"So that's how you rationalize collaborating with them, quiaff?"

Ryan's use of the Clanner term shook Phelan. Is the desire to stop the Clans enough to justify betraying my own people until I can accomplish my goal? Am I trying to atone for the breaches of trust I committed under interrogation, or am I helping Ulric for other, more personal reasons? I can't hide behind the fact that they're attacking Rasalhague, where the people despise mercenaries. I've helped Ulric plan a campaign that will not lose. Am I playing Judas to the Successor States to avenge myself on Tor Miraborg and my peers at the Nagelring?

He swallowed hard. "As things stand now, no force can defeat or even slow the invaders because no one knows enough about them. Each of the Clans has its own way of pacifying the planets it takes, and the Wolf Clan seems to be the least harsh. In fact, when they move, the Wolves leave little more than a token garrison force to work with the existing governmental structures to maintain order. Conquest by the Wolf Clan is probably no worse on the ordinary people of a world than being conquered by a rival lord in the constant warring among the Successor States.

"There's another thing, too." The mercenary met Ryan's gaze. "Right now the Precentor Martial and I are the only people who have a rapport with the invaders. We're the only ones learning how to deal with them on a personal basis, which means we could act as intermediaries between the Clans and the rulers of the Successor States. We might just be able to bring this war to a close sooner so fewer people have to die."

Ryan spat on the floor. "You're a dreamer ... and a captive. They're using you. And when they're done with you, they'll discard you like a spent shell casing."

"You may be right, but at least I'm trying." Phelan glared at Ryan. "I don't like thinking of you and me as members of the same species, but we're on the same side in all this. And, yes, I might be betraying part of the Successor States to the invaders, but I'm giving it over to the Wolf Clan. If the Wolves become ascendant, then maybe I'll be in a position to exert some influence."

Kenny Ryan ground his teeth together. "I was wrong. You're not a dreamer, you're a fool. Paint whatever face you want on it, Kell. You're a traitor to your people."

Unbridled fury ripped through Phelan as Ryan's words hit home, but it was directed as much at himself as at the Periphery bandit. No! It's not like that!"Think whatever you want, Kenny. It doesn't matter to me. I may not owe the people of the Inner Sphere anything, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and see these Clansmen slaughter innocents."

* * *

Phelan stood next to Ulric in the holotank, while the rolling landscape of Rasalhague's northern continental mass stretched out in all directions around them. As they walked forward, new terrain scrolled up over the rounded horizon. In response to a command Ulric had given upon entering the tank, the world remained lit as if it were only several hours past dawn no matter where they stood.

Phelan pointed to the south where a thick tropical belt girded the world's equator. "This is the first thing you can discount that the Ghost Bear's Khan is not likely to ignore. Scale up to one meter equals fifteen kilometers." As the computer complied, flattening out the horizon and increasing the resolution of the topography, a large urban settlement on a narrow bay materialized. "That's Firebase Tyr, home to the Third Rasalhague Freemen. They're a tough BattleMech regiment with some battle experience. They're normally based on Kandis but were recently moved here to reinforce Rasalhague. However, they won't be much of a factor in your battle."

Ulric frowned. "Explain."

Phelan smiled. "Ages ago, when people first settled on Rasalhague, they ran into a little problem with a virus native to the planet."

The Khan nodded and rubbed his hand across his jaw. "Yes, the Fenris Plague. I had forgotten about that. Surely they have conquered it, quiaff."

The mercenary nodded. "Yes, soon after the world was colonized. But over time, the strains became less virulent as they mutated. The deadly form of the Fenris Plague ceased to exist centuries ago, but milder cousins of the virus still crop up. Each year, starting in July, the new virus gets its start in the tropics and works its way around the world. The Freemen have been scattered around to keep all the troops from getting sick at once. Most of the unit is on leave during virus season, which is just as well because the tropics are unbearable during that time anyway."

The Clan leader shook his head. "What do you think are the chances the Freemen will have been recalled to oppose us?"

"The chances are about fifty-fifty because the government has a problem. If they recall the troops to Tyr, many of them could get sick because they have developed no immunity. If they move equipment out to staging areas so the Freemen have their BattleMechs, the chances of the current virus being spread around the world that much faster are incredible. Furthermore, even if the Freemen are scattered around in company-level units, they're not likely to be much of a threat because they'll be reacting to your strikes. Their transport network isn't likely to be very quick, especially if you control the skies."

Ulric nodded in reluctant agreement. "That brings us to another point: aerospace superiority. The report from the Ghost Bears indicated that the aerospace regiment of the First Rasalhague Drakøns was an elite unit that could give us considerable difficulty."

"The report was correct in its assessment of the Drakøns. Even so, I think there's a way to neutralize them."

The Khan watched Phelan closely. "Yes?"

Phelan rubbed his sweaty palms against the breast of his jumpsuit. "Drakøns are the Elected Prince's Honor Guard and bodyguard regiment. They are formed along the lines of Davion Regimental Combat Teams and consist of Rasalhague's most elite warriors. Their strength is deceptive, especially in aerospace fighters, because of how they're organized. 'Mech companies have four lances, not three, and missile support lances often have five or even six BattleMechs in them."

The mercenary clasped his hands at the small of his back. "As I understand your unit organization, a single Battle-Mech, two AeroSpace Fighters, or five of your Elementals are called a Point, and five of those make up a Star—a unit roughly analogous to what I call a Lance. The Drakøns' aerospace company, unlike others in the Successor States, puts four fighters in a lance, not two. That means a full regiment runs with 108 fighters, a formidable force, no matter what technological advantages you have over them."

Ulric nodded, conceding the bondsman's last point. "As you noted in the last briefing session, the extended range of our weapons does not work well in tight fights, which are exactly what Inner Sphere pilots are used to. So how do we eliminate the flying Drakøns?"

"I said neutralize,not eliminate." Phelan took a deep breath. "Elected Prince Haakon Magnusson of Rasalhague was an old anti-Kurita revolutionary from Alshain. In his fighting days, they called him the Silver Fox. Actually, he's not that old, but his career as a terrorist on behalf of Free Rasalhague predates independence by many years. He's uncomfortable with pitched battles. In fact, the hit-and-run fights that have given the Ghost Bears problems are a result of his people using their old tactics against them.

"The Drakøns are his bodyguard and are as loyal to him and his Ministers as the Smoke Jaguars are to the ilKhan. The way to pull the flying Drakøns off is to give them a mission: getting the Silver Fox to safety. If you don't hit Reykjavik in the first pass because, operating on mistaken information, you assault Asgard, the new capital they are building, the Silver Fox will have a chance to bolt. He'll head for a JumpShip at the nadir jump point, believing that as long as he has his freedom, he can one day throw you back."