Montido's Dervish smashed through the gate Brasednewic had targeted with his group, scattering Blues and Brownjackets with its sudden rush.
"The way's open!" Brasednewic yelled above the battle roar. "Gun it!"
With a keening whine, the hovercraft angled toward the door. Through billowing smoke, Brasednewic glimpsed struggling throngs of people and uniformed soldiers beyond.
* * * *
Grayson's PPC savaged the Warhammer twice more, stopping its advance in mid-stride. Khaled joined the Shadow Hawk's laser fire, shearing away smoking chunks of white-hot armor plate. The 70-ton Kurita ‘Mech hesitated, one PPC raised to fire directly into Grayson's cockpit from fifteen meters away.
Sparks danced and jittered along the battle scars in the Warhammer's torso. The Draco pilot couldn't fire! His weapon circuitry had been destroyed, and he couldn't fire! The enemy's PPC resumed its upward swing, and the heavy ‘Mech took another step forward, its deadly purpose starkly clear. It was going to use one of those heavy forearm cannons as a club.
Desperate, his head reeling from pain and loss of blood, Grayson triggered both PPCs under the enemy heavy's upraised arm. Lightning flared and crashed. A fireball rolled up from the Warhammer's shattered chest, and the armored giant staggered backward, collapsing in a blazing, twisted tangle of BattleMech junk.
Grayson whooped victory through scalding air that seared his lungs, hut the triumph died in his throat as he glanced at the shattered main gate. Another BattleMech force with Kurita markings, a full company at least, was pouring through and into the Courtyard, each machine fresh, undamaged, and combat-ready.
One of them, a Jenner, fired. A missile burst on the Marauder's hull. Grayson ducked low as hot shrapnel seared into the cockpit. He looked down in surprise and saw blood drenching his left arm and side. At that moment, Grayson wished he had a working radio. It would be nice to say, "This is it," or "It's been good fighting at your side," or any one of the other cliches that a Mech Warrior might utter at a time like this. He wished that he might see Lori again, too. She'd said she loved him! He wished...
A trio of missiles burned low above his shattered cockpit. A fourth impacted on his Marauder's leg. The stricken machine lurched wildly. He twisted at the Marauder's controls, but the heavy machine failed to respond. Sparks spat and flared across the instrument panel, and red lights warned of heat overload, of circuit cards melting, of weapons system failure...
* * * *
Throughout the city, the Verthandians were joining the fight. For ten years, they had remained helpless and voiceless as the Kurita fist tightened on their world and on their city. Now, though, the savage battle gutting the centuries-old heart of the University had brought them out in a rising tide of fury that would not be stemmed. Wild-eyed Blues threw down their weapons and ran in the face of that onrushing crowd. Kurita Brownjackets did the same, or else opened fire with a hopeless, desperate ferocity before they were overrun and torn to shreds.
Weapons were scooped from the pavement or torn from the grip of bloodied hands. A lance of Kurita BattleMechs pressing toward the University paused as the mob swept around the University Plaza and surged toward Kurita positions south of the University Gate. When the lance turned and opened fire with machine guns and lasers, they opened bloody gashes in the mob's body. Hundreds, thousands of shrieking civilians continued to press forward, vaulting infantry barricades and rushing past the feet of the helpless metal giants.
Everywhere, Kurita soldiers found themselves isolated in small, struggling knots as the Loyalist militia melted away and the numbers of frenzied civilians storming through the streets swelled. Bottles filled with oil and gasoline and stoppered shut with rags took flame and arced smoking through the air. Clots of flame and black smoke wreathed BattleMech limbs and lower torsos. The four embattled ‘Mechs reversed course and began moving away from the University. To a half-screamed demand for information over the Kurita combat net, they reported that the streets of Regis were lost, that they were falling back.
In the streets two blocks to the east, the four Kurita ‘Mechs encountered rebel ‘Mechs smashing through the city gates. Three of the four pilots decided that the cause of House Kurita could best be served on Verthandi if they took up positions outside the city... considerably outside the city. The fourth pilot remained where he was, his Orion wreathed in flames, his dead hands still clutching the controls.
Throughout the city of Regis, Kurita ‘Mechs and men began retreating. BattleMechs are never at their best within the confines of buildings and narrow streets, and now the civilian mobs were threatening to slaughter every Kurita Brownjacket in Regis.
The tide was turning.
The Courtyard was strangely quiet For a moment, Grayson wondered if he'd gone deaf, exposed as he was to the crash and thunder of heavy weapons. Then, gradually, he became aware of the roar of flames gnawing at the vitals of the broken Warhammer a few meters in front of him. The Jenner and the other fresh Draco ‘Mechs were still there, but they had stopped their charge, had turned...They were retreating!
Why?
He reached out to hit an override panel and caught sight of his own arm, blood-crusted and blistered. He was becoming aware of the heat now, wafting off the hot metal of the Marauder, crowding its way into his lungs, sending shrieking agony across the exposed parts of his skin that were already horribly burned. Then shock, long held at bay, rose in a comforting, black embrace, drowning the pain, sending him hurtling forward into darkness.
* * * *
Ramage helped pull him from the Marauder minutes later. At his side, smoke-blackened and victorious, was Tollen Brasednewic.
The Free Verthandi Rangers had arrived, quite literally in the nick of time.
40
Hours after the battle in the streets of Regis had ended, two Kurita Leopard Class DropShips landed at the spaceport ten kilometers north of the city. There was little the rebel forces could do to stop the landing, for the spaceport was still protected by several Kurita ‘Mech companies and by a large number of ground troops. In the days following the Battle of Regis, tens of thousands of additional Kurita troops trickled into the spaceport area from towns and outposts all over the Verthandian Highlands. A tent city of refugee troops sprang up along the landing pad area, and grim-faced Kurita soldiers lined the entrenchments and hastily constructed fortifications of the spaceport perimeter.
There were Kurita BattleMechs everywhere. The Draconis Combine ‘Mechs on Verthandi still outnumbered the rebel ‘Mech forces. No one doubted for a moment that a determined thrust by the Kurita ‘Mechs could lay utter and complete waste to Regis, the entire Bluesward, and to every town, village, and mine between the Silvan Basin and the Southern Desert. Yet, the Combine forces made no move. The entire planet had turned against them, and both their line troops and Mech Warriors were afraid to leave the crowded huddle of the narrow spaceport perimeter.
Nor were the outnumbered Verthandian forces prepared to assault the spaceport. Though victorious, the rebel forces were still scattered, poorly equipped, often poorly fed and leaderless. More, they were exultant with the victorious climax of a hard-fought campaign that had lasted for two Verthandian years. There was a natural tendency to view further combat as something of an anticlimax.
Not one of the young men and women hemming in the encircled Kurita veterans was willing to die now, with final victory in sight. If they could rid themselves of the hated invader through negotiation rather than combat, so much the better. If negotiations failed, the Kurita invaders could sit where they were and die of the starvation and disease that had already begun to stalk their ranks. If that death didn't appeal to them, they could charge the Free Verthandi lines instead, and die under the rebel guns surrounding them.
"Fight to the death" is a grand-sounding phrase, but in reality, war rarely comes to that. Sooner or later, the two sides usually decide to talk rather than fight.
Several days after the DropShip landings, one of the Leopards lifted on r
oaring belly thrusters and shaped orbit for Verthandi-Alpha. When it returned, it carried Admiral Kodo himself, the new military commander of the Kurita forces on Verthandi. In name at least, he was also the new Governor General of the planet, until some trace could be found of the vanished Nagumo.
Verthandi seemd to have a new importance as a crossroads for galactic traffic. Three days after Kodo's arrival, a fleet materialized out of hyperspace at Norn's zenith point. Hurried radio consultations quickly identified the newcomer's identity. It was the First Tamar Fleet, warships, DropShips, and two battle-ready regiments of ‘Mechs in the service of the Lyran Commonwealth.
In the van of the fleet was the jump freighter Invidious. Its DropShip Deimos set down at the airfield close by the walls of the city. Captain Renfred Tor was on board with five more BattleMechs and a small army of recruits for the Gray Death Legion.
Grayson's arms were heavily wrapped and bandaged, but he was well enough to meet Tor when he stepped off the DropShip ramp in the shadow of the University's fire-ruined Tower. Tor restrained himself in greeting Grayson for fear of causing him further injury, but he made up for it in his enthusiasm at seeing Lori and Sergeant Ramage again.
"It went just like you suggested in your message," he told Grayson, his face split by a broad grin. "It took some doing, but I finally interested Ambassador Steiner-Reese in what was going on here. The vanadium samples didn't impress him much at first, but I eventually convinced him."
"Steiner-Reese?" Ramage's eyebrows clawed toward his hairline. "That wouldn't be a relative of..."
Tor's smile grew wider. "That he is. He managed to cut quite a nice swath through the red tape, and even shepherded me clear through to Tharkad itself!"
Grayson whistled. Tharkad was the Lyran capital, and he'd never dared to hope that his message would carry so far.
"Tharkad..." Grayson said. "You made it to the Lyran capital?"
"Yep. I had an audience with the Archon herself."
"You met Katrina Steiner?" Lori said, equally dumbfounded.
"I had dinner with her," Tor said with a wink. "Well, there were a few thousand other guests present at the time, but I had a quiet talk with her and her High Council afterward. I told them what you said in your message. Gray... that the Verthandians had a fighting chance of winning their independence, but that they needed outside help to pull it off. When I gave them your analysis of the mining potential of this place, they rushed off to wherever it is that government types go to talk a subject to death. It took them three weeks, but they finally decided to put together a fleet. The First Tamar Fleet is station-keeping at the zenith point now. I'll bet those Combine troops over yonder are getting a mite nervous, now that they know the Lyrans are there."
"Their military commander landed three days ago," Grayson said. "I imagine the presence of the Lyran fleet will... ah... influence the peace talks a bit"
"Peace talks?" Tor said. "The Verthandians are talking peace with the Dracos?"
"They've had enough war, Ren, and they're not anxious to charge the Kurita encampment to force them out." He shrugged and looked off toward the north. "I've seen the defenses up there. I can't say that I blame them."
Tor shook his head. "I just remember how determined that Rebel Council fellow was not to settle with the Dracos. What was his name?"
"Devic Erudin." Ramage laughed. "Believe it or not, he's on the negotiating team. It should be interesting to see what they hammer out."
Grayson smiled. "Interesting? I guess that's the word for it. Anyway, whatever happens, it's out of our hands now."
EPILOGUE
The band of the newly organized Free Verthandi Legion played a crashing martial march, as troops in new and glistening uniforms snapped to attention and rifles came to crisp, military salutes. Behind the ranks of men were ranks of BattleMechs. Though cleaned up now and with battle scars repaired, those ‘Mechs still showed more pain and hard use than the fresh-faced youngsters lining the Scandia Way from the University's Gate of Heroes to the airfield. Two Gray Death DropShips waited there, ramps extended, to take their final passengers aboard.
The parades, the speeches, the presentations of medals and honors had lasted most of the previous day, much of the evening, and most of the present morning. Grayson was resplendent in the new gray uniform presented him by a group of Regis citizens, the ornate golden Star of Verthandi heavy against his chest. He felt that his arm would fall off if he were forced to return one more salute. The dressings had been removed from his arms only a week before, and the skin was still raw and tender.
The elite commandos whom Ramage had trained were the last unit to pass in review. The crowd was still applauding the Verthandi Rangers when Tollen Brasednewic and his wife separated themselves from the crowd that lined the reviewing stand and made their way toward Grayson. Trailing them was another small parade of their assistants, council staff, and secretaries. Though the couple wore civilian dress, Grayson felt they rated a proper salute as members of Verthandi's new Citizens' Council.
"Councilman," he said formally, with a smile, then turned and bowed ceremoneously to Carlotta Brasednewic. "Carlotta. Your husband appears to have made the transition from rebel general to head-of-state quite nicely. I credit you with whatever political expertise he has developed,"
Carlotta smiled softly, and Grayson caught himself watching her eyes for the haunted look that had been there during the past weeks. They had found her among the worst of the horror-numbed prisoners during the Battle of the University, so deeply in shock it was feared she would never recover. Time spent with Tollen Brasednewic seemed to have gone a long way toward healing her, but traces of the pain were still there in her expression. Grayson was glad to see that there was warmth as well. Perhaps, even a measure of peace.
"We are grateful to you. Captain," Tollen said. "Our offer stands. You could remain here to build our army. We need people like you and your unit."
Grayson shook his head. "You've been doing that yourself, Tollen." He nodded toward the ranks of one-time rebel veterans, near-children still. Only their eyes were old.
He caught sight of one face in the Verthandians' front rank. Sue Ellen Klein, at least, had found her place here. She'd refused to talk about what had happened after she'd left Grayson in the tower, and Grayson felt she still carried some black, inner pain. Unable to talk with Grayson, she had discussed her decision to remain with Lori. At Lori's urging, Grayson had released Sue Ellen from her contract to the Gray Death. He still didn't know what her secret was, but he trusted Lori's judgement.
Sue Ellen had immediately accepted a commission with the Free Verthandi Navy. They had no ships, as yet, but the purchase of a pair of aging Lyran freighters was about to change that. Sue Ellen had happily accepted the task of organizing the new Verthandian fleet arm. Grayson was glad for her.
"Your battle now is a political one," Grayson continued. "All I'll say is...remember what I told you last night. You could easily find yourself giving away at the conference table what you've already won on the battlefield."
"I'll remember," Brasednewic said, but Grayson wondered if anything he'd said would make any difference.
Admiral Kodo had sued for peace. There was not much else the vacillating little man could do, with his troops down to quarter-rations and disease already gnawing at the ranks of men who had obviously lost the will to fight. The garrison regiments on Verthandi had been badly handled. Grayson wondered how long it would be before they were in fighting shape again. He knew that combat could ruin a man in ways more subtle and more devastating than a physical wound or maiming.
Only two days later, things became really complicated when Duke Hassid Ricol's flagship Huntress appeared at the zenith point, accompanied by the Draconis Combine Fifth Fleet.
Combat between jumpships is rare in this era because starships are a resource too rare and too fragile to risk in combat. With the situation on Verthandi in doubt, the two fleets hovered at the jump point on gently pulsing thrusters and
kept a wary armed truce. After all, there was no current state of war between Luthien and Tharkad. Ricol conferred with Admiral Kodo, but the result was already a foregone conclusion. Unless Ricol wanted to initiate a whole new invasion of Verthandi—this time with a Lyran fleet facing him at the. jump point and Lyran BattleMech regiments waiting for him on the ground—he would have to accept the negotiated peace Kodo had signed. In time, that is just what he did.
Once the peace talks were ended, the Kurita troops began boarding the DropShips that had arrived to ferry them offworld. Verthandi was once again a free and independent planet
Independence had not brought peace, however. The Dracos had refused to take any Verthandian Loyalists with them. They had, in fact, abandoned them. As far as the rebels were concerned, the ceasefire of their talks with Kodo had never applied to Loyalists and Regis Blues. The massacres continued in scattered villages, forest patches, and hill country across the planet, a bloody, fratricidal civil war that no one seemed able or willing to end. Listening to Brasednewic tell of the slaughter, seeing the pain in a face grown markedly older within just the past weeks, Grayson suddenly remembered that the big rebel's brother had been a Loyalist. It looked as though this part of the Verthandian war might never end.
The talks continued, however, between Verthandi and the offworlders. The Lyrans had arrived because Grayson had sent word that their intervention might win them a contract for Verthandian heavy metals—the same precious ores that the Draconis Combine had coveted. The arrival of the Lyran fleet had been the telling factor in Duke Ricol's decision that further military intervention on Verthandi would be foolish. Ambassador Steiner-Reese, the Lyran representative aboard the flagship, felt that the new Verthandian government owed the Commonwealth certain concessions in the mines of the Southern Desert.
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