“He knifed the Governor and Legate,” Grace pointed out.
“And if he declared the mission accomplished and called for a victory dinner, there might be few survivors if his cook had orders to poison them,” Betsy said as if she were practiced at that.
“That wouldn’t get every merc,” Grace pointed out.
“No, but it would get so many that even his Black and Reds could sweep up the leavings.”
“The mercs would take bloody revenge,” Ben growled.
“Not if Santorini shot the cook and told everyone he was one of the terrorists the mercs had been fighting,” Betsy said slowly.
“A profit-and-loss sheet that turns the mercs’ equipment into a source of annual income for Santorini and that letter makes for pretty damning evidence,” Grace said.
“Now all you have to do is tell that to Hanson. Good luck,” Betsy said.
A specialist manning the long-range radio in the corner sat up, took the earphone off one ear, and stood. “Grace, Ben: The mercs are pulling out of Dublin Town, heading this way.”
“How long till they get here?” Betsy asked.
“Tomorrow,” Grace said, looking back at her map table.
“Uh, ma’am, a Black and Red column, battalion-sized or larger, is skirting Lothran,” the specialist added.
“Looks like Santorini has everything headed north,” Ben said.
Grace tapped Dublin Town on the map. “The mercs are coming out. I’d have expected them to wait until early morning, but this will put them here around noon tomorrow or, if they push all night, just after first light.”
“Count on them pushing,” Ben said.
“It’s the Black and Reds that are the question. They can take the road to Amarillo through Dublin Town, following the mercs, or go due north until the road forks just short of Nazareth and heads east along the Colorado River to Amarillo.” Grace shook her head. “This doesn’t fit together for me.”
Betsy traced the road lines with her long fingers. “Santorini would never put his Special Police under the mercs. He knows Hanson won’t string up civilians.”
“A separate approach march would keep them out of each other’s hair for a while,” Ben said. With one hand he traced the route between Dublin Town and Amarillo. With the other, he covered the dogleg route between Lothran and Amarillo.
“Could the Black and Reds try a push into the valley along the west side?” Betsy asked.
“Not after our fight at Nazareth,” Ben said. “I am not saying they all are bad. But the ones sent out so far have not demonstrated much skill against armed resistance.”
“Santorini has some good MechWarriors he picked up drunk or deep in gambling debts,” Betsy said. “The head of his shock troops was a captain in a ’Mech unit—don’t remember the name. He got off-planet one jump ahead of a firing squad for rape. I think he’s found his calling with Santorini,” Betsy said, this time massaging her left breast.
Grace started to say something, then swallowed it. Betsy would talk about what happened to her in Allabad when she wanted to and not before. We’ll get all those bastards, Grace promised herself.
“I have an idea,” Ben said.
“You haven’t been dreaming while I’ve been standing here,” Betsy snapped.
“Only about you, my fine, raven-haired beauty.”
“Nova Cats don’t take a vow of chastity, do they?”
“I certainly didn’t,” the albino said.
“So this isn’t just a waste of air. Good, keep it up. The girl likes it. Somebody show me where I can get a bath. I have a sudden need to be clean.”
As Betsy left with a guide, Grace leaned across the table. “Now can I talk to Hanson. Tell him what I know. Certainly he can break a contract with a client who isn’t going to pay him. A client who is planning to kill him and his mercs at the victory party.”
“That is certainly good cause to break a contract. However, Grace, you cannot talk to him just now.”
“And why not?”
“You are his enemy. He is now under orders to attack you. He cannot talk to you, and he will not talk to you until your conversation consists only of you negotiating your surrender.”
“You’re crazy!”
“No, Grace. We are at war. We fight now. When one of us is prepared to surrender, we talk about surrender—and maybe contracts. But first, we must do something about those Black and Reds. It will be much easier to arrange things with Hanson if the Black and Reds are not turned loose in Amarillo.”
“But that would mean a sortie outside the valley. Won’t Hanson have us bottled up pretty well in the next day or so?”
“Yes, but what if you hold here stubbornly? Put up more of a fight, and, say, Syn and Wilson fold quickly and fall back. Hanson knows how to fight. He will reinforce success.”
“And if his right is successful, where will he pull reinforcements from to send there?” Grace asked.
“That, my commander, is what we help him decide.”
Grace eyed the map. She pulled up a chair and studied it from her vantage point, then moved the chair around to study it from Hanson’s side. While she sat, Ben moved a few pieces of paper and wood around the map.
Santorini was running with his plan. Should she change hers? “Ben, I see what you’re up to. Now, what if Wilson and Syn…”
“How bad is it?” Major Hanson asked Captain Graf, CO of C Company and Hanson’s point on the drive for Amarillo.
“Not good, sir. Your best view is from the upstairs porch of this old house.” The house was deserted but undisturbed. L. J. followed the captain out a window and stood on the porch roof. The land had looked flat from his command van. Now he saw what he’d missed. The land was rolling, and ahead was a slight but significant rise. The two lead platoons of C Company were deployed to either side of the road. A Joust tank had rolled out of its treads on the road. The infantry had gone to ground.
“What happened, Captain?”
“A mine damaged the tank, sir. There’re so many potholes it’s impossible to tell which are just potholes and which have mines under them. I ordered my sappers forward to clean the road, but they came under very accurate sniper fire, which I couldn’t locate. I deployed my infantry. Snipers dropped four including a lieutenant and a sergeant, and I still can’t identify where the fire’s coming from. When they dropped a second sapper, I quit, sir.”
“How far is it to that deep gully on the map?” That was where L. J. had expected resistance.
“Almost two kilometers, sir.”
“So somewhere in those two klicks are a couple of guys with rifles. Can’t your sensors find them?”
“No, sir. We’ve got the magscan gear up, but it’s gone crazy. The dirt around here is red—rich in iron—and somebody spread a lot of tacks out there.” The captain pulled a small carpet tack from his pocket. “Between the iron in the dirt and these damn things, my sensors say there’re a thousand rifles out there. Do we have enough artillery to flatten a half-klick around the road for the next two klicks, sir?”
L. J. scanned the ground. Rocks, brush, a few trees—mostly dead—more rocks, and more brush. “No; we’re light on artillery this contract,” he said as Captain Fisk of B Company joined them on the roof. “C, form to the right of that road. B, form a line to the left. Let’s see just how far out those snipers go.”
L. J. remembered his own recent experience with Grace’s resistance. “Watch for woven mats—the grass around here matches the dirt. Get the infantry moving. Put them in the lead to check for holes. Have ’Mechs and tanks cover them.”