Galen's reply came after a moment or two of thought. "If he'd been running on magscan, he would have seen us and had us at a disadvantage. He must have been using infrared scanning, and the hot water helped us dissipate our heat signatures. If we hadn't ambushed him, I think we'd have been in trouble. Despite all the shooting he did in that fight, he never heated up."
Victor nodded to himself. If not for Cox keeping him busy and a couple of lucky shots from me, that monster would have eaten me alive. As it is, I've lost chunks of armor over my chest and right leg. The armor on Galen'sCrusader has likewise been reduced to paper-thinness over his right torso and left leg. These raiders are tough, but at least they're not invincible."I agree, Mr. Cox. I'm going to radio LeftenantGeneral Hawksworth and see if he can give us a clear route to the battalion."
Victor punched two buttons on his command console and opened a tactical frequency directly to the regimental headquarters. "Badger One to Den Mother, come in. I need a new vector to the front."
General Hawksworth's voice sounded tight with tension. "Negative, Badger One. You are to return to the Den immediately. That goes for Badger Two as well."
Victor frowned. "Say again, Den Mother." Victor toggled a radio filter on and off, letting static break up the communication. "I'm getting static here. Please repeat."
"Don't play games with me, Badger. I know all about filter switching when you hear orders you don't like. That trick got old with Redburn on St. Andre in the Fourth War. Repeat, report to the Den immediately. I want you here."
Victor swallowed hard. "Roger, Den Mother. Reporting home immediately."
Victor left his BattleMech standing next to a LeopardClass DropShip. He clambered quickly down the rope ladder from the cockpit and tossed his neurohelmet to a startled Tech as he sprinted to the low, squat building that served as the regiment's brain center during times of battle. Like a lean greyhound, Galen Cox followed on Victor's heels.
The cavernous room resounded with echoed fragments of desperate radio reports and requests for reinforcement. In the eerie glow of radar screens and holographic display units, the communications specialists looked especially haggard. They nodded in concert with demands for support, then punched buttons to shift the calls to others who could better deal with the problem.
As Victor pulled on a parka over his cooling vest, he saw why Hawksworth had called him back to the base. Someone has to organize this place. We can't mount a defense with everything running riot the way it is here.He spotted Hawksworth hunched over a tactical display unit and cut straight through the crowd toward him. "Kommandant Davion reporting, sir."
Hawksworth listlessly returned his salute. The normally jovial man had been drained of all good humor. Strands of white hair fanned down over his brow and sweat dripped from his nose. "No beating around the bush, Kommandant. You saw that Leopardout there?"
"Yes, sir. I left my Victorbeside it."
"Good. Get on it." The Leftenant-General looked up past Victor. "You too, Cox. Both of you. Get the hell out of here."
"No!" Victor's shout cut through the din filling the room. "I will not go! My battalion is out there getting cut to ribbons. I won't abandon them."
The General straightened up, fire returning to his eyes. "You will do as I order, Kommandant! You and Hauptmann Cox will get aboard the Hejiranow and let it take you to the JumpShip Strongbow.You're leaving."
Victor clenched his fists, but refrained from slamming them into the tactical display table. "No. You can't send me away. If you do, we'll lose this fight."
"We'll lose it anyway." Hawksworth thrust a trembling finger at the tactical display. "We're falling back on all fronts. The circle is tightening around us like a noose. These Jade Falcons hit at incredible ranges and pick our defenses apart. I've got more casualties in the first three hours of fighting than I've had in the four years I've been on Trellwan. And they're only fighting us with three dozen 'Mechs and some crazy infantry unit in body armor."
Victor felt his heart begin to pound as Hawksworth spouted his litany of disaster. "Think, Leftenant-General! Do you want to be remembered by history as the man who lost Trell I, or do you want praise for defeating these invincibleraiders?"
Muscles bunched at Hawksworth's jaw. "I'll be known as the man who lost Trell I. There's nothing I can do about that now." He met Victor's cold gray stare without flinching. "But I will notbe known as the man who got Hanse Davion's heir killed."
"NO!" Victor stabbed a finger into the older man's chest. "Don't do that to me, General. Don't use my father against me. Don't be a fool." Victor looked down at the holographic map. "Galen and I met and blasted one of the raiders here in Thunder Rift. The terrain and obstructions bring everything down to a close range, and our people can fight that way. Pull units back into that cavern complex and into the Black Mountain foothills. We have to adopt guerrilla tactics to defeat these people, and we can do it. Dammit, man! Fight them! And let me fight them, too!"
"I'm sorry, Victor. If we had known, if we had more time, your plan might work. Hell, it might yet work, but I can't bet your life on it." The older man looked up. "You'll get your chance. And when you do, I pray you have more courage than I do. Good-bye, Highness." To Cox, Hawksworth added, "Get him out of here."
Before he could say anything, Victor felt himself spun about. Galen Cox's fist flying toward his chin formed the last vision of Trell I that Victor Steiner-Davion ever saw.
18
ComStar First Circuit Compound
Hilton Head Island, North America, Terra
15 April 3050
Myndo Waterly directed the attention of the Precentors to the center of the chamber. "We received this transmission from our facility on Balsta yesterday. I have reviewed it once and now present it for your edification. The message is relatively short, and in the Precentor Martial's style, somewhat succinct."
She clapped her hands once, sharply, and the lights in the bowl-shaped chamber dimmed. Directly above the gold-star insignia of ComStar worked into the floor, the image of the Precentor Martial flickered to holographic life. The image only showed him from the shoulders up and had been so enlarged that his eyepatch was the size of an aircar's steering wheel.
"The Peace of Blake be with you, Primus. I bring you greetings from Ulric, the Khan of the Wolf Clan. He has graciously consented to the transmission of this message, provided I release no useful military data. He does not suspect us of duplicity, but prefers not to give the appearance of breaching his own security."
Focht adjusted the patch over his right eye. "In the three months I have been here, I've been given freedom to monitor virtually all operations that are military in nature, while being kept out of harm's way on Ulric's flagship. The Wolf Clan fields a superior military force in both tactics and equipment, which has made short work of opposition. They have been inordinately fair in accepting surrenders, and the only plunder they take from conquered worlds is in the form of slaves—though they call them bondsmen. Besides becoming an involuntary workforce, these captives also play the role of hostages against the good behavior of the people of their former homeworlds."