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It was a shame, perhaps, that the Shadow Hawk, thathad been put out of action to critically weaken the Castle's defense was not yet repaired. What an armored force THAT would be. Four lights led by a Hawkand a Marauderteam! Well, no matter. The captured Hawkwould be repaired by the time Duke Ricol arrived. In the meantime, the force Singh had would be more than adequate against the Sarghad rabble.
He raised his hands, shouting above the distant rumble from the mountain rift. "Men! Soldiers in the service of the Red Duke! This is the climax to our part of the Grand Plan!" Of all the troops before him, only Lieutenant Vallendel knew the plan's details, of course, but all could share in the excitement and pride of playing their part in a great scheme.
"Word has been dispatched to our Lord, notifying him of the successful completion of the first phase. When he arrives to begin the second phase, our part in this glorious project will be completed... nobly and honorably so.
"For now, we have this world at our feet!" I know you are hot and tired, that you have been fighting hard, but now is the time to strike again, without mercy!" Singh gestured toward the city sprawled on the plain below the Castle, helpless and inviting in the bloody sunlight.
"Lieutenant Vallendel and Sergeant Mendoza will lead the main ground forces! Their mission is to engage and obliterate the enemy ground defenses wherever they may be found. Our three Sigurdian allies, meanwhile, will attack designated targets within the Sarghad palace itself!"
He paused, eyes narrowed. It was a calculated risk, of course, assigning the attack on the palace to three youngsters... outsiders, at that. But the important part of the operation was to destroy the local defenses, and it didn't really matter whether they got through to the Royal Family or not. At worst, an attack on the palace would create a useful diversion and spread panic and hopelessness among the defenders. At best, Code Dragon's timetable might be advanced by several days. He had weighed the dangers and possible advantages, and decided to take the gamble.
"You three are to attack Sarghad, destroy local Militia and Guard forces where you find them, enter the Palace, and take the Royal Family hostage. With Jeverid and his advisors as our prisoners, the rabble will surrender to us, and we will hand them over to the Duke when he arrives, a neatly wrapped present, tied up in diamond monfilament!"
The obligatory cheer went up at this obvious place for cheering, making up in volume what it lacked in spontaneity. Singh gestured again, this time toward the rows of pikes erected along the Castle parade ground outside the Repair Bay doors. The round, brown-encrusted objects impaled on the tip of each pike were already shrivelled in the dry, sand blasting air of this world. Bared teeth gleamed below empty, staring eye sockets.
"Soldiers! Behold your enemies! So will fare all those stand against us! So will fare the enemies of the Duke! Hail, Duke Ricol! Hail, victory!"
Again the cheers, this time with nervous overtones. Everyone in the ranks knew that the third impaled head from the right belonged to Sergeant Proller of Company C. He'd been in charge of securing the passageway in the Castle leading from Central Control to the Vehicle Bay. Somehow, he'd become lost. By the time his squad had reached their objective, the surviving defenders had secured a number of air cushion transports and escaped toward their perimeter at the spaceport.
It was time. At Lord Singh's shouted command, the ranks of men filed into their transports, which rose on dust-churning cushions of air and drifted with shrill keening down the slopes toward the city. Ahead of them, the five 'Mechs strode with lumbering, deadly purpose.
* * * *
Grayson became aware of the attack as the mournful ululation of a siren rose above crowds of people gone suddenly motionless. Then came the dull whump of distant explosions, and the street crowds began to scatter and run in all directions, shrieking and wailing.
Another attack? Only a few hours had passed the last one — barely time for the raiders to reach the Castle and return!
He stepped to the side of the street as green and gold-clad Guards clattered past at double time, their weapons held at port arms and their faces terribly young beneath visored, gold-edged helmets. Grayson could tell by the sound of the explosions that those were SRMs — short-range missiles — probably 'Mech-launched. What chance did these boys have against BattleMechs?
There was a sharp hiss overhead, an instant's glimpse of a white contrail arowing from the sky, and the iron fence by the Palace grounds across the street vanished in black earth and hurtling chunks of ferrocrete. Grayson fell on his face and clutched at the pavement, as falling debris rattled and bounced around him. When he looked up, the street was littered with twisted bits of iron and rubble, and a steaming crater interrupted the curve of the fence.
He considered the hole for a moment. My way in, he thought, and then thought again. Mara would be on her way to a shelter by now. He had no idea where she would be, and so wandering around the Palace grounds during a battle would only get him shot.
The Waspemerged from a hub street several hundred meters from Grayson's position. It was a sleek and elegant-looking machine, manlike in its movements and painted blue-white with black and yellow trim. Four ante
Waspswere most frequently used as 'Mech unit scouts. They were fast, relatively light-armed and armored, and extremely maneuverable. With the fusion-heated jump jets tucked into legs and angular back-mounted packs, they could leap up to 180 meters — six times their own length — firing down on ground targets from the air or gaining a clear view of the surrounding terrain.
Even lying flat on his belly, Grayson recognized the machine. Though an eye had been painted over the scratched-out clenched-fist insignia on the front of the left leg, 'Mechs — especially the much-painted and battle-worn ones — were as unique as individual humans. This was a Carlyle's Commandos Wasp,captured during the battle that had stranded Grayson on Trellwan. His trained eye searched for new damage, but detected none. It was possible that Mendelson had abandoned the machine during the evacuation, rather than lost it in battle.
Who was piloting it now, Grayson wondered? It might be a rookie, an apprentice next in line for a newly acquired BattleMech. Or, it could just as easily be a battle-experienced Mech Warrior who had lost his own 'Mech in combat. Whoever it was seemed to be handling the machine well enough. The movements were smooth, and the rapidly striding walk was natural and confident.
The Waspwas bearing down on him. Grayson forced himself to remain where he was, unmoving. Of all the panicked people now fleeing the invading 'Mechs, he alone had actually piloted one, and knew what it must look like to the warrior inside the cramped confinement of that tiny head. A person lying unmoving on the pavement would go u