by Andrew Keith
* * *
Julio Vargas had reported in only a short time ago. Two of the four Gray Death fighters had made their last flight, but six of the enemy had been sent to fly an escort into the afterlife, and the long aerial action had kept them from returning to influence events on the battlefield.
The attack had been repelled, but as Alex brought his Archer into the defensive perimeter around the maglev station there were early reports of yet another Free Skye landing, this time at Halidon, in the southern mountains.
He was exhausted, unable to even contemplate the new threat. Glancing at his chronometer he saw that the hour was closer to dawn than to midnight.
When the Archer's power cut off so Newkirk and and his crew could go to work repairing whatever damage possible, Alex climbed down from the cockpit, weary and discouraged. Except for the eerie illumination of work lights set up around the station, it was pitch-black outside. He didn't really know where the rest of the senior officers were, nor did he much care. All he wanted right now was a place to stretch out and a chance to sleep after his long day in the cockpit.
"Colonel?" He turned as Captain Fraser, the infantry commander at the compound, came into the light and saluted stiffly. "Sir, there's an emelt train coming in along the east line."
"Emelt?" Alex repeated vaguely, swaying where he stood. "From Dunkeld?"
"No, sir," Fraser said. "It . . . sent a message ten minutes ago, sir. Governor DeVries is on board. He's asking for a safe-conduct through our lines. Says he needs to talk to you about a matter of extreme importance."
"The governor . . . here?" Alex blinked, suddenly more alert. "He was in Eastport ..."
"He's on the way here now, Colonel. Do we give him his safe-conduct? Or do you want us to go after the car? One of the hovertanks could take it out easily enough, if you want." Fraser had been an officer of the Planetary Guard once, Alex remembered, but he didn't seem to care much for the man he'd once pledged to protect.
"No ... no, tell him he has my word he can come and go safely. But check the emelt when it comes in. It would be just like von Bulow to use DeVries as a Trojan horse just when it looks like we've won this round."
'Yes, sir."
"And see if you can track down Major McCall and any other staff officers you can turn up. I'll want them to be in on whatever DeVries has to say ..."
"Yes, Colonel. Ah . . . Captain de Villar arrived from Dunkeld half an hour ago, sir. With Major King and the rest of his techs. She says she has information on the Halidon landing for you."
Alex made a vague gesture of dismissal. "Not now . . . No. Wait. Point me in the direction of some blackroot tea and let me wake up. Then send her to me."
"Yes, Colonel," Fraser repeated. He called one of his sergeants over and turned Alex over to him, then saluted and vanished into the darkness.
Alex tried to force his brain to work again as he stumbled after the NCO toward the untidy campsite on the other side of the terminal building. More news about Halidon, and now here was DeVries with some mysterious errand. It seemed as if the burden of command never let up.
This side of leadership was a far cry from the excitement of knowing your men were behind you on the battlefield. That had been almost like a drug, heady, powerful. But off the field, counting the butcher's bill or planning the next op . . . that part of command was grim.
He carried the name, but Alexander Durant Carlyle wasn't sure how much longer he could shoulder the burden.
43
Coltbridge
Glengarry, Federated Commonwealth
12 April 3056
Alex met Governor DeVries in one of the offices that had survived the damage to the maglev terminal building at Coltbridge. DeVries came alone, apparently willing to accept the promised safe-conduct, or perhaps not caring anymore what happened to him. He had a drawn, hunted look, and his elegant clothes were rumpled and dirty. But his bearing was still stiff and proud.
"Well, you've come a long way from the cadet barracks, Colonel," DeVries said quietly after Lieutenant Obote had escorted him into the room and Alex had motioned him to a chair. "I never thought the Legion would do this well."
"Obviously," McCall grated. The Jacobite's bionic arm ] had shorted out after the hit that almost blew open his cock- * pit, and he had it in a sling until a medtech could have a look. McCall, Vargas, and Freya de Villar were standing s behind Alex. Though Alex would have preferred not to have Freya at the meeting, she was the one who'd been doing most of the intelligence work for the Legion since the fighting had started, and was the officer best suited to evaluate whatever DeVries had to say. He could imagine what she must be feeling, standing there looking at the man whose hired thugs had killed her husband.
"If we'd had your help in the fight, we'd have done even better," Alex told DeVries. "You damn near cost us everything. So why are you here now? Did you pals send you to negotiate another neutrality deal?"
DeVries looked away. "What I did, Carlyle, I did because I thought it was best for Glengarry. Maybe I was wrong. But if your mercenaries had been reasonable and given the agreement a chance, many who are dead now would still be alive. Which of us really cost our people more?"
Alex ignored the sharp hiss of Freya de Villar's indrawn breath behind him. "It's a little late for this debate, Governor. You told my men that you had something important to discuss. Let's discuss it, and leave the recriminations to the history books."
The governor shrugged. "As you wish. First off, for the record, I'm here on my own initiative. After Dunkeld, I'm afraid General von Bulow doesn't regard me as one of his friends. Apparently he thinks I was involved in the ambush you set. Or perhaps he's afraid I'd be part of a new one now."
"My heart fair bleeds for you," McCall muttered.
DeVries spared him an angry look. "No, I came here because we can still do each other good, Carlyle, despite what's happened."
"Get to the point," Alex said harshly. He was suddenly tired of all the verbal fencing. After the savage fighting at Coltbridge, all he wanted now was to sleep for a month or two.
"You've heard about Halidon by now, of course."
Alex nodded wearily. Freya de Villar had brought the word in herself, from Dunkeld. While the fighting was still going on at Coltbridge the Free Skye forces had landed a third force, much larger than either of the first two, at the mining town of Halidon. The Gray Death infantry and armor were already falling back rapidly before the superior forces, and they'd lost control of the all-important pass that led down from the Monaghan Highlands into the plains of Atholl. Control of that pass made the enemy's drop zone all but impregnable. Von Bulow's troops were on the ground at last, and it would take a miracle to dislodge them.
"From what I've heard," DeVries went on, "I'd say your campaign is just about over. Now that von Bulow has a secure base of operations on the ground, it's only a matter of time before he launches a drive against the capital. You can still put up a fight, of course. You might even win another battle or two. But do you really think, Carlyle, that you can actually win in the long run? You're outnumbered, and von Bulow can call on reinforcements from Skye if he has to. Where is your relief force? On Borghese? That's a long way off—if they ever come at all."
"So we're back to the same old tune, is it?" Vargas mocked. "Give it up now, and let His Excellency the Governor play the quisling again and rule the planet for Duke Richard?"
DeVries spread his hands. "I told you before, I'm in no position to deal with von Bulow any longer. Look, I'll admit it, I thought Richard Steiner might have kept me on to govern if I cooperated. But the truth is that I wanted to see Glengarry spared of this fighting, and I thought that I'd be a hell of a lot better as the intermediary between Glengarry and Skye than some outsider who'd treat the place as a spoil of war." He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "I can't save the planet, and any ambitions I had are useless. I'll probably be treated just like the rest of you, once von Bulow wins."
"Then what do you want from us?" Ale
x asked.
"Prolonging the fight is just going to lead to more death and destruction. But there's an alternative. Not surrender-but an alternative that would let you get the core of your outfit off this planet intact. You and your top people and your best 'Mechs, Carlyle, could all escape and live to fight again another day. Join up with the other half of your outfit . . . find your father and reorganize."
"How?" McCall asked, curt and harsh.
"My people in the capital tell me you managed to get one DropShip out during that first fight. The ship hasn't turned up at any of the towns where my people have contacts, and I know for damned sure there weren't any JumpShips to take it out, so I'd guess you've been hiding it up in the mountains somewhere. The metal deposits would mask her, providing you did a good job of camouflage."
"And if that's what we did?" Alex asked cautiously. They had concealed the Europa in the way DeVries had described, holding her back as an ace in the hole. If nothing else, her 'Mech bays would give them a repair platform for their BattleMechs even if they lost control of Castle Hill and the other Gray Death bases on Glengarry. He was reluctant to give too much away to DeVries. God alone knew what kind of double game the man was playing, or what he'd do if he knew for sure the whereabouts of the Drop-Ship.
"You have a DropShip hidden in the wilderness, and no way to use it." DeVries smiled thinly. "I, on the other hand, am in contact with a merchant JumpShip that came in system day before yesterday. The owner's an old friend of mine, and he owes me a favor or two. But he's not the sort of fellow to risk his own cargo DropShips running von Bulow's blockade. On the other hand, with your fighters and your own DropShip and a little bit of luck, I think you could break through the Free Skye bunch and rendezvous with him, if you were so inclined."
"By this time, any JumpShip that's been spotted out there will be drawing von Bulow's fire like a 'Mech draws missiles," Alex said. "Even if they don't blast your buddy out of space, they'll be watching him. And it would take us days to reach the jump point." He shook his head. "There's no way we could make it work even if we wanted to do. And I don't see why we should anyway."
"I know a little bit about space travel, Carlyle," DeVries said quietly. "Captain Hill is jumping out again tomorrow to avoid . . . entanglements. But if I sent him the right signal, I could set up a rendezvous for later. He could jump out, recharge, then come back in at a pirate point close enough to Glengarry to cut down on the travel time by quite a bit. And knowing when he was coming back, we could run the blockade before the Free Skye force even knew there was a ship coming."
"It would work," Vargas commented. "Assuming the guy could be trusted to keep the rendezvous."
"He can be trusted," DeVries said.
Alex rubbed his forehead with a grimy hand. "Your word isn't exactly a guarantee any of us would trust, Governor. But you've left the really big question unanswered. Why should we want to do this?"
"I said it before. You're going to lose in the end, and a hell of a lot people are going to die along the way. But if you evacuate your leadership and your best equipment, at least you keep a nucleus of your unit intact. And the rest . . . they could disperse. Hide out for a while. Maybe even come out of hiding and mount a fresh campaign when you round up the rest of the Legion and are ready to come back ... if that's what you decide to do.
"The point is, as long as you're a threat to the Free Skye rebellion, von Bulow is going to keep coming after you with everything he's got. He'll crush you one by one if he has to, and along the way he'll destroy a lot of innocents who deserve better. It made sense to fight when there was no other way out, but if you can save lives by retreating from a hopeless campaign, doesn't it make more sense to do that?"
"You seem to have developed a remarkable concern for our safety all of a sudden," Vargas remarked. "Or is there something in it for you?"
"I want passage with you," DeVries said. "There's nothing left for me on Glengarry anymore."
"Aha!" Vargas exclaimed. "So much for altruism, eh?"
The governor flushed, directing his angry stare at the cocky pilot. "Yes, I want passage, and you people are my only ticket out. But that isn't my only reason. Not by a long shot."
"Name another," Vargas replied.
"My daughter, for one," the DeVries said flatly. He looked back at Alex, his expression softening for the first time. "Is it wrong for me to worry about her safety, Carlyle? She's cast her lot with your Legion, and she'll stick by that decision to the end. I don't want the end to be what your damned heroics might give her." He paused, glancing at McCall and Vargas. "If you're determined to play Horatio at the bridge and fight to the bitter end, then at least give your people, Caitlin included, an option. Let the ones who don't share your bloody-minded convictions leave . . . and for God's sake let me take Caitlin out of this. She's all I care about now."
Alex couldn't meet the other man's eyes. "I understand how you feel, Governor," he said quietly. Something in what DeVries said had struck a chord, and suddenly all his doubts were back in full force. "Go back to you emelt car. I'll . . . we'll let you know our decision." Staring down at his desk, Alex barely noticed the door closing behind the governor. The silence in the shabby room was thick and brooding.
"You're not really going to consider his proposition, are you?" Vargas said, breaking the stillness at last. "For all we know his 'friend' is piloting a Free Skye ship and just waiting to round us up out in deep space, where we'd be completely helpless."
"He sounded sincere enough, aboot his daughter if nothing else," McCall observed soberly. "I dinna fear a trap sae much as I fear what his plan would do tae the Legion."
Alex turned in his chair to face the old Caledonian. "What can this do that von Bulow won't do a hell of a lot more thoroughly? DeVries had one thing right, at least. As long as we continue to put up a fight here, the killing will go on. And one day we're going to run out of blood and guts and BattleMechs, and what difference will it have made? What kind of difference will our little handful of people make in the long run? We're no army, to decide the fate of the whole Federated Commonwealth. Richard'll either win and Skye will become independent, or Victor will crush the rebellion and hold everything together for a few more years. But whatever's going to happen, it's going to happen no matter what we do here. And meanwhile, if we keep on fighting, we keep on dying too."
"We're soldiers," Vargas said, shifting uneasily in his seat. "Fighting . . . dying . . . that's part of the job."
"Hasn't this fight already cost too much?" Alex shot back. "Everyone aboard the Antelope . . . Lowdowski and Royale and Farquhar . . ." He met Freya de Villar's cold eyes. "Your husband and your son. Every time we go out there, we're going to lose a few more. I'm going to lose them. Some day it'll be Dave Clay or Caitlin, or you, Mac, and it'll be my fault, because I didn't know when to quit. Because I tried to take my father's place, and those people out there are so loyal to him that they'll just keep following me from one damned blood bath to another."
He stood up slowly. "Look, I need to be alone for a few minutes. I'll be outside ..."
Alex left the room without a backward glance. The sun was just coming up over the eastern horizon. Staring off into the distance, it was possible to blot out his vision of the battle ravages around him, and see the rugged beauty of Glengarry again, the way it had been the morning he'd watched the sunrise from the balcony of the Residence, back on the Day of Heroes.
I'm not Grayson Death Carlyle, he thought, still staring off into the distance. I tried to be, but I'm not. I can pilot a 'Mech in battle. I can even manage to pull off a few good tricks in planning a battle or two. But I can't keep leading these people to the slaughter. I should never have let McCall talk me into taking command.
He thought back to the day before the crisis had erupted, to the exercise at Brander and the mistakes he'd made trying to cover Cadet Gates and refusing to send someone else into danger. McCall had told Alex afterward that he couldn't be a leader if he wasn't willing to make life
or death decisions for his followers.
Well, he'd tried. He'd led men into battle three times now, and through it all nothing had changed. The battle plan had nearly blown up in his face at Dunkeld, and a quarter of his force had died. At Loch Sheol he'd gone in with the scouts, and it was only by a miracle that the invaders hadn't cut them to ribbons before Dumont's people arrived in the field. And at Coltbridge ... if Alex had arrived just a few minutes later, McCall and all his people might have been lost. The victories were all hollow, and now that von Bulow's troops were secure on the ground, hollow victories wouldn't mean a thing anymore. What kind of leader did that make Alexander Carlyle?
"A human being, pairhaps, laddie," McCall's distinctive voice said behind him. Alex started. He hadn't realized he'd spoke that last thought aloud.
"If we didn't send any 'Mechs, a lot of the outfit could get out aboard the Europa," he said, still watching the sun gradually rising in the distance "A few of us could keep the fight going here. How many would go, if we gave them a chance?"
"A few," McCall said. "Not many. I told you aince, lad, that these people look to the Carlyles tae lead them. Even if you ordered them tae go, most would volunteer tae stay wi' you."
"Yeah. That's the problem. As long as I'm the figurehead they look to as their leader, they'll stay with me because they think it's their duty. Well, I thought my duty was here, to stay and fight for the Legion and for my father. Now I'm not so sure. If we keep on like this, I'm more likely to destroy the Legion than save it. And if we can't make a difference on Glengarry, where's the sense in that? Von Bulow's going to win, tomorrow or next week or next month. The Skye rebellion will succeed or fail on its own merits, whether we all die with our cooling vests on or we cut and run today."
"That would be true, lad, if you were right in saying that we canna make a real difference. But I think we can. More than you think."
"That's what you said before, after the first fight. I even believed some of it then. Now I just don't know. I can't see how we can have any impact on things here, much less on Skye or Tharkad."
