The first of the machine-gun bullets took her by surprise from behind, as she sprinted past a barbershop on the road leading up to the warehouse. No problem for her Kallon armor; she left the machine-gun nest for her troops to deal with and kept on going.

The key to dealing with ambushes is knowing they have narrow kill zones. Once you’re through the zone, you’re safe—unless the bad guys have set up multiple kill zones.

For a hasty defense, Heather noted, the KR was doing pretty well. Their commander had taken some time to prepare, and had clearly thought through his defenses in advance. It was enough to make her suspect that he’d had some kind of military training.

“Trouble coming up behind,” Santangelo told her over the command circuit. “Medium force, mixed scout vehicles and civilian trucks carrying shoulder-launched stuff. They’re following us in.”

“Roger that,” Heather replied. “Santangelo and Koss, take the Fox and the Shandra and peel out. Try to get around behind the pursuers. Failing that, stay out of the way. I can’t afford to lose you.”

She switched to the external speakers. “Foot troops, come to me. Meet me in the building.”

Heather throttled forward, moving her ’Mech into a sprint, and slammed her feet down, launching her Spider’s jump jets. What she was planning was risky—but if it worked, and she didn’t break off one of her ’Mech’s legs in the process, she’d have a strong defensive position.

The BattleMech soared high up over the street, followed by streams of tracer bullets and the eerie glow of laser light in the smoke trails of missiles. The patter of bullets and shrapnel on the Spider’s carapace beat a counterpoint to the deep roar of the jump jets.

She sailed up, letting momentum carry her forward, until she was over the center of the warehouse. Then she cut the jets, felt the bulk around her slowed by the drag of the air, and dropped down straight-legged onto the flat roof.

It didn’t have a chance against her. She went crashing through the warehouse’s flimsy roof, through the floor of the upper story, and down into the center of the warehouse’s main open space. Open crates and barrels lay scattered all about, and a Fox armored car with its insignia painted out waited near the still-closed warehouse doors.

Kittery Renaissance street fighters filled the high-ceilinged room. Heather’s arrival, in a cloud of rubble and dust, jerked their attention away from the attack that was developing outside. She was limned with the light of energy discharges, deafened by the sound of small and medium arms being fired in an enclosed space.

She reduced the gain on the ’Mech’s external audio and concentrated on keeping moving, while producing her own light show with her paired medium pulse lasers. This much hell in this small a space meant that people were going to get hurt; she spied a couple of nasty casualties. At least she wasn’t violating her own personal rules of engagement, though she could still see having to explain it all at her trial if things turned bad. At least she’d have the battle-rom, the visual and audio recording automatically created by every ’Mech in action, to back her up.

The defenders closest to the front of the building were turning away from her ’Mech, moving outside and firing as they went. Then the doors and windows exploded inward, and her reinforced militia squad came leaping in. Like her, they were shooting to miss—but the defenders didn’t realize that yet, and made a hasty retreat from the building.

Within minutes, Heather was alone with her troops, along with the injured members of the Kittery Renaissance left behind by their fleeing comrades.

“Orders?” the corporal in charge of her detachment asked.

“Form up on the walls, hold against attack from outside,” she said. “Give them some rounds to let them know we’re here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier replied, turning to the rest of the squad and placing them into position with hand gestures.

That only left the materiel, the arms cache that was the purpose of the raid, remaining to be dealt with. She couldn’t use demolition charges on it while her own troops were in the building.

Instead, she walked first to each pile of weapons, and then to the armored car, and carefully stepped down on every one of them with the Spider’s full weight. Thirty tons of ’Mech was as effective as a pile driver for turning weapons and vehicles into scrap metal.

“Now, we aren’t staying,” Heather told the corporal. “But we don’t want them to know we’ve left. Rig collapsing charges against the back wall. When I give the word, blow a breach back there, and everyone pile out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the corporal replied, and again instructed his troops using a series of hand gestures.

Heather took her own position by the front, and added her laser power to the armament display outside. While she was doing so, she radioed Santangelo.

“What’s your situation?”

“Made contact; lobbed a couple of missiles into their midst to let ’em know we’re here.”

“Good job. Break contact, but do it without making it obvious you’re running away. Meet me over at Grid Posit 21391038.”

“Roger, copy all, out.”

“Corporal,” Heather said, “how are you doing?”

“About ready, ma’am. On your signal.”

“Do it now.”

An echoing boom, and the rear wall of the building dissolved into dust.

“Everyone out, follow me,” Heather said.

The newly breached wall opened onto a plaza, and beyond that a set of roads leading away from a fountain and a statue. Heather walked to the far side at a speed the infantry could keep up with. They set a perimeter. Minutes later, Koss and Santangelo arrived.

“To target four,” she replied. “My guess is that the guys who hit you from behind are from there—the place should be unguarded.”

She was right, but when they arrived at warehouse four it was empty—the cache had already been distributed. The same was true of caches six through ten.

She froze in place after the last cache had been inspected. Where to now?

The answer came quickly over the comm. “Paladin GioAvanti?” It was Koss. “Some of our people have been tracing signals all morning, signals we think are communications with the troops we’ve been fighting. They’ve got something I think you want to see.”

Information flooded Heather’s screen. Koss was quite right—this information was definitely worth a look.

Chamber of Paladins, Geneva

Terra, Prefecture X

20 December 3134

Stop voting for me.—Avellar

Jonah stared at the message for a good half minute. Everyone, it seemed, was better at this game of knowing who was doing what than he was. He thought about asking her how she knew, but knew she probably wouldn’t tell them. If someone at the table is giving away their hand, you don’t want to go out of your way to tell them what they’re doing wrong.

He opted for a simple reply.

Dislike—or at least distrust—of Sorenson seemed to be a major factor in the shifting alliances of the trial ballots. Four had been cast so far, and in the latest one only four individuals had received votes. Avellar had received Levin’s single vote, and the other three had divided the remaining fifteen evenly. One of those three was assuredly McKinnon, another was Sorenson. He guessed the third was Heather—she was well liked and respected, and her absence perhaps was making some hearts grow fonder. Maybe he could fish for some information.