Mercenary's Star

by William H. Keith

  Restless, unable to sleep, Grayson heated water for coffee in a small brass pot over one of the power plant coolant ducts in the narrow engineering access space high in the Shadow Hawk's thorax. He spent much of the night watching the Hawk's scanners, but there was no sign of enemy movement. Once his radio band scanners picked up a burst of static that might have been anything—a meteor ionizing the upper atmosphere, a ship re-entry, or random radio noise generated by the Norn system's sun in Verthandi's magnetic field. A short time later, he thought he detected the warbling garble of scrambled radio transmissions, but very far away. His own base was under radio silence, of course, a necessary precaution to keep the enemy from triangulating their transmissions and getting a fix on the rebel HQ. That transmission had to be something of the enemy's.

  What was Nagumo doing? What was he planning? Grayson knew with a cold lump of certainty in his gullet that his success against Verthandi's conquerors during the past two days owed much to luck and to the fact that he'd been able to gain a momentary initiative over Nagumo's forces. That initiative was a fragile, illusory state, however. Nagumo had only to make one move, strike one village, make one attack that forced Grayson to respond, and the initiative was lost, possibly forever. The enemy had so many forces, so many troops spread across a planet that was, after all, far larger than any one man could grasp. Grayson's forces were so few. Even if he could find a way to win this unequal struggle, how could he do it before Governor-General Nagumo scorched the surface of Verthandi to a cinder in a vicious war of retaliation and counter-retaliation?

  Once during his vigil, Grayson thought he detected a brief faint glow, a dim, false dawn in the cloud bellies above the treetops to the east. When the light quickly faded, he decided that it had been a figment of his own exhaustion.

  Before it was fully light, the rebel band had breakfasted on canned rations and survival concentrates, saddled up their vehicles, and were on their way once more. He hoped to reach Fox Island well before 0900 local time, give his men time to resupply, and push on to the next target, another watchstation at the edge of the Vrieshaven district, 180 kilometers further east. After that, perhaps they could rest awhile.

  Only a short while, though. Success depended on the rebel ‘Mech force moving quickly and far afield, striking the Kurita garrisons wherever they were weak and lax in their watchfulness. To stop meant that the enemy could close in on them with fingers of steel, trapping them, crushing them.

  He urged tired men and worn machines to a faster pace through an unforgiving jungle. Lori was in the lead in the light and swift-footed Locust. They were still five kilometers from camp when her voice came across the command circuit "Boss! I've got a reading ahead! Man-sized, heading this way!"

  Grayson's brow furrowed in puzzlement There should be no sentries so far to the west of Fox Island. He acknowledged and steered the Hawk up the trail until it stood alongside the Locust. His own scanners detected the motion—a man, following an erratic and uneven course through the brush. Less than ten meters ahead of the two ‘Mechs, that man burst out onto the trail, where he stood weaving unsteadily. Through a mask of blood, he took in the apparition of two BattleMechs towering in front of him, then fell face down into the soft ground. Lori and Grayson reached him first. One of the Legion medtechs joined them moments later, kit in hand. It wasn't until the medic had wiped some of the blood and dirt from the man's face that Grayson recognized him as Jaleg Yorulis.

  Yorulius' eyes fluttered open. "Don't...go back," he said, his voice a hoarse croak. "They're there..."

  "Who? Who's there?"

  "Dracos..."

  Grayson went cold inside. "Jaleg! What happened? Tell us!"

  "Drac...commandos. Parachutes. They landed right on top of us. Never knew...never knew they were there. The... ‘Mechs, they came through later."

  '"Mechs? Kurita BattleMechs?"

  He nodded, the effort costing him blood and strength. "They're still there... waiting... for you

  The medic ran his hands across Yorulis' body. "Where'd they hit you, Mech Warrior?"

  Yorulis laughed, a ragged, gagging sound, and tried to mop at the blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. "Where didn't they get me?"

  Grayson pursed his lips. He was no medic, but he knew that Yorulis didn't have a chance outside a well-stocked hospital, which they weren't likely to find out here. As blood welled from holes high in the man's chest, the medtech began slapping them with small plastic patches. Those holes sucked and bubbled with each breath Yorulis took.

  "How many ‘Mechs?" Grayson asked gently. The medic looked up at Grayson as though about to protest, but Grayson silenced him with a shake of his head and repeated the question. "How many ‘Mechs, Jaleg?"

  "Don't... know. Comp'ny maybe. Maybe more." He tossed his head back and forth. "Don't go back there. They're... laying for you. Must've waited to get word that you were out raiding their outposts... then moved... fast. They got all the ‘Mechs you left there. And the Techs. Herded them off South... somewhere..."

  The full scope of the disaster was only now becoming clear to Grayson. Without their base, without Techs...

  "Couldn't get to a ‘Mech," the wounded ‘MechWarrior contintied. "Never had a chance. They got the Council too. Captain. Rounded 'em up and marched 'em off. Don't know what happened to them."

  "Ericksson?"

  "Don't know. Don't...know. Didn't see him. I...snuck out. but a Phoenix Hawk spotted me, opened up with its machine guns. I guess they figured they killed me, because they stopped shooting after the third time I fell down." He started coughing then, and the blood flowed faster, soaking the medtech's patches. "I...guess maybe they were right."

  "You take it easy," Grayson said, aware of how false the words sounded. "We'll get you patched up and..."

  But Yorulis kept coughing, a wet, strangling gargle. His breaths were coming in short, quick, wet gasps. His eyes closed. "Never knew they were..."

  And then he was dead.

  Grayson stood up, his head swimming. There was a great deal of blood on his thin pullover shirt, and it had now soaked through to his skin. It felt hot and sticky. The medtech clenched his fists once, then silently repacked his kit without looking at Grayson. He thinks I killed him, Grayson thought. Maybe he's right. But I had to know.

  Lori looked up at him, at the blood on his shirt and hands. "What now, boss?" she asked. "Do we take them at Fox Island?"

  He looked at the body for a moment, his lips compressed into a thin, white line. Then he shook his head. "No. If they're waiting for us, they'll know what we have and be ready for us. We wouldn't stand a chance."

  "Where'll we go, then?"

  "We don't have much choice, do we?" He nodded toward the north. "The deep jungle looks like our only chance. We'll find a place to set up a new base with what we took from the watchstation, then see about making contact with some of the plantation owners around here." He closed his eyes, visualizing a map. "Westlee and Ostafjord are possibilities. The Dracos haven't found the Phobos yet. Maybe we can set up an HQ there. First, though, we've got to get clear of here!"

  Even before that, Grayson had to explain to his people what had happened. Strapped again into his Shadow Hawk, he tersely described the situation, that the enemy had taken Fox Island and that the column would be turning north.

  "But sir!" A voice came over the circuit when he'd finished. "What about...what about the Council! Did they get away?"

  Grayson recognized the voice. It was Harriman Oissen, pilot of one of the LoggerMechs and son of Karl Oissen, the doctor on the Revolutionary Council.

  "I'm sorry, Harriman. There's nothing we can do for them now."

  "We could go get them!"

  "Not when they’re waiting for us, at night, with God knows how many ‘Mechs against the few of us.”

  “No!"

  "Pull back into line, Oissen!" Grayson made the command sharp and short. The green-painted LoggerMech that had stepped from its place in line swayed, halted in plac
e by the edge in Grayson's voice. "The worst thing we could do would be to go charging in there, guns blazing...and wipe out what's left of the Free Verthandi Rangers!"

  Many of the others felt much as Oissen did. Several among the Mech Warrior apprentices and rebel soldiers had family, friends, or lovers among the Techs and astechs who had remained at Fox Island. Grayson himself felt the loss of the Gray Death Techs who had been left behind as a personal blow. What had happened to Tomlinson, the homely, carrot-haired boy who had been serving as his own personal Tech?

  Harriman Oissen herded his four-legged ‘Mech into line again, but Grayson felt accusation heavy in the air around him.

  There was no choice but to go on. They carried Yorulis' body with them in the back of a hover transport. Li Chin, one of the rebels from Brasednewic's command, knew the area well enough to describe a trail running through the forest that would lead them northwest to the Azure Coast above Ostafjord and away from the worst of the swamps near Fox Island Li claimed that the trail lay off the main east-west path no more than a kilometer ahead, but that meant going closer to the trap at their old base before they could get farther away. Grayson considered, and agreed. Following the trail was their only option in the midst of jungle so thick and treacherously unknown. He cautioned everyone in the column to strict silence and ordered them to move out.

  They found the northbound trail minutes later and made the turn. It was not a clear branching of the trail, and so Grayson posted his Shadow Hawk at the fork to direct the column past him to the north. The jungle was strangely silent except for the keening of hover vehicles and the slogging step of marching BattleMechs. The cloud layer had lifted, and the day was clear and bright, with gold-orange sunlight slanting through the treetops. Grayson fretted about the possibility that Kurita satellites would spot the glint of sun on metal through the gaps in the forest canopy.

  Once the northward turn had been made, Grayson harassed his command relentlesly, urging them faster along the trail. When a battered PickerMech broke down completely, Grayson had the pilot transfer to one of the infantry vehicles and left the derelict ‘Mech at the side of the trail. When some rebel troops complained about the pace, Grayson offered to let them volunteer as a rear guard. They could sit m the trail and rest, he told them, if they would deal with the enemy ‘Mechs that were certain to be on their trail. The Kurita ‘Mechs waiting to trap the rebel column at Fox Island would never let so tempting a target as Grayson's little band escape when they realized the rebels were not playing according to the Draco script. It was well past local noon when the enemy Mechs found them. Grayson had dropped back to the tail of the column to urge a pair of straggling AgroMechs to pick up the pace. They were Logger-Mechs, clumsy on the narrow path and difficult to maneuver among low trees and heavy hanging vines and beard moss. They had fallen nearly a hundred meters behind the rest of the rebel column, and Grayson was afraid they would become lost. The trail branched repeatedly along its winding, northward course, and it was possible that stragglers would become separated from the main force and never be able to link up again. One of the laggards was piloted by Harriman Olssen, the other by a young woman named Jenni Vikna.

  "You wouldn't be trying to leave us now, would you?" Grayson said, but his voice was mild. "We have a long way to go. Close it up."

  For a moment, he thought he was going to get an argument from Olssen, but the young man held his silence. Grayson remembered that the Vikna girl, too, had had someone at Fox Island. He'd often seen her walking with a young local astech.

  "We've got to find another way to help them," he said gently.

  Grayson used his Hawk's arms to help clear a difficult spot through overhanging vines and guided them through. He could see their fatigue by the unsteadiness of their four-legged walkers as he urged them on.

  "We need another twenty klicks," he said, "and then we can camp for the night. Come on! You can do twenty kilometers in your sleep."

  At that moment, the enemy ‘Mechs attacked.

  24

  The sudden appearance of the Kurita ‘Mechs caught Grayson like a blow to the stomach. In the lead was a Marauder painted in green and brown jungle camouflage. Bright against its upper torso was the black-on-scarlet Kurita dragon insignia. Grayson immediately recognized the markings of the Marauder from the holos the proctor of Scandiahelm had shown him. And piloting that well-named ‘Mech was the colonel in command of the Kurita ‘Mech regiment on Verthandi.

  A 35-ton Panther and a sleek, black-and-white Phoenix Hawk flanked the Marauder. Then came a loud, thrashing sound from the jungle behind them as another heavy machine moved swiftly through the brush.

  Grayson's hand came down on his firing controls almost without conscious thought. His autocannon opened up with a hammering roar that sent shivers through the Shadow Hawk cockpit. Explosions flashed and sparked against the unyielding armor of the Marauder. The enemy ‘Mech was at almost point-blank range, however, and one step forward took it out of Grayson's line-of-fire too quickly for him to adjust the autocannon's track. Instead, he palmed the Hawk's laser control and brought his ‘Mech's right arm slashing up to aim. As he squeezed the trigger, a point of intolerable brilliance flickered against the Marauder's hull close by the heavily shielded cockpit. Bolts of laser and PPC fury from the Phoenix Hawk and the Panther were already shredding through the barn-sized and paper-thin hulls of the pair of LoggerMechs.

  "Bandits!" Grayson yelled into the command circuit. "Bandits at the tail of the column! Watch for flankers!"

  He cut loose with his missiles then, which lanced on hissing white contrails into the tangle of jungle and ‘Mechs. The blasts shredded foliage and splintered trees. Struck full in the chest, the Panther lurched backward a step before its right arm PPC swung up to answer.

  Grayson triggered his ‘Mech's jump jets and vaulted into the sky. Branches and leaves smashed at his machine as it twisted in the air, threatening to send the 55-ton machine over on its side. He managed to stabilize and bring the Shadow Hawk down for an unsteady landing further up the path. One of the LoggerMechs stood to the side of the trail, pumping machine gun fire into the advancing Marauder.

  Grayson checked the number painted on the side of the AgroMech. "Olssen! Machine guns are no good against heavies! Back off!"

  "I can hold 'em until you get clear!" Olssen's voice shot back.

  The Marauder seemed to shake off the fury sleeting against its broad hull. As the egg-shaped torso pivoted on its support track, the ‘Mech's two massive, twin-barrelled arms dropped into line with the thin-skinned AgroMech. The Marauder's PPCs spat man-made lightning, and the hull of the four-legged AgroMech seemed to crumple in the double blast. Forked blue bolts stabbed and flickered between the ‘Mech and the ground as the built-up charge spent itself. The Marauder's lasers added their fury to the destruction, as fire and smoke billowed from the LoggerMech's savaged interior.

  Jenni Vikna's LoggerMech came alongside the Shadow Hawk and seemed about to charge the enemy, but Grayson brought up one of his ‘Mech's hands. "Fall back, Jenni. That's an order!"

  "But Harriman's in trouble..."

  "Move out! Dammit, we can't help him!" he shouted, putting his Hawk between her LoggerMech and the battle. Keeping up a constant, sniping fire with his laser and missiles, he struck first at one ‘Mech, then another, and another. There was smoke boiling from the Panther's torso now, and an ugly gash where armor had peeled back and exposed the 35-ton ‘Mech's missile firing circuitry.

  An Archer joined the other three Kurita BattleMechs. With the covers already rolled back from the bulky LRM pods on each shoulder, its low-built, forward-thrusting cockpit section was menacing and somehow insect-like. With the Marauder in the lead and the PhoenixHawk close behind, the four Kurita ‘Mechs crowded past Oissen's burning ‘Mech and started toward Grayson.

  He'd thought Harriman Oissen was out of the fight, but the crippled LoggerMech seemed to pull itself together where it squatted in a half-crouch at the side of the trail. Tur
ning, Oissen lunged into the Archer as the Kurita ‘Mech stepped past. The pair of ‘Mechs went down in a tangle of legs, the Archer hammering at the AgroMech with flailing, ineffectual hands. The Archer pilot must have screamed something over his radio, for the Marauder and the Phoenix Hawk, both further along the trail, stopped their advance and whirled to face the struggling ‘Mechs. The Panther sprang forward from the rear of the line, hammering at the thrashing tangle of metal.

  In turning away from Grayson's ‘Mech, the Kurita Phoenix Hawk had made a serious error, for its rear torso armor was extremely thin. Grayson slapped his Shadow Hawk's targeting selector and swung his laser into line with the enemy ‘Mech's back. Laser light pulsed, struck, and a point of arc-light intensity appeared directly between the folded wing shapes of the ‘Mech's twin jump jet thrusters. His external sound pick-ups caught the rattling chatter of heavy machine guns close beside him as Jenni Vikkna added her ‘Mech's lighter firepower to his.

  Armor spat from the Phoenix Hawk's back in jagged pieces, exposing tangled wiring and the smooth, silvery polish of an internal fuel tank. Sparks from machine gun ricochets spattered and stung, smashing at the exposed wound Grayson fired again, saw wiring melt and splatter. There was a blue-white flash of short-circuiting connections as the enemy pilot mistakenly tried to fire his thrusters. Grayson knew at once what had happened, and instinctively flinched.

  A ball of flame engulfed the Phoenix Hawk in an inferno that towered up through the trees, shrivelling blue-green leaves and scorching the bark of tree trunks on either side. The roar of the explosion quickly died, subsumed by the crackle of fast-burning jump fuel.