Текст книги " The Price of Glory"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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11

The shrill hissing in Grayson's ears stopped with a suddenness that was astounding. For a moment, he wondered if it were some enemy trick, or was the enemy commander about to broadcast a demand for Grayson's surrender? Or make his own request for terms?

But no, neither side had suffered that much in the fight so far. The Marik commander was pulling his 'Mechs back up the ridge west of the DropShips, but he was moving in good order and his 'Mechs were still fast and dangerous. Chances were that the withdrawal was a tactical movement only, an effort to win better ground on which to continue the fight, clear of the DropShips' fire.

"All units!" Grayson shouted over the taccom frequency. "All units! Coordinate on me! Fire lance, rally between the DropShips. Command lance, form on me!"

He shifted frequencies. "Phobos! Phobos!Use, are you there?"

Use Martinez's voice came through his headphones. "We're still here and buttoned up tight, Colonel!”

“How bad's your damage?"

"Thurston is still checking his. The Phoboslost a couple of laser turrets and took some hits in the main armor belt, but she's holding together just fine. Need any help?"

"Yeah! Monitor for enemy transmissions. I don't know why they've stopped their jamming, but it may be to pass on new orders. You hear something uncoded, let me know!"

"Right. Anything else?"

"Cover our tail. You got infantry?"

"Two squads of Specials. They were mounting guard close in and pulled inside when things got rough. You want 'em?"

"Just deploy them. Have them watch our tails. We're going to kick these people back over the ridge!"

"Kick 'em hard for me, Colonel! You know where!"

Combat excitement tingled in Grayson's body. A Marik Archermoved among the trees ahead and above him. He angled his forearm weapons up five degrees and triggered his PPCs together. The Archerwhirled, released a salvo of missiles that went wide, then scuttled for cover, smoke and tattered wiring trailing from damage low on its left arm.

What had become of the enemy's jamming? Sweeping through the frequencies, he could pick up bits and pieces of communications between enemy units, but so far, it was all uncoded. His foe seemed as surprised about developments as Grayson was. What then . . . mechanical failure?

His motion sensor peeped alarm. Grayson slewed his Marauderaround, facing a new threat bursting through the scrub brush fifty meters uphill and to his left. He swung the Marauder,weapons ready. His hand nearly closed on the firing trigger before he realized that his sights had locked in on Graff's Assassin.

"Don't shoot, Colonel! Thank God you made it!"

"Graff!" Suspicion edged Grayson's voice. If Graff were skulking away from the recon lance's battle line . . . "What the hell are you doing down here?"

"My coolant seal blew, Colonel! I don't know if I took a hit, or just had a major malfunction, but my board's lit red like you wouldn't believe! The Lieutenant said I could retire to Phobosand have the Techs there put in a quick fix."

"Right." Grayson gestured with one of his 'Mech's arms. "Move it, Graff, and get back to the line. We need you."

"Yessir!" The Assassinscrambled down the slope in a cascade of dust and broken tree branches, moving past the Marauderand on toward the silvery dome of the Phobospartly visible through the trees a thousand meters up the valley.

Grayson's Maraudercontinued his climb. His own heat indicators were flashing red as his heat sinks struggled to dump the heat accumulated from his brief clash with the enemy Wolverineand Centurion.He had been pushing his 'Mech hard ever since they'd begun the forced march from Durandel almost two hours earlier. His heat levels were back within safe levels, but they would continue to be one more small but nagging worry.

Of more concern was the status of his recon lance. The three light 'Mechs had gone to ground on top of the ridge, lying down among the boulders and broken ground to better conceal their machines and to enable them to draw steady sightings on the approaching enemy forces.

"Lieutenant Roget!" he said into his throat mike. "What's your Twenty?"

"Colonel! Are we glad to see you!" Francine Roget's voice sounded tired, and nearly broken with strain as she gave him a rapid rundown on the recon lance's condition. Her Pantherhad taken serious hits to its front torso, left leg, and right arm, but was still functioning well. Missile fire had smashed the SRM rack in the chest of Vander-griff's Commando,which had caused considerable internal damage, but the arm-mounted laser and SRM launcher were still in the fight. A Marik Archerhad blasted away the left leg of Sylvia Trevor's Wasp—and with it her SRM-2. Roget had helped drag the Waspto a good position, however, from where Trevor continued to fire with the light 'Mech's medium laser.

"And the enemy?" Grayson moved his Marauderto get a view down the slope. Before him, he could see smoke rising from burning vehicles at the bottom of the hill, and what looked like the still, broken form of a knocked-out Locust.

"There have been at least four separate attacks, Colonel. All light stuff from down there. I think we knocked out a Stinger,earlier on." The arm of Roget's Pantherpointed off to the northwest, and Grayson could see a still, silvery shape there, inert among the weeds. "The Archersurprised us from the rear, but I think you frightened him off. We've been taking a lot of fire from all directions."

"The rest of the command lance is moving up behind you now," Grayson said, "so don't shoot them as they come in. I also ran into Graff and he told me you cleared his withdrawal to handle his malfunction. He'll be back up here as soon as that's taken care of."

'Whatmalfunction!" Her voice was rimed with ice, the tension showing through again.

"Eh? he told me you cleared it."

"That coward! He vanished just before the first wave hit, like he made his 'Mech invisible. I'll givehim a malfunction, next time I see him!"

Grayson felt cold. So Graff had run during the battle, had left his comrades on the ridge to face overwhelming odds, while he skulked among the trees on the slope below. Under the rules of war, a man could be shot for that, if he were caught and convicted under a general court. There was no time to think anymore about that now.

"You've done well, Francine. You may have held their center long enough to save the DropShips."

"There's more, Captain." She still sounded taut, as though she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. "I think they're bringing up infantry."

"Where?"

"There were vehicles moving that way, a little bit ago. Our infantry took out that Locust... I think maybe they captured it, because it looked from here like that Locustwas firing on those vehicles down in the valley. That was a few minutes ago, when the jamming went off."

"You think those are jammer vehicles?"

"Can't tell from here, but I think so. Anyway, there was a lot of infantry—APCs, skimmers, mostly light stuff—moving through the trees down there. I think they were deploying up to the top of the ridge, but they went to ground when that Locustopened up."

"Anything more from the Locust?"

"It took some hits a few minutes ago. It's been dead since."

Damn.Whoever had turned the Locustagainst the Marik ECM cars may possibly have saved the Legion. And while Graff was running, at that.

"O.K. Hold your position here. I'll get a handed 'Mech up to help with Trevor's Waspas soon as we're sure the enemy is really pulling out."

"Yes sir! And . . . sir?"

"What?"

"It's good to have you back!"

* * *

Harris Graff pulled his Assassinup outside the main 'Mech port under the towering overhang of the DropShip Phobos.He broadcast his ID, which brought a response from one of the bridge officers aboard. "Graff? What is it you want?"

"Major malfunction here, Lieutenant. My coolant seal's blown, and it's leaking like a stuck grivit. My Lieutenant said I could come back and have it patched up by your Techs."

"Stand clear, then. We're opening up."

With a loud sound of metal scraping metal, the massive 'Mech port ground open, its steel-treaded ramp extending out to the ground like an extruded tongue. Techs gathered on the main 'Mech bay deck, looking curiously at the lone Assassin.

Graff started the 'Mech up the ramp.

* * *

Janice Taylor crouched in the weeds 200 meters from the Phobosand watched the Assassinmove up the ramp into the 'Mech bay, then turned away to watch the woods around her. She had been born and raised on a Kurita frontier world called Verthandi. While a professor of history at Verthandi's prestigious Regis University, she had been witness to the bloody revolution against the planet's Kurita overlords. In one attempt by the planetary governor to restore order, she had been chained up with fifty other female captives, and marched under the ready guns of Kurita BattleMechs out of the city. Their destination was to unknown points offworld, where they would doubtless have become chattel joy girls through out the Combine.

It had been Grayson Carlyle and his men who had liberated the captive women. From that day on, Janice Taylor had become a member of Sergeant Ramage's Special Ops Force, and had participated in the last, wild battle to free Verthandi's capital from the Kuritans. When victory and independence had been won, she chose to follow the Gray Death Legion elsewhere among the stars.

Janice still wondered about her decision. Her first determination to fight had been born of a love for her world and a willingness to give her life to free her homeland from monsters like the Governor General Nagumo who had ruled it. She did love her world, and her people, and because of that love she often wondered why she had left.

She thought she might know now, though it had taken her a year to see. Verthandi's freedom had been purchased at a terrible cost of lives of friends and loved ones, and thousands of other Verthandians whom she didn't know but who had also been caught up in the struggle to free their world and had paid the final, highest price possible for freedom. In the end, of course, one lone rebel world like Verthandi could never hope to stand against the armed might of the Draconis Combine. Victory had come when House Steiner had recognized in the rebels' victory at Regis a means for the Lyran Commonwealth to win a political victory without firing a shot. Verthandi's independence was one that existed on paper only, the end result of treaties and concords between House Steiner and House Kurita.

Janice, a student of history, knew how fragile that independence was. She had been saddened during those last days on her homeworld to watch the newly won freedom become one more bargaining chip in the three-way negotiations between Steiner, Kurita, and Verthandi's new government.

With liberty only a few days old, there had been people willing to trade away the blood-purchased freedom in the name of expediency—or profit.

And that, she decided, had been why she left. Janice loved her world and her people, but she could not have borne the sight of her countrymen, trading away their victory through cupidity.

She had found a new home of sorts with the Gray Death

Legion. For a time, she had even believed herself in love with the regiment's young commander, Grayson. It had been with some bitter inner pain that she eventually realized that Grayson had a strong and absolute relationship with the company's Exec, Lori Kalmar. In the end, though, she and Lori had become close friends and confidantes, instead of rivals for the attentions of the same man.

Janet knew that she still loved Grayson Carlyle, but perhaps in a different way. Maybe that was why she couldn't leave.

A sound brought her around, the TK assault rifle high in her arms. There were men moving throughout the woods, but her section had been ordered to secure a close perimeter around the two DropShips to prevent anyone from approaching too close unchallenged. Someone was approaching the perimeter through the dense underbrush a few tens of meters in front of her.

"Halt!" she challenged. "Identify ..."

But she got no further. A burst of submachine gun fire tore through the brush, chopping the air just above her head. Reacting with reflexes and training instilled in her by Captain Ramage's endless training sessions, she dove for the ground, rolling hard to her right. She immediately bounced to her knees to fire a short, spattering burst toward her attackers, then hit the ground and rolled again. Something hurtled through the air and thumped among the bushes to her left, where she had been a moment before. She rolled again, then hugged the ground. The grenade exploded with a sharp concussion that set her ears to ringing and shredded the tops of the grass reaching just above her head, but the explosion left her untouched. Men in combat armor were rushing through the brush now, firing as they came.

She was close enough to see the troops' eagle insignias on the right breasts of their armor. From her position flat on the ground, she triggered her TK in quick, three– and four-round bursts. Two of the soldiers kicked forward and fell to the ground. A third skewed around and opened up with a long, rolling blast from his submachine gun, blazing away across a ninety-degree arc that clipped branches and leaves far above Janice's head. She fired again and brought the man down. Now other Marik soldiers were charging out of the trees. Dozens were already between her and the Phobos.

Janice opened her personal transceiver to the Phobos'stactical channel. "Phobos! Phobos!This is perimeter five! You are under attack by ground troops charging your 'Mech bay hatch!"

There was no answer, but machine gun fire was blazing now from the open hatch. The troops replied, and a running figure up in the brightly lit 'Mech bay tumbled down the ramp in an untidy sprawl. She heard the grinding machinery that marked the closing of the big hatch panels.

There was an explosion inside the DropShip bay, then the thunder of more explosions in a tightly confined space. Smoke belched from the open hatchway. Janice watched in dawning horror as ten Marik troopers raced across the open ground, mounted the ramp, and raced up and into the 'Mech bay itself.

More Marik soldiers followed. Janice opened fire, but the soldiers ignored her, so fixed were they on their target—the mercenary DropShip. Others of her squad fired from hiding places nearby, cutting down eight . . . ten . . . fifteen Marik soldiers, but more jut kept on coming.

For a long time, there were no targets.

Then the Marik BattleMechs returned—the big, damaged Thunderbolt,the Archerstill trailing debris from one forearm, a Pantherthat limped and looked as though its torso had been peeled open with an explosive can opener. They came in firing, not at the DropShip, but at the Gray Death troops in the brush and weeds outside. Janice saw Vince Hall cut down by a laser burst twenty meters away. As smoke from burning bushes roiled across the valley between her and the advancing 'Mechs, she decided it was time to withdraw.

There seemed to be no reaction from the Deimos,half a kilometer off to the north, but she did note with a curdling chill that as many as the Phobos'sweapons as could be brought to bear were twisted around to point north.

The Phoboshad the Deimosunder its guns, and so if there had been no firing as yet, it must mean that negotiations were going on. Janice knew what negotiations meant when the freedom of a world was at stake. She didn't want to learn the results of these negotiations, at least not at close hand. She joined other members of the Gray Death Special Ops forces and retreated into the woods to the east.

Behind her, a hatch high upon on the flank of the Phobosopened, and a radio antenna became a convenient mast for a flag that broke open in the gentle breeze. Armored troops moving among the BattleMechs in the DropShip's shadow stopped and cheered.

It was the Marik eagle. The Phoboshad been captured.

12

Lieutenant Thurston's voice bore witness to the strain the man was under. "Colonel, I've got to do what they say. I've gotto!"

Grayson closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat of his Marauder.It was not like him to simply accept such a decision without fighting, and yet there seemed to be absolutely nothing he could do about it. Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to say the words. Go ahead, Lieutenant. Do what you have to . . .

"No, Thurston! You're condemning all of us if you do! I orderyou to refuse terms. We'll be down there to support you within five minutes."

"No, sir. I can't do it. Don't you see?"

"The cowardly bastard," Grayson heard over his tac-com. He thought the voice belonged to Delmar Clay, but he couldn't be sure.

"He's not being cowardly," a new voice spoke over the line. "He is being quite sensible."

"What . . . ? Who is this?"

"Captain Harris Graff, of the 5th Marik Guards."

"Graff . . ."

"Not my realname, of course."

"Okay, Graff ... or whatever your name is. What is it you want?"

"I have what I want, Colonel. I have your DropShips ... as planned. If you would care to surrender now, I'll put in a good word for you with my superiors."

Rage surged within Grayson. "You have Phobos,Graff. You don't have Deimos.And when we come down there and dig you out ..."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Colonel. As I have already explained to Lieutenant Thurston, his DropShip has been . . . tampered with. Nothing severe ... or noticeable, but a certain coded radio signal will start a meltdown of the Deimos'sfusion plant. No explosion or anything spectacular, but it will generate enough heat to reduce that DropShip to molten scrap."

Grayson listened in sick horror. The Conventions of modern warfare forbade destroying technology, and most warriors abided by the injunction. From time to time, there were still raids against an enemy's factories or industrial complexes, but such installations were spare whenever possible. A factory or a manufacturing center or even a DropShip might be captured in battle, but there was always the possibility that it might be recaptured later. Warriors who wantonly destroyed something as precious as a DropShip were viewed as barbarians by most other 31st-Century warriors. As the steady, grinding attrition of war continued, there were fewer and fewer Technicians who understood enough to rebuild or even repair something as complex as a fusion reactor or an automated BattleMech plant. Grayson was not one of those superstitious, mystical-minded followers of the Way of Blake, but the idea of a centuries-old DropShip being reduced to scrap at the touch of a button filled him with horror.

"Release the crew, then."

"Colonel, Let me assure you that you are in absolutely no position to bargain! These people are legitimate prisoners of war. They are safe, and will remain safe until they are tried."

"Tried? Tried for what, for God's sake! You . . . you say you're Marik 5th Guard! We're working for Janos Marik, for God's sake! We're under contract to Janos Marik!"

"Why don't you come down here and we'll talk about it? I have information you may find . . . interesting. We can discuss it at leisure, and perhaps we can find a way out of this impasse. Maybe there has been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line."

Grayson closed his eye's, suddenly very tired. He had no intention of walking tamely into Graff's parlor. The Marik forces had been using deceit and trickery at every turn of this campaign, and Grayson's own liberty would last just as long as he remained outside the Phobos'shull.

If he survived at all.

"No deal, Graff. Tell me over the comline."

"I don't think we have anything further to discuss, Colonel. But Lieutenant Thurston issurrendering the Deimosto me, or I will melt that ship down around his ears. Will you give him the order, Colonel? Or shall I deal directly with him?"

"Yes, dammit." Grayson's voice was scarcely audible. "I'll give the order."

A truce settled across the battlefield after that, arranged by radio between Grayson and Colonel Langsdorf, the Marik commander. Such truces were common in the formalized usages of modern warfare. It was not unknown for two commanders engaged in a protracted battle to call a halt while both sides salvaged damaged 'Mechs, recovered injured or lost pilots, and allowed for individual warriors and Techs to trade with each other on the field. A MechWarrior might trade a kilo of rare coffee or tobacco for an enemy Tech's spare actuator adjustment wrench and calibrator set, or a length of number nine reflex tubing for a working percolator. Such entrepreneurial activity was frowned upon by unit commanders everywhere, but was impossible to stop.

Grayson's men and women used the time to comb the woods for their wounded and to locate what scattered elements of Ramage's infantry company they could. When the line on the ridge to the west had broken, most of the Legion soldiers had attempted to form up at the top of the ridge, then scattered east when the enemy 'Mechs closed in. They were hiding now in the woods throughout the valley. Those who still had radio communications through to the Legion's 'Mechs were already coming in, but it would take time to round up the stragglers.

Grayson dispatched a team down the west face of the western ridge to recover the unknown trooper who had turned a disabled Locust'sweapon against the Marik ECM cars. When he learned that the "unknown trooper" was none other than Captain Ramage, it didn't surprise him. Ramage was badly wounded, unconscious, and in serious danger from loss of blood. Dr. Morrison on the Phoboswas the closest medical man around, but Graff would not permit even the ship's doctor to leave. Soldiers with first-aid experience cleaned Ramage's wounds and bandaged them, but no one wanted to predict the Trellwanese's chances of recovery.

Silently, Marik soldiers moved through the valley and along the hillsides as well, searching for their own wounded, gathering up their discarded equipment. A team of Techs was seen busily at work on the– two disabled ECM Packrats. Another team of Techs had descended on the damaged Locustas soon as Ramage had been removed from it. With some Marik troops posted nearby on guard, they could now be seen working on the severed connectors of the Locust'sright foot.

Grayson stood in the open, leaning against his Marauder'sfoot and lower leg. Helm's sun had dropped low enough that the valley was now in shadow, though the sky was still light and hours remained before sunset. Delmar Clay came up alongside.

"Colonel?" He spoke softly, as though afraid of being overheard. "I've got a real bad feeling about all of this."

"Yes, Del?" Grayson had felt it, too. There was something wrong here . . . but what?

"Look . . . you know that usually, during a truce, the troops sometimes'll swap stuff. Tobacco. Gum. Spares. You know."

Grayson nodded.

"If there's nothing to trade, at least they trade news. God, Colonel, soldiers are the most news-hungry creatures in the universe. They alwayswant to know whatever the other guys knows . . . Who's your CO.? What's happening on Atreus? What kind of punishment details do you guys have? Stuff like that."

Grayson exhaled. That was it.

"It's all wrong here. I went up to two of their MechWarriors and five PBIs. Not one of them would talk to me. They ignored me, like I wasn't there. The ones farther off . . . and the officers, they watched me, and I could see their fingers twitching on their guns . . . but the guys I talked to acted like I wasn't there."

"He's right, Gray," said Lori as she and Janice Taylor approached from behind. Janice's face was still smeared with gray-green camouflage paint, and she looked tired.

"Janice just came in through the lines," Lori continued. "She was telling me that they let her past, but there wasn't any of the usual bantering or joking that you hear during a formal truce."

"It was scary, Colonel," Janice said. "You know, I've been asked for datesby Liao soldiers during a truce . . . asked to cook breakfast . . . asked to give up soldiering and become a kept woman . . . but those people out there act like we're . . . we're zombiesor something!"

"I think you've put your finger on it," Grayson said. "They're behaving ..." Grayson's eyes widened as he saw the implications of what he was saying. "My God, they're acting like we're outlaws!"

Though civilized warfare followed certain codes strictly observed by each side, there were always those who chose not to obey the Conventions of War. The half-barbarian raiders from beyond the Periphery, the pirates and bandit kings who looted worlds for water or transuranics or machine tools, the occasional renegade mercenary who exacted revenge on an unfaithful employer or won a campaign by destroying a foe's JumpShip . . . All those could be lumped together into the amorphous group known vaguely as outlaws. Civilized folks had no dealings with such animals. More, they were fair game for the adherents of civilized warfare anywhere. The rules of "civilized" warfare, including formal truces and honorable dealings in negotiations, simply did not apply.

"Outlaws," Janice said. "God, no wonder they won't have anything to do with us."

"Worse," Delmar said. "What if they decide to terminate the truce . . . unilaterally?"

"I was just wondering about that," Grayson answered.

"O.K. Janice, you go back to where the unit is gathering and pass this on to whoever is in command there now.”

“Lieutenant Dulaney."

"O.K., good. Tell him the Marik people may think we're outlaws, and to be ready for a surprise attack. Hell, be ready for anything! Keep someone tuned in on the taccom frequency. Have someone organize stretcher-bearers for the wounded. Have them ready to move. Most of our vehicles should be rounded up by now. Tell Dulaney that priority goes to the wounded on the vehicles."

"Yessir!"

"Lori, Del . . . same drill. Round up the Mech-Warriors. Have them unobtrusively move to their machines, and be ready to move. Uh . . . better have half of them go ahead and mount up. Make it fire lance. Command lance stay outside your 'Mechs like nothing's happening, but be ready to jump, fast. The recon lance is still up the hill?"

"They're working on Trevor's Wasp,"Clay said. "Trying to patch on the leg."

"She may have to abandon it. Have someone walk, walk,mind you, up there and fill them in. Nothing by radio. They'll be listening. Right? Move!"

The trio vanished into the gathering shadows, leaving Grayson by himself. Though he was a member of the Legion's command lance, he elected to climb into his Marauderjust the same, in order to monitor a wider selection of radio frequencies than were available in the small, left-ear headset he was wearing.

There was nothing on the radio frequencies, and that worried him, too. It was as though the Marik forces already had their plans worked out and were simply awaiting the signal to put them into operation.

The signal came less than ten minutes later when a white star flare arced high above the Phobos'shull. Instantly, machine gun fire erupted from the woods, slashing into a small group of Legion troopers who were moving across the valley with three wounded men slung between them in blankets. At almost the same instant, the Mark BattleMechs opened fire. Multiple laser bolts hissed and burned in rapid succession past or into Grayson's Marauder.He was returning fire an instant later, PPC bolts searing back down the valley into the enemy Archerthat had opened fire on him. The range was nearly three hundred meters, long-range combat targeting of medium lasers. Grayson's heavier PPCs scored twice as blazing beams of charged particles tore into the Archer'sheavy armor.

Graff's Assassin,Grayson noted, was nowhere about. Probably still aboardthe Phobos,he thought. He wouldn't dare show himself outside now!

"Colonel!" Francine Roget's voice cut in on the tac frequency. "Colonel, they've jumped us! Five heavy 'Mechs are on the west side of the slope, driving toward our position!"

Damn! There'd been no time to organize a proper watch to keep track of all of the Marik BattleMechs. The valley was too large, the trees too thick. Five of them had slipped away in order to jump the already badly damaged recon lance 'Mechs.

"I'm on my way, Francine!" he said.

"Colonel! What's happening! They're breaking the truce!"

"Lieutenant . . . didn't you get word by runner? He should have been up there by now!"

"No, sir. No word! Everything was so quiet ..."

Too quiet. Too goddamn quiet!Had Marik troopers watched, then killed the messenger as he climbed the slope? Had that been the signal to start the attack, once they knew the Legion was becoming suspicious?

Grayson guessed that he would never know. For now, though, the failure of the message to get through was threatening the recon lance. It was already a 'Mech short and had one 'Mech crippled. With all three badly damaged from the fight earlier in the day, the recon lance was the weakest part of his whole command. Now it was they who had not received word that the Marik forces might be planning a sneak attack!

He opened the power governors wide on his Marauderand urged his 75-ton mount into a lurching, two-legged gallop toward the west ridge. Missile fire arced in from the north, splintering trees behind him and sending chunks of rock and metal rattling from his upper hull. He did not reply, but concentrated instead on the placement of each of his Marauder's,massive feet as it began leaning into the slope of the hill.

Flashes of light, dazzlingly brilliant in the fading daylight, flared and sputtered along the skyline of the ridge. He saw Roget's Pantherstanding against the sky, loosing bolt after bolt from her particle beam weapon at unseen assailants on the far side of the hill.

Rockets struck the ridgetop, sending black gouts of smoke and earth skyward. For a moment, a laser beam from downslope played against Roget's 'Mech, which was outlined by luminous particles of dust in the air, refracted and scattered by the Panther'sarmor. The light show sent dazzling beams and streaks of blue-white light chasing across the sky, broken by the moving shadows of the Panther.The vision, inexpressibly beautiful and horrifying at the same time, lasted only an instant. Then an explosion slammed against Roget's 'Mech, and the 35-ton Pantherstumbled back of the crest of the ridge.