Mercenary's Star

by William H. Keith

  The existence of the rebel base fascinated Grayson. According to Tollen, Kurita satellite photos of the area revealed only workers in the Fox Island fields, with no unusual activity among the countless clearings and inhabited areas that dotted the island. In fact, those workers were rebel soldiers. On those infrequent days when the skies were clear, however, most of the rebels went indoors or underground to avoid detection by the enemy's spy satellites. When officials from the puppet Verthandian government arrived to assess taxes or to investigate rumors of armed men or jungle-based smugglers, they saw nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, so far they hadn't.

  As Grayson brought his Shadow Hawk to a halt in the broad clearing in front of a long, low mansion with a sweeping, roofed veranda, rebel soldiers and technicians gathered to watch the arrival of the six mercenary BattleMechs. It was still raining, though the high winds and lightning of the night before had fallen off. Despite the weather, the rebels' work went on. They seemed to be raising a new building, with the help of a Wasp and a pair of civilian ‘Mechs of unfamiliar design. Here, too, the rebels made the best use possible of chance clouds and rain. Judging by the progress on the building, the structure would be up and well-camouflaged by the time the sun shone into the village clearing again.

  The members of the Verthandian Revolutionary Council met Grayson as he descended from the ladder of his ‘Mech. Devic Erudin was there, looking far fresher than Grayson felt after his trek through the jungle. For the first time since Grayson had known the man, Erudin was smiling broadly as he introduced the other members of Verthandi's Revolutionary Council.

  Gunnar Ericksson seemed to be the group’s leader. Though there was no indication of relative rank, Grayson sensed the others deferring to him. With his prematurely white hair, he had the bearing of a man born to his world's aristocracy. As the village, the plantation, and the island were all his, Grayson gathered that he spent much of his time playing the Loyalist landowner who paid his taxes and who maintained a small, private army on his own plantation to guarantee the loyalty of those who lived there. In reality, his island had become the headquarters for the largest rebel army in the region, for reasons geological as well as political. The grip of his handshake was strong, and when Grayson admitted he'd heard much about the man, Ericksson's laughter was hearty and genuine.

  James "Jungle Jim" Thoryald was another descendant of Verthandi's Norse settlers. Tall, blond, and broad, his politican's smile had won him a seat on the Council of Academicians before the coming of Kurita's legions. Outlawed for anti-Combine agitation after the New Order was proclaimed, he had fled to the jungle plantation. When Kurita forces levelled Thorvaldfast and poisoned the water, he had became General Thorvald. He vanished into the Silvan Basin, emerging only to raid Kurita camps for food and supplies, and eventually gathering an army in the lowland regions north of the Bluesward. Fox Island became his alternate headquarters, the storehouses and barracks on the northern fields his army's secret camp.

  The tall and lovely Carlotta Helgameyer was scarcely more than a girl, but one of those rare individuals able to convey an air of aristocratic elegance while clad in grease-stained Tech coveralls or camouflage fatigues. She was, in fact, on the academic staff at Regis and still maintained her teaching post there. She explained that the Kurita masters commanded that life go on as it always had to foster the illusion that life was normal now, that the rebels were nothing but misguided bandits, and that happier memories of self-government were the warped maunderings of ungrateful malcontents. Academician Helgameyer was the rebel alliance's link with rebel groups within the city of Regis itself. There were, she assured Grayson, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of brave men and women within the walls of the University, only waiting for the chance to join the uprising that would drive the Kurita conqueror off Verthandi forever.

  Doctor Karl Olssen was from a plantation village further to the east, in the Vrieshaven District, and represented one of the largest and best-organized of the rebel bands on the planet. He said little but admitted to Grayson that his own son was among those whom the mercenaries were expected to train.

  Grayson already knew much about Devic Erudin. Born and raised in the city of Vyomess several hundred kilometers west of Regis, he had been elected by his fellow rebels to represent them when the Revolutionary Council was formed. Quiet and retiring to the point of timidity, he resembled nothing so much as an owlish university professor. Though he might not resemble a rebel leader, Grayson knew that Erudin was the one who had volunteered to board a DropShip under the guns of Kurita troops and then to take passage on a freighter to another world where he could find and hire mercenaries. It had been Erudin entrusted with vanadium stolen from Kurita convoys to buy supplies the rebellion needed, and Erudin who had found and hired the mercenaries needed to forge an army capable of fighting against Kurita ‘Mechs. Grayson found himself admiring Devic Erudin more than any of the other Verthandians he had met so far.

  Sitting with the five leaders, drinking the bitter local coffee and rich Verthandian tea in the library of the Ericksson mansion, he realized that this was a revolt of the world's aristocrats. With the possible exception of Erudin, every one of these rebel leaders were members of what Brasednewic referred to as the "Old Families", descendants of the Scandanavian settlers who had come to Verthandi six centuries before. Grayson had learned earlier that Brasednewic’s family had arrived two centuries later, emigrants fleeing the devastations of the Succession Wars on planets deeper within the Inner Sphere. There was a subtle tension between the Old Families and the late-comers, the ones still referred to by people of Scandanavian heritage as "refugees". Private animosities and feuds had been set aside for the duration of the revolution, or so it was claimed. Grayson wondered how long this state of affairs could last.

  "We certainly appreciate your coming here to Verthandi, Captain," Ericksson said to him by way of welcome. The others nodded agreement, but the atmosphere remained reserved, slightly formal. A copy of the contract between the Council and the Gray Death lay unmentioned on the elegant white cloth that covered the table where they sat. Grayson's eyes widened slightly when he saw that a small, flat plastic case lay beside the contract printout, a case with the lone, glowing red eye of a power indicator light at one end. It was a pocket transcriber, and it was recording their conversation.

  So, he thought. This is for the record, just in case there's a dispute later, and we must go before the bonding authority. These folks are cautious.

  Ericksson continued, smiling. "We have long recognized the need for...for outside help in our struggle against the Combine."

  "We'll do what we can, sir," Grayson replied, then gestured at the printout on the table. "Our contract specifies that we are to form a training cadre and drill your people in the fine points of anti-Mech warfare. I gather, too, that you have a small nucleus of BattleMechs and want our help training pilots."

  "Precisely," said Helgameyer. "We have a large army, weapons, and the support of most of the people. But without special training and equipment, soldiers are no use at all against BattleMechs."

  "It's the training more than the equipment, ma'am," Grayson said. "We'll do what we can for you."

  "There is one small point," Olssen said, but he seemed nervous, ill at ease. His eyes strayed to the recorder.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Well, a couple of points, actually.”

  “Yes?"

  "One is the matter of command. Another is your participation in combat here."

  Ah! Grayson thought. So that's it!

  "There should be no problem there," Grayson said, his voice mild. "The contract specifically places my unit under the direct command of your Council. In short, you give the orders, and we obey. At least so far as those orders don't put my own command unnecessarily at risk."

  "That's just it," Carlotta said. "Your actions upon landing at Hunter's Cape have already put your command at risk. Captain, we did not hire you to engage in battle with the enemy!"


  "Eh?"

  "Citizen Erudin has explained the terms of the contract he worked out with you," Ericksson said, "To be frank, we cannot afford to pay for your participation in combat"

  "I understand that, of course," Grayson said. "We also have an obligation to defend ourselves."

  "When the enemy ships landed," Olssen said, "you could have slipped away into the jungle. Kurita forces rarely track our people far under the forest canopy."

  "That's fine...for your people. We had certain equipment that had to be off-loaded, including the military supplies your agents purchased offworld. I also had to see to the safety of the DropShip.*

  He did not add that the Phobos was by now well on its way to Ostafjord. He wondered if he should also caution Brasednewic not to mention the fact. The strain in Grayson's new relationship with these people was a tangible presence in the room, and that strain bred distrust. "We couldn't let all of that to fall into enemy's hands."

  Thorvald spoke for the first time. "So long as you understand, merc. If your people get killed and your ‘Mechs get shot up, we're not paying your bill. That's for the record!"

  "Understood," Grayson said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "That's our responsibility. I do hope your...hospitality extends to your ‘Mech maintenance facilities and repair shops. We took some damage at Hunter's Cape, and—"

  "And you expect us to make it good?" Thorvald was openly hostile.

  "The contract specifies 'routine resupply and maintenance'."

  "Routine, Captain, routine." Helgameyer looked from one face to another of those gathered around the table. "We are not unreasonable, Captain Carlyle, and certainly you are welcome to use our facilities. But we do want it clear from the start—" her eyes indicated the recorder "—for the record, Captain, that we have brought you here to train our people, not to fight for us."

  "That is clearly understood. Citizen Helgameyer."

  Thorvald appeared mollified, but was still gruff. "We can't expect offworlders to understand our struggle. We fight for freedom, not money."

  That again. There was no point in arguing. "I understand. General. But I must make it clear,for the record, that the Gray Death Legion will defend itself in any way that I, its commander, deem necessary. If that means we take on the whole Kurita army, we'll do it." He spread his hands. "After all, it's not as if you hired yourself an army to fight your revolution for you. Half a dozen ‘Mechs and less than a hundred men and women can do a splendid job training your cadre, but we would look pretty foolish taking on the entire Kurita garrison. I may be a mercenary...but I'm not crazy!"

  Thorvald did not look convinced by that final statement, but the others smiled and seemed to relax a bit.

  "Well, now that that's out of the way," Ericksson said, "let me extend to you and your people the hospitality of my plantation. If there's anything we can do."

  "Thank you, Citizen. I have to see to my people, and you'd also better show us where to park our ‘Mechs out of sight. I don't imagine you'd care to have a Kurita recon satellite scan show them sitting on your front porch!"

  Ericksson nodded. "Quite right. There's nothing to fear, however. I'll have some of my people lead you around to the Caves."

  "The Caves?"

  He smiled. "At the north end of Fox Island. You have to understand that the polar depression we call the Silvan Basin is the remnant of an ancient collision of a massive asteroid with our world perhaps tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of years ago. The Basin Rim cliffs are the rim of the crater.

  "The impact gouged out the crater, and turned the floor molten. Later, as the molten rock cooled, cracks developed. Some of those cracks became the paths for streams and rivers running down from the cliffs. Vast cave systems were opened up, and one of the largest lies beneath this island. The first Scandanavian colonists to Verthandi found them, and discovered that they would provide a convenient source for all the heavy and industrial metals they could use. It seems that the asteroid had concentrated various metals up close to the surface, within easy reach.

  "My grandfather founded Verthandi's largest AgroMech company, and he started it here in the Fox Island caves, where shelter was free and various metals easy to obtain and smelt. Most of the forges, casting equipment, and the big ‘Mech rigs and cradles are still there, too big to move and too useful to junk. The main manufacturing center is in Regis now, but there is a sizable ‘Mech facility still in operation on, or rather under, the island. Of course, we've seen to it that records of its existence 'vanished' in a tragic fire, just about the time the Combine moved in. This is the primary facility for all of the rebellion's ‘Mechs and heavy machinery now. There are facilities there that your people can use as a barracks, and I assure you that your ‘Mechs will be well hidden."

  "Sounds ideal," Grayson said, fascinated by the description.

  "I doubt that we could have kept our operation secret as long as we have without the Caves. The concentration of metal ores in the surrounding rocks help screen us from enemy spy satellites and instrument probes."

  "Well, that being the case, there's only one thing more I need.”

  “And that is?"

  "About twenty hours of sleep. I've been on my feet...or on my ‘Mech's feet, ever since I got to Verthandi, and that was about this time yesterday. I can't even remember how long it's been since we pushed past the Kurita blockade that I've had more than a catnap. If you'll have someone show us to those quarters, Citizens, I think my people and I are due for some down-time."

  13

  The Verthandi BattleMech training program began early the next morning.

  Ericksson had not exaggerated the size and complexity of the Fox Island caverns. Their opening was a cathedral-sized gap in the face of a sheer, gray cliff. Grayson could see that the area at the bottom of the cliff had once been paved. Patches of ferrocrete still showed beneath a riot of moss, ferns, and exuberant jungle growth, and empty, overgrown stone buildings still squatted under mats of the omnipresent tropical vegetation. The cave opening itself was festooned with blue-green vines and hanging streamers. What's more, the entrance was so tall and narrow that even a low-angle satellite photo taken on a cloudless day would show the opening as no more than a shadowed fold in the face of the limestone bluff.

  Once he was inside, the impression of a remote and untouched jungle cave was instantly dispelled The ceiling rose from the smooth, sandy floor of the cave in a vault fifty meters high. Fluoros were strung across the empty space, casting harsh pools of light everywhere, and the far wall opened into numerous corridors that led to the bowels of the island. Everywhere were grim-faced men and women in combat fatigues repairing equipment, going through the motions of weapons firing and reloading drills, cleaning weapons, hauling crates and boxes of supplies, or walking sentry.

  Stored about the outer cavern's walls was a treasure trove of tools and electronic equipment. The bulky apparatus for calibrating ‘Mech actuators and feedback sensors was there, as was a Descartes Mk XXI computer, ideal for programming ‘Mech on-board systems. When Grayson recognized the squat, gray shapes of a pair of ‘Mech simulators against one wall, he felt a pang of nostalgia. It had been in such semiportable, computer-moderated ‘Mech simulators that he had received his own BattleMech training.

  Nearby, a rebel Stinger occupied a ‘Mech repair cradle. Straddling it was a cross-braced mobile power crane that held a two-ton chunk of composite armor plate suspended above the ‘Mech's exposed torso circuitry with effortless ease. Rebel Techs and astechs climbed the crude scaffolding and webwork that surrounded the ‘Mech. The arc-glare of a welding torch danced at the Stinger's head, showering white sparks. Tomlinson, Grayson's Tech, and Karelian, the Legion's senior Tech, had both already assured him that they would be able to repair the damage to his Shadow Hawk's autocannon as well as the antennae on the Rifleman. Indeed, here was everything needed to service, repair, and maintain the unit's ‘Mechs.

  Much of the equipment was of commercial manufacture. Grayson was not surp
rised to learn that the biggest industry on Verthandi was Ericksson-Agro, a respected manufacturer of AgroMechs for use on farms and plantations. The treasure cache under the Ericksson landhold had been where Olaf Ericksson, Ericksson's great-grandfather, had launched himself on the path to financial success at the head of the local AgroMech manufacturing empire. He could also see the ores Ericksson had described. Rock formations in walls and the distant ceiling threw back a metallic glint. It was easy to see how a cave system such as this could have fueled the creation of Ericksson-Agro.

  There were AgroMechs within the caves, too, fourteen of them. Most were outfitted with jury-rigged machine guns and autocannons that would be next to useless against BattleMechs, but effective enough against troops and light vehicles. Eight of them were vast, four-legged machines that Ericksson called LoggerMechs, 60-ton, boxcar-shaped monsters designed to cut and drag timber in Verthandi's jungle logging camps.

  And there were BattleMechs as well, two full lances of them. Besides the Stinger in the repair brace, there was a 55-ton Dervish, a pair of Phoenix Hawks, a battle-worn, 70-ton Warhammer, two Wasps, and a Locust. They bore various numbers, emblems, and camouflage paint schemes. Ericksson had explained that a few were Kurita machines, brought in by former Loyalist MechWarriors who had had enough of their Kurita masters. The rest, including the Warhammer, had belonged to the handful of men and women of the planet's Defense Militia in the days before the Kurita forces came. General Thorvald himself had been a Mech Warrior as well as a popular member of the Council of Academicians. The Warhammer was Thorvald's own personal ‘Mech, an heirloom of Scandanavian warrior ancestors from the days of the Star League.

  With six of the seven Gray Death BattleMechs now present, the great, silent metal machines dominated the cavern.

  "Yes, we've been able to assemble and hide everything we need for quite a nice little army here," Ericksson said as he led Grayson into the cave. "The computers and electronics are left over from great-granddad's day, when he started building and repairing AgroMechs for the plantations around here. And there's room enough to hide these ‘Mechs and the whole rebel army." He stopped and fixed Grayson with a penetrating, appraising look. "We've done well for ourselves without outside help," he said. "But we can't fight BattleMechs on our own. With the right training, we can take on Nagumo's whole army, and win! That's why we need you and your people."