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He pulled out a fist-sized transceiver, lengthened the ante
A short-ranged tactical receiver in his left ear scratched out another code, clickclick clickclick, clickclick. That was Ramage, in position up ahead, reporting that the way was clear, with no sign of traps, hidden troops, or unexpected weapon emplacements. Listening to the signal, Grayson idly watched the silhouette of a heavy-coated sentry shrug and slap himself, as though trying to get warm.
The enemy might decide to close the Repair Bay doors any moment, and so the Lancers had to move now.Grayson pulled his weapon around on its strap into position in front of his chest. It was a Rugan submachine gun that fired large, slow rounds at 1000 rounds per minute from a blackened magazine protruding far below the handgrip. The weapon was of local manufacture, and not as trustworthy as the Commonwealth weapons Carlyle's Commandos had carried. Long hours on a firing range behind the armory had convinced him that it would be a serviceable general weapon for a sneak raid. Grayson remembered to set the selector for three-round bursts. The Rugan packed 80 caseless rounds into that long magazine, but those would be gone in five seconds on full auto.
According to the plan, it was Grayson's shots that would signal the attack. That left it in his hands whether to go ahead with the operation or not. An abort would be signalled over the tacradios each man wore. An attack would be launched by the death of the two sentries.
He took a moment to slow his breathing, to swallow the dryness in his throat, to blink the sting of the wind and the fear from, his eyes. He didn't care about the victory the Sarghadian government needed. This would be another strike against the people who had killed his father, slaughtered his friends, betrayed a trust. He brought the bulky, suppressor-muffled snout of the Rugan to the point, sighted, and tightened his finger on the trigger.
The gun spat and the sentry 70 meters away jerked backward like a puppet on a suing. Grayson swung the weapon toward the other sentry, but it was already too late. Fire from a dozen submachine guns rattled and shrieked through the arctic air. The blast hit a second sentry and a ru
They were committed.
21
Fifty black shapes tan across the parade field lit by the pole-mounted floods, firing as they went. Their suppressed SMG bursts snapped and hissed, sending those in and around the Repair Bay scrambling for cover or knocking them to the ground where they had been standing.
Grayson stepped across the boundary between the parade ground and the Bay. The familiar cavern, red-lit and murky, yawned above and around him. directly before him was the ten-meter form of the damaged Shadow Hawk.
"Collier!" He yelled, waving. "Senkins and Burke! The door! Demo team... move!"
Three soldiers raced for the door leading to the Castle's central passageways. Five men shouldering heavy satchels pounded past him and up to the raised deck supporting the disabled 'Mech. A burst of fire spat from above, and something whipped through the air beside his head. Before Grayson could react, the shots were answered by the harsh chatter of a subgun close by. A figure pitched off the top landing of the spindly ladder zigzagging up to the Bay Control Booth and fell with a dull splat on the ferrocrete 20 meters below.
Grayson turned to the man who had just fiied. It was Larressen. "Thanks," he said. "Go with the Demo Team, Sergeant. I'll be with the security force."
Larressen nodded and swarmed up a ladder to where the demolition team was making its way toward the torso of the grounded 'Mech. Grayson trotted across the floor to where three privates crouched by the door to the passageway. Steel chocks had been driven into the door guides to keep it open, and a squad-portable, bipod-mounted machine gun sat with its barrel probing across the door sill into the corridor beyond. Burke lay flat, the MG stock at his shoulder. The others covered him with automatic rifles. "Anything?"
"No, sir." Corporal Collier was the security team leader. He gestured down the corridor to the next sealed, airtight door. "Just let them poke the tip of their noses through there and we'll nail 'em!" He paused, fumbled, and added a belated "sir." Collier looked younger than Grayson, but seemed to have the knack of handling men. Grayson patted him on the shoulder, then turned to go.
Rumbling thunder crashed from the repair deck, a groaning, tearing-metal protest, as men scattered and someone screamed. Grayson stopped in his tracks, paralysed by shock and dawning horror. The Shadow Hawk,a sleeping giant under the glint of red lamps, was stirring, trembling, slowily raising itself upright. The black-clad figures of the demo team were leaping from that suddenly shifting torso. Sprawled on the ferrocrete where the huge machine's movement had flung him lay the man who had screamed.
What had been a carefully pla
This can't be happening, Grayson thought, but the half-upright battle machine proved otherwise. A vast metal hand swept out, down, and across to bat the lone soldier armed with the autorifle across the room. The gory shape that slid into the wall no longer resembled anything human.
The Shadow Hawkstood, terrifyingly large in the confined space of the Castle's Repair Bay. Grayson noted with some detached portion of his mind that the 'Mech's over-the-shoulder autoca
Carefully planted explosive charges could have destroyed that 'Mech, but there was no way to plant them while the Shadow Hawkwas moving and in combat mode. The Bay doors were still closing, grinding shut with agonizing slowness. "Burke!" Grayson yelled. "Come on!"
The security team scrambled back from the open door. The 'Mech stooped and turned, possibly seeking the source of a voice shouting orders. Its laser flashed again, and Grayson dove behind a stack of wooden crates. Collier was burned as he ran, his blackened corpse unreeognizeable except for the half-melted wreckage of the machine gun still cradled against the charred, smoldering husk of his body. The beams tracked relentlessly. Senkins, too, vanished in fire and oily smoke, his assault rifle spi