Vicky Peterwald: Survivor (Vicky Peterwald Series Book 2) (6 page)

T
HE
young woman approaching Vicky was almost tiny. However, her informal medical garb could not hide the power and purpose with which she moved. She had a medical-records board in the crook of her arm.

“You are?” she inquired curtly of Vicky.

“Vicky Peterwald,” she answered.

“The Imperial Grand Duchess, Victoria of Greenfeld,” the Ranger captain corrected.

“Hmm,” the doctor said, making a notation on her board. “And you are related to the patient how?” came out cold and fast, from having been said far too often.

“He’s sworn to give his life to protect mine,” Vicky fired back with meaning.

“Oh. No box to check off for that, but I believe that I can knock something together for our Patient Privacy Office.”

“How is Gerrit?” Vicky demanded, having been stopped by as many bureaucratic roadblocks as she could handle for one night. Morning. Whatever!

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the way Vicky used Gerrit’s first name. “Commander Schlieffen is in bad shape,” she said. “We expect that he will live, but he will need extensive
additional care to recover from his injuries, and his recovery may not be to his former levels.”

“How badly is he hurt?” Vicky demanded.

“We’ve handled most of the minor cuts and burns from the RPG attack,” the doctor said. “It’s his back and leg that are the real problems.”

“Back and leg,” Vicky repeated.

“His back was broken. The break is in the lower part of the back. He has control of his hands and arms.”

“But his legs?” Vicky asked. She could not make herself ask about his other valued attributes below his belt. His ability to give and take such pleasure. His driving force pounding between her legs.

“We have managed to stabilize the break and are doing all we can to see that there is no further damage that will lengthen his recovery or make that recovery less than full.”

Vicky weighed all the dodges in that statement. Thank God the woman hadn’t retreated behind medical jargon and technical mumbo jumbo. His lower back was broken. Not some medically exact statement like a T-2 or L-50 break that told a layman exactly nothing. Vicky knew what she’d been told and could feel the full impact of those words in her gut.

“And his leg?” Vicky finally asked.

“His femur was shattered in several places. We are stabilizing it, but first we had to stop the bleeding. We’ve succeeded. We can begin trying to piece the bone together, but the break is complex and very near the groin. If I had all the equipment I had five years ago, it would not be a problem, but now, with so much of our modern gear off-line for lack of spare parts or consumables, we will have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Trying to repair the bone is a chancy process with possible extreme damage to flesh and arteries. He could die. It might be safest to amputate the leg.”

Vicky took that blow in the gut. She’d heard Sailors from backcountry planets talk about a mule kick in the stomach; now she felt one full up.

Vicky found herself retreating to her chair. She sat in it sideways, trying to force her brain to think.

Gerrit might lose his leg. Would he rather lose his life or his leg?

Again Vicky saw Admiral Gort sprawled out, facedown on the deck, his blood and brains spreading out from the bullet he’d taken that had been aimed at her.

Would the Navy officer rather have lost a leg, the use of his lower quarter, and returned to his wife? Or would he rather be facedown in gore rather than live the rest of his life as half a man?

Would the angry widow have preferred that human fraction to the body in the flag-draped coffin?

Now Vicky realized why the doctor had asked for her relationship to this man. Did a few wonderful hours passed in passionate embrace qualify her to make this call? A crippled life or quick clean death.

“He’s Navy, isn’t he?” the Ranger captain asked. “Could he get better care up on the station?”

“Yes,” Vicky demanded, whirling in her seat to face the doctor.

“Possibly. Assuming we could stabilize all his issues and the lift up to orbit didn’t kill him or wreck everything we’d done for him.”

“Computer, get me Admiral von Mittleburg.”

“It’s awful early in the morning,” the doctor said.

“Mittleburg here,” her computer announced.

“Admiral, Commander Schlieffen has been seriously hurt in defense of my life.”

“How bad?”

“Doctor, can you release the official report?”

“To a doctor.”

“If you can’t pass it through me, transmit it direct to the duty team at the station sick bay,” the admiral said crisply.

Three computers swapped addresses and authorizations, and the commander’s medical records were beamed up to the doctor on duty.

“That’s a bad one,” a new voice observed on net. “What do you plan to do?”

“We think we can stabilize his back so that a year or two of treatment and rehabilitation should return him most of the use of his lower quarter. It’s his leg. There are a lot of pieces.
We’ve just gotten the bleeding controlled. If we amputate it now, could the Navy clone him a new one? We sure can’t these days.”

“Doc?” the admiral said. “Would he be better off up here?”

“No doubt, but what would a launch to orbit do to all the fine work the good doctors down there have done?”

“Would it help if you had some of our gear down there with you?” the admiral half asked, half ordered.

“I can give you a list of our off-line equipment and the parts we need to get them up and running,” the Sevastopol doctor offered.

“Send us the list,” the Navy doctor said. “I’ll have my med techs and supply technicians go over it with me.”

“Your Grace,” Admiral Mittleburg said. “I see you’ve had a full evening. I’d have called you myself except I’m just now getting the report of the attack. Heads are going to roll.”

“Don’t roll them on my account,” Vicky said. “Gerrit took the blast for me. Other than my pride, I’m unhurt.”

“I don’t think you have any reason to be concerned about your pride. I understand that you’ve done quite well for an uninvited visitor they threatened to shoot down.”

“May I ask how you know?”

“I had a copy of your meeting with the mayors on my desk after supper, and I read the one concerning your other meeting before I went to bed. Well played.”

“Again, may I ask how you knew, sir? Someone leaked my travel itinerary, and that’s how we got bushwhacked.” Vicky was going into a slow burn.

“Commander Schlieffen sent it all along to me. I assure you, up here, it was my eyes only.”

“Oh,” Vicky said, burner going out.

At that moment, she realized just how tired she was.

Vicky took a moment to settle deep into her chair. She really was exhausted. If Gerrit was stabilized, maybe she should think about some time in that bed the hospital had offered.

The doctor’s conversation with the Navy doc topside was putting a happy smile on her face.

Vicky allowed herself a smile.

A nurse dashed through the door and up to the doctor to whisper words in her ear.

The doctor’s face lost its smile, and she whirled to race back through the doors.

Vicky glanced up at the Ranger. The captain’s face was that blank one officers were trained to wear when the battle goes suddenly and badly wrong.

Vicky didn’t care what the Navy expected. She leaned over to rest her face in her hands and tried not to cry.

But wasn’t very successful.

O
N
the sunny ramp at the spaceport, Admiral von Mittleburg offered Vicky his arm. She took it gratefully.

A week ago, his admiral’s barge had led a trio of landers down into the bay. The longboat on the right had held a quarter of the doctors, technicians, and supply yeomen from the station’s sick bay, along with a major chunk of their medical stores.

The longboat on the left had held a company of Marines.

No one questioned their right to land that morning.

Admiral von Mittleburg had led the charge of medical personnel into the room where Vicky still waited for word about the commander. While the station’s senior surgeon moved swiftly through to merge his team and equipment with the best the locals had to offer, the admiral took a good look at his Grand Duchess.

“You’re out of it, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, invoking Vicky’s Navy rank. “Walk with me.”

A junior Navy officer could not refuse a walk with an admiral. This walk ended back at Vicky’s suite, with two female Marines undressing her and a medic giving her a shot.

She got one glance out the window at the rising sun before she slipped into unconsciousness. The next thing she remembered
seeing was the afterglow of the setting sun as she rose, muzzy-headed from her bed.

Bathed, cleaned, and dressed in a proper uniform, she was soon dining with the admiral in the hotel’s best restaurant.

The admiral ordered. That gave Vicky a chance to take in her new protection detail. Greenfeld Marines had now been added to Sevastopol Rangers, agents, and uniformed police.

The place was rather crowded even though it had a strange lack of clientele.

The admiral put down the menu as the waiter retreated with their order. “I expect that you will eat your vegetables,” he said.

“How is Gerrit?”

“My answer to your question depends on your assuring me that you will get a filling and healthy dinner under your belt. I’m told you ate little of last night’s dinner.”

“Did the commander report that, too?”

“He was very worried about you.”

“And then I gave him more to worry about,” Vicky said, and tried not to follow into the dark place that thought led her.

“He did his duty to you. You did your duty to Greenfeld,” the admiral said cryptically.

“He did his duty to keep me alive,” Vicky conceded. “What of my duty?”

“I believe that your questions about that are best answered by the mayor.”

Vicky glanced up to find Mannie, the mayor of Sevastopol, rapidly closing on their table. He gave her a shallow bow from the waist and settled into the empty seat between Vicky and the admiral.

The waiter returned. “My usual, Tony,” sent the waiter back where he came from.

“Will someone tell me how Commander Schlieffen is doing?” Vicky demanded.

“I’m waiting for her to promise to eat her vegetables,” the admiral put in.

“I agree. She must take care of herself. She’s going to be a very busy Grand Duchess for the next couple of months.”

“Will someone tell me about Gerrit before I scream!” Vicky
raised her voice enough to make it clear to the men that hers was a serious threat.

“Doctor,” the admiral said, signaling to a Navy medical officer who had been seated at a distant table.

In a moment, the officer was at Vicky’s other elbow. “The commander came out of surgery four hours ago. He is still in recovery. They managed to limit the progressive irritation to his spinal cord. However, they were not able to save the leg. It was removed above midthigh.”

“Oh no,” Vicky said, her hand rising without thought to her lips.

“The medical facilities on Bayern are equal to the best in Greenfeld,” the admiral began. “They can handle his rehabilitation and clone a leg for him as well.”

The admiral dismissed the doctor.

“In two or three years,” Vicky observed dryly, as the medical officer walked away, “he’ll be as good as new.”

“He is alive,” the admiral said with equal aridness. “That is more than the last two officers who got close to you can say. Three, if we include Admiral Krätz.”

“I certainly had nothing to do with his death,” Vicky said defensively.

“You wanted to go out stargazing. He took you. He died. One follows from the other as surely as day follows night.”

Vicky had no answer to that.

“Your Grace,” Mannie began, “I would like to personally apologize for the attack on you. We thought our meeting was secret. We thought your security was sufficient.”

“It was for me,” Vicky said. “Just not survivable for those providing it.”

“Yes,” Mannie agreed.

The waiter brought water and tea for all three and retreated.

“So,” Mannie asked, “is this eat-your-heart-and-liver month, or can we discuss what we decided last night? I wasn’t sure which way it would go, but after we got word back that someone had considered you worth throwing a hasty ambush at, a lot of my people got their backs up, and everything kind of fell into place. We folks in Sevastopol don’t like it when strangers send us a message to butt out.”

Vicky took a deep breath, letting the storm of emotions swirling around her come in and get out. When she could speak, she asked the mayor, “What fell into place?”

“We haven’t quite figured out what to call it. The Grand Duchess Victoria Humanitarian Outreach Fund was voted down because it would enlarge the target that you clearly seem to have on your back. Moreover, we don’t want to put a target on our planet. The final vote was to give it no name. It’s just The Initiative.”

“The Initiative?” Vicky said.

“Yes. We’ve got a pretty good idea of the wreck that is Poznan and Presov, thanks to your report. We’ve traded with them before, so we know what they usually need. We think we can have four boatloads of survivor biscuits baked up and two boatloads of spare parts, consumables and expendables, packaged up in a month. Maybe three weeks depending on the bakers’ schedule and us laying our hands on parts and gear scattered all around our planet.”

“That fast?” the admiral said.

“Our inventory has been getting way too large. That worried plant managers. It wouldn’t be too long before we had to start laying off workers. On the other hand, our inventory of what we need to keep things working was getting way too low. No feedstock and spare parts means workers get pink-slipped just as often as when the inventory has filled up the warehouses.”

He eyed Vicky. “It turns out the Grand Duchess of this Empire can be right. Lots of us wanted to do this. We just didn’t have the spotlight. None of us had the chance to say it out in front of everyone where they’d have to listen to us. You did. Those of us who were looking for a venue jumped right on your bandwagon. I must say thank you, Your Grace.”

Vicky considered several replies, and settled for, “You are very welcome.”

“Now,” Mannie said, eyeing the admiral, “what can you do to protect these six very luscious sitting ducks? I’m told there are pirates out there.”

“I promised them a cruiser and a battalion of Marines,” Vicky said, hoping everything was not about to come tumbling down.

“You’ll need two cruisers and their longboats to help with the unloading,” the admiral said. “I can loan you my two best. Take good care of them. Most of what I have beside them are in desperate need of yard time.”

“I can’t promise the pirates won’t make a pass at them,” Mannie said.

“Pirates don’t faze my cruisers. It’s going up against other cruisers, or worse, battleships.”

“You think the folks that ruined the Grand Duchess’s drive home last night might have bushwhackers that big?” The mayor seemed shocked to be even asking the question.

“I wasn’t expecting a squad of gunners armed with antitank rockets last night,” the admiral answered.

“Clearly, no one was,” Vicky said. “What about my Marine battalion?”

“I’d go with a regiment if I could,” the admiral said. “I can get you one battalion reinforced with armor as well as a light Marine battalion. The only other Marine battalion I have is so green, I really don’t want to put them out in a shooting gallery just yet.”

“Armored,” the mayor said. “We’re there to deliver survival biscuits, not gold bars. Aren’t tanks a bit of overkill?”

“Overkill, hopefully not,” the admiral said. “Let me rather say overawe. I don’t know what arms the locals will have at hand. After last night, I’m not willing to bet that what they have right now will be what they have in a month or so. If someone’s throwing a knife fight, take a pistol. A gunfight, take a tank. If it gets any worse, we’ve got lasers in orbit. As I see it, being the biggest bastard in the valley keeps it from being the valley of death.”

Mannie weighed that for a long moment, then nodded. “You may have a point.”

“So, Mayor,” the admiral said. “You’ve got a battalion of Rangers. Good men and women from out in the backcountry. We’ll need to be rounding up a lot of folks who have been driven out to make their way or starve. Any chance you could loan The Initiative your light-infantry Rangers?”

The mayor leaned back in his chair to glance at the Rangers and their automatic rifles interspersed with agents, cops, and now Marines in dress black and red.

“I can’t ask you to provide the tanks in this knife fight if I’m not willing to provide the scouts under the bushes. Admiral, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The two shook hands.

Steaks, red potatoes, and mixed vegetables arrived.

Vicky made sure to ostentatiously down two forks of mixed vegetables before she touched her steak.

The men shared a chuckle.

Two days later, Vicky finally managed to visit Gerrit. He was heavily drugged, but he smiled when she took his hand and ran her thumb over his palm.

“More promises?” he managed to get out through cracked lips.

“As many promises as you want,” she answered.

“It will be a while before I can take you dancing.” It took him a while to get the words out. She kept gently stroking his palm and listening.

“You will have the first waltz on my dance card when you do,” Vicky answered.

His eyes nodded more than he did.

Then they closed, and he drifted back off to sleep.

Vicky waited until she was sure he was asleep. Then she waited a bit longer until the tears stopped running down her cheeks.

With intent, she wiped them away, then stiffened her back and marched for what she knew must be done next.

Now, a week after the attack, Vicky waited on the space-shuttle apron, her hand on Admiral von Mittleburg’s arm. She was out of uniform and wearing the red power suit.

With armor inlays.

The ambulance carrying the commander was the largest they could find. They had practically entombed the man to make sure that the tension wires they had attached to his body would not be knocked out of kilter on the ride to the shuttle.

What they’d do on the ride up was too frightful for Vicky to contemplate, but it involved a tank of water and something like a pair of waterbeds with him in between.

“Are they sure they can do this?” Vicky demanded in a whisper.

“The doctors say he has healed enough and that this rig
will keep everything stable. Do you want to check the math yourself?” the admiral asked.

Vicky’s expertise in math barely extended to counting her change.

The shuttle taxied out to the ramp, then held for a moment while a landing craft, tank, motored out of the bay. It was the first one down from the
Crocodile
, a Landing Assault Transport that had just arrived from Garnet. It was not only the transport for the Thirty-fourth Armored Marine Battalion, but it would also be taking on the First Sevastopol Rangers. A company of them were forming up on the tarmac to await their ride.

Vicky eyed them, then asked the admiral to excuse her for a moment. She hitched a ride on a ramp truck over to where the commander of the Ranger company stood.

“Inez? Is that you?” Vicky asked.

Captain Inez Torrago came to attention and saluted Vicky while a sergeant called the entire company to attention.

“It’s me, Your Grace.”

“We meet in much better times,” Vicky said.

“The Second Rangers is taking over your guard detail. They’re almost as good as the First.”

“I’d expect nothing less from Colonel White,” Vicky said.

“Brigadier General White,” Inez corrected Vicky. “She got her star when they reorganized us into a Ranger regiment and brigaded us with two other infantry regiments. Only six battalions all told just now, but the recruiters are busy looking for eager young kids who want to see the Empire. Or maybe just what’s over the next hill.”

“You may be a while coming back to St. Petersburg,” Vicky said.

“So I heard,” Inez admitted. “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on those planets we’re going out to rescue. It would be a shame to let that itchy Empress get her hands on what we’ve pulled out of the fire.”

“You shouldn’t have to hang around out there too terribly long,” Vicky said. “No doubt you’ve heard the rumors that the other provinces are raising battalions of their own.”

“Damn straight of them,” the Ranger allowed.

“Well, I’ll see you on Poznan,” Vicky said.

“Or maybe Presov,” the captain added with enthusiasm.

Vicky left the captain to her troops and walked back to where the admiral stood. The shuttle with the commander and little else motored out into the takeoff area of the bay and began its acceleration.

“That closes one chapter,” Vicky said, then glanced back at the Rangers. “And those will be the next.”

“Yes, Commander,” the admiral said. “Now, may I introduce you to your new permanent Navy escort?”

“Escort, sir?”

“Yes. You broke the last two. Here’s your third. Do try to go easier on him.”