The spectacle reminded her of stories she’d heard about the knights of old, who rode at one another with lances leveled and fought until one or the other had measured out his length on the ground.

The Countess of Northwind and I are like that, she thought. We will see who is still alive and on horseback after the meeting.

She took the Ryoken II forward, and the earth quaked under her feet. The long lines of IndustrialMechs, armored vehicles, and infantry squads followed after her. She did not think she had ever been happier.

“Anyone have a fix on the Countess of Northwind’s ’Mech?” she asked over the command link. “Or on the Blade?”

“Aerial reconnaissance puts them eight klicks ahead, on your right.”

“I will head up in that direction and see for myself,” Anastasia said.

“Messages are coming in from the heavy armor, Galaxy Commander. They report slow going. Tracked vehicles are bogging down.”

“Our tracked vehicles or theirs?” she asked.

“Presumably both.”

“Very well. Relay these orders to all units: Tracked and wheeled vehicles, find tactically significant terrain. Tops of knolls, ridgelines, whatever will give you protection or increase your fields of fire. Stand fast. Hover vehicles, move up. I want hovers swinging wide, north and south. Come around to attack the Highlanders from the flanks and rear.”

Acknowledgments poured in from the Stars and Trinaries of armor. She continued giving orders, “Infantry and ’Mechs, right up the middle. Make contact, keep contact. Press contact. Do not let the Highlanders rest for a moment.”

Acknowledgments were still coming in from the outlying units when she saw the column of black smoke in the sky up ahead. That would be where the Countess of Northwind had fought Ezekiel Crow. She turned the Ryoken II’s footsteps in that direction. The closer she drew to the scene of that battle, the muddier and harder to navigate the terrain around her became.

She spotted a ’Mech up ahead. No, two ’Mechs. Sensors identified them as a Pack Hunter and a Hatchetman. The burned-out hulk of a third ’Mech lay on the ground beside them.

“I know you,” Anastasia said. “Countess.”

As she spoke, an SM1 tank destroyer topped a rise on the far side to the east. She sent a burst of particle projector cannon fire in its direction; the tank destroyer reversed course and scuttled out of sight back behind the ridge. Anastasia ignored it as not worthy of her further attention. Instead, she keyed on her comm set.

“Hello, Countess,” she said. “Surrender to me now and I will send you home with honor.”

“No, thank you, Galaxy Commander,” came Tara Campbell’s voice over the radio. “You surrender to me, or I’ll send you back to Tigress in a box.”

“Neither one of us is given to making idle threats,” observed Anastasia. “This could get complicated.”

She fired a pair of missiles across the intervening ground, one for each ’Mech.

“Unless my scouts and my sensors misinform me,” she continued, punctuating her remarks with blasts from her particle cannon, “both you and your friend over there are damaged, not to mention low on ammo and cut off from your troops.”

“I hate to disillusion you,” Campbell replied. “But you’re wrong.”

Hatchetman and Pack Hunter fired at once, laser and particle cannon. The mixed fire struck Anastasia’s Ryoken II with double intensity. The Pack Hunter jumped toward her. Anastasia fired another pair of missiles, trying to ruin the Pack Hunter’s forward leap.

At the same time, she saw the Hatchetman jumping away from her, heading east.

“Running out on me, are you?” Anastasia said, and put her Ryoken II into a trot around the edge of the plowed-up ground. Even here at the outermost perimeter of the circle, her ’Mech was sinking into the earth up to the ankles with every step she took.

Horrible terrain, she thought. But it ties them down as much as it does us.

Over the Steel Wolves’ private command circuit she ordered, “I want some tank destroyers and tactical missile carriers up here. Guide on my location. We have a chance to end this battle here and now.”

“Galaxy Commander,” the voice at the other end said, “the scouts you sent away southward have returned with word. The DropShips have opened. We have mercenaries on our right flank.”

“Who?”

“The leader is riding a Jupiter.”

“No problem,” she said. “Jack Farrell is the only merc I know of who rides a Jupe. They are friends.”

“Galaxy Commander, they have destroyed five of our vehicles already. I doubt that they are friends.”

“Not according to their current contract, at any rate,” she said. There was no point in resenting mercenaries for doing what they were paid to do—but it did present a problem. “Continue bringing the JES and SM1 up to this location. I am going to swing south to take a look.”

She put the Ryoken II into a trot and headed away to the south.

“I hate to leave a fight unfinished,” she called back to the Hatchetman and the Pack Hunter on the all-frequency channel. “But I have important things to deal with elsewhere. We will finish this later.”

Belgorod

Terra

Prefecture X

April 3134; local spring

“What was that all about?” Captain Bishop wanted to know, as Anastasia’s Ryoken II turned and sprinted away to the south. “She was getting herself all psyched and ready for a bit of two-on-one action, and then she just breaks off and leaves.”

“Who knows?” Tara Campbell replied. “Considering that this is Anastasia Kerensky we’re talking about, the only thing we can be sure of is that she wasn’t scared.”

“You’re probably right, ma’am,” Captain Bishop said. “She isn’t nearly sane enough to be scared. Unlike some of us, who I have to tell you are getting saner by the minute.”

“I’m practically a textbook picture of sanity myself,” Tara Campbell said. “And I’m getting reports of fighting up and down the line. What do you think are the odds that Kerensky targeted us for her people before she took off?”

“Pretty good, ma’am.”

“I don’t see anything but small stuff around here at the moment,” Tara Campbell admitted. “But ’Mechs will go down under small stuff if there’s enough of it in the air, and I’m sure that Anastasia called in as much as she could.”

“And then took off,” said Captain Bishop. “We still don’t know what that was all about.”

“My guess? She went looking for a ’Mech to fight.”

“We’ve got ’Mechs right here,” Bishop protested.

“Somebody else has brought along bigger ones, then,” Tara Campbell said. “If I had to guess, I’d say that means One-Eyed Jack’s in town.”

“What the hell—sorry, ma’am—is that merc bastard doing here?”

“What mercenaries do, most likely,” said Tara Campbell. “Earning his pay. He’s a loaded weapon, and somebody’s pointed him at Anastasia this time, and not at us. So long as he stays bought, that is.”

“He’ll keep to the letter of his contract,” was Bishop’s considered opinion. “Of course, there’s no rule that says he has to tell anyone exactly what his contract is.”

“And when you shake hands with him, count your fingers afterward,” Tara Campbell agreed. “But if he’s the only advantage we’ve got, we’ll make the best of him while we’ve got it. Now, listen, whatever Anastasia whistled up to take care of us is going to be here soon. I think we can ambush it.”

“How? There isn’t any cover for miles in any direction.”

“Just do what I tell you.”