Minobu knew that the human body was not meant to deal with the agonies Wolf had suffered yesterday, and the Colonel was no longer a young man. Minobu also knew that the body was resilient enough to heal swiftly from terrible injury if driven by a great will. He could only wonder if Wolf still possessed that will.

The mercenary Colonel watched the holomap as he had in the command center at Batan, though he played no variations with it. He dealt with the problems his officers brought to him, but initiated no discussions. His response to questions was slow, his speech slurred. There was no edge to the man. He seemed detached from his surroundings.

Was this the warrior who had brought troops from nowhere into the Inner Sphere, and then built a reputation as the elite mercenary unit of the Successor States? The tireless commander? The implacable foe? This was a man showing the effects of nearly twenty years of constant warfare. A shadow of the fox who had played dominance games with Minobu at their first meeting. Had the brush with death been a kind of tidewater for the man? Had Minobu saved Wolf's body only to lose the man's essence?

If the recent adventure were not a turning point for Wolf, it had certainly been one for Minobu. He felt renewed, in touch with his internal peace. Out in the badlands, he had known mugaonce more. Then, in the battle, there had been mushin ,that peculiarly martial form of action-without-thought in which one was free from remorse. The action of the moment and its proper completion became the all of existence. A samurai's peace.

Cameron's voice caught his attention. The Captain was confirming that the approaching machines were the party expected from Batan. Wolf made no reply. The Colonel had fallen asleep where he sat.

Cameron did not repeat himself when he got no reaction from his superior. Instead, he positioned himself at Major Yukinov's shoulder. Business proceeded in the MHQ, Yukinov answering questions for Wolf and giving the orders that the Colonel would probably have given. No concern for overstepping command boundaries was shown. No one contradicted Yukinov or questioned his authority or seemed concerned that his orders might be countermanded, should Wolf awake. The Dragoons continued their operations free from the paralysis other units might have experienced without their commander at the helm. Minobu settled in to observe their performance.

“Kurita 'Mechs passing the pickets, Colonel,” Cameron said, his hand on the sleeping man's shoulder. Wolf's eyes opened at once, then blinked at the light flooding in from the open hatchway.

“Time to go out and meet them.” Wolf rose, wincing as his damaged arm bumped the edge of the holotank. The senior officers present left their posts to join him, and Minobu followed in their wake.

The air was chill with the cool of the night, too cold for the light coverall Minobu wore. When the party moved into the sunlight to face the northeastern end of the canyon, warmth flooded Minobu's body, and his shivering ceased.

In the distance, the morning light flashed on the Kurita 'Mechs as they filed through a gap in the walls of the canyon holding Alpha's field headquarters. The head of their column had already disappeared down into the shadows, where it would be negotiating the tortuous terrain between the entrance and the broad tableland where the MHQ was stationed. Two full companies passed while Minobu watched.

Beyond the cluster of reconnaissance vehicles that served the MHQ, activity continued undisturbed, as it had through the night. Alpha Regiment had set up its field repair and supply facilities in the same location. Some theorists have speculated that the double target of command and logistics headquarters was too great a temptation to place before an enemy, but the Dragoons seemed to feel secure. Even the damaged BattleMechs in for repair would be dangerous to an attacker. The functional vehicles of the Command Lance and the guard 'Mechs hidden in the surrounding terrain would make the cost of any attack very high. Certainly too high for the Snake Stompers, with what they could muster in the Rift.

Minobu watched the Dragoon Techs servicing the 'Mechs scattered around the canyon floor. Coolant trucks and ammunition lighters attended each in turn. The former tended a machine's heat exchanger system, flushing warmed coolant out and replacing it with a fresh, cold supply before the latter supplied the ammunition to bring each weapon's magazine to full capacity. Technicians swarmed over the 'Mechs, rigging replacement armor slabs, substituting new components for damaged ones, and improvising where they didn't have the parts. Though the Techs had labored through the night, they had proceeded at a leisurely pace, with light work loads for each shift. The fighting had been trivial so far, and there was no need for frenzied repairs to get machines back in the line.

One operation caught Minobu's attention. A Wolverinestood within a light alloy framework. Radiation sheeting hung from the scaffolding to keep the machine cut off from the rest of the field while a Tech worked on the fusion plant from the safety of a repair platform. That kind of work was usually done only in rear areas or after a deciding battle, which further underscored how confident the Dragoons were of the safety of their bivouac.

As the leading Kurita 'Mechs reached the field, Minobu's attention shifted immediately from the Dragoon repair operations. Anticipation rose in him at the realization that he would soon meet his master, Lord Takashi Kurita. He adjusted the angle of his swords in his belt, fretting about the suitability of the borrowed Dragoon coverall he wore. If only he had taken his own uniform with him in the Vindicator.Surely Lord Kurita would understand the pressures of necessity.

Unlike the forward elements that preceded a typical Kurita BattleMech company, this lance was not composed of light 'Mechs. Each machine massed at least fifty tons. Foremost was the tiger-striped Marauderthat carried the white dragon-claw insignia of Brett Hawken. In a signal to the other machines, the 'Mech spread its forearms, broad and blocky because of the heavy cooling jackets encasing the paired weapons that ended each arm. They dispersed and took overwatch positions around the MHQ. Lowering itself down from its walking position, the Maraudersettled back on it clawed legs like a scorpion waiting for its prey.

More 'Mechs came into view, among them a BattleMasterwith the serpentine dragon of House Kurita painted on its chest. Though most of the machines stopped a hundred meters away, the BattleMastercame on, followed by four others, all bearing the rank insignia of officers. They continued toward the group of Dragoon officers until their shadows covered the men on the ground and the vehicles behind them.

The BattleMasterloomed above the group, servomotors sighing as the giant machine came to rest. Soft hisses and crackling signaled the release of tension in motor components as the 'Mech settled into quiescence. As cooling vents popped open in the sides of the massive torso, the smell of hot lubricants drifted down to Minobu. The canopied cockpit opened, and the 'Mech's pilot emerged to begin the climb down his machine.

The man was well-built, with the hard muscles and belly of a kiadept. His motions were sure and steady, more like those of a man in his thirties than one who had seen over fifty summers. He wore a Kurita ‘MechWarrior's standard combat gear, save that it carried no rank insignia and the belt buckle was made of ivory set in gold. Minobu knew him at once.

The man striding toward their waiting group was Lord Takashi Kurita, Coordinator of the Draconis Combine, Duke of Luthien, ultimate lord of all Kurita samurai.

Though Minobu had never met Lord Kurita, could any inhabitant of the Draconis Combine not know that face? It stared out at them from millions of patriotic posters and solidographs. The strong, square features were marred on the left cheek by small scars. Except for the pure white at his temples and a streak in Kurita's widow's peak, his close-cropped hair was raven black. Most striking were his eyes. Steely blue, they peered out from under slight epicanthric folds. These were the Eyes of the Dragon itself: cold, penetrating, keeping their secrets while peeling away the secrets of those on whom they gazed. At the moment, those eyes were taking in the members of Wolf's command staff.