After that, the Lancers would have to make their way through Thunder Rift to a prearranged landing site on the shores of the Grimheld Sea. If Tor was able to recapture the Invidious,one of the freighter's DropShips would meet them at a beacon they planned to set two standard days from now. They would have to abandon their 'Mechs to make the passage through the Rift, because the waterfall had begun in earnest now, making any passage by water impossible. In case of his death, Grayson had hand-drawn maps to help them pick their way through noise-blasted paths to the north opening, then down through rugged terrain to the Sea.

Once aboard the DropShip, they could make their way to the Invidious,and from there to the nearest Commonwealth outpost Grayson could find. Those of the Lancers who wished to remain could survive for 30 standard days on the supplies the DropShip would leave them, then make their way by hovercraft back to Sarghad as soon as it was dark again.

And there they would wait, with the promise that Grayson would return again with a Commonwealth force large enough to smash the Combine invaders.

Grayson tore his mind away from the plan. Looking at it overall, he saw too many assumptions and premises and outright guesses, and too many little details that could so easily go wrong. He remembered another of Kai Griffith's maxims. "If something can go wrong," the Weapons Master had said, "it will. Keep your planning simple, because the plan's certain to get a lot more complicated in practice than you thought it'd be."

Grayson didn't see how he could have simplified it any further. With so few 'Mechs against so many, only a complex plan gave him the options and flexibility he needed.

He triggered a switch marked HUD on his console, and the green targeting bullseye and characters of his heads-up display snapped on at eye level. He centered the antenna mast in the target circle, and read the range as 850 meters. Then he made a weapons check. The autocannon was still at rest, but fully loaded and ready to be brought into action. His forearm medium laser was charged and ready, and the missile launchers — a battery of LRMs set into the 'Mech's left torso and a pair of twin-tube SRMs mounted on either side of its head — were on line, loaded, and showed a display of green lights on his weapons board.

All set. He pushed the con stick forward, urging the Shadow Hawkinto a lumbering trot toward the antenna.

When the missile caught his Hawksquarely in the back, it took Grayson completely by surprise.

32

Tor arrived hand-over-hand at the docking lock, where he took a holstered vibroblade from one of his men and tied it to his thigh while the soldier strapped the powerpack across his shoulders. The fourteen Lancers who had volunteered for this mission were already there, still dressed in their Royal Guards green and carrying everything from long, keen-edged boarding knives and vibroblades to laser rifles and tranq guns. Half the prisoners they'd found aboard the DropShip were there too, armed with improvised weapons and a savage determination. In the lock area's dim lighting, all their faces were pale as they clung to the lock's handholds in the dreamy weightlessness of zero-G.

Tor's eyes picked out General Varney. "Prisoners all secure, sir?"

Varney's eyes twinkled. "Secure, Captain. Aft hold, and chained to their seats. There was a bit of a problem with the ISF fellow, so I had to put him out. Again."

"Good." Tor caught his lip between his teeth. "But, General..."

"Don't say it son," Varney broke in, seeming to read Tor's mind. "You're in command here, but I AM going along." His knuckles worked along the haft of the heavy-bladed knife he held.

Tor paused, then nodded. If he'd learned one thing about the military, it was that you don't argue with generals. "Okay, men. Remember now, don't get trigger-happy. It may still be my crew running that ship under guard, or they may even have been enlisted by these bastards. God knows what they've been told, but we'll need them to crew the ship.

"Remember, too, that our acceleration isn't going to make any difference here. When you kick into the center of a room, it'll take you two minutes to fall to the deck. You throw a punch, and it'll throw you right back. Watch yourselves! Questions? No? All right, here goes!"

The outer airlock door slid open, and they found themselves looking through the open hatch of the Invidiousat a trio of armed, black-uniformed officers standing in the freighter's docking lock.

"Hey! What's all this?" shouted an infantry officer in a Captain's uniform. The next moment, he was hit by the hurtling body of one of the Lancers, and the two were scuffled in a pinwheel of arms and legs across the cargo lock and into a far bulkhead.

General Varney crowded in ahead of the rest. Slashing out and up with his boarding knife, he caught a Combine army lieutenant low in his gut, laying the man open in a weightless spray of blood.

Tor launched himself at the third Combine trooper, but the dying lieutenant spun into his path in a welter of blood and thrashing limbs. Tor caught a glimpse of the officer — a major, he thought — vanishing through the cargo lock hatch and into the passageway beyond. Damn!

"After him!" he called out. "Get him!"

The boarding party swam through the lock and spilled into the main passageway. Tor had to orient the men so that they were heading foreward in the direction of the bridge. The faint acceleration of the Invidious stationkeeping drive was just enough to create the impression that they were indeed swimming up through an endless tunnel. At its far end, Tor caught a flicker of movement.

"Sergeant Yee! Pick him off with your laser!"

The trooper triggered his weapon, the beam faintly visible as a red thread flickering up the corridor, but the major slipped through a hatch an instant before the shot fired. Damn again! Tor thought, as the boarding party continued up the passageway. The alert would certainly go out now. From here on, it was all going to be up to Grayson and his Lancers on Trellwan.

* * * *

The explosion at his back knocked Grayson's Shadow Hawkto its hands and knees. He hung against the cockpit seat's straps, stabbing wildly at control switches beneath bank upon bank of suddenly flashing indicator lights. Damage did not seem severe, but it looked like the jump jets in the Hawk'smassive backpack had been put out of action. He was also getting ominous readings from the backpack environmental support system.

Grayson hauled back on the controls, and let his natural sense of balance guide the computer-controlled gyro and balance systems. Pulling itself up, the Hawkstood and turned to face its attacker.

A Crusaderin red and black livery stood there at a range of 220 meters. Grayson knew that color pattern. He'd seen it before, on a computer data listing. The Crusaderwas Lord Harimandir Singh's 'Mech.

A console data display gave a rundown of the Crusader'sstats. The massively armed and armored beast weighed 65 tons, its design sacrificing speed and maneuverability for weaponry. Grayson scanned the list of weapons: medium lasers, machine guns, and LRM launchers in each arm, and SRM launchers set into the armor plate of each leg. The machine's forearms were grotesquely swollen to accommodate the strap-on packs of weaponry. It raised both arms, and strode toward Grayson like a nightmarish sleepwalker.

Adrenalin sang in Grayson's blood. He dropped the autocannon across his left shoulder, and triggered a long, rolling burst of hellfire, then snapped the Hawk'sright arm up to discharge three lightning-quick bolts of coherent light. Flame and minor debris splattered from the Crusader'shead and shoulders. A row of craters stitched across its chest, rupturing armor plate and leaving a ragged scar along one shoulder.