Erudin spat into the sand. "Army? Captain, the Resistance is made up of maybe eighty or a hundred 'armies' wandering all over Verthandi's northern latitudes. I think the biggest must number something like a thousand men and women, but they're scattered among towns and plantations throughout the Vrieshaven District. The smallest numbers exactly one—usually some lone scavenger who likes to slit the throats of drunken militiamen in Regis alleys. They—"

A signal keened in the speaker in Grayson's ear. "Hold it," he said. "Here they come."

* * * *

Autorifle slugs cluttered through the air a meter above his head, and the deeper-throated wham of a hunting rifle popped a geyser of sand near his feet. Just as Grayson was thinking that guerrilla soldiers might not have the luxury of indulging their curiosity, someone began bellowing an order to ceasefire. The charging rebels dropped in their tracks, wary of a trap, weapons ready.

"Hold your fire!" Grayson yelled. He remembered training sessions with Weapons Master Griffith in his father's regiment, and it all seemed so long ago. He shook himself. Was it only one standard year since those days?

"We're friends," he continued, holding his arms out from his sides, showing that he was unarmed. "We want to talk."

"It's a trick. Colonel," a voice barked from behind a sand dune. There was a crack and something hot plucked at Grayson's sleeve.

"Hold your fire, dammit!" another voice replied. "Dober, put that thing up!"

"I'm Captain Carlyle, Gray Death Mercenary Legion," Grayson continued. He had to stifle the tremor at the back of his throat, and his knees felt weaker now than they had after the crash. He wanted very much to drop to the sand, out of sight, but he knew that any sudden movement would unleash a storm of gunfire. "We were brought here to help you!"

Excerpt From Chapter 9

BATTLETECH

08605

MERCENARY'S STAR

William H. Keith Jr

FASA Corporation

P.O.Box 6930

Chicago, IL 60680-6930

Cover Art by: David R. Deitrick

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 1987 FASA Corporation.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America.

BATTLETECH is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation.

Prologue

Those who have never seen a BattleMech up close can never comprehend the raw power and mechanical precision of these ten-meter tall, armored giants. The smallest weigh 20 tons and can stride across uneven ground—or leap over it—with a speed and grace that belies their mass and complexity. The heaviest ‘Mechs weigh 90tons or more and are equipped with enough weaponry to defeat a regiment of more conventional infantry.

It is only desperation that could drive unarmed and unarmored humans to challenge these dreadnaughts in open combat, and that is exactly what happened on Verthandi. This planet changed hands in 3016 when the forces of House Kurita defeated the Steiner defenders at the battle of Harvest in that year. Among his demands, Lord Kurita claimed sovereignty over the seemingly unexceptional Steiner world of Verthandi, located in the border reaches of the Tamar Pact region of the Lyran Commonwealth.

Until that time, Verthandi had been a peaceful world of small villages set among blue-green hills. It was an agricultural world of lumber and coffee plantations scattered over the broad and fertile area known as the Silvan Basin, with quiet resort communities lying along the tropical coast of its Azure Sea.

The capital city of Regis was governed by Verthandi's ruling Council of Academicians, a democratic body elected from among the senior professors of government at Regis University. There was a local militia to investigate the rare crime, but war, politics, and interstellar intrigue were remote from the Verthandians' day-to-day life.

Then House Kurita descended with its iron-mailed fist, and life on Verthandi would never be the same.

—Janice Taylor, Shapers of Men and Destiny,Avalon Free Press, 3031

Book 1

1

The night sky churned with smoke and fire, reflecting the lurid flames over the dying village. People ran, hastily grabbed possessions clutched to their chests or carried in baskets, their shadows vast and outlandish where the fires cast them across broken pavement There were shrieks and screams, babbled shouts and imprecations, a smattering of gunshots, all enfolded in the roar of the blaze devouring the village of Mountain Vista.

The MAD-3R Marauderturned ponderously, its weapon-heavy forearms dropping into line with its next target The sign above the building's broad, plate-glass windows proclaimed it to be a farm and plantation supply store. Fleeing civilians overflowed from the walkway in front of the store and spilled out into the street Engulfed in flames, an overturned groundcar illuminated the panic and sent reflections dancing along the store's miraculously unbroken windows.

The death machine's right particle cannon flared once, the air between gun and target ionized by a charged beam of eye-searing brilliance. One window shattered under the touch of man-made lightning. Then something inside the building—stored bags of fertilizer, perhaps—detonated with a concussion that jarred the pavement under the ‘Mech's feet. The remaining windows exploded outward into the street, broken glass, splintered wood, and shards of ferrocrete block into the street, cutting through the mob like a vibroblade through unprotected flesh. The building's upper three stories seemed to hang suspended for an instant then settled one atop the other on the ruin of the ground floor. Rubble and debris rattled against the Marauder'slegs a hundred meters away as billows of smoke and dust rolled across the bodies of the silent dead and the shrieking wounded.

Valdis Kevlavic grinned with savage satisfaction inside the heat of his neurohelmet. The Marauderresponded to his soft urgings, completing its turn and lurching with ground-chewing strides toward the heart of the town. Infrared scanners fed him green-colored images that blurred into white where the heat of multiple fires etched dazzling traces on his viewscreen. Human figures fleeing from the Marauder'swrath became eerie green shadows that ducked, twisted, and flitted across the screen. Kevlavic triggered the Mech's autocannon, felt the solid chunk of fresh ammo carousels snap home, heard the thundering chatter of rapid-fire death from the weapon mounted just above his cockpit. White flashes stitched across the pavement, chewing through those fleeing green shadows with bloody abandon.

This demonstration should please Regis Central, Kevlavic thought. There had been many reports that Mountain Vista was a staging area and refuge for raiders in the Regis area. Many of those shell-torn corpses were no doubt rebel, though Kevlavic cared little whether they were or not. The whole valley from Regis to the Silvan Basin arid as far east as the Verdant Mountains would see what resistance to Lord Kurita meant. Mountain Vista's destruction would make other communities think twice before offering shelter or aid to Verthandi's rebel vermin.

Something whanged off the Marauder'stiny, armor-bound cockpit window, leaving a bright-smudged star on the tough plastic. Kevlavic calculated trajectories, swung his machine, and spotted movement on the IR scanner. The sniper was hiding in a shattered church tower, his perch a little lower than Kevlavic's cockpit. The sniper's rifle, an old hunting weapon of some kind, flashed again. Once more, the bullet smeared uselessly across the ‘Mech's canopy. Kevlavic urged the Marauderforward. As his machine loomed over the broken-off steeple, he could see the sniper cowering inside. Scarcely more than a boy, he was obviously terrified, but wore the same camouflaged military fatigues favored by rebels in the Verthandian jungles. The boy threw his rifle down and raised his hands above his head. The ‘Mech's external mikes picked up a shrill string of pleas for mercy, of surrender.