Vicky peterwald dominato.., p.24
Vicky Peterwald_Dominator, page 24
"So, if I walked across the bridge," Vicky said, eyeing Captain Blue and grinning, "and kept to the north side, I wouldn't be at any risk?"
"Sure enough, ma'am."
"Could I ask you for a favor?"
"With all them guns, you really think I'm going to refuse you anything?"
"Good point. All hands, point your weapons somewhere else than at this old coot," Vicky ordered.
Around Vicky, there was the slapping of metal and the clatter of weapons being switched from one purpose to another. Behind her came the sound of several autocannon turrets rotating out to cover another sector.
"Now, can I ask you for a favor?"
"Good God, little lady, who are you?"
"Some folks address me as Your Grace, the Grand Duchess Victoria of the Greenfeld Empire, but you can call me Vicky," she said, and managed an almost cute curtsy in full battle rattle.
"Good lordy, girl, I'd go down on a knee, but these old things don't bend so good, and I'm not sure I could get back up if I went down."
"Goodness, we aren't following court rules today. We're out to have fun blowing shit up."
"I kind of got that impression. Glad to hear that me and old Nelly aren't on your guest list today."
"No, I'm hunting Red Shirts."
The old guy spat. "Let me get my varmint rifle and I'll join you."
"You still have your varmint rifle?" Captain Blue asked.
"Son, we farmers ain't half as stupid as you fancy pants take us for. Of course, I knew when them Red Shirts were coming to collect our rifles. So, I hid it where none of them would look."
"Where was that?" Vicky asked.
"For you, ma'am, I'll answer. Under the manure pile. Deep under it. They never even took their metal detector near that pile of shit. Stupid townies." He spat again.
"Well, old timer, if I and a couple of my guards were to walk carefully over to your side of the river, could you give us a lift into town?"
"Be glad to, ma'am."
"Your Grace!" exploded from Captain Blue's lips.
"That's my title. Don't wear it out."
"But you know nothing about this fellow."
"I know he's got an old truck he's managed to keep running a hell of a lot longer than you or I could, and I know he's on the other side of this bridge, and you aren't. Now, are you coming with me or staying here?"
Captain Blue sputtered into silence at that question.
"Colonel," Vicky shouted, not even bothering to turn around. "I need a good NCO and three of your best trigger-pullers and a good explosives man, both at exploding them and at keeping them from making a racket."
"Command Sergeant Major?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Three of your best sharp-shooters and a top engineer with plenty of explosives."
A minute later, three corporals, an engineering tech sergeant and the Command Sergeant Major stood at Vicky's elbow.
"I'm with you, Your Grace," Captain Blue muttered. "Mannie says he's going to tan your hide when he gets his hands on you."
"Oh, goodie! I've been trying to get him to try out some fun things. Remind him that the next day, I get to take a switch to his hide."
The captain growled something that got lost in translation.
The smallest corporal led off, crossing the bridge first. The bridge hardly groaned.
Vicky checked out the other troopers and found herself likely the next lightest. She collected a spare bandolier of rifle ammo and another one of grenade rounds, then added a satchel of grenades. Loaded down, she began her own walk.
The corporal had snaked a twenty-millimeter rope across the bridge with him. Now he had it belayed on the other side, and Vicky found herself being attached to the rope.
After all the drama, she strode across the bridge with only a few groans from it for drama. She unhitched and then went over to the old timer.
"We haven't been introduced. I'm Vicky Peterwald."
He dunked his head at her greetings. "I'm William Foe, ma'am, at your service. Is that what I'm supposed to say?"
"Sir, you have the truck. You can say whatever you want. Can I off-load all this extra ammo?"
"Just put it in the back. Ma'am, usually we can fit three people up front if we're all friends, but I don't think we can fit more than you, what with that extra layer of skin you're wearing."
"And I'm not taking it off, so I guess you and me will be up front."
"Ma'am, I'm not complaining, but if we run into any Red Shirts, you and yours are going to stick out like a sore thumb."
"No doubt. However, we've got eyes in the sky and should know about any roadblock well before they can see us."
"Oh, neat. You're about as smart as farmers are when it comes to outsmarting those scallywags."
"We try to stay a step ahead of them."
Captain Blue came over next with a large backpack added to his load. Vicky suspected the sack was full of small drones that would do just what she'd promised William.
Another corporal crossed. He packed a load of sacks hanging from his web gear, and likely carried more than he weighed. The bridge creaked and groaned and settled a bit under his tread, but it let him cross.
The command sergeant major was next, just as loaded down. He was followed by the explosives expert who trudged along, pulling a two-wheeled cart behind him. This did get the bridge seriously creaking and moaning. He paused a few times to let things settle back down, but in the end, he got across.
The third corporal was last. He was a bear of a man and lugged a light machine gun with a box of ammo in each hand and several belts of ammo draped over his shoulders. Vicky would swear that the bridge groaned more under him than it did under the explosives expert.
Still, all of them made it across, and the bridge was still standing. She gave the colonel a jaunty wave. He returned her a salute, and then turned his attention back to his part of the problem.
So, Vicky focused her attention on hers.
39
Now that Vicky had her squad across, she figured they were ready to get this show on the road. The explosives’ cart, however, held everyone's attention. As it turned out, that wasn't too much of a problem. The old truck had a seriously rusted hitch and the tech sergeant rigged some cables from the cart to fit right onto it. Most of the explosives got loaded into it.
Vicky wondered if that would save them if the explosives blew up, but doubted it.
Her crew arranged themselves, one trigger-puller at each corner of the truck bed. The explosive sergeant took station at the rear, facing aft, keeping an eye on his cart.
Captain Blue launched four drones before settling down, cross legged, right behind the cab. Then he began fiddling with his battle board.
Quickly, a view appeared on it. He zoomed ahead to check the road. "All clear for the next five clicks or so. I aim to be twenty clicks ahead of us really quick."
"Well done, Captain," Vicky said and swung herself into the cab, but with her carbine/rocket launcher ready between her legs.
The old-timer slid into his ragged seat, a cushion of some sort between him and the bare springs. "That thing loaded?" he asked.
"Of course, sir. In our line of work, they all are."
"Just so you don't shoot old Nelly," he said, fondly patting the dashboard.
"I wouldn't think of doing that. Ah, you do know the road between here and Dresden City, don't you?"
"Lady, I drive food to the farmers' market in that berg three, four times a week. I know the road, and I know that town. And I know where most of the Red Shirts hang out. I'm guessing you really don't want to get too close to them."
"That would be my first choice," Vicky admitted.
"Well, then let's get you into town."
They rattled along the road, dodging the worst of the potholes, but that still left a lot of small ones to clunk through. Vicky learned to ride easy, as if she was making a rough deorbit. She could get used to this.
Maggie gave Vicky a picture on her eyeball that told her what lay ahead. With the help of the drone, Vicky knew everything that was around each bend in the road, and there were more bends and curves as they wound their way across a rolling landscape of tree lines and crops. They rattled by potatoes, corn, sorghum, soybeans, and the inevitable wheat. This land was lush and green.
"How's business?" Vicky asked.
"You mean are the Red Shirts stealing us blind?"
"That tells me a lot."
"If I want to sell my stuff, I either sell it to them at the price they set, or I slip into the farmer's market, pay a bribe not to get hauled off to the calaboose, and see if I can make any profit."
"Which do you like to do most?" Vicky asked.
"I sell enough to stay on the right side of the tax collector. It's them that do the payout. Then, I take as much as I can keep out of their sticky fingers and sell it to the folks in town. I get more and they pay less."
"The Red Shirts are making money on selling food?"
"Girl, they're making money every turn you make. You Peterwalds were bad, God's truth, but this bunch, they're all in it for the money. They're bleeding us white. Hell, I don't know where I'm gonna get the money for fertilizer and pest control next year."
"It's that bad?"
"Yeah. So, tell me, are you one of those damn Peterwalds, or are you that gracious Grand Duchess I hear stories about?"
"My husband tries to keep me on the gracious side, though right now, my attitude toward those Red Shirts and the Bowlingame crime family is pure damn Peterwald."
"You'll get no complaint from me on that," he muttered.
The road turned from potholed gravel to potholed asphalt. The ride got a bit smoother, and the speed picked up.
"Not too far up here, there's going to be a guard house. I usually bribe them to get into town. I suspect there's no way we could bribe them today."
"The price on my head would buy a small moon," Vicky admitted.
"That much?"
"You want to collect it?" Vicky said, not going for her weapon.
"What would I do with the money? They'd just tax it away from me. And that's assuming they don't just shoot me where I stand. I don't know if you've heard, but these guys don't have much of a reputation for trust and loyalty."
"No, I haven't heard, but I can't say I'm surprised."
"Your Grace," Captain Blue called from the back, "we've got a road block coming up two clicks past the next tree line."
"Thanks, Captain, our native guide had warned me about it. Do you and the sergeant major have any suggestions about how we handle it?"
There might have been some whispering, or maybe they just did that thing with their eyes that told them what the other thought.
"Sorry, Your Grace. Our best suggestion would be to stop here and see what we can do here until the rest of the brigade catches up."
"I kind of figured that."
Vicky kind of figured that because, at the moment, she couldn't think of any good ideas, either. They could probably kill them all from the tree line. She had good sharpshooters.
Still, they'd be dead, and if they got any radio check, dead men spoke no codes.
They could hold here, and she'd be safe and secure as the motorized cavalry came charging by.
What she wanted to be was well into town and getting some serious nano peeks at where the gunners were around those hostages. How many had their guns pointed in? How many out?
What would Kris Longknife do?
Vicky grinned.
"Captain, have I got an idea for you," she said, cheerfully.
The captain and the sergeant major both groaned.
40
"Lookie what I found!" the old codger said gleefully as his old wreck of a truck stopped ten meters out from the six armed Red Shirts standing in the road.
"What have you got, old fool?" the one with chevrons growled. From the look on his face, he'd never seen anything good come for someone with manure on their boots.
The old guy cackled as he jumped out of his rig and gleefully ran around to the other side. It was dark, and the windows were too dirty for the sergeant to get much of a look at who his passenger was. Bored, he waited for whatever this guy thought was so funny.
He hauled open a door that squealed horribly, like it hadn't been oiled since it was sold. He grabbed ahold of a shoulder and hauled a figure of medium height in full space armor out for all them to see.
For a long moment, they just stared dumbly at her. They had to know she was a her. The top of her armor had the extra room she needed for her Empire-renowned jugs.
"I found her, floundering around in a field, all by herself. I used a pitchfork, me and my boys, and we got her hands tied. I figured you boys would want to see someone like this."
"Raise her visor," the sergeant said, eyeing the armored jumpsuit cautiously.
About the time the farmer got the visor up, he also took in the three black stars on the armored shoulders. "This can't be," he muttered.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Vicky said. "My first jump mission and I can't get the damn chute to go right. See if I try another one of these things. Kris Longknife can do her own stunts. Me, I'm staying home and buffing my nails."
Six Red Shirts stared blankly at her.
"What's the matter, haven’t you ever seen a Grand Duchess before?" Vicky snapped into the silence.
The litany of obscenities that came back at her would have definitely earned this scene a X rating. It will likely sell a million extra videos, maybe more, depending on what these guys with the popguns got away with doing to her. There were a whole lot of "We're rich! We're rich!
"Cecil, frisk her for weapons! Now! And check for booby traps!"
"Can I check her boobies?" Cecil said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Check for weapons and explosives," the sergeant repeated.
So, Cecil patted Vicky down. This pat down was a lot less fun to receive than the last guy to pat her down. Vicky really was in full space armor. There was enough ceramic plate to keep his filthy fingers from getting a good feel. Still, he had to lift her up by her crotch to see if there was any way he could get a finger in.
Vicky huffed at the try to feel her up.
And all hell broke loose.
41
"Will you keep your bleeding fingers to yourself?" Vicky snapped, and stumbled. She pitched forward just enough to head butt the sergeant. He fell backwards, and she fell on top of him.
Beside her, the old farmer hit the deck.
At that instant Captain Blue rolled out from under the truck. In his hands, he held the sidearm Jack had given him for a present at Vicky's wedding. Being from Wardhaven, it had the option of killing or putting someone to sleep. For now, he was firing sleepy darts.
He took down three of the Red Shirts.
The sergeant major was carrying a Greenfeld carbine with rocket launcher. Like all Greenfeld weapons, it had one option: kill. The heads of two Red Shirts exploded as he hit them with one shot each.
Under Vicky, the sergeant was struggling to get at his automatic. Vicky pulled her hands out of her restraints and chopped at the sergeant's hand. At the same instant, she brought her helmet down hard on his chin.
He kept struggling, so she did it again. This time, he slumped under her, still half-struggling.
Vicky rolled off of him; the captain put a sleepy dart right in the middle of his chest. He groaned and relaxed, out cold.
"William, would you mind going back and getting the rest of the team?"
"No problem, ma'am," and the cheerful old farmer quickly turned his old rig around and headed back to where the other half of the team was.
While the captain kept his automatic out, roving the prisoners, the sergeant major and Vicky set about binding the arms and legs of the four surviving Red Shirts. Once that was done, Vicky checked out the roadblock.
Two big chunks of concrete broke the road up, blocking both lanes. Any traffic would have to slowly weave its way through the two obstacles. There were three spiked strips; two had their spikes hard up. They were on either shoulder. The other one was more sophisticated. It was between the concrete and had spikes down until a transmitted order them popped them up.
No, this was no roadblock to charge.
Parked behind the forward concrete blockage was a big, new, fancy red pickup truck. It had room for six in the cab and a full load of equipment in the truck bed. However, a glance at the fancy cargo liner suggested that nothing much had ever marred the cargo area.
It was basically a truck for city folks.
What the truck didn't have was a radio. Same for the four surviving soldiers. No radio. The sergeant major fumbled around in the bloody mess of what was left of the two heads he had nearly blown off, but shook his head. "No radio. No mic."
Vicky eyed their four sleeping beauties, then, with a grim smile, settled on Cecil. "Captain, wake that one up."
"With pleasure," he said, and gave the chosen prisoner the antagonist to the sleepy dart.
Vicky borrowed the sergeant major's combat knife and had it resting firmly against Cecil's unarmored balls when he woke up.
Feeling something there, he grabbed for the family jewels.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you," Vicky said, her voice dripping evil intent.
Cecil froze in place.
Vicky flicked the knife a bit. The Red Shirt risked a look down, then whimpered as he saw how sharp the knife was and where it rested.
"I did not like you feeling me up, Cecil," Vicky said, so soft. So deadly. She raised the knife, then rested its point down on the guy's fundamentals before she slowly hopped the point up to the lump in his pants.
His hands fluttered, as if he couldn't control them, torn between reaching to cover himself and terrified of how Vicky would react. He whimpered again, and a tear rolled down his face.
