Текст книги " The Price of Glory"
Автор книги: Уильям Кейт
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The Marik pilot had had enough. With great sections of armor gaping open and trailing smoke, with his Mech's left arm hanging useless and almost dragging on the ground, he turned and struck out down the ridge to rejoin his fellows.
Grayson gave the command: "Let him go."
31
In the central depot, regimental Techs and astechs swarmed through the gantry structures housing three of the unit's 'Mechs, the two Shadow Hawksand Koga's Archer.Wavering flares of light appeared here and there at brief intervals, showering sparks as workers welded armor plate in place and attempted to restore damaged circuitry.
Grayson stood with his senior Tech at the foot of his own Marauder.The damage to the Marauder'shull had been partly repaired, though the loss of a pair of heat sinks was going to be a worry until they could be replaced.
"Koga's 'Mech will be ready to go in fifteen minutes," King was saying. "They're tacking on a new cover to his port missile battery now. He'll be a bit shy of armor to his left side, but he'll be combat-ready in all respects.
"Sharyl's Hawkis in worse shape. We found a Shadow Hawkmain cam driver for her suspension, but it'll be a few hours before she's moving at speed again. Lieutenant Kalmar's Hawkisn't in serious shape, but she lost a lot of armor. I'd say . . . two hours for her."
Grayson ran his eyes across the array of Star League BattleMechs in the depot around them. It was ironic that the Legion was fighting to keep its eight BattleMechs in fighting condition with bits and pieces and patched-together spares, when they were smack dab in the middle of a vast army of clean, new, and untouched 'Mechs.
Unfortunately, it would take days of work to get them functional, to mount their weapons, load their ammo, test their power systems, and tune their neurocircuitry. The Gray Death Legion simply did not have days.
The same problem faced their reserves down in the Vermillion Valley. DeVillar, Tracy Kent, and a couple of MechWarrior trainees were aboard the Deimosat that very moment, unpacking their 'Mechs, but it would be at least another four hours before those machines were ready for combat.
Grayson's scouts had reported a third Marik BattleMech force advancing down into Nagayan Canyon, toward the source of the Vermillion River. The Legion was going to have to fight another battle to stop this new thrust, and Grayson had only six 'Mechs with which to face them.
"So, I can take Koga with me, but both Hawksare out of action for a few more hours?"
"I'm afraid so. What's happening up there, anyway?" King asked, with a grin. "We're all starting to feel like small, burrowing animals down here."
"We've held them so far . . . but only just. Our biggest problem is that we haven't hurt them enough."
"Seven of them for none of us, so far," King said cheerfully. "Sounds like a good scorecard report to me."
"Maybe. But I've got to face six Marik 'Mechs now with six of our own, and this time, the enemy's got some heavies . . . and troops and armor, too. The ground is a lot more open than Lee's Pass. We're going to take a battering, Alard. There's no way to avoid it."
"Then we'll path it."
Grayson shook his head. "The same 'Mechs that get battered now are going to have to face the whole damn Marik army a few hours from now. Don't you understand? We're going to take losses today, Alard. Casualties."
It was hard for Grayson to say the words. He could look at the map and calculate tonnages and firepower, but no matter how he worked his calculations, he always came out with the same answer. If they were to hold the enemy, the Gray Death would have to get hurt.
Who would it be? Clay? McCall? Bear? Khaled? These were the times when he did not feel up to the job of commanding a BattleMech company. He knew and liked every one of the men in his command, yet he was going to have to give them orders certain to result in casualties. He allowed himself a brief thought that at least Lori would be out of the coming battle, then immediately felt guilty about it. He loved Lori, but could he actually choose to save her, while possibly condemning Bear or Clay or the bluff, grinning McCall to death? And what if Lori's machine were repaired in time for the final battle?
King nodded. "Yes, Colonel, it'll be rough going."
"This will be our last chance to stop the enemy before he can join forces down below. Whatever we have left after this battle—that's what we'll have to face him on the Vermillion Plains."
"That's what you mean when you say you haven't hurt him enough."
Grayson nodded "He still has twenty . . . twenty-one 'Mechs . . . minus whatever we knock off in this next battle. We have six . . . minus whatever we lose, plus four from the DropShip, if they're ready in time, plus Lori and Sharyl, if they'reready in time." Grayson shook his head. "We have to keep going . . . have to meet them on that plain with whatever we have left. There's no alternative."
He turned away from King for a moment, looking at the surrounding 'Mechs. When he turned back again, his eyes were bleak and cold. "Alard ... I think we're going to lose this one."
King shook his head. "Don't talk that way, Colonel. A lot could happen yet."
Grayson shrugged. "Maybe there comes a time when your luck runs out, when the breaks stop going your way ..." He stopped, then took King's shoulder under his hand. "I need you for a special assignment."
"Eh? Colonel . . .I'm needed here."
"No. Not as much as Ineed you. The other Techs and astechs can handle the repairs, and they've plenty of spare parts and equipment to do it. I want you to take a squad of soldiers and a couple of Techs you can trust, and head back to the East Gate.”
“The library? Why?"
"Because these—" he waved his arm at the silent, cold 'Mechs around them—"these are not what this battle is about."
"But I thought ..."
"Look at them! How many regiments might be equipped with all of these? Three? Five? Weapons for maybe five infantry regiments? A treasure . . . right?"
"By today's standards, yes. Certainly."
"Alard, the real treasure is that library. We have got to save it. Youhave got to save it." '
"Me? Why?"
"There are memory cores here, in storage. They're up the tunnel, there, to the left.”
“I've seen them."
"The data stored within the library can be duplicated on one of those cores. The library itself will show you how.
"Detail one of your Techs to take over here, and get back to that library. Make the copy . . . no! Make two! Then get one aboard the Deimos,and one aboard the Phobos.”
"You . . . you think Langsdorf is going to destroy the library . . . deliberately?"
"No. Not Langsdorf. Someone else. That Precentor who Graff told us about . . . Rachan."
"The ComStar Precentor? Gods, why?"
"I don't know. I've been over it and over it, and I don't know." His fingers came together in a fist, and fist smacked into open palm. "But it was Rachan who orchestrated this whole thing, ever since Sirius V. He arranged the Legion's disgrace, so that he could get this cache. Sure, the BattleMechs are valuable, but how much of them could Rachan hope to keep? I don't see a ComStar fleet anywhere about to carry them off! My guess is that the weapons are payment to the Marik forces who are helping him!"
"But why does ..."
Grayson plunged ahead, letting his words order his thoughts as he spoke them. The puzzle was clearer now, the pieces fitting together. "Think, Alard! A ComStar Precentor arranges the deaths of millions of people—in order to seize weapons that he cannot use or keep himself! Which he will give away in payment to the people helping him!"
"ComStar could take some of the weapons . . . payment for the mercenaries they use."
"Maybe . . . Possibly . . . but is that worth the lives of twelve million civilians?"
King started to say something, then closed his mouth. He shook his head mutely.
"ComStar knew about that library. They must have found references to it somewhere, maybe in archives that they uncovered somewhere. Maybe there were old Star League records that mentioned a library on Helm. I think that ComStar ... or Rachan, if he was operating alone . . . looked at those records and realized that the real treasure was that computerized data center, the library!"
"But it still doesn't make sense," King said. "If they want to preserve that knowledge, they could have come to you openly, could have said, 'Hey, Colonel, it turns out there's an old Star League library hidden in your landhold. Would you mind if we went in and made a copy of the data?' Would you have turned them down?"
"No. Of course not. That's why you have to go make those copies. ComStar doesn't want to preserve that data so much as they want to destroy it!"
"But why? I've always heard that ComStar was interested in preserving old knowledge. They make mystic religion out of it . . ."
"That's why. They have twisted learning and technology and Star League science into . . . into something different. Their Order is based now on ritual and incantation and hidden mysteries. Maybe it wasn't always that way, but that's what it has become. Look, you know as well as I that most Techs laugh at Adepts who mumble incantations over a hyperpulse generator to make it work, right?" King nodded. "What happens when enough people realize they don't need ComStar incantations to operate the machinery? What if ordinary people start building . . . hyperpulse generators, say? My guess is that Rachan is here to copy the library for himself if he can, and then to destroy the library, whatever the cost." Grayson passed his hand over his eyes. He was very tired. "That library has cost twelve million lives already. That alone makes it precious. You have got to see that the information it contains is preserved . . . and spread.”
“Spread?"
Grayson pointed up the passageway. "Make sure those extra memory cores are loaded aboard the DropShips, too. There are ways of making duplicates of a core's data using a large computer like the navigational computer aboard the Invidious.We can see to it that copies of the data are made and that copies of the copies are made, and maybe we can see to it that some of the data the library contains can be spread around a bit. ComStar wouldn't be able to stop it, not if it was spread to enough worlds. Any computer can be hardwired to read data off one of the cores. Even a simple viewer can be hooked up to read it. Make enough copies, and you can beat them!"
"You say I can beat them. What about you?"
Grayson smiled, but it was a pained and broken one. "Because I'm going out with six 'Mechs to face . . . whatever Langsdorf is gathering to throw at us. I've got to stop as many of his 'Mechs on the Vermillion River as possible.
"After that, I'll meet him again on the plains in front of the DropShips. I'm going to try to buy you time enough to make those copies and load them aboard the Drop-Ships. But I don't see how I can hold him . . . and let you get away clean."
"Now wait just a minute . . ."
Grayson held up his hand. "I don't want to hear it. You scramble– now!—and obey my orders!"
Then he turned and started toward his Marauder.
* * *
The Nagayan Canyon was broad and flat, rimmed by steep and rocky bluffs. The Vermillion River flowed out from under a massive block of granite as a deep, clear pool that extended far back into the hillside as an underground lake. The river flowed from the lower end of the pool across the canyon floor in broad and looping sweeps that crossed from one side of the valley to the other and back. Along most of its length, it was broad, up to fifty meters wide in some places, and as deep as six meters at others.
There were fords, however, shallow places already spotted by Grayson's infantry scouts and specialists, who had worked through the previous night with long steel probes and instruments to test the firmness of river bottom mud and sand. Grayson's 'Mech force emerged from an entrance hidden close beside the underground pool and moved downstream, using the fords to position themselves in such a way that the enemy 'Mechs would have to cross the water to get at them. Scouts had already reported the approach of Langsdorf's third force. It was a column of six 'Mechs, all but one of them massing more than 55 tons.
"Spotters up, Colonel." The antenna on McCall's Riflemanwas twisting this way and that, as though testing the air. "Five thousand meters, straight up. They're ae' watchin'."
Grayson acknowledged, then shifted frequencies. "Sergeant Burns? Boomerangsare aloft. Move out."
Grayson had brought Burns and about half of his command southeast from Lee's Pass. A small guard of infantry still held that pass, but more to sound the alarm if the Marik forces should try that route again than to present the enemy with a serious challenge. But Grayson had wanted Ramage's experienced infantry sergeant in the Vermillion Pass with him.
Boomerangspotter planes meant that the Marik 'Mechs were on their way. The sergeant and a handful of experienced troops from Ramage's Special Ops moved in the shadows under the rock at the source of the Vermillion, preparing.
The surviving BattleMechs of the 12th White Sabers appeared at the far end of the valley less than ten minutes later. They strode forward with a resolution that at first made Grayson wonder if they had already spotted the fords.
That resolution faltered at the water's edge. The Warhammerin the lead began wading into water that rose to the big machine's hips. An Archertook up a covering position on a hill in the rear, as the other 'Mechs—a Wolverine,a Shadow Hawk,a Wasp,and yet another of the monster Thunderbolts—began spreading out along the river, looking for a shallow place to cross.
BattleMechs are able to fully submerge and can operate for considerable periods of time under water. A 'Mech's weapons cannot be fired through water, though, and so most 'Mech pilots prefer to keep their weapons clear when facing a watchful enemy.
Grayson wondered if Langsdorf himself was piloting the Warhammer,then decided he was not. BattleMechs, even those of the same design, become as individual as people after a firelight or two. He had seen Langsdorf's 'Mech before, but this one sported a completely different set of armor patches, numerals and unit patches, oil streaks, rust spots, and ancient wound scars.
It was just as well. He had begun to feel a sneaking admiration for Langsdorf. This feeling of being inside the enemy's head is getting to me,Grayson thought. It was hard not to sometimes when the enemy seemed to be struggling against the same things as Grayson and his men.
The Gray Death BattleMechs held their fire. The enemy 'Mechs were 600 meters away, still too far for accurate fire with most of the weapons at their disposal. The Wasp,ranging upstream, had found a ford and was moving across. The others began to make for the spot along the far shore. The Warhammer,almost halfway across, hesitated, then began moving back toward the far shore.
Grayson clicked open a channel. "O.K., Burns. They're in position! Go."
Still the mercenary BattleMechs held their fire. The Waspwas across now, the Shadow Hawkand Archerclose behind. The Thunderboltand Wolverinewere in midstream, the Warhammerstill on the far bank. Armored hovercraft were moving farther up the valley. Those could be trouble, Grayson thought, for they could speed straight across the river at any point without slowing. The timing was critical now. If there were enough of them . . .
Grayson watched the surface of the water. The Thunderboltstopped, then canted forward, as though examining the water as well. There was a rainbow slickness to its surface, as though something oily were coating the water.
The 'Mechs in midstream suddenly thrashed about, churning at the water with their arms. "Fire!" Grayson shouted, as laser and particle beams instantaneously lanced across from the waiting mercenary machines. Meanwhile, the troops concealed under the overhanging rock had emptied twelve 50-liter drums of CSF onto the surface of the river.
CSF, which stood for "Concentrated Synthetic Fuel," was the generic nomenclature for any of a variety of fuels. With far greater explosive potential than gasoline, and with a much higher burning temperature, several CSFs formed the basic combustible component of inferno warheads and the high-temperature jet in flamers.
Laser fire flicked across the water, and the fuel flashed into flame. The resulting fireball that rose from the river's surface was sun-bright, rimmed with orange and shot through with swirling, stabbing vortices of black. The surface of the river vanished in a literal sea of flame.
The Gray Death 'Mechs approached at a slow walk in line abreast, firing as they came. The enemy Wasp, Shadow Hawk,and Archerstood their ground, inferno at their backs, pouring fire into the oncoming mercenary line. Moments later, the Wolverinerose from the flames, fire still clinging to its legs, but its autocannon continued to hammer away at Bear's Crusader.
Of the Thunderbolt,there was no sign.
The trap had worked well, but now came the hard part. Grayson had hoped to trap a substantial portion of the enemy force on his side of the river, cutting it off from armored forces and at least one or two of their heavier 'Mechs. He had accomplished precisely that, but the four 'Mechs they now faced were capable of putting up a very tough fight, indeed. It was vital they they destroy as many as possible here, before the final confrontation. Grayson picked up the pace and closed in, lasers and PPCs blazing.
32
Duke Ricol's fleet of six DropShips landed late in the afternoon, descending out of a gray and drizzly sky. The Alpha,the DropShip Ricol had grounded at Helmdown, had lifted off from the port still disguised as a merchanter, then shifted course in time to join Colonel Addison's fleet on the final leg of its passage to the Vermillion Plains. Grayson was there to meet him, as was Captain Use Martinez.
"You can't trust the man," Use was shouting as Ricol stepped down the ramp onto the muddy, rain-sodden ground. "I heard the entire story from MechWarrior Kent! The Kurita bastard wasn't at their rendezvous. He wanted the raid to free us to fail ..."
"And would you care to hear my side of it, Miss?" Ricol said archly. He was dressed in habitual reds trimmed with black and gold at cuffs and collar. A laser pistol and power pack hung from his belt.
Grayson gave a shallow, stiff bow, that was little more than a nod. "So just what isyour side of things, Your Grace?" Could the man be trusted, or was this yet another plot within a plot within plot?
"Duke Garth landed before I could even return to the Alpha,"Ricol said, spreading his hand open for emphasis. "Actually, I thought at the time that the confusion would help us, but I was wrong. When we arrived at the port, there was a full platoon guarding each gate, and BattleMechs everywhere. An order had been posted, practically closing down the city. No movement in or out." He looked at Grayson. "You were lucky, my friend, to get away when you did.
"At any rate, I had no radio and could not communicate with my ship. I returned to Deirdre's to decide on what to do. I considered using the starport transmitter facility to contact the Alpha... or you ... or your troops, but thought better of it when I realized that the starport communications facility on Helm is staffed by ComStar Adepts—the same ones who run the planet's HPG.
"Martial law was in effect in Helmdown and around the starport until late yesterday evening, until after yet another Marik DropShip grounded. I watched through binoculars from Gresshaven. That one had a general aboard . . . Kleider, I believe. At dawn this morning, the curfew was lifted and I was able to return to the Alpha.By that time, the only thing left was for me to come here."
Use turned to face Grayson, her dark eyes blazing. "You're going to believe that?"
"Evidently you'renot, Captain." Ricol smiled. "I suppose you could check with someone in the city to corroborate my story . . . but then, that is rather out of the way now, isn't it?"
"Conveniently for you."
"Enough," Grayson broke in. "Captain Martinez, please be so good as to prepare the Phobosfor lift-off. Coordinate the launch checklist with Lieutenant Thurston."
Use looked at him for a long, deadly moment. "Yessir," she said at last, then whirled, and stalked off toward her ship.
Grayson considered the Red Duke. If he had indeed attempted to betray them, if he was lying about his failure to muster his force for the rendezvous, Grayson was under absolutely no obligation to follow through with his own end of their bargain. True, Ricol's DropShips outnumbered Grayson's on the Vermillion Plain, but Ricol had no BattleMechs at all, and Grayson did. Assuming that something could be done to further delay the approaching Marik forces, Grayson would be within his rights to load what he could of the Star League treasure aboard his own ships and depart, leaving Ricol to negotiate with Langsdorf and Rachan. Alternatively, Grayson could keep the League cache out of Rachan's and Garth's hands by arranging to take the library records on board, leaving the Star League tomb forever sealed behind him.
There was little Ricol could do about it, either, short of attacking Grayson. The Gray Death commander was reasonably certain that the Red Duke would not risk damage to any of his DropShips so far from the borders of Kurita space.
"Well, Your Grace, do I trust you?"
Ricol watched Grayson for a long moment. "Anything I say could be . . . prejudicial, Colonel. Let's say ... I am here to offer my services. If you want to avail yourself of them, the decision is yours. If you see fit to carry out your part of our agreement, that decision, too, is yours. And as for trustingme . . . well, Grayson Death Carlyle . . . even Iwouldn't go that far!"
Grayson watched Ricol for a moment more, then turned, pointing up the side of the mountain above them. "We found the cache, Your Grace, up there, where you see the Archerstanding guard. There are fusion-driven prime movers in there, more than enough to load whatever you can carry aboard your ships. Munitions, spare parts, electronics, infantry weapons, CSF canisters, infernos, even Star League-issue uniforms. If you set your people to work immediately, I may be able to buy you enough time to get loaded."
Ricol's brows lowered. "The situation is that critical?"
Grayson shrugged. Exhaustion was creeping up on him again, and it was an effort to stand, to talk. "We have engaged the Marik forces three times. So far, we have taken no casualties among the Mech Warriors, though we've lost nearly fifty infantrymen and armor personnel. By rotating our most badly damaged 'Mechs through a field repair facility that we set up inside the Star League depot, we've been able to keep all eight of our 'Mechs running."
"Eight 'Mechs! That's all you have?"
"For the moment. Four more should be on line within the hour. They were in storage aboard my DropShips, and had to be broken out, powered up, and retuned.
"At the moment, my greatest concern is for my people. They've been in combat almost continuously for the past ten hours, and are exhausted. Their 'Mechs are in bad shape, despite the repairs—most of which were purely temporary in any case.
"Meanwhile, my opposite number on the other side of the hill must be reorganizing his forces for a final push through one of the passes. By this time, he knows just how strong a force I have, and knows how battered it must be. I believe he will move his entire force through one pass—probably the Drango Gap—hoping to meet me either in the pass or on this plain. I intend to oblige him."
Ricol looked aghast. "Eight . . . twelve 'Mechs . . . against how many?"
Grayson closed his eyes to concentrate for a moment. The enemy Thunderboltand Shadow Hawkhad been destroyed at the Vermillion River, and his men had damaged the Wasp, Wolverine,and Archer.Probably not damaged badly enough, however. Those 'Mechs would be undergoing repairs at this very moment and would be back in the field in another hour or two. "Nineteen. Possibly twenty. We don't know yet if Colonel Langsdorf's Warhammeris in the field."
"The odds are not good, my young friend."
Grayson smiled weakly. "Well, there are ways and ways of calculating odds, Your Grace. The odds of my 'Mech force surviving are small. But the odds of us achieving what we want look good."
"And what is it you want?"
"My senior Tech is gathering data," Grayson said. "There is a Star League library under that mountain, and I have reason to believe that is what brought ComStar here. The Marik forces . . . they're just puppets. It's ComStar . . . or a renegade ComStar Precentor . . . who is our enemy here."
"I've heard of such libraries," the Duke said thoughtfully, "though very, very few have survived . . . and none of them are intact. It would almost seem that there is a deliberate campaign to vandalize them. Of course, most were destroyed in the earlier wars."
"I'm beginning to think you're right about the deliberate destruction," Grayson said, grinning wearily that Ricol seemed to be on the same track of thought. "Anyway, I intend to buy my Tech the time to copy that library and get that copy safely aboard one of my DropShips. I do not expect to have the chance to board myself. Langsdorf's forces must be kept a safe distance from the DropShips. If I can get some of my MechWarriors out, too ... all well and good. But right now, those library copies have absolute priority."
Ricol nodded agreement. "But will you do something for me?"
"What?" he asked.
"Arrange for additional copies of the library to be made ... as many as your Tech has time and material to make. When we leave here, I will carry the library with me as well."
* * *
They waited on a flat and muddy river plain. From the mouth of the valley a kilometer ahead, a small host was emerging in line-abreast formation. 'Mech after steel-armored BattleMech. Twelve 'Mechs waited south of the river to meet them. Some of them—DeVillar's Griffin ,Tracy Kent's Phoenix Hawk,the Stingerspiloted by the raw trainees Gary Brodenson and Jason Morley—were in perfect condition. But McCall's Riflemanstill trailed debris where it right arm had been blasted away, and Del-mar Clay's Wolverinecould barely stand, its internal structure starkly visible through the craters in its chest and sides. The other 'Mechs showed varying degrees of wear and tear, from Grayson's Marauderwith heavy damage to its torso, to Lori's Shadow Hawkwith most of the damage patched and repaired.
"Private channel, Gray."
"You've got it, Lori."
"Gray . . . it's no good. We can't make another attack."
"What do you suggest?"
There was a long silence, as though she were studying the advancing Marik force.
"I don't know, but look, if we board the DropShips now, we could launch before they got here."
"Duke Ricol is still loading, Lori. And Alard King isn't back yet from the library. We've got to hold a little longer."
"DamnDuke Ricol. And damnthe library!"
"Do you suggest we abandon our 'Mechs? Run?"
He was answered by another silence. Was she arguing the question inwardly, one way or the other? "No," Lori said at last. "Of course not. But Gray . . . there's no way out."
"No, there isn't." He paused, considering. "Some of you may be able to get out. If . . . two . . . maybe three 'Mechs follow me, we could hold them long enough, justlong enough, for the rest of you to board ship and go."
"Grayson Death Carlyle... if you are suggesting that Ileave you to face all of them!”
Grayson chuckled. "The thought hadcrossed my mind, Lori, along with the thought of knocking you unconscious, tying you up, and tossing you aboard the Phoboslike a side of frozen meat. But you'll notice I didn't suggest it."
"It's a damn good thing you didn't,or you'd have to take meon, along with our friends over there. I'm in this with you,you idiot!"
"You always did show terrible judgement, my love."
There was another long silence. "Grayson," Lori said softly. "I love you."
"And I love you," he said, but the endearment was almost matter-of-fact as Grayson studied his instrumentation. "Range, nine hundred meters, and closing" were his next words.
* * *
"Company, sir!"
King looked up from the computer console. The Special Ops corporal, Janice Taylor, had leaned into the library door with the warning. The TK assault rifle clutched in her hand was pointed at the ceiling, a fresh magazine of caseless 3 mm rounds rammed home, a second 80-round magazine taped upside down to the first to allow her to change quickly when the first ran dry.
"What is it?" He had found the Star League computer easy to activate, easy to understand. Its long-dead programmers must have assumed that its operators might not have the same grasp of programing mechanics as they did. Step-by-step instructions had led him to connect the half-meter-long memory core to a slot that opened in the desk beside the terminal on his command. The pressing of a key had started the copying process. On the screen, characters spelled out:
* * *
Program: Copyall Complete: 23%
As he watched, the figures changed to read "24%." He had tried to imagine just how much information, in bits and bytes, was being manipulated silently within the library computer's framework.
"I don't know, sir, but we can hear people working on the other side of the Wall. Corby thinks they may be setting explosives."
King sagged back in the seat. No! It was too soon!
"I'm afraid I have no advice to offer," he said. "If it comes to combat, that's your department."
"I've deployed my people around the cavern, and we're watching. But if there's a large force out there, I can't promise to protect you here. This building is more exposed to fire from that doorway than I'd like."
He gestured at the screen, which now read "28%.”
“There's no way to hurry this," King told her. "Do what you can, and keep me informed."
"Yessir." Janice vanished back through the door, and he heard her calling orders to her troops a moment later. He wondered how long eight men and women could hold out against whatever was beyond the Wall. He touched the uncomfortable pressure of the flare pistol in his belt, thinking, That's no defense. You'll just have to get the job done . . . and get out!
