"Gray Death! Charge!" he yelled, as his Marauder crashed forward up the slope.
The Marik 'Mechs must have thought they were facing only infantry and light vehicles by the time they rushed the slope. After all, no mercenary BattleMechs had been sighted. As they reached the top of the crest, they were concentrating on the destruction of the mercenary soldiers scattering at their feet, not yet having seen the gray shapes surging up the smoke-masked reverse slope of the ridge.
Grayson's Marauder was facing a Stinger as he raced toward the ridgetop. He fired both PPCs and watched the light 'Mech's torso armor literally explode in hurtling fragments. He fired again, particle beams probing the already furiously burning inner structure. Then his 'Mech collided with the blazing ruin, sending it toppling back over the top of the ridge.
The shock of Grayson's charge up the slope staggered the 4th L.A.G. 'Mechs. A second Stinger exploded as McCall's autocannon and laser fire smashed into and through it, tearing out great chunks of armor in multiple explosions that literally ate their way through the light 'Mech. The lead Shadow Hawk stood its ground for second upon interminable second, firing away at Khaled's Warhammer as it advanced up the slope, but the Warhammer's vastly superior weight of fire was taking a deadly toll. The Shadow Hawk's damaged left arm was torn away completely under the impact of Khaled's PPC fire, and another hit splintered the Hawk's heavy autocannon.
Grayson turned his Marauder to fire along the crest of the ridge, but the Marik 'Mechs were already withdrawing. The leader's Shadow Hawk fired its jump jets and vaulted ninety meters back down the hill, landing heavily and with obvious damage, but moving still. Three Wasps and the Wolverine triggered their jets as well, bounding back out of the battle.
For a moment, the battle swirled around the one enemy 'Mech that remained, another huge and powerful Thunderbolt, heaviest of the 4th L.A.'s 'Mechs. Lacking jump jets, it was restricted to a slow, step-by step retreat down the slope. This T-Bolt's heavy laser was still working, however, and it laid down a devastating, highly accurate fire. Grayson's Marauder took a hit on its dorsal surface that smashed through already-damaged armor plating and set red damage lights flashing across his control board. Then the heavy Marik machine swung to its right and fired toward the flank, where Lori's Shadow Hawk was working down the slope toward a position to cut off the T-Bolt. The bolt struck Lori's BattleMech high in its right arm, smashing through armor plate. Grayson fired, and sent PPC and laser bolts chopping into the Thunderbolt's heavily armored body.
"Form up! Form up!" Grayson yelled into his helmet mike. The Thunderbolt was firing at Lori again, ignoring the other mercenary BattleMechs in an effort to bring down at least one of its tormentors.
Lori's 'Mech took another heavy laser strike in her Shadow Hawk's leg, almost in the same instant that the concentrated fire from all six Gray Death 'Mechs blasted through the Thunderbolt's armor.
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 Hawks and 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's hull 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 Hawk is in worse shape. We found a Shadow Hawk main cam driver for her suspension, but it'll be a few hours before she's moving at speed again. Lieutenant Kalmar's Hawk isn'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 Deimos at 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 Hawks are 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're ready 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 I need 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. You have 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 Rifleman was 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? Boomerangs are 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.
Boomerang spotter 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 edg
e. The Warhammer in the lead began wading into water that rose to the big machine's hips. An Archer took 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 Wasp was across now, the Shadow Hawk and Archer close behind. The Thunderbolt and Wolverine were in midstream, the Warhammer still 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 . . .
The Price of Glory Page 31
