GOOD, NELLY.
~You are all nothing but shit-eating vermin, and you will all die,~ the woman stormed on. ~The Enlightened One has sent the torch to all the ships. Together, we are more numerous than the stars. Our women are fruitful. We bear many warriors and workers. We will drown you in your own blood, and no one will ever remember your name.~
The woman was off her bed now and strutting around the plaza.
Before her, Roosters in her way got out of it. Those not, stood stark still.
KRIS, THERE’S A RISK THESE DAMN ALWANS WILL SURRENDER RIGHT HERE AND NOW TO HER, Granny Rita said on Nelly Net.
Kris stepped out to face the alien woman, almost chest to chest.
The Ostriches will like that.
“I have fought you five times,” Kris said curtly as Nelly translated for all. “Five times I have destroyed your people. Rather than face me, your so-called great Enlightened One took poison. You were ready to kill yourself once you had roared your empty threats at me.”
Kris turned her back on the woman and faced the Roosters. “You say you will drown us in our blood, but we have blown your ships to gas. It is you who have no one to remember you ever lived.”
The woman screamed. Kris whirled to find the alien charging her, arms out, fingers grasping for Kris’s throat.
Two pops sounded, and two sleepy darts appeared in the side of the woman facing Jack. He held his service automatic in the proper two-handed stance.
The woman collapsed face-first into the dirt of the plaza. She skidded to a halt with her arms still out, fingers twitching as if they might still clutch Kris’s throat.
Kris turned around slowly, addressing her words to the Association. Three cameras were carrying this. Three much smaller ones. “That is your enemy,” Kris shouted. “Will you cower before the likes of her, or will you fight with me? You must decide.”
Kris paused. “No, I am wrong. You may not cower before her. To her, you are only something to kill. Will you line up to fight with me, or will you line up to be slaughtered like chicks before her and those like her?”
Kris returned to her seat.
One of the Roosters shouted. “The Association has a proposal before it. Yes, it is from a heavy one, but it is a proposal. I call for a vote.”
“We must discuss this,” the pro tem said.
“What is there to discuss? With her we fight. With this monster, we die. I call for a vote.”
More voices were raised, calling for the vote.
I’VE NEVER SEEN THIS BEFORE, Granny Rita said on net. THERE’S NO MOVEMENT. THERE IS NO TALKING AMONG THEMSELVES. THEY ARE JUST STANDING THERE ALONE AND CALLING FOR A VOTE.
THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGING, Kris answered.
The vote was taken. It was unanimous. Another first. Even Straight Tongue remarked on that.
69
Kris remembered all too well from her days following Father around on the campaign stump that the meeting was never over when it finished.
There were interviews to give.
Kris promised Straight Tongue that the heavy people would fight for the Alwans like a son hunted with his father, like a younger brother hunted at his older brother’s side. She was none too sure the analogy was going in the right direction, but it pleased the Alwans around her.
Zarra introduced her admiral to the Sharp Eye Viewers and, in a way, introduced her to Kris. “Admiral Furzah says we will fight beside you to the last drop of our blood.”
So saying, the admiral raised her right fist to the camera and used a claw on her left hand to draw blood.
The Alwans seemed half-impressed, half-startled by the gesture. Kris was in dress whites with long sleeves, so sharing blood was out. None of the Roosters stepped forward to offer their arm.
Finally, one of the Ostriches offer his arm. He pecked it until blood flowed and held it out so the two species could mingle their blood.
“I didn’t see that one coming,” Granny Rita said, coming up beside Kris.
“You weren’t the only one,” Kris agreed.
Doc Meade came forward to slap a bandage on both cuts. She had a carefully neutral look on her face, but Kris could almost hear the mother’s voice scolding. “Children.”
The doc did get close to Kris’s ear. “You’re going to have to quit sleepy-darting that old woman. Especially after I’ve just woken her from a sedated nap. Her heart can’t take much more of this.”
“She gave the performance I expected,” Kris said. “We shouldn’t need that again.”
Which turned out not to be quite so.
With bandaged arm, the Ostrich they had flown up on a transport plane for the show presented himself with his spouse. “We wish to speak for our association of the Slow Flowing River Valley. We all wish to invite you to come to speak to us about this war. We have a range we would like to talk about settling some of your heavy people on to live among us. We can offer you the entire river valley. We can hunt farther away. If you grow crops there, we can help you.”
And, no doubt, they’d love to get some of the consumer items that working for the humans brought.
KRIS, THAT VALLEY THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT IS JUST A COUPLE OF RIDGELINES OVER FROM THE VALLEY WITH THE PLANTS, FISH, AND BATS WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK A LOT ABOUT, Granny Rita put in on Nelly Net. IT’S JUST A BIT SHORT OF THE ISLANDS FULL OF BIRD GUANO THAT WE’RE SHIPPING UP HERE. IF FOLKS DON’T MIND RIDING DOWN THERE ON THOSE BOATS, WE COULD GET A TRIANGLE TRADE STARTED.
Kris offered to come address their association. She asked if she needed to bring the alien. The Ostriches glanced over at where she slept fitfully and declined. “Everyone saw what we just saw, or will see it on tonight’s news,” the one with the bandaged arm said.
“Once is enough,” the female beside him assured her.
Kris would have loved to escape to the beach with Jack, but the fleet was ready for another sortie. This time, it needed its admiral present.
Kris excused herself and followed the Marines with the sleeping alien back to the longboat.
70
The Wasp was in dockyard hands and likely to stay there for some time.
“Couldn’t you at least have kept the eight ships separate?” Benson asked as he reported to Kris upon her return from a hard day dirtside.
“I had a fight on my hands,” Kris pointed out. “I needed four patched-together warships more than I needed eight wrecks.”
“Well, while you may have gotten yourself something you could fight, what you did was totally scramble those eight ships’ basic matrices. If you ask me, you’d be better off just sucking this metal into a holding tank to use to patch the other ships with human-space Smart Metal. We could start all over again with eight new ships. Say we use our Smart Metal and pour it around new reactors and 22-inch lasers. I’d bet Drago would love that.”
“No doubt he would. How long will it take?”
The yard manager shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but, for what it’s worth, I’ve already told Amber to get your flag quarters ready on the P Royal.”
So it was that Kris found herself again in the comfortable quarters of her flag bridge on the Princess Royal.
At the moment, the screens running around her bulkheads showed her new order of battle. With Jack at her side, she studied it. Two divisions of four ships made up a squadron of eight under a commodore. Two squadrons could make a task force under a rear admiral. Two task forces could make up a task fleet of thirty-two war wagons commanded by one of her new vice admirals.
Only who gets what?
“It looks nice and simple, if I go by the numbers,” Kris said. “I’ve got twelve squadrons. They fold into three task fleets under three vice admirals.”
“Only which squadrons go into which fleets?” Jack said. He had such a wonderful ability to put into words what was nagging at her gut.
Kris sighed. “I’ve got four squadrons with combat experience, but their ships are all the old 20-inch frigates. The six squadrons with thos
e nifty new 22-inchers have never been shot at. They have never dodged and weaved the way you have to to survive the way I fight.”
“And who will fight best alongside whom?” Jack added.
“Yeah, do I show some respect for local alliances back home, or just dump ships where I think best? I’ve already done that, merging the Helvetican ships into other squadrons to bring them up to strength.”
Jack nodded. “All except Miyoshi’s BatRon 3. He’s still down one.”
Kris nodded, her mind already racing. “I’ll need to keep ships grouped by their support ships?”
Jack nodded. “Are you feeling the headache I’m feeling just looking at this?”
“Where’d you hide the painkillers?”
“I’ll get you one.”
“Please do. I don’t usually complain about cramps, but between this pain in my head and that pain in my belly, I could use something.”
“Going to bite my head off?”
“Have I ever?”
“Nope, but the last couple of days have been a bit more of a pain in the ass than usual.”
In a moment, Jack returned with two capsules and water.
“The first two vice admirals are easy. I already gave Kitano her third star. Miyoshi is easily my second pick.”
“He’s been good to us,” Jack said. “He didn’t have to take us aboard the Mutsu when you called.”
“He’s getting his third star because he fought his battle well, not because he saved my head from the chopping block.”
“I know. So, who gets the third?”
“Hawkings is from Wardhaven. Bethea is from Savannah. Both are battle experienced, but they’re both from the U.S., as is Kitano. Do I go with two U.S. task fleet commanders even though we’re only putting up a third of the ships?”
“Who else is there? No one else is battle experienced.”
Kris nodded, but something told her it wouldn’t be that easy. “Earth just gave us three squadrons,” she pointed out. “That’s only one squadron shy of a task fleet. And they are all 22-inchers.” Kris brought Jack up to date on the new Earth armor.
“Interesting, if it works,” Jack said.
Kris started moved squadrons around on her board.
“If I gave Yi the third star and build a task fleet around the Earth contingent, would that make him happy enough to give up one squadron of 22-inch frigates with their fancy armor? I’d swap in the two 20-inch squadrons from Scanda and Savannah. Bethea would be rear admiral commanding that task force . . . ?”
“That might work,” Jack said. “The Earth battle fleet would have one battle-tested squadron, and if Yi listened to Bethea, he might save himself some time adapting to our way of fighting.”
“Then, if I give Miyoshi both the Musashi squadron of 20-inchers and the Yamato squadron of 22-inchers, we’d have another. Add in the New Eden squadron of 22-inchers and the Esperanto and Hispania squadron of 20-inchers, that would give us another, well-balanced fleet.”
“And if Kitano had an Earth squadron and the Pitt’s Hope contingent mounting 22-inchers, you’d be pairing them with the battle-experienced 20-inchers of old BatRon 1 and 2, what’s left of them,” Jack muttered.
Kris nodded. Of course, right now BatRon 1 was pretty much the Princess Royal that she was riding in at the moment and the Resistance. Until Benson worked a miracle of spinning up new ships for the crews that had followed Kris into that hellish alien world and back, Amber’s fleet would be a bit short.
Kris looked it all over and found it good. Still, before she spoke, she ambled over to her desk and knocked on its wood.
“That looks good. As good as we’re going to get. I don’t want to sound unusually optimistic, but it doesn’t look like anything can go wrong with this.”
Later, she wished she’d knocked a whole lot harder.
About the Author
Mike Shepherd grew up Navy. It taught him early about change and the chain of command. He’s worked as a bartender and cabdriver, personnel advisor and labor negotiator. Now retired from building databases about the endangered critters of the Pacific Northwest, he’s looking forward to some fun reading and writing.
Mike lives in Vancouver, Washington, with his wife, Ellen, and close to his daughter and grandchildren. He enjoys reading, writing, dreaming, watching grandchildren for story ideas, and upgrading his computer—all are never-ending.
He’s hard at work on Kris’s next story, Kris Longknife: Relentless, as well as Vicky Peterwald: Survivor. He’s also writing some e-novellas that fill in small spaces in Kris’s world.
You can learn more about Mike and all his books at his website mikeshepherd.org, e-mail him at [email protected], or follow Kris Longknife or Mike Moscoe on Facebook.
Kris Longknife: Tenacious (Kris Longknife novellas Book 12) Page 38
