"Mundus Vult Decipi."
—James Branch Cabell
Not all Freehold military personnel had been captured. There were always detachments and personnel in transit who slipped through any system. While not organized, these troops found bolt holes and tried to get messages through to someone, anyone with intelligence and command resources.
Commander Naumann had been one such, flying between installations when the attack hit. He sent such orders as he could to his exec, told her she was in charge and ordered his pilot down. He sheltered in a small town near the mountains and organized the forces at hand. There were quite a number of veterans, several reservists and a precious few active duty personnel. He began slipping them out clandestinely to bring in others.
One such catch arrived and Naumann, usually reticent, smiled broadly. His mind immediately began sorting through plans. "Sergeant Hernandez! Do I have ideas for you!"
"Professional, sir? Or military?" she joked. It was good to see familiar faces, especially since she had no idea if Rob or Kendra were alive. "Or personal?"
"All three," Naumann replied, laughing aloud. "Let me gather some other personnel and I'll tell you what I have in mind."
The local militia units were networking now, messengers relaying data. It was usually a few days old by the time it arrived, but it was intelligence. It wasn't as good as the no longer existent satellite feed, which had been destroyed after being located. Vid had been down for most of a month while that happened, as if to drive home the point, then brought back up to keep the propaganda flowing. Kendra mapped units, plotted and led and sent her farmers to harass them further. There was word that the UN headquarters in Jefferson was having a near mutiny. Apparently, guards were refusing to be stationed at the gates and were willing to be court-martialed and jailed over it.
A recent message indicated that a nearby militia squad wanted to meet with her, to discuss combining forces. She took Kyle, Dak and Sandra with her. She'd known them the longest and wasn't about to travel alone.
It was a long drive, almost two hours and one hundred kilometers, all along ragged country roads. They detoured several times to avoid UN roadblocks, warned by subtle signs tied to gates and fenceposts. She gritted her teeth, hoping none of the locals were turncoats. They might pass a roadblock . . . or be searched in depth or scanned. That would be the end of her operation and maybe her life. She could dress as a farmer's wife, but couldn't disguise her DNA. Nor were they about to travel unarmed. Stashed under junk and scrap in the back of their truck were rifles.
They should have just hopped in an airtruck, there being no really heavy cargo. But the UN was requiring notification of all air travel and unreported flights were all subject to forced landings and detailed examination. They lacked the personnel to check more than a few percent, but it still would draw unnecessary attention. They stuck to the ground.
It was dark, past curfew, when they finally arrived. The farm looked like any other and they swapped signals cautiously. Kendra hissed as they entered the house. Not him . . .
"Hello, Kendra," Jim Wayland said, smiling his trademark grin.
"Jim," she replied levelly, feeling her temperature and pulse shoot into the stratosphere. Jesus Christ! How did he wind up in charge and what did he want?
"So, you've been hurting them?" he asked.
He seemed earnest enough, so she nodded and detailed her efforts.
"That's it?" he replied. "We've taken out thirteen trucks, six generators, a radar and have at least twice that many kills."
"It's not the number of kills, though," she objected. "It's the effect of them."
"What, a few cooks?" He had a half-sneer on his face. "And you think that will beat them?"
She said, "We aren't going to beat them here, Jim. That's going to be done—" but he cut her off.
"It sounds like you don't have faith in your people . . . or in us. We're Freeholders, Kendra. Maybe the UN can't handle the task, but—"
"I am a Freehold NCO, Jim, unlike you, who are a civilian. I'm serving my nation the best way I know how and you have no right to suggest otherwise. I'm not a traitor."
"Look lady," Wayland said, exasperation in his voice. "I'm not saying you can't live here. I'm not even saying you can't be trusted. But it ought to be obvious that you have a weak spot for Earth. You have to admit that."
"Why? Because you don't agree with my targets?" she snarled. It was taking desperate effort to keep calm.
He snickered derisively. "What, a bunch of cooks?"
"Enemy activity in our area is almost nonexistent," she said.
"Of course!" he replied. "They don't think you're a threat. They've been at us nonstop."
"And you haven't done a damned thing except piss them off!" she shouted. "You can blow up all the generators you want, they'll build more. It's not what you destroy, it's the level of activity. Can't you see that?"
"Yeah," he smirked, "And we're getting more activity. That's what proves they're pissed off and hurt. If you'd been to Leadership School, you'd know that."
"I went, right after you left and was third in my class," she said. "Logistics is what they hammered into us every day, and you should know that."
"Wait a mo," one of his henchmen cut in. "This is the woman who got you booted?"
Kendra felt the world twist again. What?
Wayland nodded. "Yeah, this is her."
"Wayland, you got yourself thrown out by insulting people—"
"Insulting dorks and trying to make them grow up."
"Insulting people and violating safety regs. You were the one without a spare oxy bottle, remember?" She breathed hard, trying to maintain her composure and losing.
"Oh, yes, Ms Regulation herself. Real handy to get yourself promoted," he said. "Typical UN backstabbing. Perfect for petty details. Then when you get here, you completely ignore the Target Priority Table," he said, tapping the page up on his comm screen.
"That's for conventional warfare, which this is not!" she said. "And where the fuck did you get a controlled item?" she asked, pointing at the comm. It was a military standard model that he shouldn't have been able to keep after his effective dismissal.
"Right back to regs again," he said, shaking his head. "Typical."
She held her breath, trying to avoid a panic attack. How did he do this? she wondered. The man was a snake!
His troops were looking at her with mixed amusement and condescension, tinged with disgust. Kyle looked thoughtful. Dak was blank. She couldn't see Sandra.
"I think we should leave on this note," she said very levelly. "You run your ops, I'll run mine. Commander Naumann can reach me if he has a problem with my methods," she said.
"Naumann. Yeah, that's a little upstart who likes to swap casualties for headlines—"
"Goodbye, Jim. Folks, we're leaving," she said.
They followed her out silently.
She kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep while she collected her thoughts. Nothing good would come of this, she knew in her guts. Her musings were interrupted by Kyle asking, "Do you think there's anything to his theory about targets?"
"No." Her voice was automatic and curt.
"Good enough for me," he said.
"Guy's a manipulative asshole," Dak said through his beard. "He was hoping for a confrontation and is doing exactly what he accused you of: quoting regs for his own good."
"I just thought he was a scared geek, puffing himself up with brave words," Sandra said.
"Why can't they see that?" Kendra asked. "It was obvious to you guys."
"We're on the outside. People like that are persuasive," Dak said. "Life of the party, class clown, great to be around. Bet he disappears when there's dirty work to do."
She laughed. "Oh, you've met him before."
"His father, most likely."
Kyle added, "I take it we won't be working with him?"
"Not a chance in hell," Kendra said.
"Good."