The clear blue sky let go with a high-pitched scream.
Kris spotted a white contrail off to the southwest, headed her way in the morning light. She wondered how you made a house safe when a starship landed next to it; not an evolution covered by any book she'd read at OCS. ''Gunny, pop the windows out, break the glass before it shatters.''
''Right, ma'am.''
While her team went rapidly through the house, Kris scrounged several blankets and wrapped Edith in them. ''There's going to be a big noise. Don't worry. I've got you. Nothing can hurt you now.'' The child looked up at Kris with wide, accepting eyes; then, if it was possible, she snuggled closer.
Kris stationed herself next to a window to keep an eye on things both inside and out. The roar outside went from loud to painful; Kris lowered her faceplate. Looking like a winged bird from hell, the Typhoon was aiming for the field in front of the lodge, coming in at about 400 knots. Half its engines were pointed down now. The overpressure out there was going to be nothing short of hellish. Kris held Edith tightly against the wall, assuming that her cowboy of a captain had calculated the full impact of the ship and mines on the house. What if he hadn't? Kris had a vision of the cabin's giant logs reduced to kindling and prayed the skipper knew what he was doing.
''See, didn't I tell you?'' One of her marines pointed. ''Don't it look like a Klingon Bird-of-Prey? Right out of the comic.''
The Typhoon wasn't a hundred meters up when the first mine blew. Its explosion would have gone unnoticed in the racket, but Kris spotted the splash of water and mud that didn't fit the regular air flow from the Typhoon's engine blast. Then another and another mine added its pop to the display. Water, mud, bits of vegetation, and rocks went flying every which way, none even close to the Typhoon. Kris had seen enough. ''Everybody down.''
Reluctantly, her troops obeyed. With her back to the log wall, all Kris could think of was the mess the heat was making of the tundra. Summer had softened the top dozen centimeters or so. Now, hot rocket exhaust was digging two or three meters into the frozen earth, melting everything, turning it into a slurry and throwing it far and wide.
Kris hoped whoever owned this place wouldn't mind. If someone got stuck doing an after-the-fact environmental impact statement and mitigation plan, Kris knew who was high on Captain Thorpe's list for the duty.
Outside, the scream of rockets changed to a settling whine; Kris risked a glance. The ground steamed and roiled in a broad slash as the Typhoon settled onto a dozen thick landing gears well away from the last mine. Police choppers would be wanting to land next. Kris turned to her team. ''Gunny, have the techs police up the area. If there are any mines left, explode them. Start with the veranda.'' The two specialists had their satchel of techno tricks out, checking the door before they opened it.
''Here's one.''
''Here's another,'' came back to her before they'd gone two paces.
''Crew''—she waved at her marines—''let's gather for a prayer vigil in the back room while our mends bless our dear departing mines out front.''
''Yeah,'' a corporal grinned, ''a mine is a terrible thing to waste.''
''Keep that up, and these prisoners are gonna sue us for marine brutality.''
''Where's my mommy?'' Edith put in.
''She's coming, honey. Just a few more minutes.'' Kris sat Edith on the kitchen counter, while Gunny kept the prisoners in another room. Kris pulled her ration pack out, rummaged through it for a candy bar, and gave it to the girl.
Edith studied it, her mouth twisted in a reflection of the conflict within. ''My mommy told me never to take candy from strangers.''
''Honey, I'm not a stranger.'' Kris laughed. ''I'm a marine.''
''Hard Corps,'' Corporal Li agreed.
''All the way,'' the other trigger pullers chimed in.
Edith must have agreed. She attacked the candy bar with zeal. Kris rummaged through the rest of her ration pouch, hunting for anything else the girl might like. The work out front was regularly punctuated by booms as exposed mines were set off by charges. Kris took several calls from police helicopters asking when a landing pad might be ready.
The eighty-member crew of the Typhoon had no explosives experts to contribute to the two marine specialists, much to Captain Thorpe's disgust, so everyone waited while Kris's two worked.
As the booms got farther from the house, Kris took Edith back to the front room. From the door they watched the marines at work. Sniffers picked up the scent of explosives in the swirling mist of steam and exhaust. The marines would toss a package of explosives at the exposed mine, back off, and detonate their charge. That usually was enough to explode the mine as well. The few that didn't respond to the treatment were marked and left for later handling by a real bomb squad. This informal approach to field clearing finally yielded a large enough space that Kris ordered one specialist to drop back and set up a transponder for the first chopper.
Two minutes later, three rotorcraft orbited the clearing; Kris ordered the mine hunt to pause. One chopper swooped in to quickly deposit a team of explosives experts before lifting off again. These volunteers from a local mining consortium turned to helping the marines. As soon as the pad was clear, a second helicopter flared in for a landing without asking permission.
There was no question who it brought. A woman and man bolted from it. Edith let out a whoop, and Kris almost lost her. Kris held on, trying not to fight, and amazed at how strong a six-year-old was when she wanted to be. The woman Edith's scream identified as ''Mommy, Mommy,'' raced across the field, slipping and sliding until she was covered with mud, and dashed up the steps to the lodge, the man not two steps behind her. The child that before had seemed bolted to Kris's hip flowed into her mother's arms. There were tears and hugs and all kinds of blubbering as the three of them lost themselves in each other.
Kris had cried her tears; she turned back to the lodge, quickly found her prisoners under Gunny's less-than-gentle care, and got them organized to move out. When next Kris stepped onto the veranda, the rejoined family was where she'd left them. A large chopper now occupied the single helipad, its engines spooling down as it disgorged a dozen men whose uniforms and hard eyes identified them as cops.
Kris edged the family to the far corner of the veranda, then brought her prisoners out under heavy guard. The three, still locked in a hug, spared no notice for the kidnappers. The leader of the police force took in the handcuffed walking four and the half-carried fifth with a hard glare, as if already measuring them for coffins.
''There's a dead one on the back porch. We need to exchange any paperwork,'' Kris asked, ''or do I just turn them over to you?''
''I'll take them off your hands, ma'am. You want paperwork, I can scare you up some. We're kind of light on that stuff out here,'' he said, not taking his eyes from the prisoners as they were quickly marched off. ''I understand one of them needs a doc.''
''The wobbly one,'' Kris pointed out.
''He'll make it,'' the cop growled.
''Well, they say he's the boss man,'' Kris said with a wave at the other prisoners. ''I'd like to hear what he has to say.''
''He'll be talking real soon.'' Now the cop grinned. ''I suspect we can get them all talking. Get them glad to talk.''
That left Kris wondering what other parts of the Society's Declaration on Human Rights Sequim hadn't gotten around to ratifying yet. Kris had other problems. ''Gunny, have your squad police up our gear. Otherwise, don't disturb the crime scene.''
''Yes, ma'am,'' he saluted.
Kris turned to Corporal Li. ''Our squad will retrieve the LACs. I want to personally do the breakdown on our boat's commlink. Nobody touches it before me. Got it?''