For Grayson, the hardest part of a battle was this aftermath—the casualty lists and repair estimates, the tactical assessment, and the endless worry about what the enemy would do next. That, and facing the rebel leaders. They would surely want to know what heplanned to do next, but Grayson hadn't the faintest idea.
Indeed, the Rebel Council members stood waiting for him as he swung down the chain ladder dangling from his Shadow Hawk.Also with them was Colonel Brasednewic. The grim expressions on all their faces told Grayson that the Colonel had already filled them in on the battle before the walls of Regis.
"We got them out," he said cautiously.
Carlotta brushed a strand of blonde hair from her face with the back of her hand. From the weariness of her expression, she must have been lacking sleep. Indeed, the whole group looked as worn as Grayson felt
"Tollen told us what happened," she said, "how you showed up and broke the enemy trap." Grayson noticed the glance that she and Brasednewic exchanged. There was warmth there and...something more?
Ericksson gestured toward the casualties being carried into the cave. "I told Thorvald this plan of his wouldn't work. Our army is... shattered!"
"Youtold him?" Olssen said. "You? As I recall, it was your suggestion to use the tunnel from your AgroMech plant."
"Only because that fool wanted to storm the main gate!"
"Citizens!" Carlotta interrupted. "Enough is enough!"
Brasednewic looked pointedly at Grayson. "What next?"
Grayson relaxed, letting his eyes close. After combat, he always felt weak as the tension finally released. He was as weary as if he'd just run ten kilometers on foot but this day had a long way to go before he'd be able to sleep.
"I don't know. Colonel. We're still bound by our contract of course, but I'm not sure how much good more training will do now. Your army has been beaten in the field. It'll take some doing just to repair the...the psychologicaldamage."
Tollen let his eyes stray toward the jungle. Shafts of orange sunlight were beginning to cut through gaps in the blue-green canopy. "Some are wondering whether you plan to take your...services elsewhere. To the Dracos, perhaps.'*
"Hardly," Grayson said, shaking his head wearily.
"The way I understand it, you were brought in to help train our people, our army, in how to fight ‘Mechs. But right now, there's not much of an army left Lots of our people have scattered and headed home by now. It'll be some time before they come back."
"Let's talk straight," said Ericksson. "Some of my people are wondering if we can trust you mercs. Your money's safe offplanet. We don't have anything more to offer you, that's certain! What's to keep your people from just...buying out of their contracts with you? Buying out and then hiring on elsewhere!"
Brasednewic smiled bitterly. "The Revolutionary Council must have gambled everything they had to hire you and to buy the supplies we needed. Your people just might have a chance if you sell out to the Brownjackets."
"Maybe we would," Grayson said, pausing as though to consider the suggestion. Why did they assume that mercenaries were loyal only to the highest offer? "We might have a chance...a small one, if the Dracos were feeling merciful. But what do you think our chances would be next time we went looking for an employer?" He shook his head. "People have the idea that mercenaries just get up and switch sides for a better offer, but it doesn't work like that. If we broke our contract with you, we'd not only lose our bond on Galatea, but ComStar would see to it that we never got work again."
"Well, I knowthat but..." Ericksson stopped and looked hard at Grayson. "Maybe what we're wondering is just how much of a stake you have in our war here...besides the money."
"You have no reason to hate the Combine," Tollen added. "Not like we do."
A sensation of ice spread through Grayson's stomach. No reason? He remembered his father, dead in the ruin of his Phoenix Hawkon the spaceport tarmac on Trellwan. He remembered the sight of the Draconis Combine Warhammerthat had killed him.That memory had driven him on Trellwan, and probably drove him even more now. More than he wanted to admit.
His hand closed into a fist, which he slowly made to relax. "Even mercenaries can have reasons to fight besides... money. Believe me."
"Maybe." Brasednewic was not looking at him, but toward the jungle outside. "But you'll have to prove it."
"You give us the support we need, and you'll have your proof." He saw Ramage waiting to talk to him. "Excuse me...gentlemen? Ma'am?"
"How'd it go?" Ramage asked. He wore a worried expression and his eyes strayed continually to the rebel leaders. As they argued some point, they also cast occasional glances back at Grayson and his NCO.
"What...with them? They're worried that we'll sell out. Can't say I blame them."
"What about the battle? We didn't pick up much through the comlink, other than the fact that you'd made it in and out."
"We got to them, but only just. Have you been talking to the rebel staff? What's the butcher's bill?"
Ramage shook his head. "I was with them in the comshack listening in, but I didn't learn much. Unit commanders are still reporting in, but it might take a week to hear from all of them. Figuring that maybe half have reported in who are going to, the rebs lost forty, maybe fifty, either dead or captured. Maybe twice that wounded. What about Thorvald? I heard he bought it."
"Dead." Grayson sagged back against the foot of his Hawk,vastly weary. "He was a brave man."
"Begging the Captain's pardon," Ramage said stiffly, "the man was a fool."
Grayson looked sharply at the Sergeant, but was too tired to do more than shake his head sadly. There was no point now in discussing Thorvald's mistakes.
"You got 'em out, sir. Youdid."
"Maybe. But now we have to decide what to do with them. At this point, there's not a whole lot left of the Verthandian rebel army."
His eyes caught the movement of two young men crossing the sandy cave floor toward him, the lights overhead scattering faint, contrasting shadows as they walked. It was Felgard, the senior rebel Tech, and Sergeant Karelian, the Gray Death's senior Tech. They were in deep conversation, and Grayson knew what was troubling them without needing to be told. Every BattleMech in the little rebel group had sustained damage. To repair them, to even get them running at minimum efficiency again, was going to require a small mountain of spare parts and supplies, which the Verthandian rebels simply did not have.
"We're going to have to start over," Grayson continued, as he turned to greet the two Techs. "From the beginning."
* * * *
It wasn't until late that evening that he was able to assemble his command personnel around a fire just beyond the cave. The site had been carefully chosen for the overhang of rocky cliff that sheltered it from detection by either orbiting spy satellite or patrol along the Basin Rim. The surrounding jungle was pitch black, though light spilled from the nearby cavern mouth. The continuing sounds of repair work on the rebel vehicles and ‘Mechs mingled with the whistles, chirps, and squawks of the forest. Each of the Gray Death's MechWarriors was there, as well as Sergeant Ramage representing the non- ‘Mech military personnel, and Sergeant Karelian, head of the unit's technical staff.
Grayson stood outside the circle of firelight, hands on hips. The ten of them were a dirty and ragged-looking group. Each had been up all night during the march to Regis and then been through the battle there, and again up all day working to get the Legion's ‘Mechs fully operational. Except for catnaps snatched here and there, some had had no sleep at all for thirty hours or more. The strain was showing.