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In command of the column was Captain Maranov, and he was pushing his people hard. Colonel Langsdorf had assigned his 4th Light Assault Group the job of clearing Drango Pass and of securing the village itself, with the mechanized infantry and armor of the Marik House Guard as support. The enemy had been seen in this pass earlier that morning, though there had been no sign of them so far. "Close up, men! Press up!" Maranov barked over his taccom frequency so often that, his men grew sick of hearing it. It kept the column moving quickly, though. If Carlyle's Legion was still in the pass, Maranov wold catch them. If Carlyle had already fallen back through the pass and onto the Vermillion Plains, then the Captain would follow, find him, and hold him until Langsdorf could arrive with the main army. Maranov's Warhammerstrode ahead with a rapid and determined stride. He was flanked by Colby and Vitner in their two Phoenix Hawks,a powerful and impressive phalanx advancing out of the morning sun.
The first explosive charge went off under Vitner's Phoenix Hawk,an eruption of dirt and gravel that smashed Vitner's 45-ton 'Mech forward in a cascading hail of smoke and debris. Maranov pivoted his Warhammer,searching for an enemy, but his sca
"Mines!" Be
Maranov looked around wildly. All along, he had been seeing the Drango Gap as a broad, straight highway through the mountains toward his goal, the plain that reco
With the shattering detonations of the mines, Maranov abruptly saw the pass in a different light. The mountains towered on either side of the gap, needle sharp and capped with glinting ice, barriers impassible by something as clumsy as a BattleMech. Indeed, the Marik Captain now realized that the valley was a splendid place for an ambush.
"Captain!" That call was from Je
“Acquire them and bring them down! Range?”
“Five hundred, and clos ..."
Another explosion chopped off the radio voice, this time coming from high on a hillside close alongside Je
"I'm O.K.!" Je
Maranov had been wondering the same thing. The enemy 'Mechs, each painted with a distinctive grey-on-red skull emblem, seemed to be rising out of the rocks around them. There were four on the northwest side of the pass, and four more to the southeast.
"All units! Fire! Bring them down!"
Maranov lowered his Warhammer'sPPCs and opened fire, heavy bolts of charged particles searing through the morning air, striking into the approaching 'Mechs and across the rocks around and behind them. His fire was joined by the other 'Mechs in his group, as lasers stabbed at the approaching 'Mechs, and rockets wove their delicate, white contrails through the sky toward their targets.
Multiple rocket warheads slammed into Maranov's Warhammer,exploding, sending chunks of armor spi
Vitner's Phoenix Hawktriggered its jump jets and rose clumsily into the air, but Maranov could see that the Hawkhad taken severe damage to its legs, probably as a result of the mine blast. The 'Mech came down heavily, awkwardly, and nearly fell. One of its backpack jets had been burning roughly, too.
An explosion staggered Maranov, knocking him aside. He fought the controls of his Warhammeras his gyros shrieked protest. Then the heavy machine responded and slowly righted itself. He swung around to face the new threat and saw an enemy Archerbearing down on him from the east. A second salvo of missiles erupted from the heavy machine's torso launchers as he watched. Then the air was thick with missiles, the ground around him erupting in a nearly continuous cacophony of sound and light and jagged, hurtling chunks of rock.
The Warhammer'sinstruments shrieked warning at him, red lights reported a fire in his left leg actuator shielding, of a breakthrough in the armor on his left torso, of a critical failure of his left arm actuator. Stubbornly, Maranov pressed through the smoke and noise. His left PPC was not responding to his controls, its barrel dragging on the ground with each step. His right PPC fired . . . then fired again. Lightning arced from the enemy Archer,leaving a blackened patch high on the machine's right torso.
Then something slammed into him from the rear of the Warhammeronce again. With his 'Mech's right leg dragging because of the knee joint jammed by an imploded section of armor, he managed a slow and clumsy turn. Through the smoke, he could make out another 'Mech lumbering toward him—a Rifleman—and its horrifying firepower was concentrated on him. Twin lasers fired one after another, opening Maranov's armored torso and peeling back the edges. Twin autoca
The move failed. His gyros were gone, and his BattleMech froze in place. Maranov cursed and smashed at the controls with bleeding fists, but the machine remained as immovable as the mountains around him.
A strange, keening sound was coming across the tac-com net now. It was hard to tell, of course, but the words seemed timed with that Rifleman'smovements, and Maranov could have sworn that it was the Rifleman's,pilot who was screaming. At him. In a totally incomprehensible language.
Then it was Maranov's turn to scream, as the deck split wide with the stress, and flame licked across his bare legs.
His fist came down on the large red button that would blast him clear of his crippled Warhammer,blast him clear of the intolerable agony licking at his blistered legs. Nothing happened, for the same explosion that had torn his 'Mech's cockpit deck had torn the ejection release cables as well. Maranov triggered the firing circuits, again, and again nothing. He stopped his screaming long enough to stare in frank disbelief at the ejection hatch half a meter above his neurohelmet, still stubbornly closed. He mashed the button again . . . and again . . .
Another explosion rocked him. Without gyros to compensate, the Warhammertoppled like a falling statue, smashing into the stony, ground with an impact that hurled Maranov forward against his restraining straps and tore the neurohelmet from his shoulders.