Текст книги "Lost Destiny"

Автор книги: Michael A. Stackpole

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

42

Tukayyid

ComStar Intervention District, Free Rasalhague Republic

20 May 3052 (Day 20 of Operation Scorpion)

 

"If this was done in accordance with Blake's Will, then Jerome Blake is as much of a monster as Amaris the Usurper." Striding like a titan through the mountain passes of the Pozoristu Range, Focht's invisible feet could not land without falling upon a burned-out tank or shattered 'Mech. Some fires still guttered in the blackened bodies of broken war machines. In other places live munitions still exploded without warning even though the battling had ended.

All around, Clan footsoldiers helped to herd the scattered Com Guards toward the exchange center. Wounded soldiers helped yet more grievously wounded men and women limp or drag themselves across the uneven terrain. The Elemen-tals who had been so fierce in battle now stooped to help their wounded enemies, silently acknowledging their fellow warriors valiant even in defeat.

Also silent were the bodies lying everywhere, rain-soaked, partially clothed, stiff in death. Everywhere he looked, the Precentor Martial saw the dead. He desperately wanted the computer to make him too tall to see the pale, bloated corpses or the pools of blood, but somehow he knew he could not escape them.

They are here, they are all over this planet. How different we are from the Clans in customs and manners, yet how alike in death and injury.He relived the pain of losing his right eye to a gunshot decades before. As much as these Clansmen hold themselves apart from us, and as much as we do not want to claim them, we are all of us so pitifully human.

He rubbed at one temple to ease away the pain. I should have seen this coming. I should have known better—about this and about Scorpion.

A window opened on the face of a mountain and Focht saw Hettig's haggard face. "The ilKhan has established communication. He is waiting to be linked in."

The Precentor Martial had the computer swath him in rough, undyed woolen clothing and black leather boots. A black eye patch covered his missing right eye. He let the computer etch the fatigue lines on his face, then sighed at the realization that he didfeel as exhausted as his image showed him to be.

"I believe, Mr. Hettig, that I am ready for you to patch the ilKhan through to me." He paused for a second, then added, "Once you have done this, you are relieved of duty. Get some sleep."

Ulric materialized across from him, still clad in cooling vest and MechWarrior shorts. A bloodied rag hung from his right bicep and his legs looked badly sunburned. Ulric, projected into the Precentor Martial's virtual world from his holotank, looked just as tired.

"Hail to you, ilKhan of the Clans. Your people fought valiantly." Focht hoped the sincerity in his voice came through despite the computer processing. "I appreciate your willingness to meet with me in this way."

"And hail to you, victor of Tukayyid." Ulric bowed his head solemnly. "I would have hoped to meet with you face to face, but I agree that this method is more suitable for what we have to accomplish."

Focht smiled wryly and shook his head. "How strange it is that you call me the victor when, in fact, all that has happened here was your doing. You knew exactly what would happen, when and probably where. The Clans lost because you wanted them to lose."

The ilKhan stiffened, then clasped his hands at the small of his back. He slowly began to pace, moving to avoid the fallen hulk of a Mad Cat."There are two errors in what you have said. The first is that I would be guilty of treason had

I done what you accuse, and treason is punishable by death. As I do not desire death, I would not do that. What happened is that you discovered a way to defeat us. You found our weakness, and you exploited it. You knew our war doctrine was not suited to long battles, and saw our supply problems would doom us."

"No, Ulric, I did not discover that strategy." Focht opened his hand and took in the war-torn landscape with the gesture. "Victor Dayton and Theodore Kurita both saw that the Clans were geared toward swift and decisive warfare. They knew that forcing you into an extended campaign would give you trouble."

Ulric let a low chuckle rumble from his throat. "You're not half as blind as you would make me think. You saw the greatest flaw in the Clans. Our bidding does promote brilliance and audacity, but it also minimizeslosses. We cauterize our wounds before they happen. If a commander is defeated, it is because he failed in his strategy or failed in his bidding. The troops who lose are not shamed, but rehabilitated so they can be used again. We reward victory with genetic longevity, but insulate ourselves from the sheer, grinding brutality of war."

He stabbed a finger at the hideous tableau surrounding them. "Never, since the time Nicholas Kerensky formed the Clans, have we faced such a crushing defeat. Your troops forced half of the Smoke Jaguars from the field in three days! The rest of them were forced off the planet by the tenth day, but only because their leaders were too stupid to know they were beaten. Not only are they not accustomed to fighting that long, but they never lose that quickly. The Sixth Jaguar Dragoons have been shattered and the Jaguar Grenadiers have more ghosts in the ranks than living warriors."

"Yet I note, ilKhan, that the Smoke Jaguars and the Wolves are political enemies. I know well there is no love lost between the two Clans, and I cannot but wonder if you did not force a Smoke Jaguar Khan to woefully underbid by challenging him to do so."

Ulric's blue eyes glittered like chips of ice. "That is a question that cannot be answered, as both Smoke Jaguar Khans died in the Dinju Mountains."

"Or is it a question you will not answer?" Focht slowly circled the ilKhan. "I watched the fighting in the Pozoristu Mountains closely."

"Then you saw Khan Garth Radick fall."

"Yes, and I saw Khan Natasha Kerensky and ilKhan Ulric Kerensky have their way with all that I threw at them. You knew I had prepared for long battles, so you, too, created stockpiles of munitions and supplies. You put your troops on a strict ration of ammunition and had the majority of your OmniMechs configured with energy weapons. You crushed the units I sent to destroy your supply centers, then hunted down and exterminated the units I had in the mountains.

"In this one battle that was directly between you and me, you beat me."

Ulric scratched at his goatee. "Perhaps that is so, Precentor Martial, but the Pozoristu Mountains were not the world. On the Przeno Plain, the Jade Falcons moved twenty kilometers from their landing sites—and that only because of the Falcon Guards—then became bogged down in a stalemate. They went no further, and had you committed a reserve unit to them, you would have driven them back. By the second week, the Diamond Sharks were ousted from the Kozice Valley. The Ghost Bears held Spanac at the end, but had lost Luk and most of the Seventh Bear Guards. The Nova Cats held the Losije district for all of five days, but lost at Joje and Tost, and eventually were dislodged by your Com Guards. You forced the Steel Vipers from Hladno Springs on day thirteen.

"Even if we count the Ghost Bears' victory at Spanac and consider Przeno a draw, you have won the battle for Tukayyid. You have won our bargain. The Clans will press no further toward Terra than this world for the next fifteen years."

Focht shook his head. "Would I sound like a hopeless romantic if I said I did not think even fifteen hundred years would be worth this cost?"

"You would sound to me like a general who has accurately assessed the consequences of war, and one who greatly values his troops." Ulric wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand. "I have seen the casualty reports for my troops. My deaths are running at 20 percent, with an overall casualty rate of 35 percent and equipment damage of 62.3 percent—half of that being suitable for salvage. And I know my people got off lightly."      '

Focht turned on him. "Your people got off lightly? Are you not the ilKhan? Do you not lead allthe Clans?"

The ilKhan slowly shook his head. "As this battle would prematurely decide the end of our quest, our crusade, it was determined that control of the individual operations would fall to the Clan Khans. Though I was permitted to review all data coming up from the planet, I was not obliged to distribute it unless asked. As no one saw fit to request my thoughts, I was free to act to the benefit of my Clan."

So, they forced you to act on your own and you let them twist in the wind."Had you led them, coordinated them, you would have defeated me."

"You are the victor, Anastasius. You need not flatter the vanquished. Through what you have done, through the death and the misery, you have shown my fellow Khans what I could not. Had I led them and been defeated, I would have been taken down—I might yet be—because the failure would have been mine." Ulric again looked around the valley at the grayish bodies covering the hillsides. "Now they must understand what their crusade has caused and they must accept responsibility for it."

"Yours is not an easy lot, Ulric. You lead a people who are bred for war. They will not take defeat lightly."

"I think my lot is easier than yours, Anastasius. At least the attacks on me will come in the open. We may play at politics in the Clans, but we resolve the conflicts like warriors." Ulric looked straight into Focht's good eye. "Do not second-guess your victory, Precentor Martial. Operation Scorpion, while an annoyance, did not detract from our operations here."

Focht sighed heavily. "I give you my word, had I known, I would have warned you."

"I know that." Ulric let a tired smile expose his teeth. "I have one more request of you, quiaff?"

"Aff," the Precentor Martial nodded. "Ask."

"In three days there is to be a Bloodname battle for the right to claim Cyrilla Ward's name. I would like to hold it here, on Tukayyid. Phelan Wolf will fight with Vlad for that honor. Allowing them to stay on the planet will let them rest up for the final fight."

"By all means. Is there anything you need to prepare for it?"

Ulric shook his head. "I think not. However, Phelan has petitioned the ilKhan for permission to invite you." He smiled more broadly. "The ilKhan has graciously consented."

Focht bowed his head to the ilKhan. "Please tell Phelan I am honored by his invitation, but I will be unable to attend. Within the hour, I leave Tukayyid."

"Within the hour?" Ulric's eyes sparkled. "The Primus is obviously very pleased with your performance here."

"I fear this is so, my friend." Focht folded his arms across his chest. "Primus Myndo Waterly has summoned me home. For me, she says, she has a reward."

43

Tukayyid

Free Rasalhague Republic

23 May 3052 (Day 23 of Operation Scorpion)

 

The terrible calm settling over him intrigued and frightened Phelan Kell Wolf. Clad in a gray jumpsuit showing a red dagger-star patch on his right shoulder and the Thirteenth Wolf Guards red and black spider patch on his left, he held his head high, as any warrior had the right to do. Almost arrogantly, he hooked his left thumb through the gunbelt looped over his left shoulder and refused to care that others thought his wearing a gun in the cockpit was stupid. He was a Wolf and their Clan had not tasted defeat at the hands of the Com Guards. His unit, in particular, with Natasha Kerensky at its head, had purposely destroyed every Com Guard unit thrown at it.

The weight of the silver coin in his right hand marked the importance of what it represented. When his opponent arrived, he and Vlad would both place their coins in the gravity funnel device standing at his right hand. The coins would spin and spin around, racing each other down to the clear collection tube. The coin on top would determine who had the choice of weaponry, and to the loser would go the choice of venue.

Phelan had already engaged in this ritual four times. He had met and defeated four other warriors from the House of Ward. He had killed only one, and he regretted that the Elemental had given him no other choice. Though part of him was weary of fighting after the war with ComStar, he held himself proudly. I will not be defeated.

Standing there in the middle of a show ring in an agrocomplex whose owner bred and trained horses as a hobby, Phelan could feel the tension in the crowd slowly filling the building to the edge of the central circle of light. They had come to see the final battle in the Bloodname contest for the name of Cyrilla Ward. That name had a nearly sacred reputation, and the finalists were known to hate each other. If the crowd was lucky, the two MechWarriors would decide to fight it out with bare hands, right there in the center of the ring.

Above him circular screens filled with an image of the center ring. The camera slowly zoomed in on him, then the image cut to two men approaching from the north end of the building. As they broke through the crowd, Phelan instantly recognized them both and a spark of anxiety flashed in his chest. Vlad hadto be present for the Decision of the coins, but the other man was not the individual he had hoped to have overseeing it.

Conal Ward removed his arm from around Vlad's shoulders and mounted the wooden dais before the two MechWarriors. Tall, dark-haired, and handsome, he exuded confidence and majesty. "I am the Oathmaster and accept responsibility for representing House Ward here. Do you concur in this?"

So this is the reason for Conal's presence here. For the final test, he, the Clan Loremaster, will represent his own house."Seyla." Out of respect for the office, Phelan bowed appropriately, then straightened and watched his enemy.

The bright spotlight burned silver highlights into Vlad's slicked-back hair. The MechWarrior, as he bowed his head to Conal, adjusted his belt and let Phelan see the buckle. A black hound's-head, its eyes were filled with malachite. "Seyla," Vlad breathed solemnly.

Phelan forced down his anger. He had become a bondsman in the Wolf Clan when Vlad defeated and captured him.Vlad had taken that belt buckle from him and used it as a symbol to remind Phelan of his inferiority. As much as Phelan wanted it back—because of what it represented and because it had been made for him by a lover who had died fighting the Clans—Phelan refused to let Vlad know he had gotten to him.

He saw Vlad studying him for a reaction. You want to play little games, Vlad. Here, interpret this.Phelan kept his face blank, but raised his left hand, and as if scratching an itch, traced a line from above his left eye down to his jaw.

Vlad jolted as if hit with lighting. The line Phelan had drawn mirrored the scar on Vlad's face. Seeing Vlad's cheeks flush, Phelan knew the man was dying inside because the scar reminded him that he owed his life to Phelan. He had been weak and Phelan had saved him. It is a shame he believes can only be expunged by killing me.

Conal looked from one man to the other. "What transpires here will bind us all until we all shall fall. You are the best the House of Ward has to offer. This is impressive because, unlike other Houses and other Clans, House Ward lost no Bloodnamed warriors in the fighting here on Tukayyid, and covered itself with glory instead. That you have come this far means you will forever be remembered, but only one of you will win a Bloodname here today.

"In accepting your part in this battle, do you understand that you sanctify, with your blood, Nicholas Kerensky's determination to forge the Clans into the pinnacle of human development? Do you understand that being chosen to participate marks you as elite, but victory here will rightly place you among the few who have existed at the zenith of all the Clans hold sacred?"

"Seyla."

The Loremaster smiled easily. "You are Vlad and you have seen twenty-four years. Why are you worthy?"

Vlad's head came up and he played to the crowd through the viewscreens. "I have consistently tested out in the top 2 percent of my sibko. As a result of my actions against the Nova Cats, I was chosen as a Star Commander for the scouting expedition that brought us again into the Inner Sphere. In my first engagement, I killed a number of pirates and mercenaries. Without appreciable effort on my part, I likewise captured this Warrior standing before me."

Vlad paused to let that comment sink in, then continued. "In the invasion of the Inner Sphere, I have participated in every assault mounted by the Wolves. On Rasalhague, I personally killed four of their feared Drakøns. In the most recent fighting on Tukayyid, my Star did not give back one millimeter of the terrain we took. Prior to the battle today, I killed two Mech Warriors and an Elemental for the right to participate here."

Conal turned to Phelan. "You are Phelan Wolf and have seen twenty-one years. Why are you worthy?"

Phelan swallowed to clear his throat, then began reciting his history. "I was chosen by Cyrilla Ward to be heir to this Bloodname. I was adopted into the Warrior Caste after proving my worthiness through service as a bondsman. I trained and tested out as a Warrior. Singlehandedly I conquered Gunzburg, and on Satalice I captured Prince Ragnar of Rasalhague. On Hyperion I led the defense of the Simmons Dam and hunted renegades in the badlands. On Diosd I participated in the coursing and the killing of the Third Freeman's Command Lance. Prior to the battle today, I defeated two Elementals, a flyer, and a MechWarrior for the right to participate here."

The Loremaster started to speak, but Phelan cut him off. "And, as a bondsman, I rescued my opponent from certain death at the battle of Radstadt."

Faux pas it might have been to make that statement, but the flush of crimson on Vlad's face made it worth risking censure. Conal looked at Phelan as if he wished to strike him dead with a word, and Vlad's nostrils flared with fury. Vlad hooked his thumbs in his belt again, but Phelan refused to take the bait and never broke off his stare into the other man's eyes.

Conal Ward extended his hands toward both men. "The heroism and courage you both have displayed has been established and verified. Your claims are not without substance. No matter what ensues and what fate you meet in this battle, the brightness of your light will not be diminished. Present the tokens of your legitimate right to participate here."

Phelan snapped his medallion between thumb and forefinger, then held it out to Conal. The Loremaster accepted it and placed it in a slot within the gravity funnel. He did the same with Vlad's coin. "When one coin has successfully stalked the other and they complete their transit through this cone, the hunting coin will be superior. That Warrior will be given the choice of style for the fight. The owner of the inferior coin will then decide the venue for the fight. In this way each will fight on a battlefield not wholly of his choosing. Let the coins choose among' equals."

"Seyla," Vlad and Phelan intoned as one.

Conal pressed the release button and the gold coins started their spiral downward. Phelan watched his coin like an eagle. He felt fairly certain, before sight of them slipped below the lip of the funnel, that his coin was lagging behind. Yes, I will win the decision!

Phelan had considered over and over what his choice would be if he won. He knew Vlad would choose to fight augmented because that gave him the best chance of killing Phelan. In their two previous 'Mech fights, Vlad had won the first by pitting an OmniMech against Phelan's Wolfhound.That granted Vlad a gross advantage in that fight, and Phelan admitted that, in the second, having Natasha Kerensky on his side had given him a gross advantage.

While content to fight in 'Mechs, and expecting it if Vlad won, Phelan wanted to fight his rival bare-handed. No good getting rid of a hate in an impersonal manner.Moreover Phelan knew a fist-fight would be less likely to result in death. Though he was willing to kill to win this Bloodname, he took no small pride in having killed only once during the whole contest.

Phelan's confidence spiked as the only clink of metal on metal he heard came when the coins landed in the clear cup at the bottom of the funnel tube. Conal slid the collection cup from the stand and held it in his left hand. Instead of plucking the top coin from the stack, Conal flipped the cup over and dumped both coins into his right palm. Vlad, meanwhile, doubled over with a hideous cough. Conal's thumb pushed the top coin up against his forefinger, while the coin that had lost the race remained hidden in his palm.

Phelan's jaw dropped open. He cheated. He flipped the coins to reverse the results!Outrage filled him, but as he started to protest, something deep down stopped him. Why protest? Fair or unfair, you can beat Vlad. You can beat all of them. They arejust of the Clans, but you are the best of two peoples.

"Vlad, you are the hunter."

Vlad casually reached up and unzipped his jumpsuit to reveal the cooling vest he wore beneath it. "Phelan Kell has claimed, since the first, to be a MechWarrior. Though he has shown some facility in this area, his greatest victories have come outside a 'Mech. Now I will give him the chance to prove his prowess against a realMechWarrior. I will hunt augmented."

Phelan wanted to laugh at Vlad's attempt to intimidate him. He aped Vlad's action and showed the cooling vest he had also worn beneath his jumpsuit. "Not desired, but not unanticipated or dreaded." He let his confidence bring a smile to his face.

Conal's brown eyes narrowed to hide his surprise. "Phelan, the style has been decided. Where will you be hunted?"

"The fields here are flat, so the terrain allows for no tricks, no illusions." Phelan looked toward the east. "Five minutes should be long enough for them to set up the cameras. Here, now."

"Here, now." Vlad smiled cruelly. "You are too weak to defeat me, Phelan. I have killed allmy foes in the Bloodright and I will kill you, too."

"Do the best you can, Vlad. I might not have killed any of the others on purpose, but in your case it is a job I will savor."

Conal raised his hands. "To your machines, then. Let the true Warrior win!"

Phelan turned on his heel and stalked away toward the south. As he walked into the crowd, he saw the twin doors at the far end of the hall opening. As they slid back slowly, shafts of sunlight shot into the show barn like laser bolts. Phelan squinted at first against the sun, but when the opening door revealed the silhouette of his Wolfhound,he grinned in delight.

Natasha appeared at his left shoulder and accepted his gunbelt. "You saw what happened?"

Phelan shrugged. "Does it matter? A fistfight, a 'Mech battle, it's all the same." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Vlad is mine. Cyrilla's name is mine."

The Black Widow smiled happily and slapped him on the back. "Spoken like the Wolf Cyrilla knew you would become."

"No, Natasha, not that." He turned and met her gaze. "Spoken like the Wolf that you and Cyrilla and Ulric wanted me to become. Tukayyid has shown the Clans that the warriors of the Inner Sphere can defeat them. Now it is up to me to show them that despite their exile, despite their training and their breeding programs, the Inner Sphere is not so far distant that one of us cannot become one of the best of them."

He paused at the foot of his Wolfhoundand stripped off his jumpsuit. He took the gunbelt back from Natasha and fastened it around his waist. He bent over to tie the holster to his right thigh, and when he straightened up, saw Ranna had replaced her grandmother by his side.

Ranna reached out and hugged him tighdy. "You are the best of the House of Ward. When you come back, we will celebrate your victory."

Phelan held her close and covered her mouth with his. He clung to her for what seemed like forever as their bodies pressed one to another, then broke off the embrace. "Ranna, I know you and Vlad were in the same sibko. I cannot promise you he will live through this fight."

"He knows the danger he faces." Ranna's head rose to a regal height and her blue eyes flashed. "You, Phelan Wolf, are the man I love. You will do what must be done. If he dies, I will mourn because of the loss to the Clan. If you die, I will mourn because of the loss to me. You are the rightful heir to Cyrilla Ward's name. Go, answer to your heritage and reap your legacy."

Phelan gave her one last kiss, then climbed up the Wolfhound'sleg, stepped onto the left arm, and up to the 'Mech's left shoulder. He slipped into the cockpit through the hatch on the BattleMech's neck, then brought down the bar to secure it and pressurize the cabin. He pushed up on a large switch above the hatch and felt the fusion engine rumble to life in the 'Mech's heart. All around him, buttons, displays, and monitors flickered to life, filling the cabin with muted color.

Take it easy, Phelan. By the numbers. Do it right.He twisted his gunbelt around and seated it correcdy. No matter how stupid or useless, make it like every other time.

Locking that switch into place, he turned and dropped to one knee at the cabinet behind the command couch. He opened it and pulled out four medical sensor patches. He peeled the backing from the adhesive, and stuck one each on his upper arms and thighs. He also pulled out the cables that went to them and clipped the rounded end to the sensor lead on the patches. He threaded the red cables up through the loops on his cooling vest so their plugs hung down at his throat.

Going around the far side of the cabinet, he squeezed past the command console and dropped into the command couch. He took the cable assembly from the pouch on the right hip of his cooling vest and plugged it into the command couch. Instantly the vest started circulating the coolant through the tubes trapped between the kevlar outer layer and the goretex inner layer next to his flesh. Goose bumps rose on his arms as the vest chilled him, but he knew combat would heat things up quickly enough.

"Vlad's probably packing Inferno rounds, so relish the cold while you have it."

After snapping the restraining belts across his chest and waist, and checking them twice, he reached up and behind his head. From a niche above the command couch, he pulled down his neurohelmet. He settled it over his head and onto the vest's padded shoulders. He twisted it a bit to center the wedge-shaped viewport and to get the neurosensors pressed against the right areas of his skull, then used velcro tabs to fasten it in place. He cinched the chin strap up firmly, then poked the medical sensor plugs into the sockets at the helmet's throat.

He hit a button on the right side of the command console. "Pattern check: Star Commander Phelan Kell Wolf."

The helmet's speakers faithfully reported the computer's monotone voice. "Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Proceed with initiation sequence."

Each 'Mech, to prevent unauthorized use, checked for a voiceprint match against the pilots permitted to use it. Because it was possible to counterfeit such a thing, each pilot programmed in his own check phrase. Because it had to be something he would remember, and because it would be something he would utter before going into battle, a pilot chose something meaningful to him. Impossible to guess, the code let each Mech Warrior personalize his war machine and keep it safe.

Phelan slowly exhaled. "Check code: A Warrior shrinks not from duty, but neither does he revel in death."

"Authorization confirmed, Star Commander. Full control is now yours."

The holographic tactical display materialized before him and, one by one, his weapon systems came online, then went through a series of diagnostics. The trio of forward medium pulse lasers in the torso checked, out with no problems. A minor glitch seemed to exist with the recycling control on the extended-range large laser in the right arm, but the computer smoothed things out in an instant. The extended-range medium laser that fired into the rear arc had no problems, and the electronic countermeasures equipment rimming the Wolfhound'supstanding ears appeared to be in perfect working order.

Phelan knew Vlad would be given a 'Mech similar to his in armor and weaponry, so he was not surprised when he saw an Adderwalking away from the north side of the building. The OmniMech had a wider assortment of weapons available to it because of the modular system that allowed weapons to be swapped in and out. Phelan's computer painted a diagram of an Adderon his auxiliary monitor and cycled through the standard weapon packages to pick out the one with the highest probability for that 'Mech.

The computer determined Vlad would go with a package that would maximize damage in close. That meant that he would find a pair of Streak SRM launchers beneath the birdlike 'Mech's flaring shoulder shielding. The 'Mech's left arm carried a large laser similar to the one in the Wolfhound'sright arm. The autocannon in the Adder'sleft arm was not terribly powerful, but in a battle between light 'Mechs, it could prove very effective. Similarly, its chest-mounted flamer could also prove damaging at close range.

Conal's voice crackled through Phelan's speakers. "You have your battlefield. Skill, Warriors. Let the battle commence!"

Neither 'Mech moved for a full second after Conal gave the signal to fight. Then Phelan dropped his crosshairs on the Adder'scompact outline and triggered his weapons. His large laser slashed armor on the Omni's left leg into steaming ribbons of ferroceramics. His pulse lasers punctured armor on the Adder'sleft arm, right flank, and the center of his chest.

As Phelan hit a button on his command console, the holographic display switched over to infrared and painted a white-hot dot in the center of the Omni's chest. Yes, that got through and hit some engine shielding! He'll be running hot.

Vlad's return shots at the longer range betrayed a weakness of his 'Mech's configuration. The Adder'slarge laser struck back at the Wolfhound'sown left leg and sent armor shards flying on vapor jets. The autocannon blasted away sheets of armor on dinner'sright leg, but Phelan successfully fought against the impact and kept his 'Mech upright.