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With the 'Mech's attention momentarily drawn to the other side of the alley's entrace, Grayson stepped into the open. With the 'Mech looming above him 30 meters down the alley, Grayson felt very, very small.
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"Hold it right there, Warrior!" he yelled, then gulped down a breath to control the shaking in his voice. "One twitch of any of those weapons and you're cooked. Scan me and see if I'm bluffing!"
Seconds dragged on. The Locust'slaser was canted down at the ground some distance in front of Grayson, and its machine guns remained rigidly immobile, trained across the street at the corner of the building opposite. Grayson stood upright, in full view, with the green image of the towering Locustfilling the crosshaired sights of his launcher, his finger tight on the trigger.
He gave the pilot a moment to scan the electronic emanations of the armed triggering circuits in his missile warheads. "You can kill me," he called again, "but you'll fry! Your heat exchangers must be up to shutdown mode by now. One round of Willie-Pete will finish you. And that's a very nasty way to go!"
The Locustpilot spoke, the voice electronically reproduced in a gravelly, amplified bass. "What do you want?"
"Don't touch your weapons. I want you to come out of there, unarmed. If I even imagineI see a weapon move in my direction, I'll fire!"
There was a pause, and Grayson could hear the sharp ping of hot metal cooling on the 'Mech's hull, could smell the sour-rubber stink of melted circuit insulation. The temperature inside must be...
"All right," said the pilot. "Don't shoot, I'm coming out." The electronically-produced voice could not register emotion, but to Grayson it sounded tired, perhaps resigned.
He remained standing as though the launcher on his shoulder were cast in bronze. From the Locustcame the sharp hiss of a broken pressure seal and the rasp of a hatch winched open by hand. There was a clatter, and a metal-runged chain ladder spilled out of the hatch, jiggling half a meter from the ground.
City militia troops were entering the cul-de-sac entrance now, weapons held ready. The Mech Warrior's legs appeared from the Locust'sbelly hatch, and it became apparent that the pilot was female. Scarcely more than a girl, she was dressed only in slippers and a scrap of black panty briefs. MechWarriors generally fought scantily clad in the hothouse confines of their machines, and she had not had time to get dressed before coming out. Her long blond hair hung in dank wet strands across her shoulders, and her body glistened with sweat After stepping down from the ladder, she stood facing them with arms folded across her breasts, alone and very vulnerable.
"Hey, hey," a soldier said with a nasty laugh. "Look-a-here, look-a-here! We caught us a prize, we did! Get those hands up! Behind your head!"
"Looks dangerous," another said. He shouldered his assault rifle and started toward her. "I think we'd better search her!"
"Yeah! C'mere, baby. We gotta check your uniform for concealed weapons."
Grayson set the rocket launcher aside, stepped over to where a sergeant stood watching, and pulled the pistol from the man's hip holster. It was a Stetta auto pistol, with a selector switch that let it fire single shots, bursts, or wildly inaccurate full-auto mayhem from an extended grip magazine holding 100 caseless rounds.
He snapped the selector from safe to full auto, pointed the muzzle into the air, and pulled the trigger. The snapping chatter of the deadly little weapon, shocking in the confined space between buildings, slopped the soldiers where they were, spun them around to face him.
"The first one to touch her dies." He waited, the weapon smoking in his hand. Though the challenge was a bit melodramatic, it had the desired effect. Every eye was on him.
"You!" He pointed the weapon at the two who had started toward the captured pilot. "Back to the vehicles. MOVE!" They scrambled to obey. "You!" He picked another soldier at random. "There's a blanket in my vehicle. Get it."
The trooper dashed back to the PPC carrier on the double to retrieve an orange rescue blanket that had been folded on the floor of the welldeck. Grayson took it from him, walked over to the girl, and draped it over her shoulders. Aware of all eyes upon him, he was careful not to touch her. "It's okay," he said, "put your hands down. We won't hurt you. I promise."
The spell was broken, as his impromptu unit began cheering and capering in the street. They had captured a 'Mech intact! Grayson had to shout now to be heard above the clamor. "Sergeant!"
The man snapped to attention. "Sir!"
"Detail two men to guard that 'Mech!" He put the safety back on the pistol, but tucked it into the waistband of his trousers. "I'm going to borrow this, if you don't mind.”
"Yessir!"
"Now I need someone to take me and the prisoner to your headquarters. I'd better talk to your bosses before this make-believe goes any further!"
* * * *
Lord Harimandir Singh contemplated the ruin of his career. How could it have happened? Five 'Mechs and two companies of troops had stormed a defenseless city, and what had been the outcome? One 'Mech destroyed. Another captured. A third limping into the Repair Bay with fused pedal servoactuators and the right-leg jump-jet electronics melted into scrap, the liquid-mercury fuel core leaking great silver globbets that dripped down the leg and scurried across the deck like mice. Hell, his chief Tech, pursed his gloomy features and shook his head. The Waspmight need an entire leg replacement. The damage was severe.
And 32 of his troops had not come back. Stragglers were still checking in, though, and so perhaps the final butcher's bill might not be that high.
Three 'Mechs down out of five and ten percent casualties in his battalion. What the bloody hell had happened? It could only be that the local forces had had some help. The crippled Wasp'spilot had reported that the indigs were organized differently from the way they'd fought during Singh's initial probe of the city's defense just a few hours before. Was it possible, he wondered, that their earlier inept defense had been a ruse to draw him into a trap?
He quickly rejected that line of thought No commander would throw lives away on such a slender chance. Anyway, it would be harder to get professional troops to act stupid than the other way around. Besides, Vallendel's Marauderhad smashed through the light assembly of armor and ground troops that had met him on the north rim of the city. There had been nothing different there, no new strategy or secret defense to turn the tide against the attackers. Most of those troops had scattered and fled through the city streets without even firing a shot
No, it was more likely that King Jeverid had brought in mercenaries to stiffen his defenses, but Singh couldn't fathom from where these forces had come or when they had arrived. And where had they been during the earlier attack? Or during the attack on Carlyle at the Castle? It was possible that a mercenary training cadre was operating in the city and that Jeverid possessed at least one competent as fighter unit. Though that might explain things, Singh wouldn't feel comfortable until he learned who these mercenaries were.
Briefly, he considered withdrawing from the Castle to the ship or abandoning Trellwan entirely. But that would contradict the Red Duke's Plan, not something a member of the Duke's entourage ever did lightly. No, he must consider this a setback, but the Plan would still succeed. It had to. If it didn't, even after all these years of faithful service, it might be HIS head on a pike above the parade ground. The thought was not comforting.