I knew my own training and experience, and I wasn't happy about those odds. A few of the other jocks had seen combat before, but this was going to be the first time for most of the MechWarriors in this battlegroup. Those we were heading to meet were almost certainly veterans; greenies are rarely assigned to orbital drops. As far as equipment and skill went, we were on the downside of the equation, but I couldn't fault the courage of our old warriors, sibkids, and trainees. They knew the score, and they never hesitated.

Hans and Franchette took command of two lances and moved wide on the left flank. Grant and I were in the forefront of the rest. Two of our machines were piloted by veterans, but they were jockeying Chameleons.The Chameleonis a training 'Mech, intended to simulate a variety of opponents by mounting a wide variety of weapon systems. A Chameleonis a medium 'Mech, but it doesn't always look like one. It can be fitted out with extra plates to modify its appearance, and carries special electronics to falsify its signature; these special abilities let it look and scan as something other than what it is, hence the machine's name. Ours were configured to appear as heavies; we wanted to be as threatening as possible. I only hoped the machines would make it into combat; Chameleonsaren't really designed for long-distance travel.

Because I outranked Grant, I was in command of our contingent. When our channel to ops suddenly started to break up, my invisible copilot grabbed me by the balls. It's bad enough when you only have to worry about yourself.

Our 'Mechs ate up the kilometers. Because of the superior terrain-handling capability of the BattleMechs, we outdistanced the Home Guard armor units in short order. I didn't worry too much. We were expecting the opposition to be spread out, so we wouldn't have to face their whole force at once. They'd also be suffering from the same lack of intelligence as we were and would need to do recon, further splitting their forces. If we ran into trouble, Hans would sweep in from the flank. If it was too much trouble, the whole force would fall back on the armor.

We had intercepted no transmissions from the incoming 'Mechs during or after their drop. I hoped that meant they were a recon force and would be mostly, if not all, light 'Mechs. If the tonnage of the two forces were equal, their greater numbers would be less of an advantage. The lack of transmissions suggested something else as well: that the 'Mech force out there was hostile; friendlies would have called in.

We'd been moving through the Hannovassian Highlands for a quarter of an hour when Jeremy in the Griffinreported a contact on his scope.

"Bogey, boss. A klick off left flank. He's lying low. There may be a couple more, but I'm not sure. Too much iron in the rocks."

"Anyone confirm?" There were no affirmative responses. "You got any motion on that bogey, Jeremy?"

"Neg."

"We'll keep on then."

There was a lot of scrap metal in the Highlands. I didn't think it was an enemy unit; we were still a good way from their drop zone. Besides, an enemy would have reacted to our presence. I hoped I was right and that Jeremy was just being jittery.

Twenty minutes later, Jeremy reported another bogey, but this time he had plenty of confirmation. We had five BattleMechs moving on an intercept course. As they cleared a bluff, I punched up my magnification to get a visual ID and felt my stomach roll.

The approaching 'Mechs were all black with red trim, each one painted with the emblem of a black widow spider on a white web. The Spider's Web Battalion. And they hadn't called in their arrival.

I wasn't queasy just because this unit—which had been MacKenzie Wolf's—was apparently hostile, or because two of the machines were OmniMechs, though either was more than enough to get my copilot in an uproar. My concern was more personal: Maeve had been a part of the battalion. I wondered if she was still with them, a member of the lance approaching us now.

I entered them into my battle computer, tagging each with a target code. My Lokibeeped at me when the first one entered the outer effective zone of my long-range missiles. On our side only Grant's Archerand Jeremy's Griffinhad LRMs, but I was sure the Omnis on the other side could match us. I expected them to open fire, but they didn't. Instead they halted.

"Open up the formation," I ordered as I throttled down. As soon as I had dropped behind the line of our advance, I ordered the lance to slow down too. Grant had followed my lead, throttling back even before I gave the order to slow. That put two of our long-range platforms into support position. Whether the Spider's Web warriors were spooked by our response, or just didn't like the odds, I didn't know. But they started to move again, pulling back.

Did they know about Hans and the rest of the company moving out of sight on the flank?

"Follow up," I ordered. Withdrawing without even an attempt at an engagement was curious—too curious not to investigate.

We followed them deeper into the canyon lands, their vector bringing them closer to Hans and his lances. My fears about a trap subsided a bit, but didn't go away. How could they? The tall mesas and narrow valleys between the eroded mountains offered too many places of concealment, too many blind alleys where we might be trapped. I watched my maps and monitored the progress of the rest of the company. Soon Hans would be in position to cut across the path of the retreating black 'Mechs. Once we'd cornered them, we would get some answers out of these warriors.

That was when they turned the tables.

A rumble like distant thunder echoed through the badlands. As if on cue, the black 'Mechs we were chasing closed up their extended formation, gathering in the shade of a tall bluff, where they turned and faced us. More black 'Mechs appeared from canyons to either side of our position. I was ordering a reverse and Jeremy was screaming on the same channel that we had bogies behind us. At least twenty 'Mechs were surrounding us. All the 'Mechs from the drop might have been there, but I couldn't be sure. The black 'Mechs held their fire, though a single combined volley from them would have devastated our ranks. A voice cut into our commo channel.

"Welcome to the web, jocks. Hans won't be here for a while. The canyon he entered used to have an opening in our rear, but not anymore. It's just you and us, and it's time for a talk. If we don't like what we hear, you won't be seeing your friends again."

I recognized the voice at once although I hadn't heard it in months—at least not outside my dreams.

"Maeve."

"Hello, Brian." She didn't sound surprised, nor particularly pleased. "Where's the Wolf?"

I wasn't sure I was pleased either. "That's his Archerbeside me."

"I can see that, but he's not in it."

"What makes you think that?"

There was a pause, as if she were considering what to say. Maybe she was just annoyed. I almost expected to see the protective covers on her 'Mech's weapons begin to open. When she finally responded, her voice was cool, almost conciliatory. "The machine's not moving like the Wolf's. So where is he?"

I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to be on our side, but I had a responsibility not to let my personal feelings endanger Colonel Wolf. Until I knew where she and her comrades stood, I couldn't trust the Colonel's location to her. Our position was too precarious. My throat was dry as I said, "Somewhere else."

She laughed. "Very cautious, Brian. Would you be so cautious if I said we were here to fight for him?"

"Are you?"