The Price of Glory

by William H. Keith

  * * *

  Colonel Langsdorf stood on the ground next to his Warhammer's foot, on the crest of a hill a kilometer from the river. Lord Garth was with him, as well as General Kleider and officers of his staff, all recently arrived from Helmdown.

  "I don't believe what I'm seeing," Kleider said. "The idiot is charging our line! And after the battering they've already taken!"

  The Marauder at the head of the mercenary forces was among the Marik BattleMechs now. The sounds of battle were muted and distant, but the men on the hilltop could clearly hear Carlyle's heavy autocannon as it engaged Captain Tarlborough's Warhammer.

  White fire lanced out from a Marik Shadow Hawk and a Wolverine, catching the mercenary's Rifleman in a blistering crossfire. The watchers could see that the Gray Death 'Mech was already severely damaged. As they raised electronic binoculars to their eyes and zoomed in on the scene unfolding below, several of Kleider's aides began to bet with one another on how many shots the damaged Rifleman could take before it went down.

  "Twenty C-Bs ... he won't last thirty seconds," one said as he checked his wristcomp.

  "You're on. The Wolverine's going to have to shift to that Marauder any second ... Ah! There! That'll give the Rifleman a breather!"

  "Nah! Our boys are charging now. He's surrounded! Look! Our Crusader is up close now. This won't take long!"

  "The merc Crusader's coming up to the rescue!"

  "Not in time! Ha! There goes the Rifleman . . . fourteen seconds! You owe me! Gods, look at him burn!"

  Langsdorf felt a twisting in his stomach as he watched and listened. "Carlyle is a brave man . . . and a fine commander," he said at last, in a voice deliberately loud enough to interrupt the comments from the General's junior staff.

  "You forget yourself, Colonel," Kleider said. "The man is responsible for the deaths of millions."

  "Is he, General? I wonder ... I have been engaging him in combat almost continually now for several days. I find him resourceful, daring, brave, intelligent . . . Frankly, it's hard to reconcile this warrior with the mad dog butcher you say massacred a city on Sirius V."

  To that, Garth and Kleider made no reply.

  * * *

  McCall was down. Grayson had seen him go, his Rifleman spouting flame. "McCall! Are you there?" Grayson yelled into his mike. There was no answer, but a moment later, Grayson saw the Rifleman's rear escape hatch open, and a ragged and bearded figure climb out and drop to the muddy ground. A Gray Death hovercraft hissed close by, risking laser fire and the swinging of the Mech's foot as one of the crewmen pulled the dazed McCall aboard.

  Clay's Wolverine stood near, pumping cannon fire into a gut-damaged Marik Shadow Hawk. Bear's Crusader closed with an enemy Crusader, both fists upraised, then swung them down in a splintering crash that tore one arm from the enemy 'Mech and left it lying steaming in the mud. Lori's Shadow Hawk was behind Grayson's embattled Marauder, chopping into an enemy Wasp that tried to circle the Gray Death's commander for a shot from behind. Infantry from both sides tangled wildly between the legs of the thrashing, struggling 'Mechs, weaving in close for a quick shot, then darting away again on shrieking cushions of air.

  Suddenly, Lori's Shadow Hawk staggered under the impact of a rapid-fire volley of missiles, striking her down from behind. Grayson swung his Marauder and opened fire on her attacker, a heavily damaged Griffin. The two stood there, dueling over Lori's fallen 'Mech, until Grayson's more powerful PPCs melted through the Griffin's armor, setting the lighter 'Mech ablaze.

  "Lori!"

  "I'm . . . all right, Gray! Armor's burned through in my back! Fires . . . but my extinguishers have them under control!"

  "Get up if you can! They're closing in!"

  Lori struggled to bring her terribly damaged Shadow Hawk to its feet. Grayson, meanwhile, continued to trigger his 'Mech's heavy weapons at the advancing Marik 'Mechs. He was drenched in sweat and the Marauder's computer was warning of imminent shutdown.

  This can't go on much longer, he thought.

  34

  "This can't go on much longer," Garth said, looking at his wrist computer. "Are they going to smash each other to pieces? What about the DropShips?"

  "What about them, Your Grace?" Langsdorf asked, with barely concealed contempt. "We can't approach them until the enemy has been beaten, which, at the moment, he most obviously is not!"

  The general's aides cheered. Another enemy 'Mech was down, the big, combative Wolverine. "Yah!" One junior lieutenant yelled as a comrade tugged the binoculars away from him. "Step on the pilot! Step on the pilot!"

  "Damn! The bastard got away! Maybe our boys should start potting at those hovercraft!”

  “Hey, another one's burning!”

  “Idiot. It's one of ours!"

  "No, no! That one! One of the merc’s Stingers! Ho! Man! Did you see that? What PPC fire does to a Stinger is not to be believed!"

  Langsdorf turned at the sound of a hovercraft approaching at high speed from behind. The maneuverable little transport slowed as it approached the Warhammer and the coterie of officers. There was a single man at the control stick, his Adept's robes soaked with blood.

  "Here . . . what's this?" Kleider said. "What are you ..."

  Before he could finish the phrase, the Adept vaulted over to the side of his vehicle as it came to ground on its plenum skirts, and stalked toward Langsdorf. The blood that stained his robes, it seemed, was not his own, yet his face showed the mark of some terrible, inner wound. The personal escorts of Kleider and Garth stepped forward, their weapons up, blocking his way.

  "Let him come," Langsdorf said. "It is one of the ComStar Adepts."

  At the sound of a dull, hollow boom signaling some enormous explosion. Langsdorf turned and raised his binoculars. A Marik Wasp had exploded, sending a huge ball of fire rocketing into the sky, and scattering burning chunks of metal across the battlefield.

  The explosion seemed to mark a breaking of the Marik force's will. Langsdorf noted Captain Tarlborough's Warhammer leading the rest of the Marik 'Mechs as they splashed through the broad, shallow water of the Vermillion toward the rear. The mercenary 'Mechs advanced to the water's edge and waded in, taking advantage of the water to cool their hot drive and combat systems. The Marik 'Mechs formed up on the north side of the river, milling about uncertainly. Some of them appeared to be in bad shape.

  Langsdorf turned back to the Adept. "Can I help you, Adept? We're a little busy right now ..."

  The Adept scarcely looked the part. His cowl was back off his head, and his wispy, straw-blond hair was matted across his forehead in sweat and grime.

  "Colonel Langsdorf . . . ?"

  Langsdorf nodded.

  "I am Adept Larabee, of Comstar's Helmdown Station. I ..." He hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. "You . . . you must stop the battle, Colonel!"

  "Nonsense!" Kleider pointed. "Arrest this man!"

  "Touch me and you risk a ComStar Edict!"

  Kleider's troops froze where they stood, bewildered. A ComStar Edict could deprive a world . . . or a number of worlds ... of the services of the ComStar HPG transmitters. Loss of access to an interstellar communications network was of little personal import to the soldiers who stood there, but they knew Edict as a near-magical word of curse and dread. They looked back toward their leaders, uncertain.

  "This . . . this ..." Garth sputtered, then brought his tongue under control. "This Adept has no authority here, Colonel!"

  "Perhaps," Langsdorf said, in a low, almost deadly calm tone. "But I think I'd like to hear what he has to say."

  Larabee pointed toward the battle plain. "Colonel, this whole operation was mounted to destroy the Gray Death, an outlaw mercenary regiment"

  "Yes."

  "But they're not outlaws! The city of Tiantan on Sirius V was destroyed on the orders of Precentor Rachan! This whole thing was his doing! He is the outlaw!"

  "Lies ..." Garth began, but the Adept cut him off.

  "We met a senior Tech in the caverns, try
ing to save a Star League library."

  "Library?" Kleider looked startled. "What library? What does a library have to do with this?"

  "Everything! Rachan brought me and my brothers here to copy the data stored in a Star League computer, and he planned to destroy the computer when he was done! But we met a senior Technician who had been on Sirius V. He knew that Carlyle's regiment had not committed the atrocity. And Rachan admitted it!"

  "Seize him!" Garth screamed. A Marik soldier reached for the Adept, who twisted away. A second soldier swung his rifle, knocking Larabee to the ground, senseless.

  "Stop!" Langsdorf barked, bringing his sidearm, a large-caliber automatic pistol, out of its holster. "Everyone, stop!"

  Kleider pointed toward the battle. "Listen, man! Never mind this lunatic! The mercenary force is falling apart. Only six of them still on their feet! One more charge and you've won! Won!"

  Langsdorf eyed Kleider bleakly. "Won? Won what, General?"

  "Why, victory, man! A glorious victory!"

  Langsdorf's gorge rose in his throat, almost making him sick. He pushed past the general and started toward his Warhammer.

  "Langsdorf! Where are you going!"

  "To give my orders, General." He grasped the rungs of the 'Mech's ladder.

  "Excellent! Excellent! I suggest you use your BattleMechs to crush their line, then press on to the DropShips. Your infantry can deal with the survivors! My congratulations, Colonel ... on your glorious victory !”

  The word made Langsdorf pause, two meters above the ground. He hung there a moment, swaying on the ladder, looking down at Garth and Kleider. "No, General. There is no glory here. And no victory!"

  "What do you mean?" Kleider shouted.

  "I mean, General, that I will not order what is left of my forces to charge. The battle is over. I will not throw away more of my men . . . not for you." He glanced over at Garth, who stood in the Warhammer's shadow, a dumbfounded look on his fat face. "And certainly not for him!"

  * * *

  Rachan lay on his back in the dark. The fire that had consumed the library was almost gone now, and the only real light filtered in through the smoke and dust from the smashed-open entrance to the tomb. He had regained his senses and found himself alone. The Marik soldiers who had survived the insane attack by the young merc soldier and the Archer he had commandeered from Langsdorf's encampment were gone. The troopers must have assumed he was dead and left him here, helpless in the dark.

  When he tried to get up, his leg was a leaden, useless thing that pinned him there to the rubble-strewn floor of the cave. Pain throbbed and pulsed in his thigh. Looking down at it, Rachan could see where his upper leg bent off to the left at a sharp and unnatural angle well above his knee. There was so much blood . . .

  He heard a noise, a deep and echoing sound from the darkness. He reached out, scrabbling through broken rock, looking for his laser. Suppose the mercenaries were coming back? Suppose they found him? They knew that it was he who had placed the blame for Tiantan on them. If they found him . . . alive . . .

  The sound came again, and Rachan stopped searching for the laser. That noise was nothing made by men. It sounded like the roar of some monstrous subterranean animal, echoing up out of the dark. The floor of the cavern moved, and Rachan shrieked in agony. The movement had been sharp enough to twist his leg, reawakening the torture that seemed ready to tear the limb from his body.

  The roar sounded again, lower, deeper, a rumbling that went on and on and set the broken stones to quivering and jittering all around the wounded man.

  * * *

  The fleet of Prime Movers made their way across the river flats toward the battered group of 'Mechs. Grayson watched them from his Marauder, but could muster no emotion. It was as though he watched from an enormous distance, remote and detached.

  "I said, this is Ricol!" The voice on Grayson's general frequency repeated itself. "Have your people ready for pick-up!"

  Grayson turned his Marauder back toward the north. The enemy 'Mechs were . . . withdrawing. Withdrawing! But another charge would have been certain to overwhelm the remaining Gray Death 'Mechs. Only five 'Mechs still stood with him. His command lance had been wiped out, with the 'Mechs of Lori, Delmar Clay, and Davis McCall all out of action. Fortunately, the pilots had all been picked up, exhausted but unhurt.

  Though Khaled's Warhammer was down, he was alive, but wounded. The two recruits were dead, their Stingers smashed or exploded. What were their names? Morley and Brodenson. Grayson remembered their faces at the briefing . . . one excited, the other terrified. Neither emotion touched them now.

  Koga, Bear, and Sharyl stood to his right. DeVillar and Kent stood on his left. All of the surviving 'Mechs were battered and smashed to the point where they could barely stand. Koga's Archer was out of missiles and had lost two medium lasers. Grayson's own Marauder was out of autocannon rounds, and his left arm PPC had gone dead. The cannon on Sharyl's Shadow Hawk had been torn away, and the laser on her 'Mech's arm had been shattered.

  One more charge by the enemy 'Mechs and what was left of the Gray Death Legion would have been smashed flat.

  He tried to concentrate on Ricol's words, still coming over the radio. "We're picking up the damaged 'Mechs, Grayson. Our commtechs on the DropShips have confirmed it. Langsdorf is pulling back. We picked up his order. They're retreating. You've won, Grayson! You've won!"

  He looked through his Marauder's forward screen. The tough plastic had been cracked by a near-miss from an enemy missile. Three bodies lay sprawled in the mud a few meters in front of him, infantrymen cut down by machine gun fire as they'd tried to get close enough to an enemy Wasp to attack it with satchel charges.

  Strange, thought Grayson. It doesn't feel like victory.

  The feedback through his neurohelmet brought a strange, queasy sensation through his middle ear. He worked with his controls a moment, trying to isolate the problem.

  Three must be battle damage to the Marauder's sensors, he decided. It feels like the ground is moving.

  * * *

  Colonel Langsdorf sat in his Warhammer's cockpit, struggling with the heavy machine's controls. His neurohelmet was transmitting sensations of vertigo and unsteadiness through his middle ear, sensations that made him feel as though the ground were shifting beneath his BattleMech's feet.

  Soldiers were running past him, and hovercraft skittered off toward the north. Garth, Kleider, and their escorts were long gone back toward Helmdown. Once Langsdorf had reached his 'Mech's cockpit and given the order to withdraw, there had been nothing more they could do.

  Nothing they could do here, at least, the Colonel corrected himself. But my career is finished. Court-martial and death by firing squad awaited him. It all seemed distant and unreal.

  "Colonel Langsdorf!" A voice came through the radio. "This is Boomerang Two!"

  "Recall, Boomerang Two," Langsdorf said. "Land at the encampment, and prepare your aircraft for evacuation."

  "Sir! Sir . . . you've got to see this! Open one of your monitors for a video feed!"

  Langsdorf turned his main monitor on. After flickering with static for a moment, it then cleared to show the image transmitted by a camera in the belly of the little spotter plane circling high above. It took Langsdorf a moment to figure out what he was seeing. It looked like a geyser, a column of steam and boiling water mounting in a white pillar toward the sky. How very curious, he thought. Then he caught sight of buildings at the pillar's base, and the scale of the thing made itself clear. Langsdorf sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "Boomerang! What is that thing!"

  "Those buildings you see . . . that's part of the ruins of Freeport! I'm east of the mountains, circling above our encampment. That geyser started up a few seconds ago!"

  "It's . . . huge ..."

  "The water jet reaches two thousand meters, Colonel! There's steam shooting up farther than that! The geyser is four hundred meters across the base!"

  The ground was definitely shaking under the War
hammer's feet, and there was a growing, subsurface, almost subsonic rumble that transmitted itself through the ground and into the body of his 'Mech. "But where is it coming from?"

  "From the ruins of Freeport. It's as though a huge body of water underground started turning to steam! It started coming up through a spot on my map that looks like some sort of dam or flood-control equipment, down where the river bed meets the dry sea floor!"

  Langsdorf watched the explosion of steam and water mount higher into the sky.

  The Yehudan Sea was returning to the light.

  35

  Rachan screamed. The pain in his leg was unendurable as the ground shook and rumbled with accelerating fury.

  He had not seen the records of the Star League's underground facility's building, had not seen the survey plots of the huge system of pipes that the League engineers had built beneath Freeport in order to drain the eastern half of the Vermillion River and open the cavern into the mountain.

  The water had been rerouted, channeled into Helm Pit, an ancient faultline fissure that plunged for kilometers into the planet's crust. Later, when Freeport was destroyed, the channels had been opened, and a large portion of a small sea had funneled into the pit.

  For three centuries, a small sea had existed at the core of the Nagayan Mountains. In a geologically active area, this could have created considerable problems, but fortunately, no large magma pockets or other thermal sources existed in the area. The area had once been much hotter, too, the site of considerable tectonic activity as the continental plates that had bumped and forced the Nagayan Mountains up from an ancient ocean continued to grind together. But the area had been quiescent for millions of years.