Текст книги "Wolves On The Border"

Автор книги: Robert N. Charette

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

18

Greggville Province , New Mendham

Benjamin Military District, Draconis Combine

19 September 3026

 

“Your papers!”

John Norris grimaced at the Kurita officer. Papers! As if the camera and recording equipment weren't enough identification. The bloody Donegal Broadcasting Company logo was plastered on every piece of hardware they carried and prominently displayed on their white caps and armbands. Norris fumbled in his satchel for the papers.

If the Draconian was annoyed at the delay, it didn't show. He stood patiently, the bright sunlight turning the dark brown of his combat jacket and the tan of his fatigues to pastel shades. In the shadow of his helmet's wide dish, his face was impassive.

Norris finally fished out the documents and placed them in the man's outstretched hand. As though waiting for that cue, the holotech, Berger, plopped his own passes right on top.

The Kuritan studied them for several minutes before announcing that they were in order. As he handed them back, his harshness slipped away in favor of curiosity. “Why are you fellows here in Kempis, so far from the front?” he asked. “This sector is pretty quiet. Not much action for a news team.”

“Just passing through,” Norris lied. “We're on our way to Seldez to do a story on that guy from the Eleventh Benjamin. You know, the one who held the pass against the Davion thrust last week.”

“Sergeant Yamato?”

“Yeah, that's the guy. He's quite a hero.”

“He is,” the Tai-iagreed. “It's good to see the outside media recognizing the true heroism of the soldiers of the Draconis Combine.”

“Yeah, sure is. Long overdue, too, I say.”

“Well, you gentlemen have a safe trip,” the Tai-isaid, nodding approval of the reporter's attitude.

“Geez, he bought that malarkey,” the stocky holotech remarked, as the officer walked off to continue overseeing the refueling operation for the truck convoy his platoon was guarding.

“Keep it down, will ya? These Dracs can get touchy,” Norris hissed.

“Aw, he can't hear me over them engines.”

“Well, he might have friends who can. We don't want him back asking more questions.”

Berger looked annoyed. No wonder the wags at the network called this guy Nervous Norris. The reporter was always worried about something. “We ain't spies. We're legit newsmen. He can't touch us.”

“If he decides we're spies, he'll touch us all right,” Norris retorted with an air of authority. “I once spent two weeks in a Davion cell waiting for the network to prove I was legit. The Dracs don't bother with cells. They shootspies.”

Berger didn't quite go pale, but he quit grousing. “Think that tip we got on a Davion push for this town is straight?”

“We'll know soon enough. If it is, we'll get an exclusive.” Norris leaned down to whisper in Berger's ear as though to include him in a secret. “I know just where I'm gonna spend my bonus.”

“I'll bet.” Old Nervie would probably blow it on a racy novel, Berger thought.

Before Norris could enlighten Berger as to his plans, the Kurita sentry in the watchtower sang out, “Mechs coming in!”

Kurita troops scrambled to take defensive positions. Local citizens scrambled for cover. A team of Draconians unloaded a tripod-mount laser from one of the trucks and headed for the edge of the village. The Tai-ilit out for the watchtower, making only a short detour to grab a pair of binoculars.

Norris turned, intending to tell Berger to find a good spot for filming the action. The holotech, meanwhile, was already on his way up an exterior staircase on a nearby building. A quick glance around told the reporter that he was the last person standing in the street. With a half-vocalized bleat, he scurried after Berger.

The vantage point the holotech had chosen offered a clear view of the nearby fields. Advancing from the west were the BattleMechs. Because of their solid black paint scheme, all four stood out starkly from the green of the crops they trampled. In the lead was a Warhammer.Close behind came a Marauder,and moving wide on either flank were a Crusaderand a Griffin.Even the Griffin,the lightest of the four at fifty-five tons, would be more than a match for the Kurita soldiers.

Norris could feel the sweat roll down his back, and he knew it wasn't because of the hot sun. No man could look at those mountains of aligned-crystal steel and destructive weaponry without feeling a chill of fear down his spine. They were behemoths of a lost age, nightmares come to life to devour innocent men. A voice calling from the watch-tower broke his reverie.

“Stand down,” the Tai-icried. “They're friendlies.”

Around the village, the Kurita soldiers emerged from their hiding places. These troops were ill-equipped to take on BattleMechs, and so relief was evident even in the way they stood. The two troopers carrying SRM launchers began to fold away the sighting ‘Mechanisms. The laser team gave up assembling the cannon and began to break it down again.

“Stay put,” Norris ordered Berger. “Davion's using mercs too. Maybe the Drac got his ID wrong.”

Berger gave Norris a look that made no bones about what the reporter could do with his orders, but he. did stay put. After all, there was no point in taking unnecessary—that is, uncompensated—risks.

The Tai-idid not seem to share that attitude. He had descended from the tower and was advancing across the field to meet the oncoming machines, his right arm raised in a friendly greeting.

In that pose, his torso suddenly exploded as laser fire from the Warhammersuperheated the water in his body's cells. Then the other 'Mechs opened fire.

The blue lightning of particle beams scorched the village, blasting the startled soldiers. The explosive fury of missiles and autocannon shells mowed down groups of troopers. Laser sought out and struck down the stragglers. Large-caliber slugs made short work of those the lasers missed.

“Damn!” Norris screeched in a voice high with fear. Without taking his eyes from the carnage, he whispered, “Berger, you getting this?”

Berger didn't answer. He was too busy filming the onslaught of the 'Mechs. Sweat beaded his forehead and slimed the grip of the holocamera.

Below them in the village, terror reigned. The first 'Mech to reach the buildings was the Griffin.The laser cannon crew died then, as the BattleMech's foot crushed them and their weapon into an unidentifiable smear.

One Kurita trooper stood directly before the advancing Warhammer,an SRM launcher slanted over his shoulder at the rampaging 'Mech. When he fired, the soldier disappeared momentarily from Norris's view in the smoky back-blast of the missile's exhaust. The rocket struck the BattleMech cleanly in the left leg, pitting the thick armor.

Leaning back slightly as though affronted that anyone dared fire upon it, the Warhammerhalted its firing as its torso twisted to find the offender. By the time the Draconian's second rocket had impacted against the 'Mech's glacis, scarring the armor, the Warhammerhad turned to face the lone man.

Whether rooted in fear or driven to insane defiance, the trooper stood his ground. In a gesture of utter futility, he dropped his empty launcher to the ground, drew his sidearm, and began firing at the Warhammer.No handgun could hope to penetrate the armor of a seventy-ton BattleMech. He was still firing when the Warhammer'spilot opened up on him with the machine's antipersonnel guns. The man's body jerked and tumbled as the heavy-caliber slugs tore through it, but the Warhammer'spilot continued to fire long after life had fled the body of the defiant soldier.

Back and forth through the village stalked the marauding 'Mechs, tearing into buildings where they suspected Kuritans might be hiding. If they found one, the trooper didn't last long. Though they showed no concern for civilian casualties caused by their hunt, the marauders did not go out of their way to chase down those villagers who fled from their path.

Before long, the four war machines turned their attention to the convoy trucks that had survived their onslaught. Using its hands, the Griffinbegan to load crates into containers attached to the backs of the other 'Mechs. Before loading the Warhammer'spack, however, the Griffinremoved a bulky object from the container and handed it to the Crusader,which headed with it to the outskirts of the village. The Griffinresumed its looting.

“Look what that Crusader'sdoing,” Norris said, poking Berger to get his attention. “What's he got there?”

Berger focused his camera on the machine Norris indicated and zoomed in. “Geez, it's a BattleMech arm.”

“What?”

“Wait a minute. There's some kind of marking on the arm.” Berger fiddled with the controls on his camera. “Yeah, that's it.”

“Frackencrack! It's a Federated Suns crest! What the hell is going on here?”

A loud, ‘Mechanically augmented voice boomed behind them. “Nothing you ought to know about.”

The newsmen froze. Slowly, they turned to face the Maraudertowering above their perch. Neither had any wish to excite the pilot of the machine that had come up behind the building where they stood. Norris and Berger exchanged hopeless looks while the ‘MechJock, forgetting he had his external speakers on, called to his leader. “Widow, got me a pair of rare birds over here.”

The Marauderpilot ordered them to descend to the street while the black Warhammerapproached.

The Warhammerstopped nearly on top of them. A hatch popped open at the back of the 'Mech's upper surface. Steel rang as a chain ladder was thrown clear of the interior, to come rattling down the machine's back and hang swaying.

A lithe figure crowned with dark red hair descended the ladder. The woman was clad in little more than a cooling vest. A tempting vision, until one noticed that from her belt hung a holster containing an ivory-handled gun of eccentric design but ominous lethality.

She stepped through her 'Mech's legs, and Norris blinked as a shaft of sunlight flashed on the black crystal spider hanging in the vee neck of her cooling jacket. Two triangular bits of ruby glistened in the insect's abdomen. Berger whistled softly, leaving Norris to wonder if he was more impressed by the obvious wealth the woman wore or by her body and the feline grace of her movements. Her eyes were hidden behind mirrored goggles.

“Well, well,” she said in a husky contralto. “What has the Widow caught in her web today?”

“We are representatives of the Donegal—” Norris began.

“Can it, Skinny,” she ordered. “I've got eyes.”

She reached for Berger's camera. He resisted letting go until Norris took his arm. The reporter gestured with his chin at the Marauder,which had swung its carapace in their direction. The double barrels in each blocky forearm implied death and destruction as payment for resistance. Berger relinquished his grip on the camera.

The woman triggered the cartridge release and caught the boxy film magazine as it fell. She dropped the camera onto the pavement. She smiled at Berger's moan of pain and protest, and continued to smile as she tucked the film cartridge into her belt.

“You're gonna kill us now, aren't you?”

Norris thought that Berger's voice was steadier than it had any right to be.

The ‘MechWarrior laughed. “I may be called the First Lady of Death, but I don't waste my time with pointless effort. I have your film. Without it, no one will believe you.”

She turned her back on them, walked back to the ladder, and began to climb. The newsmen stood and watched. When she reached the hatch and had drawn up the ladder, she called down, “Killing you two would just waste my time.”

The hatch slammed shut. Within two minutes, the four black 'Mechs were headed back toward the horizon, laden with their loot.

* * *

“Malking sun!”

Norris ignored Berger's cussing. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “Malking Widows!” Norris trudged on, ignoring him.

'They didn't have to trash every piece of transport in the town, did they?”

Norris tried to pretend he hadn't heard, but the backhanded slap Berger gave his shoulder made that impossible.

“Sure they did,” Norris said in a voice cracking from the dryness. “It makes it harder for the survivors to get the word out.”

“Yeah, well, these two survivors are gonna get the word out. They're gonna pay for what they did back there. And they're gonna pay for my camera.”

Norris had no answer for that. He, too, wanted to see the Widows pay. First, though, they had to reach a friendly haven. It would be a long walk. They had barely started up again, when Berger shouted and pointed at a hill fifty meters in front of them.

“Bloody hell! Tank up ahead!” The holotech headed for a copse of trees. “Grab some cover!”

Norris looked up. “Too late, Berger. They've spotted us.” He didn't know if that was true or not, and he didn't care. He was too weary to run.

The vehicle Berger had spotted was a Striker wheeled tank. Its late-summer camouflage scheme revealed no affiliation as it crested the ridge ahead of them and moved down the slope. Then two more tanks appeared, and the three vehicles headed toward them at speed.

The leading vehicle slewed to port, its great wheels chewing up the soft earth, stopping a scant three meters from the drooping reporter. The commander's hatch opened, and a Chu-ihauled himself out of the tank. The man climbed down off his vehicle, getting dust on his neat uniform. He stopped to brush it off before approaching Norris. Even to the tired eyes of the reporter, the tall, lanky shape seemed unusual for a tanker. One should not question salvation, Norris told himself.

“I am very glad we found you gentlemen.” The officer waved his hand, signaling Berger to join them. When the holotech came up, he and Norris exchanged puzzled looks. Neither had any idea why anyone, especially a Kurita officer, would be looking for them.

“My men and I have just come from Kempis,” the officer explained.

“Then you know about the massacre,” Norris stated.

“All too well. I want to take you two to Greggville. It's a free city. You'll be able to use the ComStar facility there to file your story and tell the Inner Sphere about this atrocity. The Draconis Combine will not tolerate such rebellion from its hired soldiers.”

The trip to Greggville was uneventful. They did not see any BattleMechs on the way, for which Norris was very grateful. When they reached town, it seemed peaceful, with its people going about their business as though no battles were raging over the horizon. Nor was there much evidence of military presence in the town other than the three Kurita tanks. Indeed, the townspeople paid the armored vehicles scant notice.

The Draconians took Norris and Berger directly to the ComStar facility, halting the vehicles just outside the northeast gate. Like many ComStar compounds, this one had six gates, one for each of the great Houses and one to serve the general public. Each of the five House gates bore the symbol of a particular Successor Lord. This arrangement was supposed to be symbolic of ComStar's neutral position in regard to their centuries of warring. Because each state had its own gate, each Successor Lord—theoretically—had his own unrestricted access to ComStar, even on a planet ruled by a hostile state. The sixth gate was supposed to embody ComStar's mission to mankind as a whole and was open to any who wished to use the services of their interstellar communications network.

The northeast gate bore the black dragon of House Kurita. Their Kuritan military escort assured the newsmen of the immediate attention of a ComStar Acolyte, and dispatched them into the building to record and transmit their tale of treachery and atrocity. When the two newsmen came out an hour later, they found the Chu-istill waiting for them. He seemed concerned that they take away a good impression of Kurita soldiery. Norris, despite Berger's venomous looks, refused several offers of transportation.

“Thanks for your help, Chu-i,”the reporter said, starting off down the street. “When this story hits the network, those Widows will get what's coming to them. Their attempt to blame it on Davion by leaving that 'Mech arm won't help them at all. We saw the Widows do it. They'll pay.”

“I certainly hope so, Mister Norris.”

The man in the uniform of a Chu-iwatched the newsmen walk down the street. When they had reached the far end, he turned to the squat, hard-faced man beside him. “I understand the traffic is heaviest near the business district. Arrange an accident.”

“Hai, Chu-sa,”the man replied and headed off.

At that slip of the tongue, the man in Chu-i'sgarb scowled deeply. Obedience could be increased with training, he decided, as his underling walked away, but it seemed that brains disappeared in proportion. The sound of hard soles slapping on the paved walk interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see a cowled and robed figure approaching from the main building. The officer bowed as the figure reached him.

“Good day to you, my son,” the ComStar Adept said. “A very good day, Adept Sharilar,” the Kuritan replied. “I was told you would have something for me.”

“I do, indeed.”

He handed her a cartridge of holofilm. On its side was the logo of the Lyran Commonwealth's Donegal Broadcasting Company. Taped to the cartridge was a thick envelope. The Adept held the package briefly as if weighing it, then made it disappear into her robes.

“This will be held in trust until needed,” the Adept said. “As agreed.”

The Kuritan started to turn away, but seemed to remember something else he wanted to say. “The gentlemen I brought to your facility had a message for their network.”

“They did, and it was recorded in complete fidelity. Alas,” Sharilar said with mock seriousness, “an improper ritual was performed and some data transmissions were lost to the void. I fear that their story was among that lost data. Perhaps, at some future date, it may be recovered through the diligent prayers and hard work of my brothers and sisters.”

The man in the Chu-i'suniform nodded his understanding. The “recovery” would come when it was politically expedient. As he remounted his tank, he smiled in satisfaction.

From across the street, unseen in an alley, feral eyes watched the exchange.

When the Kuritans had gone and the Adept had vanished once more into the building, the unkempt man stumbled to his feet and sauntered to the public entrance of the ComStar compound. As he walked, he mumbled to himself.

“Widows! Heh, heh. Billy boy, you knows a way to make this 'un pay. The Hunter'll pay C-bills for a lead on the Widow.”

When he reached the window, he told the Duty Acolyte, “Wanna sends a message to mah friend on Solaris.”

The Kurita bills he produced to pay for the message's transmission were clean, a sharp contrast to everything else about the man.

19

Shaw District, Barlow's End

Draconis March, Federated Suns

29 September 3026

 

Chu-iIsabella Armstrong watched the screens of her BattleMech, which showed a large mass moving beyond the scattered redwoods on the forest's edge. That would be the Davion patrol 'Mech, right on schedule. She checked her visual to be sure the rest of her lance was well-concealed among small copses of lesser trees, presumably invisible to the approaching enemy. This raid on Barlow's End was the Ryuken's first combat mission, as well as her own first assignment as a lance commander. She didn't want anything to go wrong.

The Davion 'Mech, a sixty-five-ton Thunderbolt,appeared. Moving with little caution, it advanced through the thinning trees from the denser forest behind it. Suddenly, the Thunderboltstaggered and lurched back a step under the impact of at least twelve missiles. Such a response was more likely surprise on the pilot's part than because of damage to the 'Mech. Those few high-explosive warheads would make little impression on the sixty-five ton machine's armor. Smoke swirled around the T-Bolt,obscuring it from view.

“Hiyaah! First blood! I claim first blood,” came the voice of ‘Mech Warrior Hiraku Jacobs over the Ryuken taccomm.

Jacob's voice confirmed what Armstrong already knew from observing the missile strike. Besides her own Catapult,Jacobs' Whitworthwas the only 'Mech in the lance that was capable of launching such a missile spread. The impulsive hotblood had broken ambush by firing prematurely on the enemy. Even now, his 'Mech was bulling through the small trees that had provided a screen from the advancing Davion T-Bolt.He was moving in for a better shot.

“You are on report, hothead,” Armstrong noted, though no one could hear her in the cockpit of her Catapult.

Armstrong's own position let her see a hundred meters past the T-Boltand down the trail it had been following. In the shadows cast by the giant trees, she could see the blocky shapes of more 'Mechs moving. Damnation! There was only supposed to be a single machine on the patrol circuit. She keyed her command frequency. “We've got extra guests for our party, lance. Fast strike, in and out. Let's use what little surprise Jacobs left us.”

Acknowledgements from ‘MechWarriors Frost and Toragama came in as she fired her jump jets. The sixty-five-ton 'Mech leaped clear of the trees to land with flexed legs on the top of a nearby rise. Even before the Catapulthad straightened, Armstrong loosed a flight of 75mm rockets from the paired launchers mounted on the back of the 'Mech's carapace. She didn't bother to aim. The approaching enemy was still bunched on the trail, and what didn't hit the first machine had a good chance of impacting on one behind it. In any case, the sudden fusillade might intimidate and confuse the enemy.

At that moment, Frost moved his Pantherup on Armstrong's left, loosing particle beams into the milling BattleMechs just inside the trees. Meanwhile, the other Panther,piloted by Toragama, came up beside Jacobs. Together they searched for a target. Between their angle and the smoke from Jacobs' first attack, they were screened from the rest of the Davion lance. When the two 'Mechs began to fire on the Thunderbolt'slast known location, the object of their attentions suddenly appeared. Bursting from the smoke, the Thunderboltcrashed forward, its enormous right-arm laser blazing red light at the Whitworth.

“Watch out!” Toragama called, alerting Jacobs to the danger.

Jacobs managed to dodge that first shot, but the enemy pilot was more than his match. The second laser shot came much closer, and Jacobs' evasive shift took him straight into the flight path of missiles from the T-BoltsDelta Dart launcher. Craters appeared in the Whitworth'supper torso and shoulder armor. Even after the cloud raised by the warhead explosions dissipated, smoke rose from the jagged gaps that the missiles had torn through the 'Mech's armor. Jacobs may have scored the first hit, but the T-Boltpilot scored the first significant damage. The Whitworth'sleft arm hung limp.

Armstrong had little time to consider her mate's plight. The Davion pilots had rallied with their leader's charge, and a Valkyriewas barreling through the thinning redwoods now, launching missiles as it came. The enemy ‘MechWarrior snap-fired a laser blast at Armstrong's Catapult,momentarily blanking her screens as the flash compensator reacted to the coherent light playing over the 'Mech. She had no worries about damage, though. At over three hundred meters, it was too hard to lock on long enough to burn through even the lightest BattleMech armor. The Davion pilot had to be a novice. Armstrong was withholding her own laser fire for more effective ranges.

She targeted on the Valkyrie,a light 'Mech. If she could take it down early, the odds would be much better. She sent a double flight of missiles at the Valkyrie.The rocket exhausts flared past her viewpoint, powering their destructive loads toward the Davion machine.

Frost must have matched her reasoning, for he was concentrating his own fire on the same 'Mech. Blue-white lightning from his PPC crackled the air. The bolt seared away paint from the Valk,revealing metal, which slagged under the intense heat.

The center of so much unwanted attention, the Valkyriepilot panicked and fired his jump jets before he had completely cleared the treeline. The 'Mech plowed into the foliage of a solitary giant. Branches cracked and tore clear as the 'Mech rose, but they stripped off most of the Valk'santenna assembly. The thirty-ton machine arced away from the fight toward a hilly patch to the northeast. From its erratic flight path, either the 'Mech or its pilot had taken damage from the Draconian attacks.

Armstrong did not have time to see if the enemy warrior had landed safely before turning her attention to the other two Davion 'Mechs emerging from the woods.

The Valkyrieremained a potential threat, but was out of the fight for now. The new 'Mechs were a bigger and more current danger. First in line was a fifty-five-ton Shadow Hawk,followed closely by a sixty-ton Ostsol.Together they outmassed all three of Armstrong's lance-mates. In BattleMech combat, greater mass generally meant greater fighting capability.

“Lance, we've got trouble with a capital T,” Armstrong radioed. What was supposed to have been a one-sided ambush was about to become a skirmish—with her force at a definite disadvantage.

“Withdraw,” she shouted over the command channel. “Fire by extraction!”

Armstrong backed her Catapultdown the reverse slope. Just before her 'Mech's bullet-shaped body dropped below the crest, she fired another double flight of rockets.

Scanners showed Frost withdrawing according to orders. His Pantherwas firing as it moved from cover to cover, working its way to Armstrong's position. The hill blocked Armstrong's view of Toragama and Jacobs, but the taccomm suddenly crackled to life.

“Jacobs is down! He hasn't ejected. I think he's hurt!”

“Keep it calm, Toragama.” That was bad. With one 'Mech down, she didn't need to lose another pilot to panic. “What happened?”

“The T-Boltraked him with missiles and he went down. His 'Mech's not moving. I think he's hurt.”

“Confirmed, Chu-i,”Frost broke in. “Got a LOS on them. The Whitworthis down, with Toragama covering against the T-Boltsadvance. The other Feds are headed that way. ETA of first hostile is two minutes.”

Thank the Dragon for Frost's cool head. Armstrong knew they had to get out of here, but if Jacobs was still alive, she couldn't abandon him. With him still in his 'Mech, they would have to drag them both. Her own Cathad no arms, and a single Pantherwas too light for the job. It would take both Panthersto drag the forty-ton Whitworthclear of the field. With the Davion 'Mechs on top of them, that would be impossible. Something had to be done.

“Frost, listen up. You and Toragama are going to have to drag Jacobs' butt out of there. I'll give you cover and try to pull the Feds away. Meet you at the rally point.”

“Hai, Chu-i!”

“Get moving!” Frost's 'Mech was in motion even before the order reached him, his machine racing along out of sight of the enemy.

Armstrong's machine rose on a column of superheated steam. It cleared the ridge, coming down in the open, eighty meters from the leading Davion 'Mech. As the Catlanded, Armstrong jolted violently, having misjudged the slope of her landing site. The shock skewed her aim, and the spread of laser fire she sent at the T-Boltdid little more than catch the pilot's attention. The ponderous 'Mech turned in her direction, and its partners changed vector to angle in on her as well. To distract the Feds while her lance members worked to make good their escape, Armstrong began the deadly dance of dodge and fire.

“Strike Command, this is Pouncer One,” she broadcast desperately when the hostiles gave her a second's breather. “We've got trouble. Come in, Strike Command.”

It took two more tries before she got an answer. By then, she had taken multiple missile and autocannon hits that had pocked and shattered armor plates, but failed to penetrate and rupture the more delicate structures beneath. Far worse was the shot the Cathad taken from one of the Ostsol’s8cm lasers. The heavy beam had breached the 'Mech's leg armor and damaged an actuator. She was finding it hard to dodge with a limp.

“Strike Command to Pouncer One, what's your situation?” The comm officer's voice was calm and detached. He could afford to be, sitting safe in the MHQ.

“Mech down. Two on recovery assistance. Three heavy hostiles in pursuit.”

“Understood, Pouncer.” There was a pause. Armstrong prayed that it was to order a couple of 'Mech lances to their relief. Relief that she prayed, even more fervently, would arrive in time. A new speaker replaced the comm officer.

Armstrong recognized Tai-saTetsuhara's voice. “Negative on available ground forces, Pouncer.”

Armstrong's throat dried. This was it then. If the Iron Man was on the line, it was to tell her that it was stand-and-die time, time for dignity and honor. Damn! She wanted to cry, but that wasn't dignified.

Sacrifice for one's comrades was noble in theory. In the hot cockpit of a BattleMech, facing death in the shape of three enemy BattleMechs, theory wasn't so attractive. Survival—now that was attractive! Far more than some abstract like the unit's honor.

“Pouncer,” the Tai-sacalled.

Frackencrack!she thought. Here comes the death order.

“We have diverted an aerospace lance to your coordinates. ETA is six minutes. Can you hold?”

What? For a few seconds, the unexpected words made no sense to Armstrong. While she was thus distracted, the Shadow Hawkrounded a copse of trees and caught the Catapultwith a pair of missiles. Armstrong reacted on the reflex and drove her 'Mech in a skittering run for the cover of a granite boulder.

“Pouncer, can you hold for six minutes?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Time is unconquerable, Chu-i.Do your best. I expect no less from my samurai.”

“Hai, Tai-sa!”He had called her a samurai. In ten years of service with the Combine, no officer had ever accorded her the honor. The Iron Man was doing his best for her. She could do no less in return.

Those six minutes were the longest days Armstrong ever lived as the battle became a lethal game of hide and seek. As the Cat'sheat burden built up, more failure lights flared red in every encounter with the Davion enemy. Her missile stock shrank, and she had no idea how many more brushes she could survive. The next might be the last.