Double-Blind

by Loren L. Coleman

  Even as she switched back over to regular comm channels, her sensors were screaming at her, and Charlene checked the head's-up display floating just above her normal level of vision. With three hundred-sixty degrees of data compacted into one hundred-twenty degrees of vision, it took her a few seconds to locate and identify the enemy 'Mech sighting in on her. It was the Lynx, coming up over the top of a nearby rise.

  "That's one mistake you won't live to regret," she muttered to the enemy pilot, though of course he couldn't hear her. The HUD showed another Angel and an MAF warrior nearby. Almost as if on cue, all three 'Mechs twisted about, and a flurry of laser and missiles struck out at the raider 'Mech just as it launched a spread of LRMs at Charlene's Phoenix Hawk. She rode out the light buffeting as seven of the missiles hit her in the torso, shattering nearly half a ton of armor plating. The Lynx paid a heavy price for its audacity, though. Standing on top of a hill made it an easy target, and Charlene's return fire savaged its front armor. She thought the Lynx might weather the damage, but then a medium laser from one of her other 'Mechs scored the Lynx's head, slicing off the last of its armor as several AC/2 shells slammed into and through the cockpit.

  Its cockpit a tangle of molten steel and crushed armor plating, the Lynx slowly toppled forward and fell headfirst from the small rise. It slid to a stop not far from the feet of Charlene's Phoenix Hawk. She trembled as she watched, the destruction of the Lynx's cockpit reminding her of Brent Karrskhov's fiery death. "Thanks," she said mechanically. "Whoever did that."

  "My pleasure, Hawk One."

  Charlene hadn't noticed that she'd keyed open her commline, but the solemn tones that made it through the radio filters shocked her back into action. Checking the auxiliary monitor tied to her rear sensors, she saw the 'Mech that had taken down the Lynx. Those arms ending in barrel-like appendages and the forward-thrusting spherical cockpit could only be a Vulcan; one of the MAF BattleMechs and piloted by the only male Mech Warrior among them. She couldn't remember his name, so she only repeated her thanks as she stood over the fallen raider.

  Even in retreat, she thought, we never miss a chance for salvage. She grabbed hold of the Lynx's right arm with the Hawk's left hand and wrenched it upward, using the large laser on her right arm to sever it at the shoulder. A medium laser, a couple of actuators, and some armor; that's what she'd traded for two BattleMechs and the life of an Angel. She almost threw the arm back down, but the mercenary in her would never allow it. Marcus would be so proud, she thought, and immediately hated herself.

  "Hawk One, this is Head of a Pin." The radio filtered out most of the emotion, but a note of frantic urgency still managed to get through. "We're down. Repeat, we're down. A kilometer west of your position with a lance of Hegemony raiders moving in on us."

  We're down could mean a lot of things, but from the frantic tone Charlene realized which it was. The Pinhead had touched down? "Easy there," she said. "Who is this, and what is your status exactly?"

  "Right. Sorry, Lieutenant Boske." There was a pause, and when he continued his voice sounded stronger. "This is Second Mate Davis. The Captain is unconscious and the First Mate was helping man the Long Tom artillery so I don't know how he is. We landed in a minefield. Severe damage to landing gear and main drive. Hull breaches all along our port and aft quarter. We're going nowhere, Hawk One. And damn fast."

  And from our last option, I'm left with none. Charlene checked the topographical map loaded onto one of her auxiliary monitors. They herded us in this direction, she realized. The terrain here became very uncertain, full of narrow valleys and sharp-ridged hills and a few cleared spots such as the one the Pinhead must have found. Perfect area to mine, since they can bet exactly where we're going to travel. The raiders learned too well from our use of Thunder munitions against them.

  We can't stand. We can't escape. Not as a unit. Charlene opened communications to the Angels, feeling cold even in the Phoenix Hawk's steamy cockpit. I have to save what lives I can. "All units, this is Hawk One. The code is Lucifer Seven."

  Her voice sounded weak and her throat felt dry and constricted as she gave them their final orders. A Lucifer code meant a no-hope scenario; one that hadn't been used since the Angels were last routed by Clan Smoke Jaguar on Labrea over seven years before. Lucifer Seven meant no reliable extraction either, so every Angel was on his or her own. They would flee by any available path, with the hope of regrouping later. Charlene knew it was necessary, but that didn't make it any easier.

  "Repeat," she said, "Lucifer Seven. The Pinhead is down and the Heaven Sent is unreliable. Southern hills bordering the badlands may be mined. The badlands too, for that matter. Use your own judgment."

  There had to be more she could do. Such a situation was hard to plan for, so the contingencies always had to be invented on the spot. Charlene thought fast and furious, her grip on the Phoenix Hawk's controls knucklewhitening. "Pinhead crew abandon station using all available vehicles. Take everything you can easily grab, but don't wait around long enough for those raiders to take you apart. All BattleMechs pair up where possible. Try to stay in two-unit elements. Cut and run for the desert, but don't head directly south. And don't try to stay in contact with anyone else! If we cluster together, the raiders can take us all. If we fragment.. ." She trailed off. If we fragment, some—a few—will fall through the cracks, she finished silently. "Avoid raiders at all costs." What else?

  "Keppler, recon for any unit that requests it. Then get your ass back to the JumpShip if you can. Get a report back to the Magistracy."

  She tried to force some strength back into her voice. Give them some hope. "We aren't finished for good, Angels. Get clear. Wait a few days and then try to find help. The nomad warrior tribes might take us in, they might not. The Heaven Sent might be able to make pickup. Lay low and quiet until then."

  "We've fallen from grace," she whispered to herself. "But there is always redemption."

  28

  'Mech Staging Area

  City of Rashier, Rashier Caliphate

  Astrokaszy

  The Periphery

  29 June 3058

  Marcus jumped to the ground, the long blades of the helicopter still cutting the air with a vicious slashing sound. He ducked instinctively as he followed Nihail Sallahan off the tarmac of the aerodrome, and then straightened while they crossed hard-packed dirt to a large old hangar. Jericho and Ki-Lynn followed immediately behind him.

  The black-robed warrior hadn't done much more than nod a curt apology when Marcus regained consciousness in the helicopter. Marcus would have liked to throw Nihail out the open door, but he quickly realized that the man had been right. About all he might have accomplished in a battered old jeep in the middle of 'Mech combat was get himself killed. It was just that realizing it didn't make him feel any better.

  The hangar was constructed of mud and stone over a frame of rough-hewn timbers and milled planks. It sat just within the walls of another caliph city-stronghold, one much smaller than Shervanis but still impressive for its more heavily built defenses. Marcus had seen from the air that less of this city had fallen to rubble, and on the ground the buildings looked much better constructed. It spoke well of the ruler, this Caliph Rashier.

  Nihail waved aside the guards at the open hangar doors, passing the three MechWarriors straight through. Two aging BattleMechs stood inside the makeshift 'Mech bay, whether all or only part of the Caliph's forces Marcus had no way of guessing. They were a Spider and a Centurion—both looking much-abused. A few support vehicles were parked around the feet of the two 'Mechs, like the toy cars of two giant children. An old Rommel and a beat-up pair of Striker light tanks were the best of the lot. Nihail led them toward the vehicles and a line of guards that ringed the foot of the Spider.

  The guards looked no less threatening than Shervanis' had, chosen for size and armed with large scimitars that would require both hands to wield. They wore the closest thing Marcus had yet seen to an Astrokaszy uniform: loose, blood-red pants and full s
hirt cuffed tightly at ankles and wrists, short black vests, and on their heads the kaffiyeh, a piece of cloth held in place by a rope-band, instead of turbans.

  Marcus also thought he saw more than deference in the way they stood aside for Nihail. Something more akin to fear. Marcus puzzled over this Nihail as they passed through the line of warrior-guards toward another man waiting for them. He was so lost in thought that Jericho had to nudge him when he missed the first comment by their host.

  "Commander GioAvanti?" The dark-skinned man smiled when he gained Marcus' attention. "Ah, good. I am Caliph Srin Obbaka Rashier. Nihail radioed ahead his report. I am sorry we were unable to extract all your people."

  After Shervanis, Marcus thought he knew what to expect of a caliph, but Rashier surprised him. Leaning casually against the Spider's foot, the man wore nothing more elegant than loose black cotton trousers and a white shirt with full sleeves. His skin was dark, nearly as dark as Thomas Faber's, and his hair cascaded down his back in oily black ringlets. His expression was animated, but Marcus noted that his smile did not touch his cruel, dark eyes.

  "Caliph Rashier," Marcus said, bowing his head only slightly. "Can you tell me the outcome of the battle? Do you know what's happened to the Angels?"

  "Not much goes on in the Shervanis caliphate that I do not know, Commander. If not for the support of those accursed warriors with their technological god, Shervanis would have been brought to his knees years ago."

  Marcus did not miss the fanatical gleam in Rashier's dark eyes, and so dismissed the religious reference as an allusion to the new Hegemony equipment. "And what do you know of the battle?" he asked again, trying to control his patience.

  The caliph's smile was not a pleasant one. "Your mercenaries were beaten back into the desert within an hour of their landing. The minions of al Zaitan pursue them. And what they overlook, the desert is likely to claim. The Shaharazad is not a place to inspire tales of hope, Commander. It is treacherous, and where the land isn't hostile, the nomadic warriors hold dominion. They will swallow up what is left of your unit."

  As simple as that. Marcus could feel the tension in the muscles of his chest and arms as he clenched his fists so tight that the fingernails dug painfully into his palms. No, I refuse to believe it. The Angels are survivors. He couldn't accept the possibility that the battle had been so disastrous that the Angels might have been smashed beyond his ability to ever bring them back.

  "What was lost can always be regained," the caliph said as if echoing Marcus' thoughts. "I need warriors, battle commanders, instructors. Together we can bring down the unholy Shervanis."

  Marcus shook his head. "I appreciate the effort you made to rescue us, but right now I have more pressing concerns. Perhaps after I locate my people we could discuss this. If you would lend me—"

  "I have already given you the gift of your lives," Rashier said, cutting Marcus off, face suddenly darker. "Shervanis never had any intention of letting you go. He would have turned you over to the raiders and kept your BattleMechs. I risked my network of agents to assist your escape. I spent incredible resources and lost fifty-two of my finest warriors. Perhaps, Commander, you should reevaluate your position."

  Marcus bristled under the rebuke. He noticed Nihail's hand slip back within the folds of his dark robes, a gesture Marcus was sure he was meant to see and take as a warning. But his anger and grief over the possible loss of his company far outweighed any caution about paying proper respects to another tyrant of Astrokaszy. Courtesy be damned.

  But before he could say a word, Ki-Lynn stepped forward. "Commander GioAvanti meant no disrespect, Sim-pasha. Having lost warriors of your own, perhaps you can understand his concern for members of the Angels who might still be alive and in need of assistance." She turned to partially face Marcus. "Just as he understands the need to somehow reimburse you for your losses in retrieving us."

  You don't make this easy, Ki-Lynn. She had explained before that acknowledging the superior position, and the use of bribes in the form of gifts, were all part of the game. Again we are starting seriously in debt, and this time with less to offer. Then Marcus remembered that these people also believed strongly in the eye-for-an-eye philosophy. "I can't promise you much, Caliph Rashier. But I guarantee you the heads of one hundred and four of Shervanis' warriors in retribution for your own losses." Twice what you lost, and easily guaranteed in any war between the two of you.

  "A respectful offer, Commander. But her"—Rashier nodded to Ki-Lynn—"do you always let a woman speak for you?"

  "The women of my force are warriors, Caliph Rashier. If you want our help, they will be treated as such." Marcus matched gazes with Rashier, determined to win this point.

  "Warriors?" he asked. "This is not Canopus. Here warriors prove themselves."

  Marcus heard it happen, and by the time he turned it was all over. Jericho Ryan had almost instantly disarmed one of Rashier's guards, who now lay unconscious on the ground at her feet, scimitar planted point-first into the hard-packed dirt. Marcus turned back to the caliph, and found Nihail holding back another guard with his sword extended out like a gate. Everyone waited tensely until the caliph managed a thin smile and a nod. "As you say. They will be treated as warriors."

  "Then you have my pledge, Caliph Rashier. And if I can salvage anything of the Angels, I will give you every assistance against Shervanis. My word."

  Caliph Rashier let the offer hang there for a moment. Nihail took the moment to prod Rashier's guard back into place with the flat of his falchion, then returned the blade to the folds of his cloak. Rashier isn't afraid to surround himself with competent men, Marcus noted. He was just as dangerous as Shervanis, but perhaps he might be easier to deal with.

  "Do you remember what you told that devil, Shervanis?" the caliph finally asked. "About a warrior's belief, his faith, being able to carry him through?" He waited for Marcus' careful nod. "I look forward to seeing how much faith your Angels truly have. My people are in contact with your DropShip Heaven Sent. It did manage to lift off, though it was forced to land in the deep Shaharazad. A captain . .. Cliffy? He reports that the ship should be ready to rendezvous in three days."

  Marcus felt a surge of elation that not all the Angels' assets were lost. It was short-lived, however, as the caliph's expectant look sobered him. "It appears, Srin-pasha, that we are again in your debt."

  Rashier's answering smile, thin and cold, told Marcus that the debt would not be forgotten.

  29

  Badlands, Shaharazad Desert

  Astrokaszy

  The Periphery

  29 June 3058

  Sunset over the Shaharazad Desert was supposed to be a beautiful thing; pale golds and reds spreading over the normally washed-out blue of the Astrokaszy sky. The sand and rock of the desert lost the harsh glare they gave off during the day, and the light wind that habitually blew in from the east carried with it the first touch of night's chill.

  To Cameron St. Jamais, watching the play of color through the viewport of his Awesome's cockpit, the entire scene lacked glory.

  He would have preferred a dark blue fighting against bold red and gold and purple streams. Maybe a low-lying cloud cover on the horizon that would seem to boil in a blood-red froth as the sun dipped toward it. Such were the sunsets he'd seen on Campoleone. Violent, passionate moments. Moments rare in the calling of the Word of Blake.

  But times were changing. The Inner Sphere lay on the cusp of a new era, one of chaos and madness from which it could be led to the proper order. It was the Word of Blake's solemn task to ensure that this was so. Not as the puppet of Thomas Marik and his Free Worlds League nor in a return to the old ComStar methods of waiting and watching. No. St. Jamais knew he would be the instrument of chaos, and if Demona Aziz did not interfere he would let her begin the task of illuminating the path to Blake's vision. Then, sooner or later, he would ascend to the coveted place of Primus of a new order. The fall of the Angels heralded his eventual rise to power.

  He s
canned the horizon, as if he might catch a glimpse of BattleMechs on the move, though he knew the remnants of Avanti's Angels to be almost a full day's travel off in various directions. He had smashed them, driven them into a trap reminiscent of the one they'd used against him on Marantha. St. Jamais was grateful for Caliph Rashier's timely attack. It had cost him a few more lives and an extra BattleMech perhaps, but in the end it provided an opportunity Shervanis never would have.

  What was now left of the Angels could only be a few scattered BattleMechs separated from their sources of supply and extraction. His aerospace forces, waiting all this time at a pirate point above Astrokaszy, had forced their JumpShip from the system by now, cutting off any hope of retreat. The Magistracy would know the raiders had staged off Astrokaszy, but by the time they could investigate in force, his people would be gone and the only evidence remaining would point back to Sun-Tzu Liao. That was the purpose of a double-blind, after all. Isolation. Protection.

  No, the Angels were beaten and any mercenary who survived the units he had out roaming the edge of the desert wouldn't last long out there. There would be no major outcry at their loss; just one more mercenary unit that never returned from the Periphery. Meanwhile he had better things to do making sure that security held up around the hidden distribution center in the city of Shervanis. The three lances he'd detached were more than enough to clean up the mercenaries.

  Only one Angel had ever held much of his interest anyway. GioAvanti. St. Jamais had often imagined the battle between him and the mercenary commander who had so cleverly thwarted him on Marantha. But Shervanis reported GioAvanti killed along with three others while trying to escape the palace. Two female MechWarriors were now being held prisoner at the distribution center, but they meant nothing to St. Jamais. Perhaps he would simply turn them over to Malachye—the caliph had expressed special interest in the two women, and perhaps it would quiet the petty tyrant's insistence that St. Jamais use the Word of Blake forces stationed on Astrokaszy to strike back at Rashier. But Cameron St. Jamais did not relish the thought of turning former Mech Warriors into slaves, or worse. Better to die on the field of battle. Perhaps he would merely execute the prisoners once he was sure they had no further value as bargaining pieces.