11

Clay in his Wolverinewas already helping McCall's Riflemanto its feet. Grayson winced when he saw the damage the Riflemanhad sustained, and his mind began cycling furiously through what he would say to McCall. He had ordered the Caledonian to watch for aircraft, but the man must have been so absorbed by the ground battle that he'd completely missed the Kurita SL-15's strafing run from his rear. That mistake could have been fatal. It might well have ruined the unit's heaviest ‘Mech.

A muted roar from the east warned of the Kurita force's departure. Both DropShips hovered on laboring thrusters, then turned and arced slowly off toward the south above the jungle. Explosions and a rising pall of smoke marked where supplies unloaded during the battle had been destroyed lest they fall into rebel hands or tempt a rebel attack during reloading. As the sound of the Leopard'sdeparture faded, a new sound began rising from the beach and surrounding jungle growth. It took Grayson a moment to recognize that it was the sound of men and women, cheering.

Grayson touched the Shadow Hawk'scanopy release panel, and swung it open. The outside air, tropically hot and damp, rushed into the Hawk'scockpit like an autumn wind, dry and deliciously cool compared to the hothouse humidity inside. He hung against the overhead stanchions a moment, gulping the air, suddenly aware of how good fresh air smelled compared to the stench of his and Lori's sweat and fear. The sharp scent of scorched armor also flavored the fresh air. Pings, pops, and creakings of hot metal rose from the Shadow Hawk'sweapons tubes and from scarred and scorched patches of armor where, briefly, megajoules of laser energy had touched.

The cheers continued to sound around him, clearer now than when he'd heard them through the ‘Mech's external pick-ups. Both rebels and mercenary troops were emerging from the jungle, splashing through the shallow, high-tide water, or standing in animated knots among the boles and roots of beach-edge trees and jungle plants. Some exchanged slaps on the back or vigorous handshakes, and many were engaged in animated discussion of the battle just past. Sergeant Ramage and Tollen Brasednewic were trotting side by side at the head of a mixed squad of troops in the direction of the nearest stranded Galleon. The tank's crew was already climbing out, moving clumsily with their hands in the air.

Lori locked the Shadow Hawkin place and cracked her helmet, letting Grayson help her swing it off her shoulders and into its rack above her seat Her hair fell in lank, damp strands across her shoulders. She shook her head and wiped wet hair from her eyes.

"Pretty good for someone who was sure she would fail," he said gently. In truth, he'd completely forgotten his concern about Lori's fears once the battle had begun. She had acted coolly, professionally, without hesitation.

She replied with a smile, though her eyes were guarded. Lori, too, reveled a moment in the cool breeze moving through the open cockpit before fishing a towel out of an equipment locker under her seat to sop the sweat from her face and neck. When she had finished, Grayson used the towel himself. His own uniform was as soaked as her brief attire, and far less comfortable. It didn't cool as the air blew over it, but bunched, chafed, and sent sudden rivulets of sweat tickling down his spine and sides. The water below looked inviting, and he longed for a swim. For the moment, he was too weak to do anything more than hang on and breathe.

Nearby, Grayson saw McCall and Clay leaning from the opened hatches of their own machines. The light ‘Mech pilots were still relatively fresh, not having sustained combat as long as the heavies. They now stood guard in the quickening tide as a Kurita pilot climbed out of one of the two captured Stingers.The other Stinger,still flat on its back, had taken a round in the head. Smoke still wisped above the gore-shocked scar where the ‘Mech's cockpit had been.

Lori smoothed wet hair back from her face. "Captain, if you'd excuse me, I'd like to get dressed."

Grayson smiled. "Pardon me for barging into your dressing room, and thanks for the ride." He reached up and punched the winch release that dropped the Shadow Hawk'sladder, then lowered himself to the ground, careful to avoid hot spots on the ‘Mech's armor.

The water under the Hawkwas knee-deep on him and felt wonderful when he splashed it across his face.

* * * *

"My Lord, there was no way we could have reached Hunter's Cape with more ‘Mechs or tanks. There were only two DropShips available, and small ones at that." Stiffly at attention, Kevlavic stood in Nagumo's office at the University of Regis, his eyes focused at the greenish sky through the window behind the Governor General's shoulder. He swallowed once before adding, "We did not expect such fierce resistance. Lord. We thought to find only battered survivors of the DropShip's crash. We were met by accurate and concentrated fire from at least two enemy ‘Mech lances—and possibly a full company. They were supported by a large and powerful guerrilla force with whom they must have established contact moments before our arrival."

Nagumo sat quietly, neither accusing nor condemning. "I see. Anything else?"

"There was one serious tactical and logistical flaw in the operation that contributed to our defeat."

"Yes?”

"The DropShip Subotaiarrived at the LZ almost eight minutes after the Xaowas down and unloaded. The light tanks were not on the field until my lance was already being forced to withdraw. Had we been able to operate together, things might have gone differently."

"Perhaps," said Nagumo, his face impassive, voice noncommital. Close support between ‘Mechs and ground support units was always a touchy subject during analysis of BattleMech operations. Some commanders swore that close cooperation between troops in light, swift vehicles and the lumbering ‘Mechs could vastly increase a ‘Mech unit's combat effectiveness. Others argued just as vigorously that ground units got in the way, that they slowed the ‘Mechs and hindered-their freedom to fire, that accidents and misidentification too frequently caused troops armed with anti- ‘Mech weaponry to fire into friendly, valuable machines. Nagumo was a traditionalist who felt ‘Mech operations should remain separate from conventional orders of battle, but he was open-minded enough to allow a subordinate such as Kevlavic to approach things in his own way. No matter now, for the blame would rest squarely on his own shoulders.

"Perhaps," Nagumo said again. "Then, too, a second lance of BattleMechs might have served better. What is the final tally of damage?"

Kevlavic noted his commander's use of the word "damage," rather than "casualties", but lost no time pondering it. In BattleMech units, equipment was far more valuable than lives. Humans could be replaced, but in an increasingly lostech universe, it was becoming harder and harder to replace man's war machines.

"Lord, both light ‘Mechs were lost, one with severe damage to the cockpit. We must assume the enemy will be able to field one against us, but it seems unlikely that their service facilities will be up to repairing the other. For the same reason, we can assume their Riflemanis permanently out of action."

"We can assume nothing of the sort," Nagumo replied, still quiet His eyes sparked in the harsh office lighting. "There are industrial complexes in rebel-controlled regions, centers for servicing industrial or AgroMechs, especially among the plantations. We haven't found them all... yet."