David Drake: Patriots

"Good work, lad," Yerby said cheerfully. "It was a bright day for Greenwood when you showed up. Ain't that the truth, Amy girl?"

"Yes it is," Amy said. She grinned at her brother, then gave Mark a smile that was warm enough to make him blush with pleasure.

Lights were coming down the corridor from the direction of the garrison's married quarters. Crying children and the voices of angry adults, mostly women, echoed ahead of them. A man was singing, "… violate me in the violet time, in the vilest way you know! "

Mark thought he recognized the singer as Casey Tafell. Colonel Finch wasn't straitlaced, but he had a civilized sense of propriety. The bawdy song would bother him a great deal. Tafell's sense of humor was more subtle than Mark would have guessed.

The married prisoners with their spouses and offspring arrived as a wailing horde. Half a dozen of the women and a couple men weren't soldiers. Mark wondered whether they'd drifted over from Minor or if some of the garrison's members had managed to bring in companions on the supply vessels.

Finch marched at the head of the mob. He straightened when he noticed that Amy was recording them, but his momentary grimace showed that he knew just how absurd he looked.

Finch had probably tried to impose discipline on the others, but the raiders were even less likely to obey a silly order like that than the prisoners were. The rest of the entourage walked, shambled, or-in the case of some of the younger prisoners-skipped while calling shrilly to their friends.

"Colonel Bannock," Finch said. He saluted. "My troops and I have accomplished our mission without casualties."

"Glad to hear it, Finchie," Yerby said. His eyes narrowed slightly. "I hope that nothing happened to the other folks neither?"

"No," said Finch. He shook his head. "No, there were no incidents."

He scanned the mob of raiders and captives until he found Captain Easton sitting by himself, wearing a blue uniform with tarnished gold braid. "Colonel Bannock?" Finch said. "There'd be no difficulty, I trust, if Ms. Bannock here recorded me, ah, seeming to take the fort's surrender from the commandant?"

"We can do much better than that, Mr. Finch," Amy said crisply.

"We can?" Yerby and Mark blurted at the same time.

"We can show you blasting your way into the Alliance Command Center," Amy said. "Not the real Command Center, of course. You might damage the terminal that we need. But you can shoot your way through this door to the living quarters. No one on Zenith will be able to tell the difference."

She held the hand-lettered COMMAND CENTER sign up to the door by which she stood. "Yerby," she went on. "Please drive the nail in."

Yerby turned slightly and drove the tack home with a quick, perfectly aimed stroke with his flashgun. The laser's buttplate clunked, seating the head flush with the door panel. Yerby's face was expressionless.

"But-" an Alliance soldier said.

Mark, behind Finch's back, pointed one index finger at the soldier and drew the other across his own throat. Pops Hazlitt pulled a big skinning knife from his belt and raised an eyebrow to Mark for instructions.

The soldier gulped into silence. Mark nodded with a slight smile.

"This is very handsome of you," Finch said in amazement. "I assure you that from the position of responsibility I expect to reach on Zenith, I'll do everything I can to help you folk on Greenwood."

"I'm sure you will," said Amy. "After all, you're already committed to insuring that Zenith drops any claim to rule Greenwood, aren't you? As well as voiding your syndicate's private claims."

"Of course, of course," Finch agreed. "There can't be any doubt about that!"

Raiders looked at one another in puzzlement. They obviously couldn't believe that Amy would take the Zenith's word for even the time of day. Finch himself was probably just as surprised as the Greenwoods were, but he was a politician and therefore used to hiding the truth.

Finch looked around. "It would help, I think, if a few of your militia were in the frame appearing to follow me. Those six should be enough," he added, pointing to Dagmar Wately and the Greenwoods standing closest to her.

Maybe Finch chose that group because they looked particularly rugged and hard-bitten. So far as Mark could see, there wasn't a soul in the raiding party who wouldn't have sent citizens scurrying for cover on any street in Quelhagen.

Dagmar glared and said, "I think it'd help if you'd kiss my-"

"Now, now," boomed Yerby. "We're going to do just like Finchie here says. I wonder, Colonel… would you like me to trot along behind you myself? Following your example, I mean. I won't hog your spotlight on this one."

"Why yes, Bannock," Finch said. "And I won't forget your help, either."

"Don't reckon you will," Yerby agreed in a neutral tone.

"I don't see why we got to help this fellow do any blessed thing!" Zeb Randifer complained. "You know he's just going to cheat us once he don't need us no more!"

Yeah!/Too right!/Damn straight! were specific variations Mark heard of the agreement almost every raider expressed.

"No, Yerby's right," Mark said. "This thing we're about to do guarantees that Colonel Finch will make sure Zenith gives up its claim to Greenwood, whatever that costs him personally."

"And anyhow," Yerby added, turning his head so that his gaze swept every member of the raiding party, "I'm giving the orders. Right?"

"Now, Colonel," Mark said. "Aim your repeller directly at the lock plate. Blow it off, then hit the door with your shoulder at full speed so that you burst into the room. And remember, get it right the first time because you won't have another chance."

"I think I'm capable of handling this without your help, my man," Finch said with a sniff.

He pulled back his repeller's cocking handle, charging the weapon. The pellets were no bigger than unpopped popcorn grains, but when the repeller's electromagnetic coils accelerated them to many times the speed of sound their impact was as devastating as so many lightning bolts.

"Make sure you just shoot the door, Colonel," Yerby said. "The beads won't ricochet, they'll just blow up and do no harm. But if you hit the concrete-" He patted the corridor wall. "-a piece might fly out big enough to hurt somebody. Understood?"

"Yes, all right," Finch said. "May we get on with it?"

"I want everyone but the actors back twenty feet behind me," Amy said briskly. "Colonel Finch, run to within a few feet of the door, pause, and look over your shoulder so that I get a clear view of your face. You can shout something to your men. Then shoot the lock off and batter the door down to show exactly how much of a hero you are."

Finch scowled. He didn't like being lectured, especially by a young woman, but he didn't object aloud. He was smart enough to realize both that Amy was right and that he was dependent on her to record his actions.

"Are we ready?" he said in a less demanding tone.

"You bet we are, Colonel!" Yerby said, clapping Finch on the back. Mark unslung his gas gun and joined the group of bemused Greenwoods.

"Action!" said Amy.

"Come on, men!" Finch shouted. He ran down the corridor with the raiders stumping along behind him. Arm's length from the door, Finch turned to face the camera. Mark hunched so that he wouldn't block Amy's view, " Zenith and freedom! "

Finch pointed his repeller and held the trigger down for almost five seconds, emptying the thousand-round magazine. The crack of each multisonic pellet merged with the whack! of the shot when it hit the door. The racket was as echoingly loud as a saw cutting the whole fortress in halves.

The latch vanished in bright roaring sparks like a high-amperage electrical short. The stream of pellets ate a black hole in the plastic panel as if it was still hungry for a solid surface after the lock was gone.