Implacable: Vicky Peterwald, #5 Page 7

  If they found only a dry hole, they'd report back to the terminal.

  The second longboat landing was delayed. Its bosun was taking no chances that the radar might finally connect with a laser. Busted AA that didn't work the first time didn't mean it wouldn't suddenly go active as the second or third bird passed overhead.

  That gave the first lander plenty of time to finish unloading. It held short on the apron, waiting as the second longboat landed and rolled clear of the runway.

  Once it had, the first lander started its takeoff roll, heading back up for another load. At best, it would be almost four hours before it landed again. This time, however, it would be loaded with ground transport for the strike force Vicky intended to lead into town.

  The hooter in the landing bay began warning of depressurization.

  "Fasten your seatbelts, folks, and return your tray tables to their full and upright positions," the copilot joked. "We expect to give you a nice Navy ride."

  That brought jeers from the Marines. They were quick to let everyone know what they thought of their Navy delivery system.

  Vicky folded up her assault battle board into a quarter of its opened size and slipped it in behind her ceramic protective armor. Who knows? It might provide her with that extra bit of stopping power she needed to stay alive.

  This was Mannie's first combat drop and he looked a bit pale. Vicky reached for his gauntlet and held his hand as they waited to drop free of the battleship.

  "You ought to feel right at home," she told her husband.

  "I should, huh?" still held plenty of tension even if he managed a bit of a grin.

  "Yeah, it's just like a drop from the space station to St. Petersburg. You've done it plenty of times."

  "Yeah, but I wasn't dropping with a radar tracking me that could very well be hostile."

  "Well, I remember a certain time when I did," Vicky said, lightly reminding Mannie of the time when, as an exiled and hunted Grand Duchess, that she'd dropped to Mannie's city of Sevastopol. Then she'd hoped to be taken in as a refuge. "You had your radars active on our lander. I know. I was manning the countermeasures."

  "Okay," Mannie said as the longboat fell free of the battleship, "I did have the search radars on you."

  "And the tracking radars. I spotted them."

  "Okay, okay, I was doing what I thought best - scaring a troublesome Peterwald away from my nice, quiet city. If you were the mayor, you'd have done the same."

  "Yes, but you damn near scared me to death."

  "It didn't keep you from dropping," Mannie said, holding tight to Vicky's hand as the retro jets fired.

  Even though the jets were making conversation nearly impossible, Vicky shouted, "I had no place else to go."

  "I'm glad you came to my place," Mannie shouted back, then the gee force rose and they both leaned back in their seats.

  12

  The bosun chose to make a straight-in approach. Vicky suspected, and it would later be verified, that the crew checking out the tower had found the right switch and turned off the radar. It turned out to be a radar approach with no lasers attached.

  That was nice. It was also about the only nice thing that greeted Vicky.

  The captain commanding A Company was standing by when Vicky exited the longboat, or maybe he was waiting for the light gun trucks loaded with bags of famine biscuits.

  "There are several more hangars full of refugees," the captain reported. "We've got a lot of hungry mouths to feed."

  Vicky's longboat was loaded more for mobility than a fight. Besides her immediate staff, she only had a squad of Marines. The main cargo was four light gun trucks, each towing a trailer of famine rations.

  "We'll take these four trunks over to those hangars," Vicky said.

  "Ma'am, we haven't secured some of those hangars. The two across the field don't look too good."

  "Hungry is what they are, and their Grand Duchess will see that they are fed," Vicky said, doing her best to convey firmness without being sharp or shrill.

  The captain got the message and switched direction. "Let me assign you one platoon from the airport terminal, Your Grace. You're kind of light on trigger pullers."

  Vicky glanced around at the four rigs she had. Only three held a fire team of four Marines. Vicky and Mannie would share the fourth one with Kit and Kat, Vicky's erstwhile assassins and bodyguards.

  "Get me your nearest squad. They can hitch a ride on the trailers or find room in the back seats.

  Vicky held in place, but the captain put one over on her. Two squads showed up and she ended up with riflemen prone on the hood of her rigs as well as four split between the back seat and the trailer.

  Mannie gave up his seat for the captain. "I want to talk to the team that debriefed the folks in the first hangar," he said.

  Vicky just nodded. So often, Mannie did his thing and she did hers. That just seemed to be the way of their lives. While he trotted off with two Marines for escort or guides, Vicky set out to see for herself what was going down on this planet.

  She had seen disasters before, on Presov, and worse on Pozan. She wondered how this could be worse.

  It was.

  A dozen children huddled in the shadow of the second hangar. It looked like they'd long forgotten what a bath was. The smallest were being cared for by the older kids, although the oldest wasn't likely more than twelve. They were dressed in rags, except for the littlest ones who seemed to have lost all their clothes.

  Or maybe outgrown them.

  The smaller kids looked on with wide eyes, several with their hands in their mouths. The older ones eyed her cautiously, ready to bolt for the hangar door off to their right that was barely cracked open.

  That door slid open a bit more. Someone looked out from there without giving themselves away.

  Vicky ordered the corporal driving her to slowly approach the kids. She reached down for the sack of famine biscuits and grabbed a handful.

  "Let's stop here," she told the corporal driving.

  He brought the gun truck to a smooth halt. As Vicky dismounted, so did most of her escort, guns at the ready.

  "Anyone who aims a rifle even close to one of those children will earn Our great displeasure," Vicky snapped.

  All the rifles were suddenly pointed at the sky. The captain took charge, "I want a 360 perimeter, Staff Sergeant!"

  Immediately the riflemen turned to cover every quarter. Several of them ducked between the trailer and the gun truck, gaining the only cover in sight.

  Vicky ignored her protection detail as she walked slowly toward the kids. She held out famine biscuits in both hands.

  The kids looked at her but stayed where they were. Some of the smaller kids licked their lips at the sight of food. Still, they turned to the older kids, their eyes big and begging to be let loose to get the first meal they'd seen in way too long.

  Three of the older kids shook their heads. All the kids turned and watched Vicky as if she was death itself.

  Then a five-year-old in torn shorts could stand it no more. She broke from the rest and dashed toward Vicky.

  The Grand Duchess was most pleased that no Marine pulled back their arming bolt. No one did anything to terrify the child more than it already was.

  Vicky took a knee, bringing her almost to eye-level with the kids. She held out one hand, full of ration bars. "Take these and give them to your friends," she said.

  The young girl grabbed for them with both hands. She didn't quite get a dozen, but she got enough before dashing back to her friends. She had nine. Vicky watched as the big kids made sure the little ones were first to get something to gnaw on.

  The oldest, a girl of maybe twelve walked out to Vicky. "I’m Dora," she said. "May I have a bar?"

  "Here are three for you and your friends," Vicky said.

  "May I have six, so I can take three to my mom, dad, and brother?"

  Vicky handed her six. "Run in and tell your folks that the Grand Duchess is here and there are bags and ba
gs of these waiting for them to come get them."

  Quick as a hummingbird, the young girl grabbed the six ration bars. She whirled on a brass pfennig and dashed for the door. Her two friends met her halfway and she passed each of them two biscuits like a runner passing a baton. All three of them popped one bar in their mouths and began gnawing them even as they held the others out for show.

  That left Vicky with her own problem: what to do next. She quickly returned to the rig and grabbed the sack she'd opened.

  "You are not going in there, Your Grace," the captain snapped. Respectfully.

  "Yes, I am."

  "We don't know what's in there, Your Grace."

  "Starving people," Vicky snapped back.

  However, the captain had delayed Vicky just long enough.

  Kit and Kat both grabbed a sack of famine bars and scampered for the now-open hangar door. Vicky had an impossible time thinking of the word 'scamper' in the same sentence with her two tiny assassins, but that was exactly what they were doing.

  The two even giggled, only too aware that they'd pulled one over on Vicky.

  Her Imperial Grace scowled at the captain, but he refused to disappear in a cloud of smoke. "Sergeant, take two of your best men and check out the hangar," he ordered, instead.

  "And keep your damn rifles pointed up or down, but not at anyone. Understood?" Vicky ordered.

  "Yes, ma'am," the sergeant snapped as he double-timed with two Marines for the door. They vanished inside.

  To their right, there was a scream of steel wheels on concrete, and one of the huge doors in the center of the hangar began to slowly move aside. A moment later, four teenage boys slipped out and grabbed handholds. Then they began to haul the door open even faster. The power might have failed, but there was a backup that used good old Swedish steam.

  A moment later, Kit appeared in the opening, waving for the gun trucks to drive in.

  Vicky ordered the other three trucks to hold in place, then slipped into the passenger's seat in hers and told the drive, "Let's go feed some people."

  The rig turned and quickly covered the distance to the opening, then slowed to a crawl.

  "Try and get us to the middle of the hangar," Vicky ordered.

  She knew her guards were jogging to get to her side, and they did manage to catch up as they rolled slowly into the deep shade of the hangar.

  What Vicky saw inside was just as bad as what she'd seen outside. It was much like what the drone had shown them in the other hangar. People huddled in small groups, under the wings and fuselages of both large and small air vehicles. Some peered out from the cabins of planes. Maybe they were families. Maybe they were just friends huddling together, trying to survive. It was hard to tell. Most of what they wore were more rags than clothes. Others were missing things like pants and shirts.

  The place reeked with the smell of a distant latrine.

  It was now that Vicky spotted people who did not get up like everyone else. There were a lot of those who were sick; sick or so starved that they did not have energy left to rise.

  With a sick feeling, Vicky realized what was missing: there were no squalling or wiggling babies. Vicky shuddered at the thought of what happened when breasts dried up or formula ran out.

  Vicky was really starting to hate the bastards running this planet like their own private hell. Hate them as much as she hated the gangsters running this half of her Empire. She would make sure that a lot of very deserving people got very dead before this was over.

  The driver zigged and zagged around the aircraft to halt the light gun truck where he'd been ordered, right in the middle of the hangar.

  Vicky dismounted, opened another ration sack, and began handing out biscuits. There was a mad rush, but shouts of "stay in line," from within the crowd did much to end that.

  "Marines," Vicky shouted, "Lay a hand distributing food."

  The moderately controlled mob opened up to let a half-dozen Marines join Vicky and they were soon handing out rations with her.

  Now the people more quickly drew their one bar. Many asked for more, but Vicky had been warned by the Medical Officer aboard the Victorious that starving people had to start slow. Their stomachs were no longer able to absorb food and they could rupture their them and kill themselves.

  To be generous could be deadly.

  Still, what do you say to someone who wants four for his family? She let her have four.

  Only when the crowd was thinning out did Vicky realize she was only half-meeting their needs. Famine biscuits are compact and stale. That made them hard to chew. A lot of younger kids and older folks were having a hard time making headway on their meal.

  They needed water to soften the rations.

  She glanced around at the small bits of territory each group had marked out for themselves. Most had some sort of container for water, but they held little.

  "Where do you get your water?" Vicky asked a young woman.

  "There's a creek across the runway. More like a ditch. It's hard to get much water, and you have to steer clear of the bastards in those hangars over there, but we try."

  Vicky nodded, then said, "Maggie, get me General Pemberton."

  "Aye, aye, Your Grace," her computer answered.

  "Yes, Your Grace," the general answered a moment later.

  "General, these survivors have little access to water, and what they have I wouldn't touch with a three-meter pole. How do we get water for them and your troops?"

  "It would be a hell of a waste of lift to lug water from orbit," the general said, seeming to think out loud. "I'll get back to you. Somewhere in this fleet there has to be someone who knows how to produce potable water."

  "Check it out, General, and get back to me," Vicky said, and cut the line.

  "He called you Your Grace," the young woman at Vicky's elbow said.

  "Yes, I'm Grand Duchess Victoria. Vicky to my friends," she said, distractedly as she glanced around the hangar and realized just what a mess this was.

  "Captain," she shouted.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "Get the rigs moving to the next couple of hangars."

  "Aye, aye, Your Grace."

  A haggard man came up to her. Like everyone else, he wore little more than a ragged shirt and pants in the heat. Still, his rags might have been of a better quality months ago. He could be middle-aged. Maybe older. The eyes were those of an old man.

  "Your Grace?" he said, more a question than a statement.

  Vicky introduced herself.

  "You're a Peterwald," he said.

  Vicky nodded and tried to allay any fears attached to that name. "I'm one of the good ones. My husband has half-persuaded me to be a democrat and a constitutional monarch, ah Empress."

  "Pardon me, but can I ask why you're here?"

  "I'm passing out biscuits, working on getting you some decent water and, late tonight, I intend to sneak into town and kill myself some redcoats. You wouldn't happen to know where they are, would you? We think we've spotted a hotel in downtown, but I'd like someone local to verify we got it right."

  The guy frowned. "I thought the redcoats were from the Peterwalds. They claim they have the rightful heir to the throne calling the shots."

  "They have a baby that's likely still in diapers. Under a treaty, your Emperor, my father, has recognized me as heir apparent and split the Empire with me. Unfortunately, he seems to have lost control of his half of the empire to the dead Empress's family and their redcoats."

  Vicky allowed herself a scowl. "I want my Empire back and my people free from such thugs. We just freed Dresden. I'd have been here sooner if I had known it was this bad. Can you tell me what happened?"

  "Can I have one of those bars?" he asked Vicky.

  She handed him one and he began to gnaw at it. It wasn't easy to bite more than a chunk off it. She offered him her canteen to drink from.

  The man looked like she'd just invited him to a feast.

  "It's hard to say. They came in to 'keep
order' but there wasn't all that much disorder. Then they set out to collect taxes. One thing led to another and soon they had all the money. Then they started ransacking houses and confiscating anything of value, like jewelry and antiques. Someone killed a redcoat and the next thing you know, it was a death sentence to even have a gun in your house."

  The fellow paused to bite off another small bite.

  "With no cash to pay for things, everything started to fall apart in a hurry. Farmers quit bringing food in and the redcoats started raiding farms. Over a week or so, you could see the smoke from burning houses all around the horizon. Didn't their parents ever tell them you don't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?"

  "If so, they weren't listening."

  "Yeah. They just took everything, and when there wasn't anything left to take, they took girls. Some young women had gone out with redcoats before. They had the best food and were fun after hours. Then they just started taking girls and none of them came back."

  "Is that when you started fleeing?"

  "Yeah. Kromy emptied out fast. We had to get away from those bastards. But there weren't any places to go. The farms that hadn't been destroyed only wanted the strongest young men to help work their fields."

  "What happened to their farming equipment?" Vicky asked.

  "The redcoats had carted off their fuel extraction gear. If you don't have any hydrogen or oxygen, your tractor's dead."

  "Why'd they steal the power gear?" Vicky asked.

  "Because those shitheads couldn't seem to keep their own running. I don't know who those fools are, but you'd hear an explosion and just know they'd blown up another plant extracting hydrogen and oxygen. They didn't care. If they blow one up, they'd just get another. Only, after a while, there weren't any more extractors to steal. Not even a tiny one."

  "What about the generator plant on the other side of the airport?" Vicky asked.

  "Yeah, when they came out to the terminal to steal the women, they also raided the fuel depot. Somebody busted it. At least it didn't explode, but our best people could not get it running again."