Charging into their midst, Hanse turned the Death Commandos into their own worst enemies. In such close confines, a missed shot almost invariably hit a comrade, and in a few cases, enemy pilots actually squared off against one another. Lasers shot through the chaotic fray, vaporizing armor of friend and foe alike. Only Hanse, fighting alone, could strike without fear of damaging an ally.

Twisting and turning with an agility that only a master Mech Warrior could wring from his machine, Hanse repeatedly presented himself as a target, only to fade before an assault. Wielding the Marauder'sarm like a club, he laid about with it mercilessly. An overhand blow crumpled the right side of a Centurion,spinning it into the arms of a Crusader.Whirling, letting the blow's momentum carry him full circle, Hanse brought the arm up, catching a Cicadabeneath its chin and dropping it onto its back.

The BattleMaster'scanopy shattered as an SRM burst against it. Hanse felt the stinging fire of shrapnel as pieces of the polarized glass sliced into his left arm. A trickle of blood slicked the command couch's left arm. Hanse narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the left joystick control. There it is, Mr. Green. I bleed for the Federated Suns. Is it not my right to demand the same from my people?

Hanse lashed out with the club, bringing it down like a fly swatter on the Liao Scorpionoff to his right. The blow flattened the quadruped 'Mech, crushing its missile launcher and splaying its four legs out in different directions. Missiles damaged in the magazine began to explode, jetting the canister into the sky.

Horrified, Hanse stared down as fire spread through the Scorpion'sboxy body. Punch out! Punch out!His heart leapt as the cockpit canopy sailed into the night, but instead of a command couch rising up on escape jets, an incandescent flamespear shot out through the cockpit opening. It imploded, leaving only a thick, oily, black column of smoke to mark the pilot's passing.

Hanse looked up and saw explosions from behind the Death Commandos pressing toward him. He saw Liao BattleMechs turn away from him to face this new threat. Relief flooded through him, but he suppressed it. The battle's not over until it's over.Searing another Liao 'Mech with his lasers, Hanse Davion fought on.

* * *

Hanse frowned as the doctor buckled the sling's crossband snugly around his bare chest. "Doctor, you yourself said the glass did not damage my muscles. You've stitched the cuts, packed them in salve, and wound enough gauze up and down my arm for it to be mummified." Hanse winced slightly as a tongue of pain lanced down from his shoulder. "It does not hurt, and I do not need a sling. The sling suggests I suffered much more of an injury than I did."

Doctor James Thompson pushed his long, slender fingers back through his sandy hair. "No disrespect meant, sir," he began forcefully, "but I'll tell you again what I told you before. While you and the Hong Kong Cavaliers were out there repulsing those 'Mechs, Death Commando infantry ran riot through the research and medical centers." Thompson pointed to a ragged line of bullet holes running along the wall behind the Prince. "They damaged diagnostic equipment I would have liked to use on you to make sure everything is all right. Furthermore, I've got Team Banzai pilots stacked up like cordwood out there, so I don't need static from a surly patient who's more in need of a seamstress than a doctor. Got it, Highness?"

Hanse saw the doctor's concern that he might have spoken out of turn, but the man's greater concern for his other patients swallowed it. By rights, in a battlezone, I wouldn't have been seen for days with these minor wounds. He's doing his job.Hanse nodded and extended his right hand to Thompson. "You are correct, of course, Doctor. I apologize."

The anger in Thompson's look melted. He shook the Prince's hand, then loosened the sling's strap. "You can raise your arms victoriously for the holovids once, then get someone to strap you back into this thing. I don't want stitches ripping out, because I don't want you back here before I've dealt with the others."

Hanse slid from the examination table. "Once only." He reached out as Thompson turned away. "And, Doctor, thank you."

Thompson smiled, nodding once, then left the emergency room through a door marked "Surgery." Hanse slung his bloodied cooling vest over his right shoulder, then marched into the hospital corridor. At the far end, behind two closed doors set with large glass panels, he saw a throng of reporters and cameramen. Halfway down the corridor, seated on a couch until they saw him emerge through the alcove's curtained opening, three men waited to greet the Prince.

Quintus Allard hung back as the other two men approached Hanse Davion. The Prince read their haggard faces like advertising broadsheets. They're worried and frustrated because of the injuries their men and women suffered fighting against the Death Commandos. How ironic that Team Banzai came to New Avalon to recover from the devastation of Northwind only to find the front had followed them here. But if they'd not been there... He shuddered at the thought.

The Prince warmly accepted Dr. Banzai's extended hand. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your efforts. You saved my life and at incredible cost to yourself and your people."

A distant look filled Banzai's blue eyes. "We fought to preserve the NAIS, and almost failed. The work done here—both in recovering old lost knowledge and in pioneering new research— is all that will keep man from blasting himself back into the Stone Age." Banzai looked down and broke his grip with the Prince. "Maximilian Liao obviously does not realize this. If he did, he'd never have launched such a relentless attack. Preserving mankind's future was a goal worthy of the sacrifice you and the others made."

The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Don't let yourself fall into the trap that snaps up battle survivors—especially those who survive a savage action like the one we just went through. You'll go crazy if you assume you weren't injured or killed because you didn't do your utmost. There's no way out of that trap. Acknowledge that you were good enough to survive and that you did your part. We did, after all, defeat them."

Banzai's nod of resignation, and the grim expression on his aide Tommy Lester's face, brought back to Hanse the last moments of the battle. Less than a dozen 'Mechs stood tattered and half-broken over a cratered hellzone. His own BattleMaster,missing its right arm and standing on an armorless left leg with its knee joint fused, was one of the more operational 'Mechs in that group. Hundreds of little fires burned in the hulks of dead and destroyed 'Mechs. A few pilots—all of them mercenaries— limped between the shattered bodies and debris that marked all that remained of the invading force. It was bad...

None of the Liao pilots even attempted to escape their machines. They fought to the end, even when we'd blown off their legs and destroyed all their weapons. They made us kill them, each and every one. I've never faced such fierce and tough opposition.

Hanse turned to Tommy. "How are your people?"

The blond MechWarrior let his expression lighten just a bit. "Those who got out are in good shape. Sprains and cuts mostly. Reno's got compound fractures of both legs, but I've been told he'll recover without any problems. Rawhide will probably lose a lung, but his prognosis is good, too." He looked back up the hallway. "We're waiting for him to come out of surgery now."

Hanse nodded. "Let me know if you need anything, anything at all. And let me know how Rawhide does." After shaking the hands of both men, he slipped past them and fell into step with Quintus Allard. "How's your daughter?"