"How can we trust you, Leutnant Tourneville?"
The man he addressed rubbed his eyes, then ran his hand through his curly red hair. He was clearly tired from the interrogation session, but his manner remained composed, confident. He was still holding a card in the hole. "I don't expect you to take my word. You've seen the datadisks I brought. The Legion's in trouble. You people have got them on the ropes. I don't want to go down with them."
"So you sell them out?"
The Kuritan gave Jones a sour look and turned his attention from the security officer to the head of the table where Finnan sat. "Leutnant-General, I served the Combine like a good little soldier for ten years, but I opened my mouth at the wrong time to the wrong people and got sent to this hellhole of Vega. Five years here, watched all the time. I wanted out, but in case you ain't heard, nobody leaves the Legion on two feet. Your invasion was the first chance I had to run."
"You took quite a risk, coming across the lines," Finnan-commented.
"Sure it was a risk, but if I'd stayed with the Legion, I was a dead man when you attacked. They ain't got much longer, even if they can't see it. Well, I want to stay alive, so I've come to you."
"And we welcome prisoners, Leutnant," Jones said.
"I don't intend to be a prisoner," the Kuritan stated. "You haven't seen all the data yet."
"What do you mean?" Finnan asked, sensing that the man was ready to reveal his secret.
"Disk three, Leutnant-General. Put it in your computer and call up the 'Conference Gray' file."
"There is no such file on the disk," Jones scoffed.
The red-haired Kuritan smiled. "Don't be so sure, Kommandant. Call it up."
Jones didn't move until Finnan nodded his assent, then he retrieved the file. After scanning its contents, he announced, "It's the minutes of a staff meeting, sir. Colonel Kurita was wounded in our counterthrust at Cochus. He is recovering, but currently immobilized at an unspecified location, which the staff feels is underguarded."
"That," the Kuritan said triumphantly, "is my ticket off this hell-ball. You assure me of amnesty and a free ticket to the world of my choice, and I give you the location."
"We could force it out of you," Jones warned.
"What do you think you are? The ISF? By the time you break me, it will be too late to do you any good.
"Right now, the Combine leadership is confused and divided. General Heise wants to throw all their strength at First and Third Battalions, to take them out while the Legion is still strong enough to do it. Nordica wants to dig in and wait for reinforcements and supplies."
"They must have captured some of ours."
"Some, but not enough. You hid them too good. Tell me, Leutnant-General, have any of the Combine 'Mechs you've been fighting used any missiles lately? No? Didn't think so. They're hurting and you know it, Leutnant-General."
"Gentlemen and ladies, I think Leutnant Tourneville is on the level. All of our own data coincides with his story. It sounds as though the Legion of Vega is indeed on its last legs," Finnan announced with a predatory grin. "With the information that Leutnant Tourneville has brought us, and with Kincaid's forces distracting the Snakes' attention, we can launch a devastating attack at the Legion's rear.
"Leutnant, where did you say Kurita is?"
"We have a deal then?"
"We have a deal."
"Jalonjin. A mining camp about ten klicks outside of De Zerber."
"Near enough for us to mount a surgical strike and do what Heany failed to do on Marfik. Nagelring over Sanglamore as always," Finnan gloated, savoring the opportunity to succeed where a graduate of a rival service academy had failed. He beamed at his assembled officers. "Theodore Kurita and his Legion of Vega are in our hands."
Finnan stood and walked to the door to his office. Ignoring the assembled officers as they leaped to their feet and saluted, he spoke to the Kuritan.
"Come along, Leutnant Tourneville, I have some questions about the Legion's dispositions that I would like answered before I plan our attack."
* * *
"Roger, LCAF-hire Starsled,"CommTech Loris acknowledged. "Telemetry transfer complete. Prepare to receive gantry connections."
"Roger, Roccer Control. Standing by."
Loris directed his gaze out the Roccer control tower's main window. Twenty-five hundred meters away on the landing field the Lyran DropShip Starsledstood, still hot from atmospheric entry. Gantries rose from sheltered bays on the tarmac, skeletal fingers reaching for the spheroid shape. As he watched the tower probes enter the waiting recesses on the vehicle, the DropShip's pilot spoke again.
"Roccer Control, this is Starsled.Gantries locked in. Permission to commence unloading."
"Permission granted, Starsled.Welcome to Vega. We've been looking forward to your supplies."
The pilot started to ask for the latest groundside gossip, but Loris was distracted by a flashing priority signal.
"Hold on, Starsled.I've got a situation here."
Loris cut off the pilot and routed the priority signal to his station. His screen tagged the origin and flashed the alpha retransmission code that the Lyran command used to facilitate passage of messages from field units to the more powerful transmitter at the Roccer landing field. Roccer's communicators had the power to cut through enemy jamming and bounce signals off the planet's comm satellites. Loris listened to the message with increasing worry.
"Sir."
"What is it?"
"I've got a relay here for Leutnant-Colonel Kincaid on the Desert of Tears front. Leutnant-General Finnan is ordering him to retreat the First and Third Battalions of the Guard to orbit and prepare for a combat drop behind the Fourteenth Vegan Legion's positions north of De Zerber.
"What should I do?"
"Acknowledge the order, CommTech Loris," Theodore said.
"Sir, you don't want me to transmit Finnan's order.”
“Of course not," Theodore chuckled. "Acknowledge receipt of the order by Kincaid's command. Leutnant-General Finnan does not need to know that his order has been received by us instead of the intended recipient. Besides, it will assist us in our own plans if that is what he believes.
"Route any further transmissions through the Twelfth Legion's intelligence section. We will let the Lyrans believe they are still talking to each other."
* * *
"Take it easy, Leutnant. You've had a rough time."
"Had to get here, sir. Had to tell ..."
"You will," Brian Kincaid assured quietly. The leutnant's haggard, sunken eyes did not conceal the beauty of her Eurasian features. Kincaid submerged that thought. The leutnant was in rough shape from a run through the Kurita lines in a half-destroyed 'Mech. She needed a professional attitude from him, not a personal one. "Drink that coffee down. I've got time."
She shoved the offered cup away. "That's just it. You don't. We all don't!"
"What are you talking about?"
The woman paid no attention to the other officers. She searched Kincaid's face, her head moving back and forth in a tiny, disbelieving shake. "Then I'm it. The only one to make it."
She buried her face in her hands. Her body shook with breathy sobs. Kincaid felt it tremble under the hand he laid on her shoulder. As he hoped, she steadied under his touch.
"Tell me what happened, Leutnant."
"We were surrounded outside Jalonjin," she began, voice muffled by her hands. "Leutnant-General Finnan had taken in a Kurita deserter and listened to him. Planned an attack based on the scum's information. It was a trap. The Legion was waiting for us. We didn't have a chance.
"Finnan gave the order to break into pairs and fight our way out. Just before my team went out, his Atlascaught a barrage of Snake rockets. He ... he went down. I think he's dead."