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The Liao campaign had ended sooner than expected. The last word they'd had on Helm was that the campaign for Sirius V was nearly over, and that Carlyle and the regiment would be returning in another few weeks. When DropShips next descended out of Helm's sparkling blue sky, however, they were not the Deimosand the Phobos,but six House Marik ships, armed and arrayed for war. The attack on Durandel had taken them all by surprise. During that night of fire and horror, Tracy had cowered inside a shelter created by the collapse of a machine shop wall across the sunken well in the shop's floor used for lubricating and repairing the armored company's wheeled vehicles.
That night of terror had brought Tracy face to face with herself. Disgusted by her own fear, she wondered how she would ever live up to the standard of her valiant brother. Even worse was that she had cried out for her father at one point when burning debris from an exploding Galleon had come crashing down on top of her shelter. The memory still made her burn with shame. How would she ever find the steel inside her own soul to become a real MechWarrior like Fitz?
Grayson Carlyle had arrived the day after the surprise Marik attack, and she had witnessed the extermination of the Hammerstrike 'Mechs from a hiding place on a rocky, wooded bluff north of the ruins of Durandel. The Colonel was back! With him were the DropShips and her Dutiful Daughterstill aboard the Deimos—and intact! Tracy had seized on that fact with an eagerness approaching passion. Now, perhaps, she would have her chance! She would go into combat against the Marik troops who had killed so many of her new friends. She would redeem herself in her own eyes! She would prove to them all that Tracy Kent was a MechWarrior, and that nothing could stand in her way . . .
Things certainly hadn't turned out as she pla
The word had come the next day. The DropShips had been taken, and with them, her Phoenix Hawk.
Damn them! Damn them all!Damn Grayson Carlyle for taking her BattleMech from her, for giving it . . . giving itto the Marik bastards who had slaughtered the people of Durandel! And now she was left with nothing.
Tracy moaned softly at that thought, sinking to her knees at the river's edge until she was nearly hidden by the slender, grasslike vegetation. Her shoulders shook with sobs. Nothing! She had nothing!First she'd lost Fitz, then she'd been cut off from her family, and now the Legion, her new family, was disintegrating around her. With the Daughtergone, too, so was Tracy's hope of becoming a warrior that her brother would have admired.
Her parents and younger sister were still alive, of course, but they were nearly 130 parsecs away, on the other side of the I
"Oh, Fitz!"The cry burst from her, and she wept bitterly.
* * *
Outlaw!
The word had a special meaning for the man who went by the name of Hassan Ali Khaled. He'd known it with a searing i
Though his comrades considered him a kind of emotionless machine, the truth was that Khaled concealed emotions that burned with the heat of a planetary core. It was the discipline of controlling his feelings that enabled him to behave as a coolly efficient warrior who never made an error in judgement. Inside that cool shell were locked both a fierce pride and a deep, burning shame. He had told no one in the Legion why he had left the Saurimat, and he never would.
Do I start ru
No!he told himself. Honor compels me to stay, to show loyalty to this young man, my sworn commander. This time . . . this time I will follow the way of honor.
* * *
Delmar Clay leaned against a tree at the edge of a clearing, and gave a long sigh as he slowly slid down the trunk. Seated on the ground at the base of the tree, he wearily laid his head on his knees. Was there any hope left?
An unmistakable Scots burr interrupted his thoughts. "Eh, laddie, what do you make a' it all?"
Clay looked up to see the brawny Scotsman sit down on the log opposite, holding a steaming mug in each hand.
"Davis, my man, you're a lifesaver!" Displaying considerably more cheer than he felt, Clay reached for the proffered mug and cupped both hands around it, relishing its warmth.
"Di
"Right now, Davis, I don't think I give a damn about that." He gave a wry laugh. "I don't think I give a damn about much."
McCall looked at his fellow warrior and shook his head. "I di
Clay took a sip of coffee to avoid answering and swore as he burned his tongue. Dammit,he thought. Why does the man have to know me so well?He glanced over at the red-bearded giant and shrank away from the pity in those eyes. He felt a hand on his shoulder and shuddered.
"It's Terri you're thinking about," the Caledonian said gently.
Struggling to control the emotions he had been holding in check, Clay nodded. "I'm . . . I'm worried sick about her, Dave." It was as though a damn had burst. Having admitted his fear, now he couldn't stop talking about. "Ever since we got here last night, I've been searching the whole encampment. I asked Gomez DeVillar, I asked Bill Burns, I asked Tracy Kent, I asked every one of the
Durandel survivors I could talk to. No one has seen her since ..."
He took a few sips of the coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste.
"I never wanted to get so close to anyone before, Dave. Our kind of life is too . . . too uncertain. I sure fought hard against it when I first started to ... to care for her." He swallowed hard, then continued. "But . . . but just knowing we were going to have a place to call home—that made things different, you know?"
McCall nodded. "I understand, laddie. You could feel sure that she was safe while you were off fightin'."
A harsh, bitter laugh erupted from Clay's throat. "Yeah. Safe. That was a joke. We were safer on Sirius V!"
"But Del, you di
"But don't you see, Davis," Clay interrupted. "Don't you see that that's the worst of it? That I don'tknow? She couldstill be alive. She could be hiding somewhere in these hills and be perfectly safe. But I . . . don't . . . knowAnd that'swhat killing me."
Clay stared at the ground in silence for some time.
"There's another thing, Dave." He spoke so low that McCall had to strain forward to hear him. "She was . . . our . . . it's our son." Despite his anguish, he couldn't keep the pride out of his voice. "Gomez said he looks just like me, poor kid."
He thought back to the night on Graham IV when Terri had told him that she was pregnant. He'd been angry at first, not wanting to bring a child into the world. It was bad enough—after so many years as a loner—feeling responsible for Terri. But she'd been so obviously happy, so full of love for the new life inside her, that he couldn't help joining her in joyful anticipation.