Mercenary's Star

by William H. Keith

  "Better this way," Ramage said, answering Grayson's unspoken question. "If he lets us through, some stuffed uniform could order him shot for disobeying orders. He's a good kid, and I don't want him hurt."

  "So you slugged him. Good thinking."

  A stir of movement made Grayson turn. Clay, Yorulis, and Debrowski appeared from up the tunnel, breathing hard. "We had to dodge some rebel sentries," Yorulis said, "but we made it."

  Grayson looked at each face in turn. "You all are still agreed on this?"

  "Cap'n," McCall said. "We ha' nae much time."

  The others nodded agreement. "Even if their plan goes off perfectly," Lori said quietly, "it could still end up a slaughter. If we're there, we might be able to steady them."

  "At least we won't be feeling that we're sending them out to do what we won't," Clay added.

  Grayson had been unable to persuade Thorvald or Ericksson of the folly of an attack on Regis. Nor could he persuade the rebel Council to allow the Gray Death to accompany the assault. They insisted that the mercenaries were too expensive to risk in open battle and must remain behind, safe, until Regis was secured. After that, the Legion's help would be welcome in restoring order in the city and in securing the Kurita prisoners.

  Grayson had wrestled with the problem for most of the past three days. When the Legion had begun training the Free Verthandi Rangers, the students had been strangers. Grayson, Ramage, and all the rest had felt concern about seeing untrained youngsters thrown into battle, but it was the detached concern of professionals for inefficiency and waste.

  Now, after six weeks, Grayson and his men knew those students as people. Realizing that the Legion’s fate was inextricably bound up with the fate of the Free Verthandi Rangers, Grayson felt responsible for those students because he been responsible for their training. He could not simply stand aside and watch them led off to face a situation for which they were not yet fully prepared. These were issues of honor and of personal accountability that went beyond the letter of the Gray Death Legion's contract with the Verthandian rebels.

  "Ram, we'll see you when we get back. Until then, you're in charge."

  "Luck, Captain."

  The six Warriors hurried toward the main caverns and their waiting BattleMechs.

  * * * *

  It was 0210, and the BattleMech strike force of the Free Verthandi Rangers moved through the broad gully at maximum speed, which proved to be lamentably slow. Though the light BattleMechs could easily have covered the distance in half the time, the lumbering AgroMechs, especially the logging machines, were not designed for speed or maneuverability. This was especially true because the gully floor was not as smooth as Thorvald had expected. They were following one of the wide, winding flow paths carved by runoff water during the seasonal heavy rains. At those times, this and the hundreds of other arroyos carved through the Bluesward became filled with swift-running, muddy water that catapulted down to the swamps and rivers as thundering waterfalls. At other times, the gullies were dry. This one provided perfect cover for an approach to Regis, a sheltered canyon that would shield them from IR and other night vision devices mounted around the city.

  Centuries of erosion had carved out a nightmarish tangle of exposed boulders and deep pits. Sometimes, like now, the watercourse broadened and became flat enough to easily traverse, but Thorvald and his men had to be continually on the lookout for sudden areas of broken ground. ‘Mechs with IR vision devices could usually see well enough, though interpreting what they saw was sometimes another matter. Most of the AgroMechs, however, were literally in the dark. They were dependent on low-power microwave transmissions from their faster companions to warn them of approaching rugged ground where a ‘Mech had to slow to a cautious crawl.

  It was slow going, and time was running out. It had taken nearly an hour to free Adams' LoggerMech from its predicament on the basin rim road. Nadine Cheka's Stinger had gotten stuck in undergrowth and loose soil just below the stranded machine. Her efforts to move up and out of the trap had set off another round of rockslides that threatened to sweep her and Adams' LoggerMech completely off the face of the slope. The problem had been solved by having a number of ‘Mech pilots climb out of their machines to pass a heavy cable down the slope to Nadine. With the other end secured to a towring on the Dervish, she had managed to pull her way hand-overhand up the slope, until at last her Stinger was on the up-slope side of Adams' LoggerMech.

  After that, the job was simply a matter of picking up the tow chain from Adams' ‘Mech and attaching it to the D-ring on Gunderson's ‘Mech. With the second LoggerMech taking the strain on the dragchain, Adams had at last been able to get enough purchase on the roadbed to pull his ‘Mech's right leg back up onto hard ground and to get it walking on all fours once more. Moments later, they'd emerged from the jungle and onto the rolling grassland of the Bluesward.

  At 0045, Thorvald had transmitted a coded message toward the distant city; Attack delayed. Hold diversion until 0200. Attack will commence at 0245.

  He'd waited a minute or two for an acknowledgement, but heard nothing. That caused a slight, nagging worry, but Thorvald refused to let it bother him. It could be an equipment failure, or perhaps the rebels were not in a position to answer at the moment. He certainly could not afford to stand there waiting for the reply, and he would not be able to hear the beamed microwave transmission while his ‘Mech was down in the gully. He decided that the best course was to proceed to the jump-off point outside the city. At 0200, he would listen for the code phrase, which would indicate that the diversion had been set off at the new time. If he did not hear the phrase then, he would consider aborting the attack. Thorvald felt that it would be foolish to abandon the mission over something as insignificant as a few minutes' delay in acknowledging a message.

  The trek had gone relatively smoothly after that, at least until Vikki Traxen misunderstood what she saw on her IR scan and put her Locust's foot into a hole in the dry streambed, pitching her machine forward with a crash. Traxen was unhurt, but a driver cam in her Locust's left ankle had bent, and a coolant seal just above had ruptured. Her ‘Mech could walk, but with a quarter-speed limp, and she'd had to cut off coolant flow to the Locust's entire left leg. That meant further malfunctions for certain, as maneuvers with the straining leg drove the unit's internal temperature up.

  Thorvald had sent Traxen limping to the rear, but only after losing another ten minutes trying to open an access panel to see whether the damage could be repaired. The fall had sprung the panel's lock mechanism, and they'd been forced in the end to use Collin Dace's Phoenix Hawk with a raiser bar to pry it open.

  Thorvald glanced for the fiftieth time at the digital chronometer set into his main console. Time was tight, but they could still pull it off.

  * * * *

  With hands clasped behind his back, Nagumo watched the dying glow in the sky to the southeast. The warehouse fire had been stubborn and fierce, an explosive blaze among the tanks of azelwax stored there. A lance of Third Strike Regiment ‘Mechs had finally got it under control using SRMs tipped with foam bombs. Damage had been confined to the warehouse and the buildings immediately adjacent. The whole affair was unremarkable and he would not even have been called out of bed, except that...

  Security forces closing off the block had caught sight of a pair of men fleeing the area. When the force commander had given pursuit, the pair had turned on their pursuers and opened fire with handguns. In the brief firefight, one of the fugitives had been killed, the other cornered and captured. Two security personnel had been wounded in the struggle.

  So, the fire had been set deliberately. That was not so unusual, for anti-Combine violence had increased in Regis over the past year or two. What had piqued Nagumo's interest was the fact that his men had found a small, personal transceiver on their prisoner, and it was of a type manufactured and sold on another world. That might not have been so unusual, either. High-tech items such as transceivers and comlinks were favorite trade items for
cargo because they were low-bulk and high-profit. What did interest Nagumo was the trademark on this particular radio. It showed that the transceiver had been manufactured on Galatea, the planet that some called Mercenary's Star.

  This incident, coupled with the fact that rebel emissaries from Verthandi had recently hired mercenaries on Galatea, was disquieting. It meant that the rebels operating in Regis were in touch with the rebels in the jungle. It also meant that rebels had started the warehouse fire. Under whose orders? From where? Within the city? Or from out of the jungle?

  The mystery had deepened after close inspection proved that the Galatean radio was not working. The microsoldering on the power-board was shoddy, and a broken circuit blocked incoming transmissions. Perhaps the radio had been intended only to alert someone else that the job was done? Or had the rebels simply not bothered to test their equipment before setting out on their mission?

  What was their mission? Why destroy a warehouse filled with highly flammable azelwax at the southeast corner of Regis? There was no military value in the oily wax, though it did burn brightly. The owners of the wax had no connection with the occupying forces, and so revenge or terrorism was an unlikely motive. Why, then? That question had brought a sleepless Nagumo to his office, had moved him to wake Dr. Vlade and the other members of his interrogation team so that they could begin getting the answers from the prisoner as quickly as possible.

  His desktop communicator chirruped at him. When Nagumo touched the receiver switch, Vlade's features appeared on the screen. There were stray flecks of blood on the psychiatrist's face, and the sleeves of his white smock were heavily stained. The doctor, Nagumo decided, must have been personally involved in the interrogation.

  "Well?"

  "My Lord, it is as you thought. The subject was working under the direction of rebel forces based in the jungle. His orders came from a woman he knows only as 'Carlotta'."

  "Where is this rebel base?"

  "He didn't know. Lord."

  "You're certain of that?"

  "My Lord, the subject broke completely. He withheld nothing from us." Vlade's mouth worked in what could have been a smile. "What he did know was much more important, however. The fire was a diversion for a rebel attack. The attack was to take place tonight. Right now, in fact, shortly before 0200."

  "Now?"

  "He was certain of the time, my Lord. He was surprised that the rebel ‘Mechs had not already struck. The diversion was to be at 0100, the attack at 0145."

  "Rebel ‘Mechs!"

  "Yes, Lord. He did not know how many or where they were to strike. He knew only that a number of BattleMechs organized into a unit called the 'Free Verthandi Rangers' were to move into position while the warehouse fire distracted our units in Regis and momentarily blinded our IR-scanning satellites."

  Nagumo's brows rose, questioning. "There's been no sign of enemy activity."

  "Perhaps the rebels called off the attack, but the people charged with setting the fire didn't get the word."

  "Possibly," Nagumo said. "The broken radio might indicate that. Certainly, it means they couldn't warn their comrades that they'd been captured."

  "There might have been other rebel agents watching."

  "Yes." Nagumo stroked his graying mustache with one finger, pondering.

  "One thing more, my Lord. There was a code phrase he was to transmit once the job was done.”

  “What was it?"

  "The words 'false dawn'. He named a microwave frequency. Obviously, they were unable to transmit."

  Nagumo nodded, his eyes cold. "Well done, Doctor. Finish up there and go back to bed."

  Vlade bowed. "Thank you, my Lord." The Governor General broke the connection.

  An attack called off or mis-timed by faulty communications? The possibility was intriguing. He opened another line on his communicator. "Get me the DWO."

  Seconds later, a black-uniformed officer appeared on screen. "Duty Watch Officer, Major Ralston. Yes, my Lord General?"

  "I have reason to believe that an enemy ‘Mech force is planning an assault on Regis tonight. They may already be moving into position. Double your perimeter security, and organize roving patrols to check out the Bluesward."

  "Enemy ‘Mechs, my Lord? But...yes, my Lord. At once, sir!"

  "Do we have recon satellite coverage of the Regis area tonight?"

  "Partial coverage. Lord. The cloud cover is heavy, but intermittent."

  "Pay particular attention to satellite reconnaissance data...everything in the general area of Regis within the past two hours. Burn a satellite to bring it in on a quicker pass if you have to, but get it done. It could be that the warehouse fire in Regis was set partly to dazzle our recon sats' infra-red imaging. I'd like to know what it is they don't want us to see."

  "At once. Lord General!"

  Moments later, Nagumo heard the distance-muted rasp of an alarm sounding through the building as the Draconis forces were put on yellow alert. Smiling to himself, he sat down in his chair, put his booted feet up on his desk, and waited.

  17

  Thorvald scowled in growing anxiety at the Warhammer's commo set. The verification signal had been transmitted: false dawn.

  But why now? It was still ten minutes before two, and he'd not been expecting the verification for another ten or fifteen minutes at least. How had the people in Regis managed to get his orders so turned around?

  The other ‘Mechs were climbing up out of the gully, which was quite shallow this close to the outskirts of Regis. They gathered now alongside his Warhammer. The University towers were clearly visible from here, black against a lighter sky, with pinpoints of lights visible here and there. The wall loomed below. They could see no sign of the fire, but perhaps it would not be visible clear across the expanse of Regis.

  Down below, silent shapes flitted through the shadows. Elements of the rebel army had been gathering for the past hours, waiting for the arrival of his ‘Mechs, but no doubt wondering why they were so late. Thorvald cursed the need for radio silence. All that was possible were short, highly directional bursts.

  Well, no matter that the timing was off. Things had worked out surprisingly well after all. They had arrived an hour late, but they could still successfully carry out the attack if the diversionary fire did its job of distracting the enemy.

  Thorvald turned the Warhammer's back on the city, then showed a signal light. He positioned it so that the army waiting in the darkness to the north would see it, but not any eyes watching from the city. The blue light flashed once...twice...then three more times in rapid succession.

  The attack was on, the signal declared. Move out now! Silently, the rebel army flowed toward Regis.

  "My Lord, we have them!"

  Nagumo leaned closer to the com screen on his desk, studying the satellite image displayed there, The image was damnably fuzzy, distorted by the high-altitude layer of ice crystal clouds that had been preventing a clear view all evening. The city was plain enough, including the ragged white scar to the southeast where the ruins of the burned warehouse still smoldered. And there, to the north, a partem of heat sources, points of yellow against the background green.

  "We're still analyzing the transmission. Lord General," the DWO's voice went on, "but we're certain that we're tracking the heat outputs of at least twelve ‘Mechs, together with very large numbers of men and small ground or hover vehicles. These"—a flashing computer-graphic circle isolated a cluster of yellow-orange points— "read as Galleon emissions."

  "Hah!"

  "A moment ago, our orbital visual scanners detected a coded flash of blue light. We wouldn't have seen it if we hadn't been looking right at it We think it was an order to advance. The contact has been dispersing since then, but definitely moving toward Regis."

  "Range?"

  "Five kilometers due north of the University, my Lord.”

  “Our forces are in position?"

  "Yes, Lord We have infantry and conventional armor in reserve at various p
oints in the city, as well as two full companies of ‘Mechs, watching for a possible rebel strike by forces already in Regis. Two more companies are behind the University's north wall, and another on the Mall inside the compound. We are deploying four additional companies—Third Battalion of the Third Strike Regiment—outside Regis to the east and west. If you approve, m'Lord, we plan to let them advance, then close in from either side to trap them all."

  "Plan approved. But Major..."

  "Yes, my Lord?"

  "Bring me prisoners. This action may crush the rebel army once and for all, but I still want prisoners! There are too many unknowns with this mercenary unit loose in the jungle."

  "Understood, Lord General. I will pass the order on to the company commanders."

  "Excellent, Major. Keep me advised." A smile was spreading across Nagumo's face. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for! For years, he had been fighting shadows that struck at times and places of their own choosing, then vanished wraithlike into the jungles. Now, at last, the rebels had been goaded into coming out of the jungles and attacking the heart of the Combine's strength on Verthandi. Here the issue would be settled once and for all. With luck—though Nagumo did not count on that elusive goddess— perhaps they would also manage to catch the mercenary ‘Mechs, too. That would break any threat to the Draconis Combine's hold on Norn II once and for all.

  Duke Hassid Ricol would be pleased.

  * * * *

  Kilometers to the north, the Gray Death Legion's six BattleMechs hurried through the dark, travelling along the uneven, boulder-strewn surface of a gully already torn by the tread of the larger ‘Mech force that had passed through hours before. They had met Vikki Traxen's Locust limping along in the opposite direction and learned the reason for the assault force's delay. At the rate they had been travelling, Thorvald's unit must only now be drawing close to the walls of the university.