Текст книги "Mercenary's Star"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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21

 

This far north, Verthandi's large moon never rose much above the southern horizon. Late in its third quarter, it hung like a ragged-edged orange sickle in an unusually cloudless sky just hours before dawn. The light of Verthandi-Alpha carried only faintly through the window where the man and woman lay in the dark. The man's fingers trailed across the woman's belly, tracing a delicate line from navel to sternum to throat, then circled down again to capture one smooth breast in a lingering caress. In the darkness, Sue Ellen Klein let out a soft moan.

"Hold me, Vincent," she whispered. "Just hold me, please..."

He drew her closer into his embrace. "What is it, Sue Ellen?"

"N-nothing." Her face was wet, the tears glistening by the light of the moon. "You've...all of you... have been so good to me."

"And why not? We're scarcely the monsters the Lyran Commonwealth makes us out to be."

"Oh, I know all that. It's just... oh, Vincent! I killedhim!"

He held her tight, his hands exploring the hollows of her back, whispering into her ear until her sobs subsided. When at last she quieted, he said, "Darling, it wasn't you! You knowthat. But you've got to let go! Jeffrie was killed by that bastard Carlyle...abandoned in a shot-up fighter and left to fry on re-entry. Sue Ellen, you saved him! You kept him from dying a horrible death! Tell me, what if it had been you in the crippled fighter, with your ship melting around you? Wouldn't he have done the same for you?"

"But it's all so confusing. I keep having dreams..."

"About Jeffrie?"

"Some. Mostly, though, I amin the fighter, and Carlyle is outside, watching me burn. And Jeffrie is with him, pleading with him, but Carlyle just crosses his arms and laughs. Or I'm all alone, hanging from a rock ledge, and there's this vast, empty blackness beneath and all around me, and I'm losing my grip..."

She shivered in his arms. "That's the way it feels when I'm awake, like I'm just clinging to the edge, hanging on...and my fingers are giving way and I'm falling into the dark...and now I'm getting it in my dreams, too."

"I've heard you moaning in your sleep."

She drew back far enough to place her hand against his chest, to stroke at the mat of black hair there. "Vincent, if it wasn't for you, I think I'd have gone insane. I mean it. I...I couldn't live with myself for...for a while there. I'm grateful."

He kissed her lingeringly. "And I love you," he said, when their lips parted. "You know, I'm glad to just... listen. If there's anything you want to get off your chest." He dropped his eyes, and smiled. "Such a lovely chest."

In reply, she snuggled closer. "I wish I knew some deep, dark military secret I couldget off my chest," she said after a time. "Something I could give to you to help bring Carlyle down for good!"

He stroked her short hair. "I wouldn't mind that myself. Maybe if we could trap him—you and I—it Would lay to rest some of those ghosts for you. Got anything in mind?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I sat in on planning meetings, of course, but they didn't talk about anything really important. I knew...oh...where they were going to land, but that's not of any use now."

"Military secrets become dated real fast," he agreed. "Still, there might be something else."

"I've told Governor Nagumo's people what I knew about the Gray Death's strength, what ‘Mechs it had, and all of that, but they already knew."

"What would really help would be some clue to where Carlyle might be hiding."

"How could I give that? He knew this planet better than I did...and that's not saying much. All I know is that he was to make contact with members of the Revolutionary Council. That odd little man with glasses—Erudin—was supposed to bring them together."

"Maybe the name Erudin will help. The Governor has extensive files on the names and backgrounds of a number of Verthandi's citizens."

"Well, I already told him."

"Were there any other names mentioned?"

"Huh? Oh, I guess so, but I don't really remember. The names of people isn't going to help locate Carlyle now, is it?"

"I don't know, darling, but who knows what might help? Anything you remember—a name, a meeting place– anythingmight help."

She sighed. "Well, I know we were to meet the Revolutionary Council out in the jungle someplace. That seemed strange to me at the time. I had this picture of us all standing around knee-deep in mud. Erudin laughed when I asked how we were supposed to move ‘Mechs through the mud. He said Ericksson's place was all dry land and full of sur...What's the matter?"

Mills was staring at her with nearly savage intensity. "Ericksson? Who is this Ericksson?"

"Someone we were supposed to meet. Why? Do you know the name? Is it important?"

"I don't know, Sue Ellen, but a lot of the Old Families on Verthandi are Scandanavian, with Scandanavian names. If Carlyle was supposed to meet with one of the Old Family people, it's possible...just possible..."

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Vincent Mills threw back the covers and groped for the trousers he had flung over a chair earlier. "Darling, you may have just given us the one bit of information we need to burn that bastard Carlyle once and for all."

"But..."

"You go back to sleep, my love. I've got to talk to someone about it, fast!"

* * * *

Governor-General Nagumo knew about the name Ericksson even before Captain Mills had finished putting on his uniform. They had not told Mills about the microphone installed in the bedroom because Dr. Vlade and others feared that it might make the young captain self-conscious during his sessions with the young prisoner.

The technician monitoring their love-making that night had a call into Nagumo's office almost at once. Normally, the major on duty would have had to decide whether this bit of information was important enough to warrant waking Nagumo in his quarters, but this night Nagumo was still in his office, going over the reports of that afternoon's fiasco in the jungle.

By the time Mills had crossed the central compound of Regis University and asked to see Nagumo on urgent business, Nagumo's computer Techs had pulled Gunnar Ericksson's dossier from their files on prominent Verthandian citizens.

Nagumo began issuing orders, assembling his forces. His final order dispatched two men from his personal guard to Captain Mills' quarters. The Klein girl had served her purpose, and she could not be trusted. Better to bury her below the Tower for the time being.

Nagumo forgot about Sue Ellen Klein almost as soon as he gave the order to pick her up. He was already engrossed in the display map on the wall of his office. Yes, there it was, right where the computer had located it.

Fox Island...

* * * *

There was another romantic rendezvous that night, this one deep in the shadows that edged the perimeter of the Fox Island plantation. Here, too, the orange sickle of Verthandi-Alpha illuminated sky and trees with ruddy light, though the moon's sweep was bisected by the black shadow of the forest and the bulk of the Basin Rim cliffs.

These lovers' conversation also turned to the subject of Grayson Carlyle.

"Is it that you don't trust him?" the woman asked as she snuggled closer within the curve of the man's arm. They lay together on a mossy hummock well away from the plantation clearing, under the spreading blackness of the forest canopy. Moonlight edged her profile and the leaves overhead.

Carlotta Helgameyer often met her lover in this spot, because there were reasons—political reasons—why they could not openly admit their love.

"I supposed it's that I don't understand the man," Tollen said. He paused for a moment, his teeth grinding in unconscious habit while he thought. "I trust him, I think...but I don't understand him."

"What is there to understand?"

"He's...He doesn't act like a mercenary."

"You mean, he doesn't act like you think a mercenary oughtto act."

"Well, yes. I suppose. But he's thrown himself into his mission here with such...such energy. As though there's more to it for him than the money."

"I would have thought that was obvious."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's obvious he cares for his people."

"I think there's more. He shares our hatred of the Dracos."

"And that's wrong?"

"I didn't say that. Of course it's not wrong...not from where weare! But we probably should have tried to find out more about the man before we hired him."

"Most of us on the Council were against the idea, you'll remember."

Tollen laughed. "It wasErudin's idea, wasn't it, Carlotta?"

“Thorvald thought he was trying to arrange some sort of power play against the Old Families. Old Gunnar Ericksson was the one who finally decided to bring them in, and told Devic to go ahead and try out his plan. That shook Thorvald. He thought Gunnar would go along with with the rest of us. He wanted to kick Devic off the Council anyway."

He squeezed her tighter. "Yeah, well, you Old Families had better watch yourself now that us latecomers have the Gray Death on our side!"

"It's not funny, Tol."

"I know. I'm sorry. But this hiding what we feel for one another. It...gets to me."

"Me, too. Maybe things will change after the war's over.”

“That'll be the day."

She remained quiet for a bit, then decided to change the subject. "Our people and the mercenaries did pretty well in the battle yesterday, didn't they?"

"Yes." He thought about it, teeth grinding once more. By any standards, the ambush had been a splendid success. They'd captured two of the four enemy ‘Mechs, the Stingerand the cripple-legged Trebuchet,killed twenty-two Kurita soldiers and taken another thirty-six. Their own losses were only two killed and five wounded, and three of those wounded had been injured by their own explosives rather than by enemy fire.

They'd sent the Stingerand the prisoners back to Fox Island, while a band of rebel and mercenary Techs descended on the Trebuchetand on the hulks of the three bombed-out troop transports. With a few hours' grace, it was possible that the Trebuchetwould be moving under its own power again. It had taken the Techs only minutes to strip the hovercraft of circuit boards, wiring, weapons, instrument fittings, engine housing, and an endless stream of useful items that might be handy later, in unlikely places or vehicles.

"They did very well, indeed," Tollen said, "and I have to admit that that youngster knows more about combat than I ever will. I don't know if it's just that he knows all the tricks or if he's some kind of tactical genius."

"Then it's good he's here. We haven't had such successes in the whole ten years of the war."

"Yeah, but it's become hiswar, somehow. Is that right, that we should step aside, and let him win the war for us? And what about afterward? Are we going to be able to get rid of him?"

"I thought you trusted him."

"I don't know what to think anymore. This idea of his, to carry the war to the villages..." The teeth-grinding noises came again. Carlyle had said that the enemy had to be hit again and again, he had to be kept off-balance, kept inside his containments and garrison camps. More important, he insisted that the people must be enlisted in the fight against the invaders. Tollen knew that meant more towns like Mountain Vista would be reduced to rubble before this was over. More of his people would die in fire and horror. What was right?

"We're leaving tomorrow," he said at last.

"I heard."

"We're heading west. A raid in force, Carlyle calls it. To Scandiahelm. There's a Kurita garrison there."

Carlotta ran her hand along his chest. He could sense her compassion for his own pain, his uncertainty. "You'll come back to me?" she said.

"Carlotta mine," he whispered, sweeping her close, inhaling the scent of her, enfolding her warmth. "Nagumo's whole army couldn't keep me away, beloved..."

* * * *

Lori, too, was thinking about Grayson that night, but the thoughts were not pleasant. She came awake in her quarters in the rebel compound, her skin glistening with sweat, the paralyzing fear of the nightmare still close. In the moon-spilled darkness, she sat breathing hard, trying to collect herself.

Rather than face sleep and the terror of more dreams, she decided to get dressed and give her Locustanother check-through. As she pulled on her clothes, Lori's movements were sluggish. She'd thought the nightmares had gone for good. It was depressing to know that her fears and self-doubts were rising, hydra-headed, once more.

* * * *

Grayson had the guerrilla-mercenary force in motion an hour before the sun came up. Their ‘Mechs re-armed and re-equipped, the worst of the battle damage repaired by Techs who had worked furiously through the night, the raiding party set out along forest trails and logging roads toward the west. The group consisted of sixteen rebel ‘Mechs led by Montido in his fully repaired Dervish,as well as all six of the mercenary ‘Mechs.

Those rebel ‘Mechs too badly damaged or too uncertain in their jury-rigged repairs or weaponry to survive a long, hard march would remain at the Fox Island cave. The rest started off after Grayson's mercenaries, moving swiftly by jungle trails and backwoods roads in the same westerly direction. Riding in hovercraft and swamp skimmers, Brasednewic's infantry accompanied the column, a force of perhaps 500 men and women in all. Because they were slower, the rebel Galleon tanks and other wheeled or tracked vehicles would remain behind.

With them was Jaleg Yorulis, his Stingerassigned to one of the Verthandian ‘Mech trainees. Grayson had decided it wiser not risk him in combat.

22

 

As Grayson and his forces moved westward, the land rose steadily, tree cover growing thinner until the forest gave way to scattered patches of woodland among bluegreen meadows and cultivated fields. Their destination was on Perres Point, a Kurita watch station at the very edge of the jungle and above the village of Scandiahelm. Here, the Basin Rim was a relatively gentle, forested ridge. The region above the ridge was part of the Bluesward Plateau, tucked in between the Silvan forest and the Uppsala Mountains. Villages dotted the rolling countryside, interspersed with blueleaf plantations and gavel farms.

The Dracos had built watchstations on Verthandi wherever there was a sizable local population to control or an important resource to guard. At Perres Point, it was the inhabitants of the nearby villages who were held hostage. Several hamlets and farms had been burned already in retaliation for attacks on Kurita personnel in the area. The station itself consisted of a small supply depot and maintenance facility, a platoon of sixty soldiers, and one lance of BattleMechs of the Third Strike Regiment's Second Battalion, Company C.

The combined mercenary-rebel force hit the watchstation at dawn, catching the Kurita ‘Mechs unmanned, the soldiers at breakfast Less than two minutes after Grayson's Shadow Hawkcrashed through the perimeter fence, the Kurita troops were throwing down their weapons. Four ‘Mechs—a Wolverine,a Phoenix Hawk,a Panther,and a Wasp—had fallen into rebel hands. As had tons of supplies, rations, ammunition, and spare parts, a literal treasure for the ragged little army, purchased without a single death.

* * * *

Grayson wished his next task would be as easy as ambushing the Kurita watchstation garrison. The rebel forces were still rounding up prisoners and loading captured spare parts and stores from the base and the nearby supply dump when a delegation of townspeople arrived from Scandiahelm. He received them inside the watchstation complex, in a bombproof chamber that had served as a mess hall. The delegation consisted of Scandiahelm's chief proctor, a graying, worried-eyed man in his fifties, and two companions. Grayson stood behind the mess table, flanked by Lori and Brasednewic. He smiled and extended a hand, but the proctor ignored it.

Instead, the man dropped a packet onto the messhall table in front of the mercenary commander. Grayson opened it, pulling out a sheaf of flat holos. He held up each in turn, letting the light from the overhead fluoros catch them. Each detailed some horror of war. Rubble spilled across a street. Bodies, sprawled and crazily twisted, lay in black pools. A forest of orange flames silhouetted a skyline. The unmistakable form of a Marauderrose against flame and blackness, its heavy forearms leveled above the crumbling ruin of what might have been a church. A tiny human figure clung to one arm, legs wildly flailing.

Grayson looked up from the holos, eyebrows arched. "What's all this?"

The proctor's mouth tightened. His face was pale above the high-collared black and scarlet jacket he wore. "That is...was the town of Mountain Vista. We thought you should see these."

"Yes?" Grayson remained impassive, but he knew what was coming next.

"Mountain Vista lies on the Other side of Regis from us," one of the other Verthandians said. He had a bushy mustache and shared the proctor's look of fear and disapproval. "But it's not so far from Scandiahelm. Some misguided youths shot and killed a Kurita guardsman there. One BattleMech—only one,this Marauder—did all this to the town."

"I don't think I understand," Grayson carefully lied. How was he supposed to handle this?"Whose side are you on?"

The proctor's frown deepened. "We're not onanyone's 'side', as you put it! By attacking this base, you have put Scandiahelm and every other nearby town in grave danger! Do you know what the Governor will doto us when he learns of this raid of yours?"

Grayson glanced at Brasednewic. The rebel leader stood, arms crossed, his face carefully neutral.

"I'd say there is a very good chance that they'll come and destroy your town," Grayson replied. "The question is, what are yougoing to do about it?"

The third Verthandian looked at his leader. "Kalev was right. Proctor Jorgenson. We should throw in with the Dracos."

"And beg for their mercy?" Grayson tapped the holos with the back of his hand. "Is this the Kurita mercy you seek? Or their justice?"

"You have left us little choice, offworlder," the proctor said. "You didn't even bother to consult with us before your attack..." Grayson considered the implications of consulting with the local civilians each time he contemplated an attack. "I apologize, gentlemen, for not consulting with you," was all he said, "but there simply was no time before the attack. And I fear we have little time to lose now before the Kurita forces gather in response to our action here." He turned to Lori. "Check and see how the loading is coming along. We move in one hour, ready or not"

That shook the three of them. "What? Wait! You can't mean to leave us!"

Grayson feigned surprise. "Why, I thought you planned to cooperate with Nagumo, to ask for his mercy. You can't expect us to remain while you and Nagumo dicker for our heads!"

"You misunderstand us, sir," Proctor Jorgenson said. "We dislike the Combine as much as you do. More, I daresay. This is ourworld they have taken, not yours! But what chance do we have against a regiment of BattleMechs? At least stay and protect us, now that you've stirred them up against us! To abandon us now would be...criminal!"

"Gentlemen, I would like to stay and help you, but that is simply impossible. My army is outnumbered. To be trapped here, in the open, by Nagumo's superior forces would be an invitation to complete disaster. We must keep moving."

"But what are we to do?" The proctor's complaint was a thin wail. "We'll be killed!"

"Do? Why...you could stay and make peace with Nagumo's Colonel, when he comes."

Jorgenson's finger stabbed angrily at the holo– of the Marauder."That is Nagumo's Colonel!" he said. "A moment after that young man in the holo surrendered, that monster dropped him to the street and stepped on him like an insect!"

"Then you had better run..."

"There are children in the town...women...old people...”

“...or you can fight!”

“Fight? With what?"

Grayson turned to Tollen. "Colonel, we captured more weapons in that supply dump than we can possibly carry with us. Go find Sergeant Ramage. The two of you organize a detail to pass out weapons and ammo to anyone from Scandiahelm who wants them. Show them how to use them. But quickly! We don't have much time!"

"Yes, sir!"

"And send a detail into Scandiahelm. We're going to need cargo transports to carry the loot. Hovercraft, if they have them."

"You can't!" the moustached Verthandian said. "How will we get away..."

"On foot, or in the vehicles we'll leave you," Grayson replied. "We won't take everything, and we’re leaving you more than enough guns and supplies. That ought to pay for a few hover transports."

"Give us guns...is that it?"Jorgenson waved his arms, incredulous. "What good are guns against Nagumo's BattleMechs?"

"Why, no good at all," Grayson said cheerfully, "but they'll be quite useful against the Governor's men. You'll find that Nagumo doesn't have ‘Mechs enough to garrison every village and hamlet on Verthandi. Why, he's going to be hard-pressed just trying to keep track of us."

"But we're one village..."

"Then dammit, man, talk to your neighbors! Get the other villages to help! East of here the entire Vrieshaven district is in open revolt! Join them! Get others to join you! You've got–my God– what? A hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand people on this planet? Against maybe a hundred ‘Mechs and a few thousand soldiers! There's no waythey can hold this world if enough of you refuse to let them do it!"

Jorgenson looked dazed. "You...you'll help us?"

Grayson nodded. "I'll be back...or some of my people will. We'll help to train you, get you organized. We'll teach you what we know about fighting BattleMechs, what their weak points are. Believe me, you're not helpless! And you're not alone!"

"You bastard," the third Verthandian muttered, bitterness in his voice. "You bastard! You've just been maneuvering us into your war!"

"It's yourwar," Grayson said. "I'm just the hired help. But if you want the Dracos out, you'd better start fighting them yourselves!"

The proctor gathered up the holos and slipped them back into the packet. "How long before Nagumo attacks us?"

"I don't know. It may depend on whether or not this watchstation was able to get off a warning. Judging by their condition of...readiness, I'd say there's a good chance that it'll be days before anyone wonders why this place hasn't reported in. On the other hand, enemy fighters could be overhead in the next fifteen minutes."

"Then I must alert the town... and the other towns in the region. And I have to talk to the people, see who will...Who will follow me. The rest, we'll have to see about moving them to caves we know of, in the mountains."

Grayson looked up sharply. The proctor still looked afraid, but there was a new light in the man's eyes. He was not as old as Grayson had first thought.

"I'll let you use one of my skimmers," Grayson said. He led the civilian delegation back into the sunshine. Brasednewic was nearby, directing the loading of cases of rifles and ammunition on the cargo rack of a mercenary skimmer. 'Tollen, I want to see you for a moment." When they were apart from the bustle of soldiers, Grayson spoke rapidly. "They're going to fight."

Brasednewic cast a skeptical glance across Grayson's shoulder to where the three civilians waited in the shadow of Grayson's inert Shadow Hawk."Yes?"

"I want you to tell off a detail of your men, however many you think you'll need. Stay here with these people, get them organized and armed. Nagumo's going to hit this place in the next few days to make an example of them, and the village will need a cadre of veterans to stiffen them or they'll be done for."

"You think of that now, after dragging them into this?"

For one stark instant, Grayson’s anguish showed in his eyes and face. "Dammit, Tollen, what would you have me do?"

"I...I'm sorry...Captain." He looked back at Jorgenson and the others. "It's hard. These are my people..."

"I know, I know, and I'm a damned outlander who can't understand. But if you people don't start fighting your own wars, I'm not going to be able to fight them for you!"

Brasednewic’s gaze strayed back to Grayson, then to the ground beneath his boots. "You don't understand," he said. "These are my people. I was born down there, in Scandiahelm. I lived here for most of my life. Some of us havebeen fighting our own war... as best as we know how."

"I'm...sorry. I didn't know...."

"What difference does it make? Anyway, you're right. But you have to understand that...not all Verthandians think that what we...the rebels...are doing is right. My own family, for instance."

"Your family?"

"My mother was killed in a rebel attack, oh... maybe a year after the Dracos came. I...I was already with the rebels by then. I didn't hear about it for another couple of years. But my father and brother, they joined the Loyalists.

"You have to understand, a lot of people see the war as a chance to win out against the Old Families, as they're called. The Scandinavian families who hold most of the land and power on Verthandi."

Grayson didn't know what to say. He'd never been this close to the true horror of civil war.

Brasednewic shrugged. "It doesn't really matter anymore. My father was reported dead...lynched by a rebel mob...a year ago. I guess my brother is a Blue by now. He'd be old enough. I don't know where he is." He seemed to shake himself, to draw himself back to awareness of his surroundings. "As you say. Captain, a couple hundred of my people should be enough. We'll set up here, but with an HQ post back in the hills. I doubt that we'll be able to hold this place for long if Nagumo makes a determined push. But maybe I can keep these people together, get them fighting with some kind of organization."

Grayson nodded, then placed a hand on the rebel leader's shoulder. "I'm counting on you for that. Jorgenson mentioned caves in the mountains. Send a scout party up there and check them out. That could be the sort of reserve base we need. Oh, and I'll leave that Wolverinewe captured."

"We'll need a pilot for it"

"I'll have Sergeant Ramage tell off some of his pilot trainees. Tell you what. We'll take the Pantherand the Phoenix Hawkwe captured, and leave you the Waspand the Wolverine.But get them out of the area and hidden up in the hills as fast as you can. You won't be able to stand up to Nagumo with two ‘Mechs and a couple of half-trained recruit pilots!"

Brasednewic was watching the three civilians and smiling as though to himself. "Not yet, maybe. But for the first time, I'm almost beginning to feel like we might have half a chance!

* * * *

The UnionClass DropShip Xaoentered Verthandi's atmosphere balanced atop a pillar of pulsing white fire. In recent days, the Xaohad been engaged in orbital reconnaissance, a landing and retrieval operation to shuffle two platoons of infantry from their outpost at the edge of Vrieshaven back to the capital at Regis, and a supply run to Verthandi-Alpha and back. The ship had made the flight back with a unit detached from Admiral Kodo's command and assigned to special detached duty under Colonel Kevlavic’s personal command.

Draconis Elite Strike Team 4 was typical of DEST forces used extensively throughout the Draconis Combine and was similar in concept to the elite commando units of other major Houses of the Successor States. Hand-picked from veteran units, put through rigorous physical and mental training courses that passed less than 5 percent of those selected, DEST unit personnel learned to use weapons ranging from Mk XXI blazers and poison-coated throwing stars to the plastic tip of a disposable stylus or their bare hands. They could make high altitude-low opening parachute drops from twenty kilometers up, swim for kilometers underwater using oxygen re-breather apparatus, scale sheer cliffs using special climbing gear, and penetrate the most closely guarded security zone with a bewildering array of miniaturized electronic lockpicks and scanners. Most could also pilot BattleMechs and had the codebreaking and electronic skills to penetrate a locked ‘Mech's security systems.

DEST4 had been assigned to Nagumo's command as a support element, but so far had spent the campaign in their barracks on Verthandi-Alpha. DEST special forces were too valuable to risk on anything other than important, easily identified tactical targets, and there are few of those in any guerrilla war. Now, however, DEST 4 had a target.

The Xaoburned through Verthandi's stratosphere at a flat angle, shedding speed and heat in the roiling wake of its passage. For precisely thirty seconds, the ship's drives cut off and the spherical craft arrowed powerlessly through thin air. Two by two, silvery bubbles dropped from it, punching through the turbulence of the craft's Shockwaves and toward the cloud-mottled green and blue of Verthandi's polar basin, 15,000 meters below. After falling another kilometer, the bubbles split like ripe melons. They disgorged heavily armed and armored men who uncurled from the fetal positions they'd held inside their aluminum prisons and spread black-clad arms and legs to the stiffening wind of their fall. Above and behind them, the Xao's drives throbbed to life again, her passage marked by her white contrail of heated air against the icy blue.

In free fall, the commando team used computer-linked visor displays to lock onto a pinpoint target that was hidden by clouds but calculated by triangulation from three navigational satellites in space above them. Those satellites painted the clouds above the target with laser beams invisible to the naked eye, but made visible by the electronics of the helmet visors. Steering with arched backs and outstretched limbs, the commando team assembled in rough aerial formation and drifted in the direction of the target

At 500 meters, black nylon drogue chutes silently deployed and steadied each man, checking his fall. At 200 meters, the main chutes deployed with a succession of barely audible pops, night-black flying wings that each commando steered with deadly purpose through the lower cloud deck and out into the clear, sultry air above Fox Island. The clearing of the Ericksson Plantation was plainly outlined in the infra-red optics of their helmet visors, as were the pinpoints of green light marking sentries, technicians working under the overcast night sky, rebels out for a late-night stroll, or a romantic rendezvous at the clearing edge.