Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) (12 page)

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morning, the Imperial Grand Duchess, Lieutenant Commander Victoria of Greenfeld strapped herself into her seat in the
Attacker
’s captain’s gig. She was in full Marine battle armor. How it had come to pass that some Marine armorer had knocked together a set of combat gear that fit her hips, waist, and boobs, Vicky could only guess. However it happened, Vicky had a full set of battle rattle.

What she’d come to think of as her staff sat around her. The commander in undress blues and Mr. Smith in his usual black suit were across from her. Maggie, with her doctor’s kit taking up the aft storage bin, was beside her. Kit and Kat, also in black, occupied the seats behind her. Two industrialists sat across from her diminutive assassins, holding tight to their computers with their long lists of available spare parts and assemblies.

Eight big Marines in full play clothes filled up the rest of the gig’s seats.

Vicky’s team was the last away from the
Attacker
, behind four longboats loaded with two platoons of light Marines. Eighteen LCIs and a half dozen LCTs had dropped from the
Crocodile
minutes ahead of them, loaded with companies of
the Thirty-fourth Armored Marines and St. Petersburg’s First Rangers.

The ride down was no more bumpy than any Vicky remembered. They began landing at Kolna’s abandoned shuttleport at one-minute intervals.

No doubt, per the commander’s orders, the captain’s gig was last.

Initial reports said they’d seen nothing and no one. The real encouraging words were that no one had fired at them, either.

At least not yet.

Then the reports were modified.

As the Rangers secured the apron, a half dozen starving and ragged children wandered out to beg the troopers for food.

Vicky had no doubt that it was an almost automatic reaction for some of the Rangers to share out portions of their battle rations to the kids. No sooner had the children torn into the offered food than equally desperate adults showed themselves straggling forward from the hangars and terminal.

“We got about thirty pretty bad-looking folks on our front, split about evenly between adults and kids. They’re begging for anything we can give them,” came from Captain Inez Torrago. Her Rangers had claimed and gotten the right to the first half dozen landing craft.

“Do you have survival rations?” Vicky asked.

“After what you said last night, I had each of my troopers load out two bags of the things. There are more in crates in the back of the landers that we’re about to off-load. I had to hold back a fire team from each platoon, so I had lift to carry them.”

“You did good, Captain,” Vicky answered. “Hopefully, those rations will come in much more handy than the four extra trigger pullers you left behind. Begin distribution of rations to individuals. Try not to let anyone walk off with a bag. We don’t want to start riots or hoarding.”

“Aye, aye, Your Grace, Ranger One One Six out.”

Vicky smiled at the commander.

“You win this one,” he said. “Want to bet me this is the easy part?”

“No bet,” Vicky said.

The day would prove that a wise choice, but like most days, the full evil apportioned to it took a while to show up.

Then again, problems didn’t take any time at all popping into view. The landing craft, tank, had hardly come to a complete halt when the unloading hit a snag. One tank and three infantry vehicles proved balky. They had to be pushed or towed out of the loading bays before the LCTs could continue with cycling back up to orbit for another load.

As the infantry trotted to take up their assigned positions, mechanics cursed and struggled to get recalcitrant machines to do man’s bidding.

A few of them, that was. Most of the contraptions proved quite biddable. Five tanks and nine infantry carriers rolled off the landing craft and headed out to provide backup at the front gate or just formed a loose circle around Vicky to assure that her day only went so far sideways.

One infantry carrier turned out to have an air force. It launched a drone that circled the strip and gave them the first high-resolution picture of their surroundings.

“Those buildings over there,” Vicky said, pointing at what she took for a warehouse district to the south of the runway. “Are there people in them?”

The drone quickly gave pictures in the affirmative. Worse, some of the kids who had finished their first meal since forever were straggling their way across the runway, no doubt to spread the word there was food available. They did this even as landing craft taxied clear of the unloading area to form a line to take off back to orbit.

Now there’s an accident waiting to happen,
Vicky thought with a scowl.

“Can somebody get some troops and food over to those warehouses?” Vicky called. The skipper of the Marine company shouted orders, and two of the working infantry vehicles came to life and rolled for the runway.

Only then did Vicky see that each tank and infantry rig had landed with a nifty one-axle trailer strapped to its back. Once it was pulled down and hitched to the rear, it allowed the armor to tow a squad of Rangers and/or food supplies.

Such a team of mechanized infantry and Rangers loaded with starvation rations drove for the warehouses. Another was soon dispatched to what looked like a housing complex to the east.

Things were going so well that Vicky hardly noticed it when her day went to hell.

“We got two guys bicycling into our perimeter,” the Marine sergeant reported from their outpost on the road approach to the spaceport. “What do I do with them?”

“Find out what they want,” Vicky said.

She spent the next couple of minutes talking with Inez and the Marine company skipper about sending some of the Marine tanks and infantry fighting vehicles up the road toward town with a load of famine biscuits to see how that would work.

While they talked that through, several irrepressible scarecrows stood at her elbow and thanked her profusely.

“It’s been hell, here, ma’am, hell,” mumbled one man in rags that failed to cover much of him. “No job. No food. My wife, she can make a soup of grass and bark. When we’re lucky, we find a book. Their bindings make good eating,” he told Vicky.

“Could I have another one of those cookies?” a child begged.

Vicky gave her a starvation biscuit from the bag she’d swung at her own belt before boarding the gig this morning. The girl began to eagerly gnaw on it. The kid was of that age where she was missing her two front teeth.

“You know, you could have your mommy cook that in a mush if you’re having a hard time chewing it,” Vicky said.

The kid turned away, as if afraid that someone might take the biscuit from her, and kept on gnawing.

The commander gave Vicky a raised eyebrow.

Yeah. How hard is it going to be to help these folks?

Vicky was still mulling that question over as the morning’s first major problem cycled toward her on two rickety bikes.

Pedaling with little skill and even less coordination were two men. Both sported the machine pistols preferred by State Security, but neither wore the black uniform. That was no surprise considering what Vicky’s dad had done to that previously-so-useful bunch of murderers.

These riders had their weapons slung over their shoulders and their hands on the handlebars. Since half the Marines in sight had them under loose cover, the pair were careful to keep their hands clear of their weapons and make no sudden movements.

They came to a halt a good hundred meters from Vicky. One was balding, the younger one had a mortal case of acne. The elder handed his bike off to the younger, fingered his weapon for a moment, then let it dangle free as he began stalking toward Vicky.

Several Marines moved quickly to block his way.

“Who’s in charge here? They’s got to talk to me. They’s owes me money!” he demanded for all to hear. He looked around to take in the fleet of assault craft, now empty and slowly taxiing around to the other end of the runway for takeoff.

“Yous can’t take off until yous payed me the landing fees, the ramp fees, the takeoff fees, and the air-traffic-control fees.”

“Did you notice any air traffic control on the way down?” Vicky asked Commander Boch.

“Nary a word from the flight deck,” he answered.

“Bring that clown over here before he gets himself killed,” Vicky said.

“Who’s yous?” he demanded as soon as he was presented to Vicky and her staff by two Marines, one of whom now had the fellow’s machine pistol swinging at his belt. “Yous owes me money.”

“I might ask who you are,” Vicky shot right back.

“I’m the grand vicar for transportation, that’s who’s I am. I collect the duke’s taxes for the use of his roads and runways. You’s using them. Yous owes me.”

“And you’ll pass these fees right along to the duke,” the commander said.

“Yeah. You’s the guy in charge?” he said, clearly not impressed by Vicky. Maybe it was the armor. It couldn’t be that she was a woman.

Yeah, right.

Either option, Vicky didn’t much care for this dud.

“Big mistake, old man,” Commander Boch said. “May I present you to Her Imperial Grace, the Grand Duchess Victoria of Greenfeld. Be careful, she’s a real duchess.”

The guy didn’t seem all that impressed. “I thought she was dead, her stepmum and all.”

“Nope,” Boch said. “Not even close.”

“Well, what’s she doing out here?” he said, the look on his
face going from skepticism to belief quickly followed by consternation and open panic. He might have bolted, but the Marines grabbed his elbow before he could turn to run.

“Now, about those fees you were yelling about?” Vicky said.

“Fees, oh, yes, fees. I begs your pardon ma’am, but I gots to collect some fees. The duke, he heard the booms your jets made, and he said to me, Jake, you go get the fees from thems that are using my runways. I gots to get some money, ma’am.”

“What say you that we go talk to your duke about these landing fees,” Commander Boch suggested.

“Really, you don’t need to bother yourself. Yous just pays me, and I’ll go take it to the Duke and yous can go on about your business.”

“How much do
we
owe
you
?” Vicky asked, all cookies and cream.

“Ah, let’s see. Yous gots a dozen landers there.”

Vicky counted two dozen, but she wasn’t about to correct the man’s math.

“Landing, ramp fees. How long was yous parked?”

“An hour or so,” Mr. Smith put in, a smile on his face that was more evil than anything else.

“Oh, I gots to charge yous for the whole day. Can’t charge by the hour like some cheap hotel for streetwalkers, now can I?”

“Certainly not,” Vicky said with deadly cheer.

“Takeoff. Air control while yous in our spaceport’s airspace.”

“Yes, you have to pay those tower operators,” Vicky said, eyeing the tower and seeing only broken windows and no evidence of controllers. The guy followed her eyes to the tower. He blanched but went on.

“Can’t charge yous a pfennig less than sixty thousand marks.”

“Hmm,” Vicky said with a light frown. “That’s a bit steep. There any chance we might be able to trade you something worth that much? Currency is in short supply.”

“What do yous have in mind?” was all eager and no smarts.

“How about Marine field rations? Private, could you hand me your lunch?”

“Ma’am, it’s chicken loaf with lima beans,” the Marine said, clearly pained at the thought of anyone’s actually eating
it. No doubt, he’d pissed someone off mightily to have it foisted off on him.

“I’ll take it,” the grand vicar said, grabbing for the offered meal box.

“How much of a discount do we get?” Vicky asked.

“Yous gives me sixty of these, and we’ll call ourselves even.”

“Sixty,” Vicky said, eyeing the commander. “You drive a hard bargain. You going to carry all sixty of these on your bike there?”

The guy took in the measurements of the box, eyed his dilapidated bike and its twisted wire basket, and recognized the problem. “I’ll have the kid carry the rest of ’em.”

“What do you say that we carry them in to the duke?” Vicky said. “I’d like to meet the guy, and it would be a shame if you got jumped on the way back into town.”

“Oh, no problem, yous don’t have to do no nothing.”

“We insist,” Vicky said. “I’ll even have you ride along with me.”

“Ride?”

Vicky waved for an infantry fighting vehicle. Its motor roared to life in a cloud of smoke. Its tracks clattered as it turned in place toward Vicky.

The local looked like he’d seen a dragon.

Then three tanks fired up, and the ground rumbled as they, escorted by six infantry vehicles, ground their way toward the exit from the spaceport to the road into town.

The poor man collapsed in a dead swoon.

“Do you think he’ll recover in time to tell us where we’re going?” Vicky asked no one in particular.

“I can show you,” a young woman said, stepping forward. Barefoot, she looked in need of a bath. Her scant clothing might have been alluring if all the skin it revealed wasn’t bruised and encrusted with dried cuts and sores. Vicky could count every one of her ribs.

Mr. Smith, the only one who’d dropped today wearing civilian clothes, took off his coat and gallantly offered it to the young woman.

“You know where we can find this duke fellow?” Vicky asked.

“I know his place. I was there just last month, when his trusty Hussars dragged me in there to be raped for a couple of days.”

Vicky’s grin got tight and vicious. “I think you’re just the one to introduce us to this bad actor.”

“Y
OU
ready to show us where this duke hangs out?” Vicky said as she joined the young woman in the last of the infantry vehicles heading into town.

It had taken longer for the operation to get underway than Vicky wanted, but the time had been put to good use. They’d managed a shower for the poor girl. Maggie had dressed most of her wounds and given her a shot for a roaring urinary infection. The lead shuttle down for the second drop of the day brought a new set of clothes.

“You’re my guide. How you look reflects on me,” Vicky had said.

Given a choice of something feminine and something military, the woman had chosen khakis.

She looked longingly at the Marine rifles around her. Vicky made a mental note to herself to keep the woman away from any loose weapons. Vicky might need her as a guide, but clearly, she was a bomb waiting to explode.

While the young woman looked much the better for the delay, the real reason for Vicky’s needing four hours to clear the spaceport was the commander’s insistence on getting more troops on the ground.

The second delivery had been a bit more widely spread.

Word was getting around that there was food at the spaceport, and people were struggling to make their way there. The drone take showed scarecrows barely able to put one foot in front of the other, some not even able to do that, only dragging themselves along as they crawled. Still, they struggled out of their hiding places and onto the road.

Vicky ordered a tank and two infantry rigs down the road and halfway into town to meet them. After some discussions with Maggie and Mr. Smith, rules were set.

“Only three biscuits per person. No more, no less,” Vicky ordered on net. “Don’t let anyone get away with more. Tell them this is only for today. There will be food tomorrow. We don’t want anyone hoarding what they get today, and we don’t want anyone getting killed for three lousy famine biscuits.”

In most cases, people were gobbling down their three biscuits before they got five feet past the trooper issuing them. In a few cases, where someone wanted to take something home to a wife, child, sibling, or parent who couldn’t make it to the rations stations, there had been violence as they made their way to wherever or whatever home was.

If the attack took place within sight of the Marines or Rangers, they shot, and they shot to kill.

If anyone got robbed of their rations, after a few of those incidents, it didn’t happen in range of Marine or Ranger weapons.

“This place is sick,” Maggie said, tears in her eyes, as the first story of a mother struggling home to her children having her head beaten in came over the net.

For the second drop, three of the shuttles didn’t land at the spaceport. On the other side of town, among the rolling hills, there were three lakes. There was risk involved, but B Company, First Rangers dropped a lander in each bit of water. There, they set up camp and began handing out ration biscuits.

The sound of their landing and taking off was all the advertising anyone on that side of town needed.

Vicky eyed the drone take and found that small clumps of people who had already started the long struggle from the western hills quickly turned and struggled toward the sound of the shuttles.

There was no doubt in Vicky’s mind that way too many of
those who drew food at the lakes would never have made it to the spaceport.

The drone made a pass over Kolna, both coming and going to the western hills. Each time Vicky studied the pictures. When it made the return flight, the young woman, washed, medicated, and alert, was at her elbow.

“There,” she said, stabbing at the screen, “that’s where that son of a bitch has set himself up. It used to be Government House. He calls it his palace. His Hussars are barracked in the bank next door. They have horses. They’re stabled next door in what was the City Library.”

“That’s a shame,” Maggie said.

“Not all that much of one,” the woman said, her voice dull, devoid of feeling. “The books that we didn’t eat, we burned. It got awfully cold last winter.”

“We’ve got a lot to learn about this place,” Vicky muttered to herself.

“Let’s make sure we don’t get killed learning any lesson, shall we,” the commander said. “You remember what happened to the curious cat?”

“The same thing that happened to my brother when he thought he knew all there was to know,” Vicky said.

One stupid, dead Peterwald in this generation was enough. Somehow, she’d have to learn and survive the learning.