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Something told him these men did not want to hear about stats and specifications, or the problems of recruiting. More emotional protests tumbled forth. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm in way over my head here. Look, I'm 20 standard years old." These people expected the impossible!
"You've piloted 'Mechs before, haven't you?" This from Varney.
"Yes, but I've never had one in combat What happened out there was just luck. And I certainly wouldn't know how to lead a unit." That wasn't exactly accurate, Grayson knew. His training as a MechWarrior included leadership and small unit tactics. If he was to follow in the five-meter stride of his father, he would have to know how to lead men. He had been trained for the role he'd been expected to play in the event his father had been killed. But dammit, things were happening loo fast
Varney said, "Son, we have the statements of the men you led in the battle for the city. When an entire GEV detachment had been cut to pieces, you were the only one there to DO something. You rallied those trooops, and you knocked out a 'Mech. That's not easy, and it wasn'tluck!"
The reality of what these men were saying was gradually penetrating Grayson's consciousness. They wanted HIM to be a 'MechWarrior. More, to build a MechWarrior Lance from scratch and lead it in battle. The protests gibbering in his mind were being outweighed by the single fact that more than half his life had been directed toward a single destiny — the cockpit of a BattleMech. It was an opportunity he was not likely to encounter again. Would neverencounter again if he were unable to buy or beg passage offplanet. Without a 'Mech of his own, his chances of joining a 'Mech unit were virtually nil.
Excitement stirred within him. Perhaps there was something to Mara's conviction that he belonged here. With scant hope of getting off planet for years to come, maybe there was a place for the Victor of Sarghad here on Trellwan after all!
Those one-to-four odds were unattractive, but not totally discouraging. The Locustwould be a start, and with pla
"Tell me more," he told the generals, and the King leaned back in his chair, his old face creased by a satisfied grin.
16
Sarghad's Near Passage came and went. However, the sullen red sun appeared no larger to the eye than it ever did. Trellwan was only a few percent nearer its primary at its closest point than at its farthest, but that few percent was enough to briefly bring the temperature to 40 degrees C. and higher. Within 20 hours, the Firstday storms had begun.
Now that the sun was directly overhead, the air over the Nerge grew warm, then hot. Low-lying air masses from the Grimheld Sea area moved across the desert and exploded skyward in a towering column of hot, moist air. From Sarghad, the column looked like a white pillar lifting beyond the mountains to the west. Its rise was so rapid that the naked eye could perceive its movement second to second across almost 2,000 kilometers.
When the column of hot, wet air hit the subzero air of the stratosphere, clouds billowed out in all directions, blocking the sun and turning the green sky white, then grey, then roiling blue-black. It was then that the hail and rain and lightning began.
During the seven-standard day period known in Sarghad as the Summer Storm, people stayed indoors in a holiday commanded by the weather. To venture outdoors would have meant wading knee-deep in yellow mud while becoming soaked to the skin, at best. At worst, to leave the shelter of Sarghad's buildings on some errand usually meant being struck dead by lightning or head-sized hailstones. The wind from the east blew steadily across the city toward the Nerge. Even during those periods when the sun was still above the horizon, the landscape was plunged into complete and unrelieved darkness, save for the lightning that flashed brilliantly against the sky.
With the driving rain a constant rattle against sealed windows and eaves, with the wind thumping against outer walls like something alive, Grayson set up his headquarters in the city Armory, a squat and dismal ferrocrete block building with a warehouse interior in the mechanic's District across the Hub from the Palace Grounds. Seated there at an old desk salvaged from some government office and using an old, black plastic compad tied into the Military Records Library in the District Headquarters A
His assistants were Sergeant Ramage of the Militia and Lieutenant Nolem of the Guards, both of whom held the tide of Adjutant. Their primary job was to take all the military theory and training that Grayson could put into words and writing, organize it, and then teach it to the men and women who were selected for Trellwan's anti-'Mech unit. Grayson's little team had been given the rest of Firstnight, another fourteen standard days, to organize the unit General Adel wanted it ready for combat by the end of the Secondnight storms, which gave them just about one local year of 45 days to do the job.
* * * *
"Sergeant, I don't think you understand the precariousness of your position." Lieutenant Nolem's flat, nasal voice became even more grating when he was being unpleasant.
"Sir!" retorted Ramage. "My understanding of the line of command is that the Militia troops in the special unit will be accountable to Militia HQ through Lance Command. General Varney would never have consented to placing Militia perso
"And I, Sergeant, question whether you have any understanding of the line of command at all! The Guard clearly takes precedence over the Militia in the special unit as it does in all military matters. You meddling Militiamen..."
"Gentlemen, please!" Grayson sat between the two, fingers working at his temples. He was tired and couldn't think of much else except getting back to the officers' quarters General Varney had arranged for him. There was so much to be done, but he was begi
"If you two don't stop bickering, you can forget about the generals. You'll have to answer to the new government!"
Nolem raised a querying eyebrow. "What new government?"
"The one the bandits are going to establish in the Palace if you don't drop the petty quarrels over pecking-order and help me get some work done!"
"Really, Lieutenant. My position here..."
Grayson's voice was weary but firm. "Your position here is subject to MY approval, Lieutenant, do you understand?"
"You don't rank me, youngster!" Nolem was all of four standard years older than Grayson.
"I'll bloody well rank you if I have to prove it by tossing you out in the rain!" Grayson's fist came down on the stack of requisition forms on the desk. "I was put in charge of the unit, so just because your friend Adel slipped you in to pull rank on Sergeant Ramage doesn't mean I'm going to let you get away with it!"
Nolem bristled. Grayson decided the only way to break through the man's stubborness was to change the subject.
"Now, what's the status of the damaged Wasp?”He demanded.
The question took Nolem by surprise. "Ah... uh..."
"We still don't have a Tech who can supervise repairs."
"But what's the 'Mech's status?"
"Uh... the head's smashed."
"I know that, Lieutenant. I smashed it. Can it be repaired?"
"The officer in charge says we'll need a trained Tech to tell us one way or the other." He shrugged. "We don't have much in the way of spare parts for 'Mechs, either. I gather the supply officers are having to dismantle second-line weapons carriers just to get scrap armor to plug the holes in the torso."