"St. Omer here, Leftenant. William Chartres is dead and his Stingeris gone. Minor damage otherwise. Everyone else stayed calm."

Redburn nodded and looked out toward the smoking, riddled ruin of Chartres's 'Mech. A damn shame."Very well. St. Agnan?"

"Yes, sir." St. Agnan's voice came in sharp snippets of words. "I'm the only one who got tagged here, sir. Cockpit breached, and I think I have some busted ribs. Torroges lost an arm actuator, but it's been bad for awhile."

"Archie, pop your canopy so Gil Erail can get in and see what you look like." Redburn turned his attention to Montdidier's lance. "Payen, report."

It took Payen Montdidier a moment to collect himself. Even then, his voice almost broke. "Sonnac and Vichiers are dead, sir. Bures's 'Mech has no legs, and Berard's 'Mech is lost. He ejected, though, and got away fine."

Montbard and de Payens both reported their lances were virtually intact, though de Payens said that Craon wanted to know why such things never happened to anyone else running shepherd.

"Tell him it builds character," Redburn laughed, and his staff joined him. "Major Allard, how about you?"

There was no answer until De Mesnil's voice filled the silence. "I never saw him come back into the battle, Leftenant."

"De Mesnil, organize this rabble. De Payens, Montbard, form up your lances on me." Hoping the fear in his stomach would find nothing to feed it, Redburn trotted his Spiderup over the hill. No, God! Not the Major!The smoke rising from the burning trees sent a tremor of dread through him. Why does it have to look like a funeral pyre?

* * *

Justin Allard's shattered 'Mech lay on its back. Heavy laser fire had hacked off its legs and reduced them to an armored puddle. The missile autoloader clicked audibly as it attempted to feed a long-since exhausted supply of missiles into the fire-blackened ruins of the launch tubes. The right arm laser had melted clean away, and autocannon shells had ripped off the 'Mech's left arm at the shoulder.

Andrew Redburn and Robert Craon both scrambled over the 'Mech's torso, heedless of hot armor and the sparking wires of exposed mechanisms. They clambered toward the 'Mech's shattered face, then stopped short, suddenly afraid of what might be behind the jagged holes blasted through the canopy.

Redburn knew it was going to be bad. In anger and frustration, he kicked away some of the spiderwebbed glass. Carefully listening for any clue to what the darkened cockpit concealed, he lowered himself into the Valkyrie.When Craon hesitated, he motioned impatiently for the cadet to follow him. The cadet bleated a strangled cry as he bent down before the 'Mech's command chair.

Redburn looked up from where he pressed two fingers to Justin's bloody throat. "He's alive, Craon, and he'll stay that way if we get some evac help in here fast."

All color had drained from Craon's face, and he refused to meet Redburn's gaze. "Do you think we ought to, sir?"

Redburn's head snapped around as though he'd been punched. "Are you suggesting that 'a good Capellan is a dead one?' "

Craon's jaw dropped open and horror showed in his blue eyes, "Oh God, no, sir."

Redburn's brows furrowed together with fury. "Then what the hell are you talking about? Of course, we save him."

"But, sir," Craon pleaded, pointing down at the Major. "His arm."

Redburn leaned forward and looked beyond the tangle of wires and console components that hid the left side of Justin Allard from his view. He swallowed hard and rolled back on his haunches in a crunch of broken glass and debris. "Blake's Blood," he whispered, not even realizing that he spoke. Craon was probably right. It would have been better for Allard if he'd died.

Staring down, Craon was nodding like a robot. "His arm, from the elbow down, sir. It's gone, it's just gone ..."

3

Pacifica (Chora III)

Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth

15 January 3027

"I don't like it, Captain." Eddie Baker's quiet voice crackled past the storm-generated static in bits and pieces. Captain Daniel Allard of the Kell Hounds mercenary unit turned his Valkyrie'shead far enough to watch Baker's ungainly Jennerwaddle out of the river. "The storm's catching up with us fast. I don't fancy being out here in this walking lightning rod."

Lieutenant Austin Brand, his humanoid Commandofollowing Baker's Jennerout of the river, laughed. "If you had a 'Mech with arms, Baker, you could swat those lighting bolts out of the air like the rest of us."

Baker, an ex-Tech who had been given the captured 'Mech as a reward for years of service, grunted in disagreement. "Just more actuators to go out."

"Can the chatter, children," Dan said, smiling to himself. Ease up on them, Dan. Their squabbles are just battle nerves, and you know it. This scout lance works together better than almost any other lance you can name."Let's at least pretend to have some semblance of military order here, shall we?"

"Roger, Dan."

Daniel Allard turned his Valkyrie'shead around to face forward, and headed off toward the Waspwaiting at the crest of the bill. "How does the storm look from up there, Meg?" he asked the Wasppilot.

Sergeant Margaret Lang paused a moment before answering. "Doesn't look that bad, Captain, but the fiyboys are moving their fighters inside. Must look nasty on the satellite pictures."

Dan sighed. "All right. Let's move it and get under cover. Old Stormy is living up to her name. Brand, you and I are already late for the staff meeting. This patrol is over."

"I wish the same could be said of this tour," Baker told him.

Daniel Allard laughed. Baker's right. This is a miserable world for pulling garrison duty."Eddie, I'm sure if I express your dissatisfaction to Colonel Kell, he'll pull some strings and get us posted elsewhere."

"No, Dan, that's all right. I could actually come to like Pacifica."

Dan's laughter filled his own neurohelmet. "You'd be the only person in the Successor States to develop that sort of affection for this world."

Chara III, a large, moonless planet in Steiner space, had proved to be one of the most contradictory places in the Inner Sphere. On one hand, the fertile soil readily accepted hybrid plants and produced fruit abundantly. The world had enough water to make it a natural paradise and to warrant garrisoning a full battalion outside the major agricultural center at Starpad. Having arrived on a placid day, the first explorer of its surface had been inspired to name the planet Pacifica.

Yet anyone who spent any time here began to wonder about the peacefulness implied in the world's name. Being a large body and lacking a moon, Pacifica rotated every fourteen TST hours. TST, or Terran Synchronized Time, related the time on any world to a traditional, twenty-four hour clock set to the rising and setting of the local sun or suns. The twenty-four hour clock divided the local day into twenty-four equal periods, with 1200 hours corresponding to local noon. A TST "hour" was, therefore, variable. Depending on a world's actual rotation, a TST hour might be much shorter than a standard, or "metric," hour. Pacifica's fast spin gave it a thirty-five minute hour as well as an unpredictable weather situation. Sudden, unexpected rain or thunderstorms were common. As many of the colonists put it, "If you don't like the weather here, just wait a minute and it'll change."