The Price of Glory

"Yes, Del?" Grayson had felt it, too. There was something wrong here . . . but what?

"Look . . . you know that usually, during a truce, the troops sometimes'll swap stuff. Tobacco. Gum. Spares. You know."

Grayson nodded.

"If there's nothing to trade, at least they trade news. God, Colonel, soldiers are the most news-hungry creatures in the universe. They alwayswant to know whatever the other guys knows . . . Who's your CO.? What's happening on Atreus? What kind of punishment details do you guys have? Stuff like that."

Grayson exhaled. That was it.

"It's all wrong here. I went up to two of their MechWarriors and five PBIs. Not one of them would talk to me. They ignored me, like I wasn't there. The ones farther off . . . and the officers, they watched me, and I could see their fingers twitching on their guns . . . but the guys I talked to acted like I wasn't there."

"He's right, Gray," said Lori as she and Janice Taylor approached from behind. Janice's face was still smeared with gray-green camouflage paint, and she looked tired.

"Janice just came in through the lines," Lori continued. "She was telling me that they let her past, but there wasn't any of the usual bantering or joking that you hear during a formal truce."

"It was scary, Colonel," Janice said. "You know, I've been asked for datesby Liao soldiers during a truce . . . asked to cook breakfast . . . asked to give up soldiering and become a kept woman . . . but those people out there act like we're . . . we're zombiesor something!"

"I think you've put your finger on it," Grayson said. "They're behaving ..." Grayson's eyes widened as he saw the implications of what he was saying. "My God, they're acting like we're outlaws!"

Though civilized warfare followed certain codes strictly observed by each side, there were always those who chose not to obey the Conventions of War. The half-barbarian raiders from beyond the Periphery, the pirates and bandit kings who looted worlds for water or transuranics or machine tools, the occasional renegade mercenary who exacted revenge on an unfaithful employer or won a campaign by destroying a foe's JumpShip . . . All those could be lumped together into the amorphous group known vaguely as outlaws. Civilized folks had no dealings with such animals. More, they were fair game for the adherents of civilized warfare anywhere. The rules of "civilized" warfare, including formal truces and honorable dealings in negotiations, simply did not apply.

"Outlaws," Janice said. "God, no wonder they won't have anything to do with us."

"Worse," Delmar said. "What if they decide to terminate the truce . . . unilaterally?"

"I was just wondering about that," Grayson answered.

"O.K. Janice, you go back to where the unit is gathering and pass this on to whoever is in command there now.”

“Lieutenant Dulaney."

"O.K., good. Tell him the Marik people may think we're outlaws, and to be ready for a surprise attack. Hell, be ready for anything! Keep someone tuned in on the taccom frequency. Have someone organize stretcher-bearers for the wounded. Have them ready to move. Most of our vehicles should be rounded up by now. Tell Dulaney that priority goes to the wounded on the vehicles."

"Yessir!"

"Lori, Del . . . same drill. Round up the Mech-Warriors. Have them unobtrusively move to their machines, and be ready to move. Uh . . . better have half of them go ahead and mount up. Make it fire lance. Command lance stay outside your 'Mechs like nothing's happening, but be ready to jump, fast. The recon lance is still up the hill?"

"They're working on Trevor's Wasp,"Clay said. "Trying to patch on the leg."

"She may have to abandon it. Have someone walk, walk,mind you, up there and fill them in. Nothing by radio. They'll be listening. Right? Move!"

The trio vanished into the gathering shadows, leaving Grayson by himself. Though he was a member of the Legion's command lance, he elected to climb into his Marauderjust the same, in order to monitor a wider selection of radio frequencies than were available in the small, left-ear headset he was wearing.

There was nothing on the radio frequencies, and that worried him, too. It was as though the Marik forces already had their plans worked out and were simply awaiting the signal to put them into operation.

The signal came less than ten minutes later when a white star flare arced high above the Phobos'shull. Instantly, machine gun fire erupted from the woods, slashing into a small group of Legion troopers who were moving across the valley with three wounded men slung between them in blankets. At almost the same instant, the Mark BattleMechs opened fire. Multiple laser bolts hissed and burned in rapid succession past or into Grayson's Marauder.He was returning fire an instant later, PPC bolts searing back down the valley into the enemy Archerthat had opened fire on him. The range was nearly three hundred meters, long-range combat targeting of medium lasers. Grayson's heavier PPCs scored twice as blazing beams of charged particles tore into the Archer'sheavy armor.

Graff's Assassin,Grayson noted, was nowhere about. Probably still aboardthe Phobos,he thought. He wouldn't dare show himself outside now!

"Colonel!" Francine Roget's voice cut in on the tac frequency. "Colonel, they've jumped us! Five heavy 'Mechs are on the west side of the slope, driving toward our position!"

Damn! There'd been no time to organize a proper watch to keep track of all of the Marik BattleMechs. The valley was too large, the trees too thick. Five of them had slipped away in order to jump the already badly damaged recon lance 'Mechs.

"I'm on my way, Francine!" he said.

"Colonel! What's happening! They're breaking the truce!"

"Lieutenant . . . didn't you get word by ru

"No, sir. No word! Everything was so quiet ..."

Too quiet. Too goddamn quiet!Had Marik troopers watched, then killed the messenger as he climbed the slope? Had that been the signal to start the attack, once they knew the Legion was becoming suspicious?

Grayson guessed that he would never know. For now, though, the failure of the message to get through was threatening the recon lance. It was already a 'Mech short and had one 'Mech crippled. With all three badly damaged from the fight earlier in the day, the recon lance was the weakest part of his whole command. Now it was they who had not received word that the Marik forces might be pla

He opened the power governors wide on his Marauderand urged his 75-ton mount into a lurching, two-legged gallop toward the west ridge. Missile fire arced in from the north, splintering trees behind him and sending chunks of rock and metal rattling from his upper hull. He did not reply, but concentrated instead on the placement of each of his Marauder's,massive feet as it began leaning into the slope of the hill.

Flashes of light, dazzlingly brilliant in the fading daylight, flared and sputtered along the skyline of the ridge. He saw Roget's Pantherstanding against the sky, loosing bolt after bolt from her particle beam weapon at unseen assailants on the far side of the hill.

Rockets struck the ridgetop, sending black gouts of smoke and earth skyward. For a moment, a laser beam from downslope played against Roget's 'Mech, which was outlined by luminous particles of dust in the air, refracted and scattered by the Panther'sarmor. The light show sent dazzling beams and streaks of blue-white light chasing across the sky, broken by the moving shadows of the Panther.The vision, inexpressibly beautiful and horrifying at the same time, lasted only an instant. Then an explosion slammed against Roget's 'Mech, and the 35-ton Pantherstumbled back of the crest of the ridge.