And since the woman did not have the good graces to die during the assault on the Brightwater facility, Erik would be happy to see her pushed in front of the blades once more.

“Colonel,” Raul began, then hesitated. “Sir, I request assignment to an IndustrialMech conversion. I can still pilot.”

“We have men who are better trained for those machines, Raul, and you know it. You’ll have to wait for another BattleMech. I think you know what those chances are.”

Another BattleMech arriving on Achernar, with or without a pilot? Erik counted the odds somewhere past the chances of the sun not rising tomorrow. He stood. “I’m so glad to see that we are at an accord, Colonel. With the militia’s help, we’ll keep Achernar free of Kal Radick’s clutches yet.” He nodded a dismissal to the militia commander. “Colonel Blaire.”

To Raul he smiled thinly. “Agent Ortega,” he said in leaving, reducing Raul in rank to his original position as a Customs Officer. Raul’s surprised start told him the arrow had gone deep, as Erik had intended.

Everything, he decided, was going to go as he intended. Now, with the militia. Soon, with Star Colonel Torrent. And, eventually, with the position and honors his uncle would bestow on him. Erik was not about to let anything stand in his way.

Especially Raul Ortega.

Steel Wolf DropShip Lupus

Achernar

17 March 3133

The tactical planning room of the DropShip Lupus was an outboard space, strangely shaped as it nestled up against the Overlord’s curved hull. Rather like a trapezoid, with a concave, sloping base. Utilities covered one of the inside bulkheads, caught between decks in a frozen cascade of pipes, electrical conduit and wave guides. The other held a large, darkened monitor and a computer terminal. The trapezoid’s top had been punched through with one vent for warm, sterilized air, one for recirc, and the only door in or out.

Star Colonel Torrent was always the last to arrive. He stepped through the door at precisely eight a.m. local time, shut and locked the door behind him. Any officer who did not deign to be present found themselves not only shut out of the room, but would be fighting—literally—for their job before the afternoon was over.

A crescent-shaped metal table stood bolted into the center of the room with a curved bench around the outside and a single, swiveling seat positioned on the crescent’s inside. A small holographic emitter rose up in the table’s center, currently displaying a three-dimensional model of the local HPG station. Torrent took a roll call by eye, then stood over the empty seat with large hands resting on its high back.

“Today,” he asked the trio of senior officers, “or tomorrow?”

No one jumped to give him the bad news, and so he knew long before Star Captain Demos spoke up. “Tomorrow,” she said. She reached up to tug at a long curl of her shiny, black hair, what Nikola herself would have called a ‘tell.’ The armor commander was beginning to feel the pressure. “My technicians are still rebuilding the engines on two hovercraft, hoping to replace the Demon we lost the other day. Our Condor drivers could use the extra time on simulators, as well, and the Elementals are still too slow in dismantling so many charges.”

A childish effort on Erik Sandoval’s part, Torrent thought. Breaking the toys he cannot play with. The Star Colonel’s people would strip away enough of the spoilsport demolitions that any damage would be easily repaired.

He glanced at the next officer in line, but Mech Warrior Franzia also demurred. Two of his IndustrialMech pilots had light injuries that could use the extra day of rest.

“Xera?” Torrent turned back to his senior pilot.

The raven-haired warrior never hesitated. “My warriors will be ready to go when you command it, Star Colonel.”

What few warriors she had left. The toll on aerospace was always highest on extended missions such as these. Taking the San Marino had cost the Steel Wolves two good pilots and two locally irreplaceable fightercraft. A double-flight of four Jagatai was all that remained.

Torrent gripped the chair back with frustration, wanting to tear it out of its floor-mounted socket. Then he relaxed, setting aside his bloodlust by sheer force of will. He spun the chair around, took his seat, and then swiveled back to face his advisors.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Dusk. I want the best possible conditions for our air support. I will make a challenge to Erik Sandoval, and to the people of River’s End, right after our meeting. No one will ever say that my Steel Wolves did not conduct themselves with due honor. Now,” he ordered Franzia, “tell me about the militia.”

The other MechWarrior was slight of build and had a tendency to stutter when extremely nervous. He was neither trueborn nor even of Clan Wolf origins, but one of the Republic freeborn who had come to Kal Radick and petitioned for acceptance. On the surface, he was a poor replacement to Star Commander Yulri as one of Torrent’s planning staff. But the man was a gifted MechWarrior, no doubt about that. It was the one mitigating fact in his favor.

“I-I’ve… I have been going over the reports, Star Colonel. The militia has reported high casualties from the B-Brightwater diversionary assault and from our taking the San Marino. There are also rumors that they’ve—they have–suffered several d-d-desertions in the past week.”

At least the man tried to correct his lazy grammar. Torrent tapped a thick finger against his jaw. “Mech Warrior Franzia, you say ‘reports and rumors’ as if you do not believe them.”

Franzia slid out from his place at the end of the bench, typed rapidly into the nearby computer terminal. The staccato fire of the keyboard reminded Torrent that the man had been a computer slave not so long ago. An accountant! And now he commanded a BattleMech.

“I do not, Star Colonel.” Columns of numbers filled the wall monitor. “The casualty reports are extremely high compared to their survival rates in previous engagements, by a factor of seven-point-five to one. And these desertions? By all accounts, they have led to no defections, which I find interesting. A dozen men and women of shaky allegiance to the Republic, and not one has contacted us? Statistically speaking, that is highly unlikely.”

Torrent noted the other man’s confidence once he slipped into the realm of numbers. Franzia lost his stutter and all indications of doubt. And in Torrent’s presence, too. That, more than anything, convinced the Star Colonel.

“What about the Swordsworn?” Nikola asked. “Perhaps the defectors went over to them.”

Franzia nodded, paused as if confused, then shook his head. “Except that you yourself assured me, Star Captain, that no vehicles could move into River’s End without our being aware of it. Where did the APCs go? Why haven’t we seen Cavalier suits among the Swordsworn infantry posts?” He caught the contraction too late. “Excuse m-my base language. The militia may have suffered some losses, but I believe they are also using this to hide forces from the Swordsworn as well as us.”

Torrent nodded. “Preparing for an underground resistance,” he said, “or a surprise attack.”

Demos dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Give them exactly what they had when we took the spaceport, and I will still lay five-to-seven odds in our favor.”

“And if the Swordsworn and militia actually join forces?” Torrent asked.

“If they work together seamlessly, under one authority? Five will get you eight.” She smiled. “If Sandoval hangs back again, and does not engage? The morale hit alone will improve our odds.”

The commander could not resist his indulgent smile. “Nikola, looking to recoup your earlier losses?”