The Price of Glory

The Phoboshad the Deimosunder its guns, and so if there had been no firing as yet, it must mean that negotiations were going on. Janice knew what negotiations meant when the freedom of a world was at stake. She didn't want to learn the results of these negotiations, at least not at close hand. She joined other members of the Gray Death Special Ops forces and retreated into the woods to the east.

Behind her, a hatch high upon on the flank of the Phobosopened, and a radio ante

It was the Marik eagle. The Phoboshad been captured.

12

Lieutenant Thurston's voice bore witness to the strain the man was under. "Colonel, I've got to do what they say. I've gotto!"

Grayson closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat of his Marauder.It was not like him to simply accept such a decision without fighting, and yet there seemed to be absolutely nothing he could do about it. Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to say the words. Go ahead, Lieutenant. Do what you have to . . .

"No, Thurston! You're condemning all of us if you do! I orderyou to refuse terms. We'll be down there to support you within five minutes."

"No, sir. I can't do it. Don't you see?"

"The cowardly bastard," Grayson heard over his tac-com. He thought the voice belonged to Delmar Clay, but he couldn't be sure.

"He's not being cowardly," a new voice spoke over the line. "He is being quite sensible."

"What . . . ? Who is this?"

"Captain Harris Graff, of the 5th Marik Guards."

"Graff . . ."

"Not my realname, of course."

"Okay, Graff ... or whatever your name is. What is it you want?"

"I have what I want, Colonel. I have your DropShips ... as pla

Rage surged within Grayson. "You have Phobos,Graff. You don't have Deimos.And when we come down there and dig you out ..."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, Colonel. As I have already explained to Lieutenant Thurston, his DropShip has been . . . tampered with. Nothing severe ... or noticeable, but a certain coded radio signal will start a meltdown of the Deimos'sfusion plant. No explosion or anything spectacular, but it will generate enough heat to reduce that DropShip to molten scrap."

Grayson listened in sick horror. The Conventions of modern warfare forbade destroying technology, and most warriors abided by the injunction. From time to time, there were still raids against an enemy's factories or industrial complexes, but such installations were spare whenever possible. A factory or a manufacturing center or even a DropShip might be captured in battle, but there was always the possibility that it might be recaptured later. Warriors who wantonly destroyed something as precious as a DropShip were viewed as barbarians by most other 31st-Century warriors. As the steady, grinding attrition of war continued, there were fewer and fewer Technicians who understood enough to rebuild or even repair something as complex as a fusion reactor or an automated BattleMech plant. Grayson was not one of those superstitious, mystical-minded followers of the Way of Blake, but the idea of a centuries-old DropShip being reduced to scrap at the touch of a button filled him with horror.

"Release the crew, then."

"Colonel, Let me assure you that you are in absolutely no position to bargain! These people are legitimate prisoners of war. They are safe, and will remain safe until they are tried."

"Tried? Tried for what, for God's sake! You . . . you say you're Marik 5th Guard! We're working for Janos Marik, for God's sake! We're under contract to Janos Marik!"

"Why don't you come down here and we'll talk about it? I have information you may find . . . interesting. We can discuss it at leisure, and perhaps we can find a way out of this impasse. Maybe there has been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line."

Grayson closed his eye's, suddenly very tired. He had no intention of walking tamely into Graff's parlor. The Marik forces had been using deceit and trickery at every turn of this campaign, and Grayson's own liberty would last just as long as he remained outside the Phobos'shull.

If he survived at all.

"No deal, Graff. Tell me over the comline."

"I don't think we have anything further to discuss, Colonel. But Lieutenant Thurston issurrendering the Deimosto me, or I will melt that ship down around his ears. Will you give him the order, Colonel? Or shall I deal directly with him?"

"Yes, dammit." Grayson's voice was scarcely audible. "I'll give the order."

A truce settled across the battlefield after that, arranged by radio between Grayson and Colonel Langsdorf, the Marik commander. Such truces were common in the formalized usages of modern warfare. It was not unknown for two commanders engaged in a protracted battle to call a halt while both sides salvaged damaged 'Mechs, recovered injured or lost pilots, and allowed for individual warriors and Techs to trade with each other on the field. A MechWarrior might trade a kilo of rare coffee or tobacco for an enemy Tech's spare actuator adjustment wrench and calibrator set, or a length of number nine reflex tubing for a working percolator. Such entrepreneurial activity was frowned upon by unit commanders everywhere, but was impossible to stop.

Grayson's men and women used the time to comb the woods for their wounded and to locate what scattered elements of Ramage's infantry company they could. When the line on the ridge to the west had broken, most of the Legion soldiers had attempted to form up at the top of the ridge, then scattered east when the enemy 'Mechs closed in. They were hiding now in the woods throughout the valley. Those who still had radio communications through to the Legion's 'Mechs were already coming in, but it would take time to round up the stragglers.

Grayson dispatched a team down the west face of the western ridge to recover the unknown trooper who had turned a disabled Locust'sweapon against the Marik ECM cars. When he learned that the "unknown trooper" was none other than Captain Ramage, it didn't surprise him. Ramage was badly wounded, unconscious, and in serious danger from loss of blood. Dr. Morrison on the Phoboswas the closest medical man around, but Graff would not permit even the ship's doctor to leave. Soldiers with first-aid experience cleaned Ramage's wounds and bandaged them, but no one wanted to predict the Trellwanese's chances of recovery.

Silently, Marik soldiers moved through the valley and along the hillsides as well, searching for their own wounded, gathering up their discarded equipment. A team of Techs was seen busily at work on the- two disabled ECM Packrats. Another team of Techs had descended on the damaged Locustas soon as Ramage had been removed from it. With some Marik troops posted nearby on guard, they could now be seen working on the severed co

Grayson stood in the open, leaning against his Marauder'sfoot and lower leg. Helm's sun had dropped low enough that the valley was now in shadow, though the sky was still light and hours remained before sunset. Delmar Clay came up alongside.

"Colonel?" He spoke softly, as though afraid of being overheard. "I've got a real bad feeling about all of this."