our area is almost nonexistent," she said.
"Of course!" he replied. "They don't think you're a threat. They've been at us nonstop."
"And you haven't done a damned thing except piss them off!" she shouted. "You can blow up all the generators you want, they'll build more. It's not what you destroy, it's the level of activity. Can't you see that?"
"Yeah," he smirked, "And we're getting more activity. That's what proves they're pissed off and hurt. If you'd been to Leadership School, you'd know that."
"I went, right after you left and was third in my class," she said. "Logistics is what they hammered into us every day, and you should know that."
"Wait a mo," one of his henchmen cut in. "This is the woman who got you booted?"
Kendra felt the world twist again. What?
Wayland nodded. "Yeah, this is her."
"Wayland, you got yourself thrown out by insulting people—"
"Insulting dorks and trying to make them grow up."
"Insulting people and violating safety regs. You were the one without a spare oxy bottle, remember?" She breathed hard, trying to maintain her composure and losing.
"Oh, yes, Ms Regulation herself. Real handy to get yourself promoted," he said. "Typical UN backstabbing. Perfect for petty details. Then when you get here, you completely ignore the Target Priority Table," he said, tapping the page up on his comm screen.
"That's for conventional warfare, which this is not!" she said. "And where the fuck did you get a controlled item?" she asked, pointing at the comm. It was a military standard model that he shouldn't have been able to keep after his effective dismissal.
"Right back to regs again," he said, shaking his head. "Typical."
His troops were looking at her with mixed amusement and condescension, tinged with disgust. Kyle looked thoughtful. Dak was blank. She couldn't see Sandra.
"I think we should leave on this note," she said very levelly. "You run your ops, I'll run mine. Commander Naumann can reach me if he has a problem with my methods," she said.
"Naumann. Yeah, that's a little upstart who likes to swap casualties for headlines—"
"Goodbye, Jim. Folks, we're leaving," she said.
They followed her out silently.
* * *
She kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep while she collected her thoughts. Nothing good would come of this, she knew in her guts. Her musings were interrupted by Kyle asking, "Do you think there's anything to his theory about targets?"
"No." Her voice was automatic and curt.
"Good enough for me," he said.
"Guy's a manipulative asshole," Dak said through his beard. "He was hoping for a confrontation and is doing exactly what he accused you of: quoting regs for his own good."
"I just thought he was a scared geek, puffing himself up with brave words," Sandra said.
"Why can't they see that?" Kendra asked. "It was obvious to you guys."
"We're on the outside. People like that are persuasive," Dak said. "Life of the party, class clown, great to be around. Bet he disappears when there's dirty work to do."
She laughed. "Oh, you've met him before."
"His father, most likely."
Kyle added, "I take it we won't be working with him?"
"Not a chance in hell," Kendra said.
"Good."
Chapter 36
"All propaganda has to be popular and has to adapt its spiritual level to the perception of the least intelligent of those towards whom it intends to direct itself."
—Adolf Hitler
Kendra squirmed again in near agony. The latest nasty bioweapon had been sprayed as spores around one of their recent targets and they'd picked it up during an operation. It caused ulceration of the mucous membranes, and her eyelids were a weeping, gummy mass that left her near blind. Her nose felt as if it had been sanded with power tools and her tongue was swollen with jagged red wounds she could see despite her ruined vision. Her gums were so afflicted that her teeth were loose and she didn't relish her next trip to the bathroom. It was hard to drink enough fluid, but she forced another burning mouthful or lukewarm water down. Her nose was running, but she dared not touch it. In addition, the flaking, weeping wounds of severe dandruff were causing her scalp to bleed and shed hair in places. Whether it was a related effect or simply malnutrition and environmental in nature was unknown, but it itched and hurt as the skin came off in huge, fluffy flakes. Her hormone-balancing implant had expired and she found out what it was like to suffer menstruation. How did people survive in the Dark Ages?
Her squad was hiding in their farms, all gear well hidden against any routine scans, and they were simply waiting for a cure or for the infection to run its course. This attack was probably less lethal than the pneumonic one that had taken weeks to defeat and killed Dak's beautiful little girl in the process. Kendra could still see Riga smiling and trying to play as her breath bubbled through the liquid filling her lungs. Despite an around the clock watch, several local infants and toddlers had gone to sleep and strangled to death in their nightmares.
Perhaps in that regard, this was a more humane weapon. The people it left blind or toothless had an eventual hope of recovery. The children shrieked every time they tried to urinate. The psychological effect of that on a two-year-old was something she didn't want to consider. Some of them were looking a bit jaundiced. The official word was that all they had to do to get cured was to come and get an implant that would allow their positions to be monitored, for "the safety of society." DNA would be checked on all such persons and kept on file. It was completely voluntary. Only a terrorist would refuse, of course.
It was disgusting to see the Earth press still insisting that no violations of the Laws of War were taking place by the "liberators" of the UNPF and that the treatment they received as prisoners of the Freeholders was brutal. She recalled one such cast a few days before. They'd been gathered in the dark around a locally transmitted vid . . .
"This is Iakova Popovic with EBC News," the woman announced as the camera followed her along a fence. "As you can see, we are here in a rebel prison compound containing UNPF captives. They agreed to let us in here, far behind their line of resistance, to show us the conditions they maintain.
"You'll notice that the prisoners only have thin pads and a single light blanket for sleeping, many of which have been furnished by local civilians sympathetic to the cause. They are fed, but all of it is food from wild sources; none is professionally produced for human consumption. Meals are sporadic at best and no religious or philosophical dietary needs are being observed. There are rodents and other pests crawling through the site. Some of the captives are in need of medical care and all of them have been denied contact with their friends and families. The camp commander, a reserve captain in the former Grainne army, had this to say:"
The vid cut to an older man who looked very tired and worn. "—There can be no exchange of prisoners without UN cooperation, and the treatment they are getting is all they can expect—" he was cut off.
"EBC News has managed to acquire a list of prisoners from inside and we'll share that info on our access site with anyone who can identify a potential prisoner and their relationship with them. Contact the Red Cross or your nearest Bureau of Defense facility to make arrangements. The UNPF staff note that any attempt to attack the camp would lead to casualties, so they reluctantly must leave them in their current squalor for now."
The Freehold version, not available outsystem and not to most even on Grainne, was that the prisoners were being fed the same food as the guards and staff. The UN had been requested to arrange a swap and refused, probably fearing that actual testimony and reports from the field would ruin its various PR tracks. Nor would they take the badly injured. Every one that died or suffered in the competent but overworked and underequipped hands of the Freeholders was further publicity. Some of the guards didn't have even the minimal clothing and shelter the prisoners had. And all the prisoners had been allowed to send mail home. It had been delivered to the UN headquarters by a SpecWarfare team who had dropped it off at the front gate. The bag had been taken inside and never seen again. Their communications had been "denied," yes, but by the UN, not the Freehold. There were even rumors that some UN prisoners had been returned and either disappeared or been badly abused by their own people to generate publicity before being sent home. Kendra hoped it wasn't true, but was ready to believe almost anything about the enemy now. She shuddered again, sickened at what her home had turned into.
The camp commander's actual quote had been, "We've tried to exchange prisoners and been refused. There can be no exchange of prisoners without UN cooperation, and the treatment they are getting is all they can expect given our current state of affairs. My guards and perimeter patrols are no better fed or clothed. If you can at least get the list of detainees home to their families, you'll be doing us a great favor."
Kendra had flushed a crimson so bright it should have glowed as the propaganda from her home went on. She'd been glad for the darkness.
The "news" continued. "Further investigations by our team show the true threat the rebels pose to society. Out in the country, recruits as young as ten are arming themselves, brainwashed or scared into fighting by their extremist parents. In the cities, we spoke to several prostitutes who were under twelve years old . . ."
Of course, those were local years, not Earth years. The Freeholders didn't see the threat in that type of reporting, nor were they bothered by the "decadence" of prostitution. They were most annoyed by the people who were forced into it, rather than choosing it as a car
eer. Kendra shuddered. The press was potentially a worse threat than the armed enemy and there was nothing she could do about them.
The good news was that patrols outside the cities had all but ceased. Certainly they were being reported to UN Command as normal, but most patrols were not actually being conducted. The few that were didn't stray very far, staying within artillery range usually and close-air support range definitely. They'd learned that to venture further brought quick death from the natives.
The bad part of that was that it was necessary to brave the support fire to damage the UN forces. That meant longer operations, reduced engagement time and higher casualties. No free lunch. It was getting harder to hurt the invaders and their position daily consolidated. The cities were de facto UN territory, the outlands de facto Freehold, but sparsely populated and ill-equipped. Those forces would never surrender, but would surely weaken with time. Short term: stalemate. Long term: loss by attrition.
The political news wasn't good, either. It appeared there was no General Assembly or colonial support for Freehold. There were occasional protests to the UN about its treatment of the "rebels," but no actual hard opposition. As hopeful and determined as the resistance was, Kendra had done a database search through her comm. There were no historical precedents for an oppressed people freeing themselves from an outside invader with such numerical advantage. The few cases there were all involved assistance from a third party. There was no such party. She wasn't going to share that bit of info.
* * *
It was three painful days later, almost a week after the affliction hit them, that the "wandering Minstrel" happened by. "I've got something you want," he said as he was let in. "Twelve doses of counternano to the runnies."
"Only twelve?" Dak asked. "There's forty people around here."
"All I can spare, friend, sorry. I have other people to supply. But if you draw blood in three days, anyone compatible can use it as a starter culture. These doses will take effect immediately, symptoms will heal naturally in a week, overnight with a reconstructor nano, and I have eighty doses of that you can have. The cultured version takes about two days to work fully, then another week for natural healing."