Текст книги "Mercenary's Star"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

The first commandos touched down in eerie silence, flipped their harness releases, and marked their targets. A sentry standing in the shadow of jungle growth gasped in surprise and collapsed as a Black-clad knife reached from behind and slit his throat. A technician walking from the warehouse that hid one of the island's ‘Mech maintenance sheds felt something hard and metallic thud against his ribs, then looked down in numb surprise at the four-armed throwing star protruding from his side. The blade's neurotoxin transformed the acetylcholine of his neural sheaths into something horribly else, something that spread with lightning speed from synapse to synapse throughout his suddenly dying body. The technician crumpled, unable to speak, to whimper, even to think.

Gam Dober, Brasednewic's second-in-command, stepped out onto the veranda of the plantation house, blinking into the darkness. He thought he'd heard something—the whisper of running footsteps, perhaps. His eyes were adjusted to the light inside the house, and so he could make out nothing in the clearing except the gray-black sky and the darker jungle. A shadow rose from beside the veranda steps and vaulted the railing. Dober cried out in surprise, but a black-gloved hand stifled the sound while black steel slashed and stabbed. Dober was left weaving on his knees, hands clenched uselessly across the gash low in his throat, from which blood welled in an unstoppable, strangling flood.

The shadow that stepped past him ignored the thud as Dober's body collapsed on its face. The veranda door was open. The DEST commando removed a small, metallic packet from a thigh pouch, twisted a control, and tossed the packet into the light. Instants later, the light through the door was replaced by a far brighter flash. Then a bang rocked the building and sent glass splintering out from a dozen windows into the night There were screams as a dozen men and women in various stages of casual dress or undress stumbled through the smoke onto the veranda, their blinded eyes seeing neither Doner's body nor the shadows crouched and silent in the darkness beyond. Laser beams lanced through the night and unprotected flesh with equal ease. Screams and shouted questions changed to the piercing shrieks of the dying and horribly burned. Somewhere in the darkness, a subgun yammered a harsh challenge that was answered by an exploding bomb.

With every moment, more DEST troopers were landing on black and silent wings. At a sign from their leader, the black shadows scattered into the night, weapons at high port and ready. Several troopers rushed the mansion's door, then paused on each side of the rectangle now illuminated by the fire burning inside. On a silently communicated count, the black shapes swung around and through the doorway. A moment later, there were shots from inside, and another scream, then more shots and an urgent voice jabbering from an upstairs window, pleading.

The leader bent his head, shutting out the sounds around him in order to better hear the reports filtering through the commo gear in his helmet. One of his scouts reported that they'd found the cave mouth indicated by the planetological reports, that the rebel ‘Mechs were there, unmanned, defenseless. A second report announced that the base radio shack was secure, the comtech on duty dead, the equipment fused into useless junk. A third informed him that a number of prisoners had been taken in the house, among them members of the so-called Rebel Council.

"The one called Ericksson," the leader said. "Has he been identified?"

"He was, sir." There was a pause. "He was shot trying to escape."

The leader smiled behind his visor. Gunnar Ericksson was a popular leader, and detaining him could have led to unfortunate political consequences. Regis Central had ordered that he be quietly eliminated. The other rebel leaders would know as much as Ericksson had known, and could doubtless be persuaded to talk.

He punched out a combination of buttons on the transceiver unit he wore on his arm. The carrier wave hiss of an open frequency sounded in his earphones. "Strike One to Strike Two," he said softly. His words were picked up by his throat mike and relayed through a listening satellite to a BattleMech com receiver, which by now should be only a few kilometers away.

"Strike One, this is Two," a voice answered. "Strike Two in position. Situation report."

The leader's grin broadened.

"Assault Phase One affirmative, repeat, affirmative. We have complete surprise."

"Excellent, Strike One! Is there resistance?"

The leader looked down at a sprawled form on the ground and nudged it with his boot. It was a young woman, scantily clad and very dead.

"Negative, Colonel. No resistance.”

“And their ‘Mechs?"

"I have a report that our scouts have found the caves. The ‘Mechs are unmanned and in our hands. We'll have the area secured soon. All other targets have been secured and neutralized."

"Understood. We are on the road, on schedule. We'll be there in three hours."

"Confirmed, three hours. Strike One out."

Three hours. That meant the BattleMech company led by Colonel Kevlavic himself was on its way down the main road from Basin Rim and already past the area ravaged in the battle only two days before.

Someone screamed as the silent twin swords of blazer fire struck him down. Farther off, the dull thump of a fuel depot igniting startled the night-calling wildlife into silence.

Three hours? He looked down again at the rebel's body by his feet. By that time, things at the rebel base would be well in hand.

23

 

The rebel column had stopped for the night. Even along the broadest and firmest plantation trails and roads that crisscrossed beneath the trees, travel in the jungle was difficult, at best. The dark added little to their chances of concealing something as big, hot, and loud as a small army of BattleMechs when the enemy arsenal included infrared scanners and sonic trackers. Grayson and the other MechWarriors had stayed in their ‘Mechs, taking turns standing watch, sleeping, or relaxing. Outside, the rebel troops stretched canvas and tarps from the sides of grounded vehicles and slept in makeshift tents, while others strolled the dark camp perimeter, watching shadows.

Restless, unable to sleep, Grayson heated water for coffee in a small brass pot over one of the power plant coolant ducts in the narrow engineering access space high in the Shadow Hawk'sthorax. He spent much of the night watching the Hawk'sscanners, but there was no sign of enemy movement. Once his radio band scanners picked up a burst of static that might have been anything—a meteor ionizing the upper atmosphere, a ship re-entry, or random radio noise generated by the Norn system's sun in Verthandi's magnetic field. A short time later, he thought he detected the warbling garble of scrambled radio transmissions, but very far away. His own base was under radio silence, of course, a necessary precaution to keep the enemy from triangulating their transmissions and getting a fix on the rebel HQ. That transmission hadto be something of the enemy's.

What was Nagumo doing? What was he planning? Grayson knew with a cold lump of certainty in his gullet that his success against Verthandi's conquerors during the past two days owed much to luck and to the fact that he'd been able to gain a momentary initiative over Nagumo's forces. That initiative was a fragile, illusory state, however. Nagumo had only to make one move, strike one village, make one attack that forced Grayson to respond, and the initiative was lost, possibly forever. The enemy had so many forces, so many troops spread across a planet that was, after all, far larger than any one man could grasp. Grayson's forces were so few. Even if he could find a way to win this unequal struggle, how could he do it before Governor-General Nagumo scorched the surface of Verthandi to a cinder in a vicious war of retaliation and counter-retaliation?

Once during his vigil, Grayson thought he detected a brief faint glow, a dim, false dawn in the cloud bellies above the treetops to the east. When the light quickly faded, he decided that it had been a figment of his own exhaustion.

Before it was fully light, the rebel band had breakfasted on canned rations and survival concentrates, saddled up their vehicles, and were on their way once more. He hoped to reach Fox Island well before 0900 local time, give his men time to resupply, and push on to the next target, another watchstation at the edge of the Vrieshaven district, 180 kilometers further east. After that, perhaps they could rest awhile.

Only a short while, though. Success depended on the rebel ‘Mech force moving quickly and far afield, striking the Kurita garrisons wherever they were weak and lax in their watchfulness. To stop meant that the enemy could close in on them with fingers of steel, trapping them, crushing them.

He urged tired men and worn machines to a faster pace through an unforgiving jungle. Lori was in the lead in the light and swift-footed Locust.They were still five kilometers from camp when her voice came across the command circuit "Boss! I've got a reading ahead! Man-sized, heading this way!"

Grayson's brow furrowed in puzzlement There should be no sentries so far to the west of Fox Island. He acknowledged and steered the Hawkup the trail until it stood alongside the Locust.His own scanners detected the motion—a man, following an erratic and uneven course through the brush. Less than ten meters ahead of the two ‘Mechs, that man burst out onto the trail, where he stood weaving unsteadily. Through a mask of blood, he took in the apparition of two BattleMechs towering in front of him, then fell face down into the soft ground. Lori and Grayson reached him first. One of the Legion medtechs joined them moments later, kit in hand. It wasn't until the medic had wiped some of the blood and dirt from the man's face that Grayson recognized him as Jaleg Yorulis.

Yorulius' eyes fluttered open. "Don't...go back," he said, his voice a hoarse croak. "They'rethere..."

"Who? Who's there?"

"Dracos..."

Grayson went cold inside. "Jaleg! What happened? Tell us!"

"Drac...commandos. Parachutes. They landed right on top of us. Never knew...never knew they were there. The... ‘Mechs, they came through later."

'"Mechs? Kurita BattleMechs?"

He nodded, the effort costing him blood and strength. "They're still there... waiting... for you

The medic ran his hands across Yorulis' body. "Where'd they hit you, Mech Warrior?"

Yorulis laughed, a ragged, gagging sound, and tried to mop at the blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. "Where didn't they get me?"

Grayson pursed his lips. He was no medic, but he knew that Yorulis didn't have a chance outside a well-stocked hospital, which they weren't likely to find out here. As blood welled from holes high in the man's chest, the medtech began slapping them with small plastic patches. Those holes sucked and bubbled with each breath Yorulis took.

"How many ‘Mechs?" Grayson asked gently. The medic looked up at Grayson as though about to protest, but Grayson silenced him with a shake of his head and repeated the question. "How many ‘Mechs, Jaleg?"

"Don't... know. Comp'ny maybe. Maybe more." He tossed his head back and forth. "Don't go back there. They're... laying for you. Must've waited to get word that you were out raiding their outposts... then moved... fast. They got all the ‘Mechs you left there. And the Techs. Herded them off South... somewhere..."

The full scope of the disaster was only now becoming clear to Grayson. Without their base, without Techs...

"Couldn't get to a ‘Mech," the wounded ‘MechWarrior contintied. "Never had a chance. They got the Council too. Captain. Rounded 'em up and marched 'em off. Don't know what happened to them."

"Ericksson?"

"Don't know. Don't...know. Didn't see him. I...snuck out. but a Phoenix Hawkspotted me, opened up with its machine guns. I guess they figured they killed me, because they stopped shooting after the third time I fell down." He started coughing then, and the blood flowed faster, soaking the medtech's patches. "I...guess maybe they were right."

"You take it easy," Grayson said, aware of how false the words sounded. "We'll get you patched up and..."

But Yorulis kept coughing, a wet, strangling gargle. His breaths were coming in short, quick, wet gasps. His eyes closed. "Never knew they were..."

And then he was dead.

Grayson stood up, his head swimming. There was a great deal of blood on his thin pullover shirt, and it had now soaked through to his skin. It felt hot and sticky. The medtech clenched his fists once, then silently repacked his kit without looking at Grayson. He thinks I killed him,Grayson thought. Maybe he's right. But I had to know.

Lori looked up at him, at the blood on his shirt and hands. "What now, boss?" she asked. "Do we take them at Fox Island?"

He looked at the body for a moment, his lips compressed into a thin, white line. Then he shook his head. "No. If they're waiting for us, they'll know what we have and be ready for us. We wouldn't stand a chance."

"Where'll we go, then?"

"We don't have much choice, do we?" He nodded toward the north. "The deep jungle looks like our only chance. We'll find a place to set up a new base with what we took from the watchstation, then see about making contact with some of the plantation owners around here." He closed his eyes, visualizing a map. "Westlee and Ostafjord are possibilities. The Dracos haven't found the Phobosyet. Maybe we can set up an HQ there. First, though, we've got to get clear of here!"

Even before that, Grayson had to explain to his people what had happened. Strapped again into his Shadow Hawk,he tersely described the situation, that the enemy had taken Fox Island and that the column would be turning north.

"But sir!" A voice came over the circuit when he'd finished. "What about...what about the Council! Did they get away?"

Grayson recognized the voice. It was Harriman Oissen, pilot of one of the LoggerMechsand son of Karl Oissen, the doctor on the Revolutionary Council.

"I'm sorry, Harriman. There's nothing we can do for them now."

"We could go get them!"

"Not when they’re waiting for us, at night, with God knows how many ‘Mechs against the few of us.”

“No!"

"Pull back into line, Oissen!" Grayson made the command sharp and short. The green-painted LoggerMechthat had stepped from its place in line swayed, halted in place by the edge in Grayson's voice. "The worst thing we could do would be to go charging in there, guns blazing...and wipe out what's left of the Free Verthandi Rangers!"

Many of the others felt much as Oissen did. Several among the Mech Warrior apprentices and rebel soldiers had family, friends, or lovers among the Techs and astechs who had remained at Fox Island. Grayson himself felt the loss of the Gray Death Techs who had been left behind as a personal blow. What had happened to Tomlinson, the homely, carrot-haired boy who had been serving as his own personal Tech?

Harriman Oissen herded his four-legged ‘Mech into line again, but Grayson felt accusation heavy in the air around him.

There was no choice but to go on. They carried Yorulis' body with them in the back of a hover transport. Li Chin, one of the rebels from Brasednewic's command, knew the area well enough to describe a trail running through the forest that would lead them northwest to the Azure Coast above Ostafjord and away from the worst of the swamps near Fox Island Li claimed that the trail lay off the main east-west path no more than a kilometer ahead, but that meant going closer to the trap at their old base before they could get farther away. Grayson considered, and agreed. Following the trail was their only option in the midst of jungle so thick and treacherously unknown. He cautioned everyone in the column to strict silence and ordered them to move out.

They found the northbound trail minutes later and made the turn. It was not a clear branching of the trail, and so Grayson posted his Shadow Hawkat the fork to direct the column past him to the north. The jungle was strangely silent except for the keening of hover vehicles and the slogging step of marching BattleMechs. The cloud layer had lifted, and the day was clear and bright, with gold-orange sunlight slanting through the treetops. Grayson fretted about the possibility that Kurita satellites would spot the glint of sun on metal through the gaps in the forest canopy.

Once the northward turn had been made, Grayson harassed his command relentlesly, urging them faster along the trail. When a battered PickerMechbroke down completely, Grayson had the pilot transfer to one of the infantry vehicles and left the derelict ‘Mech at the side of the trail. When some rebel troops complained about the pace, Grayson offered to let them volunteer as a rear guard. They could sit m the trail and rest, he told them, if they would deal with the enemy ‘Mechs that were certain to be on their trail. The Kurita ‘Mechs waiting to trap the rebel column at Fox Island would never let so tempting a target as Grayson's little band escape when they realized the rebels were not playing according to the Draco script. It was well past local noon when the enemy Mechs found them. Grayson had dropped back to the tail of the column to urge a pair of straggling AgroMechs to pick up the pace. They were Logger-Mechs,clumsy on the narrow path and difficult to maneuver among low trees and heavy hanging vines and beard moss. They had fallen nearly a hundred meters behind the rest of the rebel column, and Grayson was afraid they would become lost. The trail branched repeatedly along its winding, northward course, and it was possible that stragglers would become separated from the main force and never be able to link up again. One of the laggards was piloted by Harriman Olssen, the other by a young woman named Jenni Vikna.

"You wouldn't be trying to leave us now, would you?" Grayson said, but his voice was mild. "We have a long way to go. Close it up."

For a moment, he thought he was going to get an argument from Olssen, but the young man held his silence. Grayson remembered that the Vikna girl, too, had had someone at Fox Island. He'd often seen her walking with a young local astech.

"We've got to find anotherway to help them," he said gently.

Grayson used his Hawk'sarms to help clear a difficult spot through overhanging vines and guided them through. He could see their fatigue by the unsteadiness of their four-legged walkers as he urged them on.

"We need another twenty klicks," he said, "and then we can camp for the night. Come on! You can do twenty kilometers in your sleep."

At that moment, the enemy ‘Mechs attacked.

24

 

The sudden appearance of the Kurita ‘Mechs caught Grayson like a blow to the stomach. In the lead was a Marauderpainted in green and brown jungle camouflage. Bright against its upper torso was the black-on-scarlet Kurita dragon insignia. Grayson immediately recognized the markings of the Marauderfrom the holos the proctor of Scandiahelm had shown him. And piloting that well-named ‘Mech was the colonel in command of the Kurita ‘Mech regiment on Verthandi.

A 35-ton Pantherand a sleek, black-and-white Phoenix Hawkflanked the Marauder.Then came a loud, thrashing sound from the jungle behind them as another heavy machine moved swiftly through the brush.

Grayson's hand came down on his firing controls almost without conscious thought. His autocannon opened up with a hammering roar that sent shivers through the Shadow Hawkcockpit. Explosions flashed and sparked against the unyielding armor of the Marauder.The enemy ‘Mech was at almost point-blank range, however, and one step forward took it out of Grayson's line-of-fire too quickly for him to adjust the autocannon's track. Instead, he palmed the Hawk'slaser control and brought his ‘Mech's right arm slashing up to aim. As he squeezed the trigger, a point of intolerable brilliance flickered against the Marauder'shull close by the heavily shielded cockpit. Bolts of laser and PPC fury from the Phoenix Hawkand the Pantherwere already shredding through the barn-sized and paper-thin hulls of the pair of LoggerMechs.

"Bandits!" Grayson yelled into the command circuit. "Bandits at the tail of the column! Watch for flankers!"

He cut loose with his missiles then, which lanced on hissing white contrails into the tangle of jungle and ‘Mechs. The blasts shredded foliage and splintered trees. Struck full in the chest, the Pantherlurched backward a step before its right arm PPC swung up to answer.

Grayson triggered his ‘Mech's jump jets and vaulted into the sky. Branches and leaves smashed at his machine as it twisted in the air, threatening to send the 55-ton machine over on its side. He managed to stabilize and bring the Shadow Hawkdown for an unsteady landing further up the path. One of the LoggerMechsstood to the side of the trail, pumping machine gun fire into the advancing Marauder.

Grayson checked the number painted on the side of the AgroMech. "Olssen! Machine guns are no good against heavies! Back off!"

"I can hold 'em until you get clear!" Olssen's voice shot back.

The Marauderseemed to shake off the fury sleeting against its broad hull. As the egg-shaped torso pivoted on its support track, the ‘Mech's two massive, twin-barrelled arms dropped into line with the thin-skinned AgroMech. The Marauder'sPPCs spat man-made lightning, and the hull of the four-legged AgroMech seemed to crumple in the double blast. Forked blue bolts stabbed and flickered between the ‘Mech and the ground as the built-up charge spent itself. The Marauder's lasers added their fury to the destruction, as fire and smoke billowed from the LoggerMech'ssavaged interior.

Jenni Vikna's LoggerMechcame alongside the Shadow Hawkand seemed about to charge the enemy, but Grayson brought up one of his ‘Mech's hands. "Fall back, Jenni. That's an order!"

"But Harriman's in trouble..."

"Move out! Dammit, we can't help him!" he shouted, putting his Hawkbetween her LoggerMechand the battle. Keeping up a constant, sniping fire with his laser and missiles, he struck first at one ‘Mech, then another, and another. There was smoke boiling from the Panther'storso now, and an ugly gash where armor had peeled back and exposed the 35-ton ‘Mech's missile firing circuitry.

An Archerjoined the other three Kurita BattleMechs. With the covers already rolled back from the bulky LRM pods on each shoulder, its low-built, forward-thrusting cockpit section was menacing and somehow insect-like. With the Marauderin the lead and the PhoenixHawkclose behind, the four Kurita ‘Mechs crowded past Oissen's burning ‘Mech and started toward Grayson.

He'd thought Harriman Oissen was out of the fight, but the crippled LoggerMechseemed to pull itself together where it squatted in a half-crouch at the side of the trail. Turning, Oissen lunged into the Archeras the Kurita ‘Mech stepped past. The pair of ‘Mechs went down in a tangle of legs, the Archerhammering at the AgroMech with flailing, ineffectual hands. The Archerpilot must have screamed something over his radio, for the Marauderand the Phoenix Hawk,both further along the trail, stopped their advance and whirled to face the struggling ‘Mechs. The Panthersprang forward from the rear of the line, hammering at the thrashing tangle of metal.

In turning away from Grayson's ‘Mech, the Kurita Phoenix Hawkhad made a serious error, for its rear torso armor was extremely thin. Grayson slapped his Shadow Hawk'stargeting selector and swung his laser into line with the enemy ‘Mech's back. Laser light pulsed, struck, and a point of arc-light intensity appeared directly between the folded wing shapes of the ‘Mech's twin jump jet thrusters. His external sound pick-ups caught the rattling chatter of heavy machine guns close beside him as Jenni Vikkna added her ‘Mech's lighter firepower to his.

Armor spat from the Phoenix Hawk'sback in jagged pieces, exposing tangled wiring and the smooth, silvery polish of an internal fuel tank. Sparks from machine gun ricochets spattered and stung, smashing at the exposed wound Grayson fired again, saw wiring melt and splatter. There was a blue-white flash of short-circuiting connections as the enemy pilot mistakenly tried to fire his thrusters. Grayson knew at once what had happened, and instinctively flinched.

A ball of flame engulfed the Phoenix Hawkin an inferno that towered up through the trees, shrivelling blue-green leaves and scorching the bark of tree trunks on either side. The roar of the explosion quickly died, subsumed by the crackle of fast-burning jump fuel.

The fire cut off Grayson's view of the struggle over Olssen's ‘Mech, but it also cut the Marauderoff from the rest of the Kurita column. He shifted his aim to the Marauder'sback, aiming for the tender joint where the hull joined the leg train assembly, just below the twin power booster jet turbines on the back of the machine's hull.

He snapped off three shots with his laser, scoring close-range hits each time. Metal fragments scattered through the air, and the Marauderseemed to sag on its left leg as it turned to face him. One PPC flared...and missed. Grayson fired his laser and struck the heavier enemy ‘Mech in one arm. The other MarauderPPC fired, and Grayson's Hawkrocked as the bolt of high-energy particles smashed its leg and melted armor. Red warning lights flared. Grayson's ‘Mech was overheating from the combination of enemy hits and his free use of his own ‘Mech's laser.

He fired once more, sending his last pair of SRMs arrowing into the Marauder'shull, and following with a bolt of coherent light snapping into the gash they left. The Marauderseemed to hesitate, then spun and plunged into the dying flames alongside the charred and twisted wreckage of the Phoenix Hawk.The other two ‘Mechs had already retreated up the path, and their leader lumbered after them.

Grayson barked orders. "Everybody! All units! Keep moving, double time! I don't know if they've had enough or are just regrouping. But we're not going to hang around here to find out!"

The rebel column pressed on deeper into the jungle, heading north. On the trail behind them, they left two monuments to their close brush with the Kurita trap, the burned-out hulk of the Phoenix Hawkand the smashed and gutted corpse of Harriman Olssen's LoggerMech.

The skirmish could not really be called a victory, but it could become one if they could escape. Yet the cost of victory would be dear. Harriman Olssen had been only 15 standard years old and Grayson's personal responsibility. Worse, Grayson had liked him.

* * * *

Govemor-Nagumo studied the reports, his scowl darker than ever. Colonel Kevlavic stood at attention, grease acquired from some minor but urgent repairs to his Marauderstill fouling his usually immaculate uniform.

"Kevlavic, this is getting to be a habit with you. A very dangerous habit. They got away from you again!"

"Yes, sir." Kevlavic made no attempt to shift the blame. "Sir, I formally request replacement...and court-martial."

The request surprised Nagumo, but he held his reaction to a quick glance up from the printouts he was holding. "Court-martial? Why?"

"I...General, I don't know what else I could have done. I had limited intelligence... no clear idea of how many ‘Mechs the enemy had close at hand. I had only four ‘Mechs, with the rest deployed to guard the other approaches to Fox Island. We were set to trap the enemy when the satellite reconnaissance photos indicated that they weren't approaching the Island, but were turning off toward the north, into the deep jungle. I decided to reconnoiter in force with my lance. We blundered into a strong rear guard that was totally unexpected.

"Or maybe..." He shrugged, breaking his military demeanor with a gesture of shoulders and hands. "Maybe I only ran into stragglers, but I'm quite sure that the ‘Mech I faced was that of the mercenary leader himself, the one the prisoners identified as Grayson Carlyle. It was a Shadow Hawkcertainly, and we know of only one ‘Mech of that type with the rebel forces.

"General, I had no way of knowing whether I faced one Shadow Hawkand a couple of stragglers, or the entire rebel column, turned to ambush their pursuers. After we destroyed one of the AgroMechs, I thought we might at least capture the rebel leader, but the enemy defense was unexpectedly determined. When one of my lance's ‘Mechs was destroyed, and other of my ‘Mechs had taken severe damage, I realized the entire lance was in danger, especially if there were more ‘Mechs that I hadn't seen coming around my flanks. I ordered the retreat.

"I take full responsibility for the defeat and for my actions, General. But I swear...by heaven, by hell, by all the black holes of space...that I made the best command decisional could. If I were faced again with the same situation, I couldn't make any of those decisions any differently."

Nagumo leaned forward over his desk, his fingers steepled before him. "Actually, Colonel, I tend to agree with you."

"S-sir?"

"If you had blundered ahead, not knowing what was waiting for you in the jungle, and lost your entire lance...yes, I probably would have had you shot...and withoutthe benefit of a court-martial! As it was, we'll have to make the best of it. Your request for court-martial is denied. Don't worry. My report of this action will fully support your own."

"Thank you, General."

"Don't thank me yet! We still have to find some way of salvaging this...this debacle, before our Duke arrives.”

“We haven't much time."

"We have no time! Not if we have to comb the jungle for these ragtag rebels and their mercenary friends!"

"We might determine where they are going and make a Drop-Ship strike."

Nagumo's eyes strayed to the full-color map that filled the wall of his office opposite the window. It was a composite map assembled from dozens of satellite photos of the Azure Sea and jungle areas taken at different times to create a cloud-free mosaic. It showed considerable detail, but could not penetrate the blue-green opacity of the jungle vegetation.