Two seconds later, as she pulled up the nose of her Shiloneand the invaders started to track her ship, Anika shot through the smoke at right angles to Tyra's line of attack. Her raking laser fire provided more than enough distraction for the MechWarriors attempting to knock Tyra from the sky. Then, as the invaders maneuvered to kill Anika, the twin Slayersmade their passes. In a dozen heartbeats, whole and unscathed, Valkyrie Flight reformed at eight thousand meters and raced to the east.

Tyra keyed her radio to taccom, but left the line open to allow the rest of her flight to hear what she said. 'Taccom, Valkyrie Flight confirms contact at heading two-seven-one. We rolled out the welcome mat for them and showed them just how the Republic feels about them."

The controller summoned a weak laugh. "Obliged, Valflight. Overste Siggurson wants to know what made you think you could violate his orders?"

Tyra's eyes narrowed. 'Tell him it was bad blood." She looked at her navigational computer. "Valkyrie Flight on heading oh-eight-nine for the Ressjuka out vector. Give 'em hell."

"Roger, Val Leader. We'll make you proud. Rasalhague out."

29

Reykjavik , State of Islandia

Rasalhague, Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic

17 July 3050

Smoke drifted raggedly along the streets, snaking its way from small bonfires through the hollow shells of buildings. Bricks and mortar lay frozen in the dawn light. The bricks' color reminded Phelan of dried blood and the gray mortar of the ashes he saw everywhere. My God, they actually had to fight their way into the city!

The captive MechWarrior followed a step or two behind Ulric as Star Colonel Lara guided the Khan and his entourage through the conquered capital. She walked at Ulric's right hand, while the Precentor Martial accepted a place of honor at his left. A dozen of the giant Elementals formed a pocket around the visitors, but only two of them wore their metallic armor. In addition to Phelan, Clan MechWarriors trailed behind their leaders, including a smug-looking Vlad.

Lara pointed out a rough semicircle of buildings that marked the perimeter of destruction. "The Drakøns made a last stand in this area. We had not planned to be so destructive, but the tight quarters of the city made things difficult. And many of our people wanted to get it over with quickly after the strafing run their fighters made on us near Asgard."

Phelan heard her words but could find no relation between what she said and the scene before him. These buildings had not merely been blown apart. Rather, they looked like vegetables that had succumbed to rot. What had once been sharp angles had melted into curves. Buildings, their walls liquified by lasers and particle beams, had sagged in on themselves. Blackened by fire and streaked with red where new flows of fluid brick ran down the surface, the buildings might have been some flaccid fungi wilting in the sunlight.

And those weren't even the intended targets.The scraps and bits of Drak0n 'Mechs still visible seemed to Phelan far too few for this to have been a major battleground. I've seen the aftermath of a dozen battles, but this scene looks more like a thoroughly scavenged scrapyard.The largest concentrations of 'Mech debris were small hovels the refugees had thrown up, using armor shards for walls and roofs to protect them from the chill of night. Beyond that, the stripped skeleton of a 'Mech's hand pointing loosely off toward the north was the only real clue that 'Mechs had fought and died here.

The Precentor Martial uttered Phelan's question for him. "Did any of the Drak0n pilots survive, quiaff?"

Lara nodded. "Affirmative. Most, in fact. We decided early on that it would be best to base our occupational forces on cooperation with the Drakøns, who will be our ambassadors to the people on Rasalhague." She smiled at Focht. "Of course, we will work through ComStar's good offices, as usual, to facilitate the restructuring of the society."

Across the street, Phelan saw a small knot of people standing around a fire inside an old petrochem drum. Their mismatched clothing contrasted sharply with the green jumpsuit and synthetic jacket he wore. Through holes in their trousers and burned patches on their coats, he saw that most of them wore several layers of rags to ward off the cold. The haunted look in their eyes revealed the state of their hunger and their hopelessness.

"Forgive my presumption, Star Colonel," Phelan found himself saying, "but what provision has been made for the people whose homes were destroyed?"

Lara started to answer, but glanced at Ulric first, who gave her a slight nod. "We have housed the vast majority on the west side of the city. The facilities we are using were in disrepair, but they are adequate until things can be rebuilt." The Clanswoman pointed to the people skulking around the ruins. "These people have refused to report to the facilities, and therefore, will not receive support."

Phelan suddenly remembered a fragment of information. Camps on the west side of Reykjavik ... Wasn't that something described in Misha Auburn'sFreedom's Bloody Price? "Would you be referring to the Kempei Tai barracks over on the other side of the Oslo river, quineg?"

"Aff. I believe that name was associated with the place."

Phelan made no attempt to disguise his shock. "The Kempei Tai barracks was an ISF—Kurita secret police— reeducation center before Rasalhague became independent. The FRR maintained it as a reminder of man's inhumanity to man. Fully a quarter of the people sent there never returned. Is it any wonder these people refused to be herded in there?"

Before Lara could frame an answer, another incident demanded the group's attention. While everyone in the Khan's entourage had been distracted by the discussion, one of the refugees, a ragged man stinking of sweat and with sootstained face and clothes, approached the group. He tugged on the Khan's sleeve. "Please, sir. You must help us ..."

Vlad lunged forward and bowled the vagabond aside with a backhanded slap. The refugee reeled away, stumbled, and rolled awkwardly into a crouch. Though he held up his hands and ducked his head in submission, the Clan MechWarrior kept on coming. A solid kick to the chest lifted the older man from the ground and dumped him on his back a couple of meters away. Stunned, arms and legs splayed out, the refugee offered no resistance and no threat, but that did not slow Vlad at all.

Phelan grabbed the Khan. "He'll kill the old man. You have to stop him!"

Ulric's steel blue gaze jolted the Kell Hound. "Do I?"

"We had a deal." The mercenary's eyes blazed. "This was supposed to be as bloodless as possible!"

Ulric turned and stared at where Vlad stood beating the beggar senseless. "If it concerns you, then you deal with him."

Like a warhound slipped from its leash, Phelan dashed forward. His left hand closed on Vlad's left wrist, locking the bloodied fist at the highest point of its arc. Before Vlad could disentangle his right hand from the old man's silvery hair, the mercenary slammed his right fist into the Clansman's ribs. He let Vlad tear his left fist free, then buried his own left hand in the invader's midsection. Vlad brought his left arm down to cover his side and stomach, but it did not help him. Phelan's right fist arced up and over Vlad's left shoulder and snapped his head around with a crisp shot to the jaw.