"We're friends," he continued, holding his arms out from his sides, showing that he was unarmed. "We want to talk."
"It's a trick, Colonel," a voice barked from behind a sand dune. There was a crack and something hot plucked at Grayson's sleeve.
"Hold your fire, dammit!" another voice replied. "Dober, put that thing up!"
"I'm Captain Carlyle, Gray Death Mercenary Legion," Grayson continued. He had to stifle the tremor at the back of his throat, and his knees felt weaker now than they had after the crash. He wanted very much to drop to the sand, out of sight, but he knew that any sudden movement would unleash a storm of gunfire. "We were brought here to help you!"
There was an angry mutter from some unseen watcher, but Grayson couldn't catch the words. The second voice called back across the mudflats. "How do we know this ain't some kind of trick?"
"One of your people is here! Devic Erudin! He brought us here. Talk to him!"
There was no answer. With his boot, Grayson nudged Erudin, lying flat in his shallow trench. "Come on. Citizen Erudin. Stand up...very slowly. Keep your hands where they can see them."
The two stood for endless seconds. Grayson could almost hear the discussion that must be going on among the dunes behind the beach. These strangers could be telling the truth. Or Erudin might be a plant, or a brain-channeled captive. It could be a trap, but if it’s not, the real Dracos will be along any moment, and the beach will become a trap for all of us!
Grayson knew that his own success now depended on the daring of the rebel commander. The man stood up. He wore denim work clothes and a sleeveless, olive drab Kurita jacket with the insignias torn off. A heavy commercial laser rifle was clenched in muddy hands, its power pack strapped to the man's thigh, its muzzle steady on Grayson's chest. On his head was a shapeless black beret. His shaggy red beard was streaked with mud.
"You want to talk," the man said. "Go ahead an' talk!"
The rebels were not easily convinced, but it turned out that Tollen Brasednewic, self-styled Colonel of the rebel militia, had indeed heard that someone had been smuggled offworld to attempt to hire mercenaries.
"But, damn it all," the rebel leader said as he watched Grayson's men put out their smoky fire. "What if we'd been Dracos? You couldn't know we'd find you first!"
"I was given to understand that they don't come into the jungle that much."
Brasednewic spat into the sand. "And you say you came here to teach us? They'll know you crashed or landed somewhere along here, and they'll be looking for you! A DropShip, even a wrecked one, would be a real prize!"
"The idea was to land in the sea near a place where the ship could be camouflaged and easily hidden."
"It don't look like you're going to manage that now, unless you want to try to disguise that hulk as a rock!"
"No," Grayson admitted. "Still, we figured it would take them a while to get organized and to work out a search pattern."
"Maybe so. But damn it all! What if we'd a been a Kurita patrol? First lesson you'd better learn about Verthandi, feller, is don't take nothing out here for granted!"
Grayson smiled and touched the communicator at his throat "Lori, come on up and meet our hosts. Gently, now. Don't startle them."
One of the shapeless masses of metal lying in the surf between wreck and shore stirred, then rose, white water cascading from the flanks, joints, and the sleek, right-arm laser. Ten meters tall, the machine stood knee-deep in the surf, then strode forward, moving up onto the beach with a creak of interlocking metal parts and the dull thud of the ‘Mech's 55-ton step. Brasednewic's jaw dropped as he looked up...up...and up. The Shadow Hawk was Grayson's own, with Lori Kalmar at the controls. On either side, a hundred meters up and down the beach, two more ‘Mechs rose from their watery hiding places, Delmar Clay's Wolverine and Davis McCall's Rifleman.
"You see," Grayson said as Brasednewic continued to gape up at the armored monster towering over him. "We weren't completely trusting. Think we're crazy?"
* * * *
Time was precious now. Brasednewic's band numbered fifty men and women and included five swift, flat-bottomed swamp skimmers that would be of help unloading cargo from the wreck of the Phobos. Grayson posted the Wolverine and the Rifleman inland, at the edge of the jungle. While their electronic senses strained for the first hint of approaching Combine forces, Lori set to work in the Shadow Hawk, using the ‘Mech's powerful arms and hands to help with the unloading.
They'd only had time to unload the three heavies after they'd crashed. The other four ‘Mechs, Lori's Locust, a Stinger, and two Wasps, all appeared to be intact in their shipboard cocoons, but were still sealed in storage bays. Besides these, there was a small mountain of weapons, gear, and supplies to be unloaded onto the beach. According to the rebels, a second clock was ticking away besides the one that would eventually bring Kurita forces to the crash site. Verthandi-Alpha, large and close, was the cause of Verthandi's extremely high, twice-daily tides. Those tides were not as severe here above 70 degrees north latitude as they would have been close to the equator, but they were bad enough to sweep hundreds of meters up the broad, flat beaches of the Azure coast. The Phobos would be nearly submerged by the time high tide arrived in only three hours more.
Rebels and mercenaries worked frantically. Once the Stinger and one Wasp were broken free of their bays, Hassan Khaled and Piter Debrowski saddled them up and brought them out into the light Now they worked together to free Yorulis's Wasp from its cradle, as a steady line of rebels and mercenaries used swamp skimmers and rafts to haul ashore the last of the Phobos's stored supplies. With Lori temporarily in command of the Shadow Hawk and with time short, it was decided to leave her Locust aboard the DropShip for now.
"Captain!" Lori's voice over the earpiece snapped Grayson to new awareness. "Incoming...by air!"
"What is it?"
"Looks like a DropShip on its way from Regis," Lori said, "and there's a pair of fighters flying escort."
"That's confirmed. Captain." The second voice was Martinez, from the bridge of the Phobos where she was supervising the first steps of damage-control for the craft. Whether or not the ship would ever fly again was an open question, but if they couldn't buy Martinez and her Techs some time, there was no chance at all. "We have them on the doppler radar up here. Range, eighty kilometers. ETA, two minutes."
"Right. Now, abandon ship!" The grounded hulk of the Phobos would be a prime target for aircraft.
"But Captain, we have auxiliary power up to three lasers! We could provide back-up."
Grayson thought furiously. He weighed the value of three additional lasers in the coming fight with enemy air support against going back on his first order, then made his decision.
"O.K. Do it. Get your non-essential personnel under cover, and be ready to bail out if your armor starts coming apart." He doubted that the enemy would shoot the Phobos to pieces, for the DropShip was too valuable a prize. What they might do was to try to take out her lasers once they knew she was operational. "One more thing, Use. You fire on my command. Got it? Hold your fire until I give you the nod!
"You got it, Skipper!"
He shifted his communicator to the general combat frequency. "Scramble, everyone! We've got two minutes to visitors!"
Crates of supplies were left lying on the beach while swamp skimmers laden with troops pulled out of the swirling surf and skidded on cushions of air across sand and mud into the jungle. BattleMechs lurched from the water and strode swiftly off the beach. They left great, crisscrossing trails of footprints, each as long as a man was high, but there wasn't anything that could be done about that. Grayson had hoped that the incoming tide would erase the prints, but they'd run out of time. The Dracos would have learned soon enough that ‘Mechs had been aboard the downed DropShip and that they'd escaped. Now they'd learn about it slightly earlier than Grayson had originally hoped.
He turned and sprinted across the beach toward the jungle. "Lori!" He gasped as he ran. "Pick me up!"
> The Shadow Hawk appeared against the treeline, moving with a ponderous, deliberate lope that ate up the ground between ‘Mech and running man. The Hawk's visor canopy was open, a chain-link ladder dangling across its chest. Grayson caught hold of the ladder and swarmed up the battle machine's front as Lori turned the Hawk gently to face the jungle and began moving back toward cover.
The Shadow Hawk's cockpit was cramped even when only its pilot was squeezed into the control seat beneath the tangle of conduits and cable connecting the pilot's neurohelmet to the control receptors along the cockpit overhead. When the ladder was winched in and the visor canopy sealed shut, there was but a slim strip of space behind and to the left of the pilot seat. Grayson wedged himself into that crevice, his head ducked low to clear the coolant pipes, mounting lugs, and wiring bundles for the emergency escape charges. If things got rough, if the ‘Mech was knocked down or was forced to run with him aboard, he would be in serious danger. The Shadow Hawk's cramped cockpit was still preferable to the open beach. From here, he would also be better able to direct the battle.
Lori sat in the chair, her hands on the console controls, her head and cascade of blond hair completely covered by the grotesque, black-visored mask of the neurohelmet. It was already stuffily warm inside the close space, and Lori had stripped to boots, briefs, and Tshirt in preparation for the even greater heat to come. As the ‘Mech lurched its way forward, Grayson clung to overhead struts with both hands, telling himself to ignore the pleasant sight of her bare legs and to concentrate instead on the instrumentation above them.
Shadow spilled across the ‘Mech's armor-embraced canopy. They were among the trees at the jungle's edge.
"Just in time," Lori said, her voice muffled from inside the helmet.
He tried without success to read what emotion might be in her words. He was worried about how she might face this, her first combat since Thunder Rift, but that had not been the reason why he'd joined her. There'd not been time to free her Locust, and so he needed to be aboard a ‘Mech himself to coordinate the battle.
"If we spotted them, it's likely they spotted us," he said, "but they'll have to work to find us."
"The ship's radar echo might've blended in with the trees and water," she said, "and the tide's coming in awfully fast. If we're lucky, they might not even see—"
"No such luck," he said, interrupting. Outside, thunder pealed, and a pair of sleek SL-15s banked low over jungle and beach, stooping to circle the wrecked DropShip.
"They've found us!"
10
Grayson reached over Lori's shoulder, stabbing at the frequency settings on the com console. "McCall! This is Carlyle!" he said.
"McCall, aye," the Caledonian responded. "A'm trackenit tha' beasties, sair."
"Hold your fire until you've got your best shot. And concentrate on the aircraft, not on ground ‘Mechs. We're counting on you for anti-aircraft cover."
"Aye, Captain. Ye've go' it."
The RFL-3N Rifleman, with its paired heavy lasers and autocannon mounted on each shoulder had been designed as a fire support ‘Mech, but was well-equipped for its secondary role as an antiaircraft tracking and weapons platform. The odd, propellor-like antennae of the ‘Mech's D2j tracking system mounted above and behind the cockpit provided rapid target acquisition that was particularly useful against airborne threats.
Grayson spoke again. "All ‘Mechs, this is Carlyle. Hold your fire! Ready...on my command..."
The pair of enemy Slayers thundered overhead again, but did not fire. They're searching, he thought, but they still don't know we're here! He felt a small thrill of pride that none of the ‘Mechs in his command had loosed a shot at the two fighters during their first pass.
He watched the traceries of the fighters' paths on the Hawk's battlescreen. If they were scanning for active communications, they'd pick up the ‘Mech band the next time he gave an order. If the fighters had IR or magnetometer gear, his men would be spotted almost at once. In any case, the ‘Mechs would not remain unnoticed among the jungle growth for long.
"Now, McCall!. Your best shot!"
The Slayers banked sharply, arrowing toward... the Wolverine!
"Clay! Duck and roll!"
Autocannon fire spat from the SL-15s, shredding treetop foliage in a whirlwind of leaf and branch fragments and splintering blasts. The jungle floor shuddered as the fighters whipped overhead at treetop level, spilling slender cylinders that glittered as they fell. The jungle erupted in flame and noise.
Davis McCall's Rifleman stepped from the jungle as the Slayers raced side by side across the mudflats and out over the sea. His ‘Mech's arms were already raised, the autocannons spitting fire as empty, smoking shell casings flipped onto the sand. The flash and flicker of explosions chewing along the starboard side of one of the fighters made it lurch heavily to one side.
"Now, Phobos! Fire!"
Lasers ignited streaks of tortured air. Chunks of smoking metal hurtled from the fighter already damaged. The other Slayer banked left, twisting to avoid the unexpected fire.
"Clay! Report!"
"I'm fine, Captain," Clay's voice replied. "The bombs came in close, but not quite close enough. Thanks for the alert.”
“Any time. Give McCall a hand."
Martinez interrupted from her station aboard the Phobos. "Captain! The DropShip is coming in to the east! Range two thousand meters!"
"Right. All units...did you hear? Company's coming!" That would be ‘Mechs...and groundsupport troops. What was the rebel leader's name? "Tollen! Are you listening in?"
"Here, Carlyle."
"Have your people faced ‘Mechs before?"
A pause. "Men...against ‘Mechs? What the hell do..."
"Listen...you'll have to trust me on this. I'm not asking you to face ‘Mechs, but those out there are going to have support troops somewhere nearby."
"Listen, Captain...you're crazy if you think my people are going to face up to a whole, damned Kurita army..."
"Not an army. Probably no more than a platoon or two of mop-up troops. I need infantry to keep them off our backs, and my people aren't organized yet." The Gray Death's personal weapons lay still wrapped in their protective slickers, cased in the transport lockers littering the beach behind him. It had been important not to show weapons to the approaching rebels, but it might have been better if his people had dug fewer trenches and opened more crates. Some of the hundred-odd people in his command had guns by now, but not nearly enough.
He considered quickly, then decided to give their new allies an option. "It's up to you. Take off if you'd rather, but you know we need your help."
Tollen sounded grim. "We'll stay, but my people will deploy to my orders, not yours.”
“Fair enough. Ramage?”
“Here, Captain."
"How many do you have armed?"
"Ten or fifteen, Captain. Not enough"
"Never mind. Have unarmed personnel rendezvous with the skimmers and stay out of trouble. Everyone with guns, join the rebel troops and obey Tollen's orders. Got that?"
"Sir!"
"Colonel? Do you mind taking a few new recruits?"
Brasednewic didn't speak for several seconds as he digested this unexpected trust on the part of the offworlder. "Very well!" There was another pause, and then, "And Captain! Good hunting!"
The Wolverine had emerged from the trees a hundred meters east of McCall and was firing its autocannon, the stream of shells crossing the double stream from the Rifleman. The Phobos added lancing beams of coherent light. The stricken aircraft staggered once again, billowing smoke. A flash and glitter of light marked the pilot's ejection, and then the Slayer began rolling wing over wing as it swooped and crashed into the jungle to the south. The explosion shivered the leaves on the trees.
The other Slayer pulled up abruptly, gaining altitude. The Rifleman tracked it, using laser fire now to save its on-board ammo.
"DropShip, Leopard Class," Martinez reported from her observation point. "
Setting down two klicks east. He's unbuttoning."
"Lori, let's see what the other fellows are up to."
"Right, boss." She seemed steady, even excited as the battle took shape. Deft motions of her hands at the ‘Mech's twin control sticks set the ShadowHawk in motion, while the ‘Mech's metal hands parted branches and a heavy gray drapery of something remarkably akin to Terran Spanish moss. From the jungle's edge, they could see four enemy ‘Mechs moving down the DropShip's ramps and spreading out across the beach.
At two kilometers, it was difficult to make them out. Lori queried her computer for a scanner ID. Diagrams traced themselves across her screen, green light on black, and words flashed across the drawings.
"Not good," Grayson said. "A Marauder and an Orion—two heavies. A pair of Stingers. We can take the Stingers, no problem. But those two..."
Grayson had faced a Marauder before. He had, in fact, faced two of them, one after the other in the last struggle at Thunder Rift, on Trellwan. A heavy ‘Mech weighing 75 tons, it moved with a menacing, crablike stride on rear-canted legs, and its oversized forearms mounted paired PPCs and medium lasers. The autocannon protruded from its exposed mount above the egg-shaped hull like a black spear.
The Orion was an old design. Grayson had never seen one up close, though he'd studied them during his training. It massed as much as the Marauder at its side, though its squat, angular chassis was vaguely humanoid. The blunt muzzle of an autocannon protruded from an armored bay on its right side. Like the Marauder, it was handless, with medium lasers set into the massive vambraces instead. The cockpit head was set low between the shoulders, the slit viewports giving the appearance of eyes.
"Khaled!"
"Here, Captain."
"Ithink we're in luck. They're deploying a lance of Mechs, but no support troops. Gather the two Wasps. Stay in the jungle, but look for an opportunity to circle behind as we draw them in. They have a pair of heavies, but all together, we outweigh them. We can take them if we save you for a surprise!"
Mercenary's Star Page 9
