“That Leopard’s finished with the tank,” Tandon reported. “Guns swiveling. Looks like he’s got us in mind.”
Oh, shit. Nothing we can hit him with, either.
“Can you see the landing boat?” Falkenberg asked.
“Not without sticking my head out of the bush!”
“Is there anyone in position to report on the landing boat?” Falkenberg asked.
“Colonel, I can look.”
Jesus. Colonel, for God’s sake don’t make Alf stick his head up there. Oh, God, Damn, It.
“Thank you, Corporal, but hold off a moment,” Falkenberg said.
The Leopard began firing again. Miscowsky wriggled down to get as close to the ground as he could. Kamaria won’t get to me through that. Better tell him not to try.
The shellfire moved closer. Miscowsky didn’t think his tree would last much longer. Then there was a roar louder than the cannon fire. A long sustained roar.
“That’s the engines,” Falkenberg said. “Tandon, keep your head down. Wait.”
The roar got louder, then held steady.
“Schoolmaster, the Lion is aloft. Schoolmaster, this is Lion, the Lion is aloft.”
“Colonel,” Miscowsky shouted. “Goddamn, sir, he did it!”
“Right. Now can you get me Major Barton?”
“Sir? Well, I can try—I can use full power and try to cut in on a frequency I’ve heard him on.”
“Do it, and patch me in.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Stand by—” Miscowsky tuned his set and turned the dial to full power. “Done. Go ahead, Colonel.”
“Major Barton, this is John Christian Falkenberg.”
There was a long pause. “This is Barton.”
“We surrender,” Falkenberg said.
“Surrender. You’ve just won the damn war and you surrender. All right, Colonel, I accept. Wally, you heard him. All units cease fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Falkenberg said. “We have wounded.”
“So do we,” Barton said.
XXVI
“Bloody hell,” Mark Fuller said. He sat at a small table under the canopy of leaves and vines that concealed his helicopter and sipped tea. He’d been there for hours, far too long, the ship ready to go at a second’s notice. Now they heard the distant sound of artillery. “Bloody hell.”
Crew Chief Hal Jordan nodded in sympathy. “The waitin’s always hardest. But I wouldn’t be too anxious for orders, was I you. Goin’ after Barton’ll be a little different from storming them pirates that had your lady.”
“I know, Chief. It doesn’t make waiting any easier.” He glanced at his sleeve console. The time was 0935. “Listen to that. Something sure as hell is going on.”
“Yeah,” Jordan agreed. “Only from the sound of it they’re not likely to have time to tell us about it.”
“But maybe they’ll want us. Better be sure we’re ready.”
“Mr. Fuller, If I get the damn thing any more ready, she’ll fly off by herself! Relax, sir.”
One of the villagers brought more tea. What they called tea here, anyway. Some kind of orange flavored grass. It didn’t taste bad, just very different. Mark sipped and tried to look patient. There was a loud roar, loud enough to drown out the gunfire.
“Holy shit!” Jordan said. “Landing ship taking off!” Something large flashed overhead, low above the village clearing. “Look at it go!”
“I never saw one take off before,” Mark said.
“Yeah, mostly I was in the damn things when they went up. There she goes—ain’t going to make orbit, that’s for damn sure! Hope the poor bastards know what they’re doing.”
The landing ship vanished. Mark sipped tea and waited. “Guns are quiet,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “Too damn quiet.”
There was a chirp from the helicopter radio. Mark stood quickly, but restrained himself. Let Jordan answer it.
“It’s someone claims to be the colonel,” Jordan said. “He’s sending authentication codes—It checks out, sir. He want us to answer.”
“Crap doodle. The radio silence orders are damned clear.”
“Yes, sir, I know, but I’m pretty sure it’s the colonel,” Jordan said. “Sounds like him, and the authentication codes check. And they knew what frequency to call on, and who to ask for.”
“What the hell should I do?”
“They pay you to decide, Mr. Fuller. Not me.”
“I keep forgetting that. All right. Acknowledge,” Fuller said.
“Yes, sir.” Jordan spoke briefly, then handed the phones and mike out.
“Cornet Fuller here, sir,” Mark said.
“Falkenberg. Stand by to check authentication.” He read a string of numbers, which Fuller punched into his console.
“Yes, sir. Authentication acknowledged. Standing by.”
“Orders, Mister Fuller. Hostilities are ended. You may defend yourself if fired upon, but you are to take no aggressive action unless directly ordered by Regiment. Is this understood?”
“Yes, sir. Did we win?”
“We can discuss that later. I am a prisoner of war.”
“Sir?”
“I have surrendered this small command, and this will be my last transmission to you. You will make contact with regimental headquarters for further orders.”
“Yes, sir—Colonel—”
“That’s all Mr. Fuller. Out.”
“Oh, boy,” Mark said.
“Problems, Mr. Fuller?” Jordan asked.
“You might say that. We’ve surrendered. Or Falkenberg has.”
“Sir?”
Mark explained. “He said we could defend ourselves, so I guess he didn’t surrender us. Only now what do I do?”
“Well, sir, we’ve already broken radio security by answering that transmission. Maybe we ought to try to get headquarters?”
Mark thought that over and nodded. “Right. See if you can raise them.”
It took well over an hour. Finally Mark was speaking with Captain Frazer.
“Yes, we heard that the Colonel surrendered his force,” Frazer said. “Understand that our transmissions to you are not secure, but yours to us should be all right. What is your situation?”
“Well, I’ve got fuel for maybe a hundred klicks if I’m careful. The other chopper’s bone dry, and the crew went down the river with Colonel Falkenberg so there’s nobody to fly it. Sergeant Jordan and I are the only ones here.”
“Right. Well, just sit put, Mark. We’ll send someone in for you when we get the chance.”
“Yes, sir, but—I know the colonel said hostilities were over, but shouldn’t we be doing something?”
“It’s all right, lad,” Frazer said. “We’ve won. Didn’t the colonel tell you?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh. Of course he wouldn’t. It’s a bit complex. Prince Lysander hijacked their landing boat. They’d loaded the drugs into it. Mr. Prince brought over ninety percent of the holdout crops into Lederle harbor twenty minutes ago. Some of the ranchers are still trying to continue the revolt, but they don’t have much to bargain with. They can’t pay Barton, either. Stay alert and stay sober, there may be someone out there who didn’t get the word, but this campaign’s over.”
“I see. Thank you sir. Could someone tell Mrs. Fuller I’m all right?”
“Of course. Right away. Fuller, it may be a couple of days before we get you out. When I’ve got transport we’ll get some fuel and crew in there. Tell Mr. Ledoux the governor won’t forget him. Otherwise, relax.”
“But what happens to the colonel?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Frazer said. “It’s likely to cost us a bit, that’s all. Relax, lad.”
* * *
Everyone stood when Lysander came into the staff room. Major Savage nodded approval. “Well done, Mr. Prince.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Sorry to hear about your corps brother.”
“Surgeon says he’ll be all right,” Lysander said. “He won’t like the inactivity, but a good rest won’t hurt him. The colonel’s all right, then?”
“So they tell me,” Savage said. “We’re expecting Barton’s people to call with their terms. Shouldn’t be too severe, they’ve little enough to bargain with, thanks to you.” He shrugged. “Of course none of us will be sorry to see all our people back where they belong. For one thing, we’ve much better hospital facilities than Barton has.”
The atmosphere was jovial, more like a luncheon in the Officers’ Mess than duty in the staff room. Everyone was friendly.
Lysander studied the map table. The familiar lines were all changed. Instead of neat areas held by ranchers and other places held by Falkenberg’s Legion or Governor Blaine’s militia, there were mixed splotches, mutually penetrating lines, scattered bases and staging areas. One long pseudopod stretched out toward Rochemont. Another slashed into the former rebel territory in the southeast. As he watched one large block went from hostile orange to secure blue.
“Bit of a mess, actually,” Major Savage said. “But that won’t last. Ah. Is that our call, Amos?”
“Yes.” Amos Fast frowned. “It’s not Barton, it’s a rancher. Anton Girerd. Wants to talk to you and no one else.”
Savage shrugged. “No reason not to. Put him on the speaker phone. Mynheer Girerd? Jeremy Savage here. What can we do for you?”
“You can give our property back,” Girerd said. His voice was very tense. Everyone in the staff room fell silent.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Our crop,” Girerd said. “The harvest. Give it back.”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. We don’t have your crop. That was turned over to the governor.”
“I don’t care what you did with it. You took it from us, and you can take it back from Governor Blaine. I’m telling you, if you want to see Colonel Falkenberg and those others again, get our crops back to us!”