Before I went north I employed a dead-drop to leave a message for Alba to warn her that something was going on in my camp and that I was afraid they had caught wind of the raid, so she should abort it. I wrote the message out, folded it neatly, put it in an empty beer can—Diamond Negro, just for the record—and dropped it beneath a small bridge in one of the downtown parks. I then proceeded to a corner and drew an X on a lamppost with some chalk, to let her agents know there was a message at the dead-drop.

And, of course, I did this late enough in the day that the message would never be found in time. I made one call after that, then got on the shuttle and made my way to the resort. Eluding security was relatively simple since most of the guards were underpaid locals entranced by the ongoing construction. I took a hovercab to the site, walked in with a small case and said I’d been sent to see the construction supervisor. Once I’d signed in, the rental guard started to escort me, but I told him I knew the way and he let me go.

I entered the resort and made my way to the restaurant. To get there I had to open the lift’s control panel and cross two wires, but that did no permanent damage, so my passage went unnoticed. During the subsequent evac search of the building—which followed a fire drill—a guard did appear and ask if anyone was up there. I remained silent and the closest he got to finding me was filching a bottle of Castel Del Lestrade ’28 Cabernet/Merlot.

Now, if he’d gone for the Chardonnay, I’d have been found out.

Sipping some of the ’24 Chardonnay, I watched as a storm rolled its clouds in above, mirroring the gathering forces below. From that vantage point I could easily imagine myself to be Ares, ancient god of War, delighting as Humanity sought to slay one another. Humanity was far removed from the days of infantry armed with sword and spear, and the type of slaughter that would ensue might not only delight Ares, but would please Hades no end also.

There is nothing natural about modern combat. I watched the BSU forces come in from the east. They brought two ’Mechs, one armored lance of Scimitars, another of Fox Armored Hovercars and a pair of Demon Medium Tanks. The platoon of troopers they brought in rode on the Foxes, but hopped off and formed up into four squads once the vehicles entered the resort property via the construction road through the jungle. Everything had been painted or uniformed in dark browns and greens to make them tougher to see. While I had a set of nightvision goggles with me, I didn’t put them on because the jagged flashes of lightning strobed brightly enough for me to watch their approach.

The centerpiece of their force was a Firestarter. While the ’Mech was not a big threat in combat, against the building in which I stood, it could do a lot of damage. While I was fairly certain Bernard would have preferred having the Palace pounded into rubble, having it go up as a votive offering to the gods would be spectacular and in keeping with the pyromaniacal leanings the BSU had already claimed.

Their other ’Mech was a Panther, which could move quickly and sported an extended-range Particle Projector Cannon. That weapon and the pair of short-range-missile launchers in the ’Mech’s torso made it formidable in combat, while its jump jets and armor gave it maneuverability and longevity in combat—at least while matched by a comparable ’Mech.

I do have to give Catford credit. While I thought he was an egotistical giant and an intellectual dwarf, he was very good at setting up an ambush and executing it. He’d done a great job anticipating what Germayne would throw at him, and matched their forces almost exactly. He’d culled Gypsy’s resources for the best pilots and equipment. That, coupled with the advantage of surprise, gave him a gross advantage. His choice of ’Mechs heightened that advantage. His first shot, targeted and timed perfectly, doomed the BSU effort from the start.

A pair of Condor Multi-Purpose Tanks—hulking tracked vehicles with lots of armor and an LRM launcher in the turret—joined a Catapult in launching their full missile payloads at the Firestarter. They’d been fed targeting coordinates from one of the construction shacks because they were waiting in the foundation pit for Tower Three. The launches rivaled the lightning, and sixty missiles arced out at their target. Explosions wreathed the humanoid ’Mech, blossoming red and gold. Armor shattered and rained down in semi-molten fragments. Its left arm whirled away in a twisted mass of metal while the Firestarter staggered. It sank to its knees, then flopped back, lashed by sheets of rain.

Everything on both sides opened up at that point, with red, green and jagged blue beams slicing through the storm. Some pilots, as always happens, shot at phantoms. The artificial lightning of the Particle Projector Cannons looked anemic compared to nature’s wrath, but they carved steaming furrows in armor. The BSU Panther coordinated its attack with the Scimitars, choosing one enemy to beset. Their pilots fired fast and accurately, trying to take out Catford’s lance of Joust Medium Tanks before they could mow down the infantry with their machine guns.

Turf rooster-tailed high into the air as the Jousts raced forward. Their turrets traversed to cover targets and the large laser each vehicle sported spat out thick beams of green light. The Panther’s chest armor boiled away, leaving angry smoking scars, but the pilot kept his ’Mech upright. It shot back with its PPC, and the Scimitars joined in by launching a dozen SRMs at just one of the Jousts.

The BSU strikes savaged the left side of the Joust, peeling the armor back as if it were made of roofing tin. The PPC raked across it and then down. The azure beam sliced through the track, which whipped off like a snake in agony. The Joust spun around to the left, presenting its front armor to its attackers as the three other tanks in the lance raced on.

Another exchange would have likely killed the Joust, but before the Panther could attack, the Catapult and Condors rained fire down upon it. One moment it was standing there, looking strong and terrible. In the next, fire and smoke surrounded it like a magician about to disappear. As the light evaporated, a transformation had occurred, for in the place of a proud war machine there remained a battered hulk. One arm had been torn completely off, the other snapped at the elbow, and the ’Mech had dropped to one knee. Torso armor had vanished and structural members glowed in a twisted body.

The stricken ’Mech’s head nodded forward, then the body slowly sagged in on itself. It looked as if the Panther’s corpse might remain frozen in that position, and I had visions of it resting in the Boneyard on Terra. Then fire lit the cockpit; the faceplate blew out as the pilot ejected. He rode his command couch’s jet out, but started from a bad angle, so he hit the turf hard and tumbled. The couch came apart and so did he while, behind him, the force of the ejection toppled the Panther’s body.

The BSU troops must have known from the first they were in trouble, but they were game. The Scimitars made runs at the Emblyn tanks, unloading their short-range missiles, lighting things up with their lasers, then scurrying like roaches exposed by lightning flashes. By luck or skill, they combined with the Demons to take two more of the tanks out, even though the last Joust’s machine guns scythed fire through the BSU infantry, killing all but a handful.

Catford clearly found the Scimitars and their valiant effort a personal affront because he moved his Jupiter into the battle when it really wasn’t needed. The hundred-ton BattleMech strode into the firefight much as its namesake might have three millennia before. Watching it, I could not help but feel a thrill, for the forces before it would be all but powerless to stop it, and he could kill them at his will.