Freehold

by Michael Z. Williamson

  "Erte. Bonita Erte."

  "Come then, Ms Erte."

  She followed him toward the office block, looking a bit relieved. He wasn't sure, but he thought there was a deepness to her eyes that he found enticing. She stayed closer to him than his guards, obviously nervous about the hassle within, and brushed him in the elevator. He felt a ripple and reminded himself to be professional.

  Lang saw reason quickly enough and promised to find her a slot she could serve in. He looked a bit put upon, but not badly. "We'll have to do a DNA comparison at once, of course," he said.

  "I understand," she said, smiling softly. "Security and all that." She went with the clerk who handled her application personally and smiled at him as she did. They entered a small cubicle at the end of a row, and a medic reached for a sealed lancet.

  "Um," she said, "do you mind if I do it myself? I'm really a wimp about pain."

  "Well . . ." he said.

  "Please," she said, dark eyes staring into his. He nodded and she beamed a smile that warmed him to his toes. She took the package, tore it and turned slightly, broad sleeves flopping. She hissed slightly and turned back, offering him the card smeared with blood. She clenched her finger in a napkin and dropped the lancet in a disposal receptacle.

  Twenty minutes later by Earth time, she had a job counseling. She wasn't told who or why they'd need counseling, but it was a job. She breathed a sigh as she left the building, clutching her new ID. The borrowed blood specimen in the bag taped to her wrist had almost coagulated by the time she got in. That had been close. Now to avoid any issues that would bring her into question. Subtle surgery combined with makeup and hairdo changed her face quite a bit. She should be safe, especially with her assumed body language. It would have to be enough.

  She approached the gate again. "I'd like to thank you again, General is it?" she looked at his shoulders queryingly.

  "Huff. Jacob Huff," he replied, taking her hand. She winced slightly as he caught her "pierced" finger. Good. That should clinch it in everyone's mind.

  "I'm grateful, sir," she said. "And I have some funds, still. Is there somewhere we could get a cup of chocolate?"

  He took a deep breath. Well. "Let me show you to the officers' club."

  "Thank you."

  * * *

  Guerrilla warfare in spring brought its own problems. There was the mud, the shifting weather and vicious wind, the mud again and other, unpredictable threats. Kendra was quickly learning a fatalistic approach to enemy fire. She'd been wounded once, a "mere nick" that had burned and stung for days. Sooner or later, one would get her. She was more worried, to the point of occasional nightmares, of the risk of capture. She could expect harsh, punitive treatment from the UNPF if caught. Besides the existing charges of alleged embezzlement, of murder of her friends, of fleeing pursuit and the provable charge of desertion, there were the potential charges of transferring classified information, aiding the enemy and fighting under a foreign flag.

  She tried to ignore all that. She knew the truth and where her allegiance lay if no one else did. She was taking tremendous risks, but she was accomplishing much. That thought brought her back to the present.

  It was an ambush again. They were tracking another pacification team as they went from farm to farm, registering people, seizing anything deemed a threat and anything the team took a fancy to. Her opinion of her former service was still sinking into the depths.

  She also had a battle going on within herself. The incident in the winter with the prisoners was by far the worst atrocity she'd been involved in, but it was not the only one. On several occasions she'd shot prisoners and she'd beaten several brutally for intelligence. Justifying it as "necessary" didn't help either legally or ethically and it was getting harder to determine right from wrong in this war. International law called for humane treatment of prisoners and their release if facilities were not available. Practicality dictated that anyone who knew details of her insurgents had to die. As far as intelligence, she needed the information to keep herself and her people alive. She was willing to torture to do that. She shook her head fractionally and brought herself back to the present yet again.

  It was a surprisingly gentle day and, being early spring, the insects were not yet out in force. The ground was still damp, cold and frosty in spots. She itched from twigs and rocks poking her and wished again she'd taken the time to clear the area. Visibility and hearing were good and she had both audio and optical sensor gear borrowed from Dak. It was lighter and less restrictive than her helmet's ensemble, if not as well armored. She decided the tradeoff was worth it.

  The Peacekeepers were now taking heavy automated weapons on all convoys and more personnel and vehicles. It was getting far harder to surprise and disable them. Kendra expected that trend to continue and heavier vehicles to be included shortly. Without support weapons, the odds would keep stacking against her people until they were all dead or gave up the task as hopeless. She supposed at that point she'd have to decide between a suicidal lone war, as her military oath seemed to require, or a life as a farm woman on a UN colony, dreading discovery for her past. Neither appealed much.

  This operation was being done slightly differently, because of the increased enemy capabilities. Instead of trying to overwhelm the force, deliberate hints of insurgent activity were being placed. That would hopefully get the soldiers out of their vehicles and into a good position. Of course, they were all using lethal weapons out here now. Whether or not they were authorized, Kendra hadn't been able to find out, but they'd abandoned the restraining weapons for rifles and grenades.

  Kyle had set up a false ambush below them, complete to a shooting blind. It had been occupied long enough to leave evidence for the sensors. Now he, Kendra and their neighbors the Goranas were situated above and around that site. Dak and Sandra were across the road to take care of stragglers. Kendra supposed that soon the forces would become too large for her unit to face profitably. The first invaders had been units of five to ten personnel. Before winter, it had increased to ten to fifteen. This one numbered three squads—twenty-four.

  She gratefully dropped the ration she'd been munching. Vikki had cooked them up and they were basically a large sugar cookie-bar with nuts and chocolate within, blended with extra protein and nutrients. They tasted great at first, were boring within days and were sickening now. She wondered if she'd ever eat chocolate again once—if—this was over.

  There was movement below and she tensed slightly, prepared to dump four of her precious grenades and a couple of clips of ammo into the area. Minstrel had brought more, but had cautioned her that supplies were limited. All the regular armories had been seized early on and what they had came from private sources and theft. She steeled herself to fire every shot as if it were her last.

  She heard an NCO below say, quite softly, "They're here. I can feel them." His voice traveled farther than he would have liked due to the still air and she could hear it clearly. A twig snapped below her and she tried to place the troop who had just blown cover. The leader said, "Further up there. Got to be. Probably four or five of them."

  She stiffened. He was experienced and that was bad. She shifted imperceptibly, in order to take him out first, then heard another sound.

  It was a low growl. It didn't register at first, then her mind sorted through memories. It was familiar, but what was it? She heard it again and it fell into place. Ripper. It had broken the twig, not them.

  Oh, shit, she thought. That was bad.

  It slunk into view, clearly prowling and sniffing. She froze, willing it to trace the scent to the false ambush site and not her. Holding her breath to keep as still as she could, she waited. Which would it be? Get ripped? Or shoot and be discovered? She could still hear the Peacekeepers muttering below.

  She saw the animal now. Long, low, sinuous and rippling with muscle. It had heavy jaws and huge retractable claws and looked more vicious than even the stories told about them, even more vicious than the ghost of a memory
of years before. Without seven million years of coexistence, they had virtually no concerns about humans and had been known to kill military-trained hunting leopards. They were impressive, no doubt about it. Something about them inspired fear on an instinctive level and she whimpered inaudibly.

  Now, it saw her. Their eyes locked. The predatory gleam in its gaze was more than intelligent and her body decided it would shoot if attacked, her brain not working properly at the moment. It took two careful, padding steps, dropped down into a catlike crouch.

  It sprang. She raised her rifle, then hesitated. It was moving sideways. She adjusted her aim, then realized she was not the target. Not for now, anyway.

  A gurgling scream snapped her awake. The UNPF NCO was the new target, and the wet sound was his throat being ripped out. The beast rolled through the brush below and there came the sound of small arms fire. Shouts of fear and confusion added to the din and someone acting quickly but incorrectly blew up the shooting blind.

  Kendra clicked a code. Wait. Close up. They'd take their allies where they found them and clean up the damage afterward. Besides, she was shaking too badly to be of any use. Fusillades of fire and sporadic explosions from heavier weapons indicated the direction of the battle and she rose, carefully moving lower and closer. She kept her weapon up, safety off, in case the animal came back her way.

  The noise was localized and she presumed it was now surrounded. That was dangerous for both it and its former prey and she kept alert. "What the fuck is that?" she heard.

  "Beats the shit outta me, but it killed Boli," someone replied.

  Behind them, another voice spoke into a radio. "Cancel that artillery and air support. Attacker appears to be a local animal." The voice sounded relieved and disgusted.

  "Well, kill it before it comes after us," was the reply to the first speaker, followed by weapons fire. The ripper screamed a metallic reply.

  "Assmunch, all you did was wound it."

  "Well, why not? I bet I can get the other knee this time."

  "Look, let's just get out of here and consider ourselves lucky not to have a firefight."

  Another speaker said, "The other knee? You're on."

  Another report. Another scream. "I win."

  "Bullshit. That's a back leg, not the knee."

  "It's got four knees."

  "You said 'the other knee.' That means the front one."

  "Guys, let's just go," insisted the bright one.

  "I didn't say that. But if you insist," the shooter argued and fired again. "Geez, Walking Sky, try to have a little fun, huh? Besides, you're not in charge, Chong is."

  "She's down at the vehicles, which is where we should be," was the reply.

  "Yeah, so Frank's in charge up here."

  Walking Sky persisted. "Frank, you're new. I know what I'm talking about."

  "Oh, can it, kid," Frank replied. "This'll only take a minute. Try for the tail, Freddo."

  This was truly revolting, Kendra thought. Just kill the poor creature and be done with it. Laughs, animal screams of pain and more shots assaulted the air. She heard a click code confirming her orders and an extra signal at the end informing her it was the second attempt. She'd missed the first one while listening to the cruelty below.

  She coded back as she rose and found a good position, then signaled to attack.

  The enemy was gathered around the makeshift arena, except for one driver and one gunner who showed good sense and professionalism by staying with the vehicles. They were applauded for their efforts with bullets to the neck by Sandra and Dak. The rest were in a rocky gully, surrounded and with their backs to the Freeholders. No sense of chivalry interfered and they were disposed of without ceremony. A couple of wounded were dispatched with shots to the head, and Kendra approached the ripper while the others looted the bodies. In theory, personal effects should be returned, military equipment reused or sent for disposal. All the latter would be distributed across the plain to farmers and resisters. The personal property would be destroyed, unless it had intrinsic value. If caught storing it, they'd be charged with looting anyway, and there was no way to return it. Besides, the psychological effect was better. The rebels rarely allowed escapees and frequently made all evidence disappear. It was hard on families back home, but that of itself was of use in convincing the invaders to leave. It was logical, and Kendra hated it.

  She stayed several meters back from the twitching, crippled beast and stared for a moment. Proud in motion, it looked quite pathetic with its shattered rag doll legs. The pain was obvious in its face and moans. She'd never heard a wounded one, and it sounded like a cross between a cougar and a bear. It jerked and shuddered as it turned to look at her, then seemed to shy away. It met her eyes again, almost seeming to beg. As she raised the rifle, it leaned back as if accepting its fate. She fired once through the brain and ended its misery.

  "Thanks, friend," she said softly.

  They set incendiaries on the vehicles and left in a hurry, before support arrived.

  * * *

  Calan entered the headquarters and waited for the guards to identify him. They shortly nodded and sent him into Lang's office. Lang didn't waste any time playing the politics of waiting. He knew how valuable Calan was to them and met him immediately. "Welcome, Mr. Calan," he said, smiling. "Thanks for your information on that rebel mole, Hernandez. We're still looking, but with a picture, I'm sure we can narrow down the suspects soon. I understand you have some more information for us?"

  Lang was easier to deal with than the soldier types. They regarded him as a traitor, just because he could see the outcome and desired to keep his position through the chaos. Lang understood the practicality of it and gratefully accepted all his help.

  "I have a name for you. A name that will be very useful in demoralizing the rebels. All you have to do is say the name," he said, cryptically.

  "A rebel leader?" Lang asked.

  "First, let's discuss my terms," Calan said, approaching it cautiously. A name wasn't data that could be leaked a bit at a time. It had taken research and money to find out this jewel, and it was only serendipity that allowed him to recognize its value. "I want a share equal to the reward when you find them."

  "Reward?" Lang asked. "I don't understand."

  Smiling, Calan said, "This is a fugitive from Earth who moved here and became a traitor. This person now belongs to the rebel military and is guiding them against you using knowledge of UN tactics. There's already a reward. I want it matched."

  Attentive now, Lang said, "Agreed. And I think I understand. We advertise that we want this person, offer a reward and let them argue amongst themselves." He nodded appreciatively. "Tell me, then."

  Calan keyed a code, handed over his comm, which now showed Kendra's pic and bio. Lang looked confused, entered her name on his system and scanned the response.

  "But she was exonerated. Robinson was convicted of embezzling, misappropriation and foreign favors. But he tried to blame lots of other people. At most, she'll be tried for AWOL, and probably not be punished much under the circumstances."

  "She's assisting the rebels, now. And since you never publicly rescinded the reward, it still stands. Someone will turn her in for the money. And they'll fight over it."Lang nodded. "I don't know what we'd do without your expertise, Mr. Calan."

  Calan smiled. It was good to be recognized for his ability at last.

  Chapter 40

  "Killing the enemy's courage is as vital as killing his troops."

  —Carl von Clausewitz

  The spring continued with sporadic attacks and ambushes while the UN consolidated its hold. They were actually paying little attention to the farmers, because they eventually would have to knuckle under. After the initial scan to round up reservists and veterans, they'd stayed increasingly away. Kendra had no illusions that it was simply to avoid bad morale and that they would be back in force once the cities were pacified. The cities were more secure every day, and not because the locals were afraid to shoot at t
he UN, but because they feared repercussions against civilians.

  It appeared that the local commanders were not conducting the patrols and raids they were supposed to, because of the effect of the resulting casualty counts on morale. Their reports still indicated such was the case, according to the intel that trickled through. That was good, but was only a temporary reprieve. Kendra continued her war because her orders were to do so, she had nothing else to do and because it might stay the inevitable long enough for there to be political interference. She wasn't betting on it, and it was a struggle to maintain a positive image for her followers.

  Occasionally, a message would appear with useful information on targets, current events and even comments on outsystem politics. The latter usually contradicted the UN position and were good for morale. Also, whoever was producing the casts had a sense of humor. The jokes, biting and brutal, were the best thing for morale short of a high bodycount.

  She accepted one such message, requesting support to the southeast, at the town of Fall Creek. They were asking for both personnel and cargo vertols, preferably from larger farms. Those were not easy to move clandestinely, but it could be done. She treated the request as suspiciously as she did all of them and dug into her comm to confirm.

  The message was from an Engineer Lieutenant Sheila Chon, who checked out. As long as the intelligence network hadn't been compromised yet, it was a legitimate order. So far they'd been lucky in that regard. The satellite network had been taken out, but hard ground-based intel still came in, if slower. It took several routes, including through Minstrel, but was still useful and valid and updated about monthly. Kendra decided to accept the orders.

  They were going to be awfully close to Delph', however. Fall Creek was barely fifty kilometers away from the town, and she knew there was a sizeable amount of firepower present near Delph'. They'd have to do whatever they were going to do fast to avoid taking losses. That was easily within aircraft range, even within light artillery range. She decided to follow up cautiously before committing her troops.