MASTER WARRIORS
A BattleMech, the single most formidable fighting machine ever made by man, is not invulnerable, especially when confronted with another 'Mech. A MechWarrior has been trained in simulators and the harsh school of combat until he's very good at what he does. But the opponent may be better. Equipment, skill, and courage may improve the chances of surviving, but they cannot always save you. Sometimes it's just a matter of luck, and that luck can run out. . . .
BATTLETECH
LE5244
WOLF PACK
ROBERT N. CHARRETTE
To the Tuesday night gang at Eagle & Empire. It's been really scary.
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Printing, April, 1992 10987654321
Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover: Bruce Jensen Interior illustrations: Earl Geier Mechanical drawings: Earl Geier
Copyright © FASA, 1992 All rights reserved
Roc is a trademark of New American Library, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc. BATTLETECH, FASA, and the distinctive BATTLETECH and FASA logos are trademarks of the FASA
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Part 1 3053
INTERMIX
1
My name is Brian Cameron. I am a MechWarrior of Wolf's Dragoons.
I would like to say that I am only a simple soldier, but my friends tell me that my attempt to tell this tale makes me more than that. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps not. I only know that I find it necessary to record certain events, to make an account of matters that affected my life and those of all others who wear the uniform of Wolf's Dragoons. In doing this my hope is that those who come after will profit from the mistakes and experience of those who went before.
I do not pretend to omniscience, but my effort is honest. For those events occurring where I could not see and for words spoken where I could not hear, I rely on the integrity of my witnesses and my own sense of the affair. I have tried to be true to the heart and mind of the speaker, at least as true as any outsider can be about another person. I have spoken with all-well, all but one—of the persons from whose viewpoints I shall tell this tale. They have told me their piece of the story and answered my questions about their feelings and motivations. I am confident that they have spoken true, at least so far as they see the truth. Who but the Creator can know the ultimate truth?
As I said, my name is Brian Cameron. For the first seventeen years of my life, Brian was all the name I had. Of course, I had a unit nomen, but that is merely a useful designation, not a true name. I will not digress to recount the trials of my youth for that would only further delay the telling of my tale. In the Dragoons, we believe that hesitation is death on the battlefield. Lacking the life-and-death incentive of battle, I have tarried overlong. I offer my apologies.
By the end of February in the year 3053, only ten of us still remained in our sibko. The rest had failed in one testing or another and had been assigned elsewhere. We were all nervous as we assembled on the review field at Tetsuhara Proving Ground for the announcement of the results of our final testing. The tension would have been bad enough had we been merely awaiting the scoring for our final MechWarrior assignments, but it was made unbearable by the fact that we also awaited the results of the Honorname Trials.
I knew I had succeeded in my last trial, but I thought my score was low enough to have cost me ranking. I felt assured of a slot in one of the line units, certain that my skills were sufficient. Still, I was nervous. Like my sibs, I had then entered the Honorname Trials. We were all part of the genetic heritage of the Cameron honorline and thus honorbound to compete when eligible. Though we were all young for our ageframe, some of us held hopes that the compensatory adjustments would give one of us a chance. I had not considered my own performance in the trials to have been particularly stellar.
Thus, I stood stunned when the rankings scrolled onto the screen situated above and behind the reviewing stand where our training officers sat in solemn array.
My name and nomen was at the head of the list. I had done what no one else in my sibko, no one else in my ageframe, had managed. I had tested out and earned the privilege of bearing the Honorname of Cameron for my generation. The unit assignments would not roll onto the screen for minutes yet, but I didn't care. I was happier than I had ever been.
Several mates of my ageframe crowded near as I stood staring at the posting board. I could see in their eyes the disappointment at their own performances. Jovell, an older contender who had outscored me in all battlefield categories, swallowed his pride and was the first to offer the ritual greeting to the newly Honornamed. I could not suppress my grin of pleasure as I returned his greeting. The way he stiffened told me I had offended him, but I was lost in my own spinning world of joy and relief. I didn't give a moment's thought to his true feelings as he turned and shouldered his way through the crowd. There were too many others who wanted to congratulate the new Cameron.
Many of the others displayed honest pleasure in their greetings. We all face the same trials and, if we have made the maximum effort, there is no dishonor in not being first. We were all part of the Dragoons and a success for one Dragoon is a success for the others. But as pleasant as it was to receive the congratulations of agemate strangers, I was overwhelmed by the ecstatic reaction of my sibs. Each had wanted the Cameron name for him or herself, but they hid any disappointment they felt. They smiled and laughed and pummeled me on the back, refusing to address me by anything other than my full name. Brian Cameron.A sib had won the name and we all shared the honor. The moment was electric and I was afire with pride. But I was secretly ashamed as well. I doubted I could have been so honestly and openly cheerful had it been Carson or James or Lydia rather than me who won the name.
My crowd of well-wishers parted and revealed a tall black man moving toward me. It was no less a personage than Colonel Jason Carmody. The multiple decorations of his dress uniform combined with his snowy hair and age-lined face to mark him as a successful warrior, one skillful enough to have survived. Carmody was one of the old cadre, one of the original confederates of Jaime Wolf himself; he had plied his trade for longer than my sibs and I had been alive. Once, Carmody had commanded all of the Dragoons' aerospace assets. He had retired after an injury in an action over Capella, only to be recalled to serve as commander of our homeworld of Outreach after the death of Colonel Ellman. Carmody's post made him commander of the Home Guard and also put him in charge of the Dragoons' training program. It was in that last capacity that we had come to know his iron hand.