"What happened?" MacLeod gasped, grabbing at the bloody spot on his right arm. Loren pulled the Colonel's hand away and saw that the flesh had been torn over a fist-sized area. Telltale needle-like shreds poked up from the wound. "Needier fire! Damn!" A needier pistol was a fearsome weapon that sprayed out a blast of plastic needles at deadly velocities. Loren looked across the trail and saw nothing but thick underbrush across the path. "Hold the wound tight, sir," he said, reaching for the laser pistol in the holster at his waist.
Loren's mind was on fire. The Highlander's CO was wounded, perhaps dying at his feet. He could finish him off right now and make it look like the work of an assassin. No, I need this man. Keeping him alive is my best chance at destroying all the Highlander regiments.
MacLeod took out a small communicator from one of his pockets and painfully pressed the activation stud. "This is MacLeod! Condition Green. Peace Park!" Then he dropped the device as a spasm of pain wracked his arm and blood seeped through his fingers. Loren heard voices respond on the communicator but did not really listen. Instead he concentrated on spotting the assassin in the surrounding brush. If he'd been the shooter, he'd be moving to flank to get a better field of fire. Going with that hunch he spied a rustling in a spot where he'd have taken position in the shade of a massive elm.
The next moment a section of leaves suddenly disintegrated as another volley of deadly needles sprayed the base of the statue near his leg. The all too familiar warmth running up his thigh told him he'd been hit. Loren ignored the wound and went flat on the grass, firing at the area where the rustling had occurred. Ten bursts of laser bolts shot out of the pistol and into the growth.
Then a man bolted from the bushes and ran wildly down the trail. Loren fired after him but failed to hit as the figure vanished from his line of sight. Glancing back, he saw that MacLeod had lost a great deal of blood and was beginning to look almost gray. The Colonel was still conscious as Loren crawled back to him, his leg red-hot with pain.
"Did you get him, lad?" MacLeod asked between gasps.
Loren shook his head and looked down at his own painful wound. A half dozen splinter-needles had passed through the side of his leg, and blood was pouring from the wound. He pressed a hand tightly over the spot and leaned against the base of the statue. The wound stung even more as he held his hand against it, telling him that some of the needle fragments were still lodged in place. "He got away, sir."
"Damn. Help better be coming soon," MacLeod said, grabbing the communicator and signaling again. Loren swept the area visually, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was no sign of the assassin and no indication of a follow-up attack.
"I'm trained in this kind of work, sir. Whoever's behind this is a professional. They had us in an open-fire zone with a well-marked escape route." Somebody is playing for keeps, either from within the Highlanders or sent by Victor Davion. We were lucky this time. Next time we might not be.
Overhead he heard the thunderous rumble of a VTOL moving into position. Looking up, he saw that the craft showed the insignia of the Northwind Highlanders, the planet topped by a plaid tam-o'-shanter. They would live, but both would be in pain for a while, especially MacLeod.
"What do you think, Loren? Was he out for you or me?" MacLeod asked as the infantry deployed around them. A medic moved to the Colonel and began to assess the damage.
"Maybe both," Loren said as he felt the first sedative enter his bloodstream. He looked up at the regal white statue of the Star League general towering over them, seeming to gaze beyond them in the direction from which the shots had come. It made Loren wonder if the leaders of the Inner Sphere ever learned from the mistakes of their past or if they only sought to repeat them.
8
The Fort
Tara, Northwind
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
18 September 3057
"Have you recovered any evidence from the scene yet?" Loren asked Mulvaney as he watched the last of the auto-bandage wrap being taped to his thigh, its thin computerized pack monitoring the wound and providing the pain-killer medication as needed. The passing of twenty-four hours had taken the edge off Loren's adrenaline rush, but not the pain.
"Our troops sealed off the park, but the assassin vanished into thin air. Hell, we didn't find so much as a boot print. As a precaution, I've ordered regimental security to yellow status in all our garrisons. We may also need to increase base security."
"Good thinking," MacLeod said.
"The big question now is which one of you was the target?" Mulvaney said coldly, turning to Loren. "That wound of yours is only a nick."
Loren shrugged, not bothering to point out that the needier had done a good job of tearing flesh and muscle tissue. "Your guess is as good as mine. With a needier rifle for a weapon he could have been trying for both of us. But I haven't been on Northwind long enough to win enemies."
"Don't be too sure," MacLeod put in. 'There are a lot of people, some Highlanders included, who might take offense at a Capellan officer among our ranks. Especially at a time like this. The Federated Commonwealth and the Capellans are at war just a jump or two away from here. But no member of my regiment would ever commit such a dishonorable act—that's not the way we handle it in the Highlanders. And damned if I know why anyone would go after me personally unless it was some Skye fanatic out for revenge."
He let the doctor finish adjusting the bandage over his wound, and waited till the man had walked away before speaking again. "Now, then, Major, let's hear what else has been going on in the midst of all this excitement. Status report." MacLeod rubbed the wound on his arm and looked over at Mulvaney.
She held out a printout. "I was going to hold this until you were released from sickbay, but it's pretty hot. It was in the latest dispatch dump from ComStar. Came in twenty minutes ago."
Colonel MacLeod looked over the printout and his face wrinkled in amazement. "I'll be damned!" he murmured.
"What is it, Colonel?" Loren asked.
"Regimental business," Mulvaney answered curtly.
The Colonel ignored her. "A communication from Katrina Steiner of the Lyran Commonwealth." He read the sheet verbatim. "Per my direct order, all garrison forces of the Northwind Highlanders in the former space known as the Lyran sector of the Federated Commonwealth are officially relieved of duty and ordered to return to Northwind as soon as possible. As all troops within Lyran space are under the command of the Lyran Commonwealth State Command, I personally relieve them of their posts. The current state of civil unrest does not involve the Northwind Highlanders and I have no desire to see them involved or otherwise at risk.
"I further offer the good men and women of Northwind the protection of the Lyran Alliance, should they need to defend their interests. Good luck and godspeed. Katrina Steiner."
"Lyran Alliance?" Loren said. "What's that?"
"Katrina went on the holo and condemned Prince Victor for attempting to replace Thomas Marik's son with a double. She declared a state of crisis and said she was withdrawing from the Federated Commonwealth to keep the Lyrans out of the war."
"So she's leaving her brother high and dry," Loren said.
MacLeod nodded. "It's nothing short of civil war. Victor Davion's not going to give up the most powerful state the Inner Sphere has ever seen without a fight."
"We haven't heard any official response yet, but Katrina's ordering our troops out of her space so that they can't be used against her in a war with Victor."
Loren couldn't help but smile at the fix this left Victor Davion in. 'This will make the little uprising on Glengarry look like a raid. Glengarry was just the beginning."
"Prince Victor Steiner-Davion is our liege lord, Major Jaffray. I don't know how it's done in your Capellan Confederation, but the Federated Commonwealth is a bit more organized. This upstart Katrina hasn't got the authority to order us around. And even it she thinks she can, we don't have to obey those orders," Mulvaney said firmly.
"I beg
to differ, Major," MacLeod said. "I'd say that our young Ms. Steiner has done her homework rather well. All units in the Lyran State Command take their field orders from Tharkad. Her brother cannot issue countermanding orders until the units enter the Federated Suns Command. Pretty craft young woman, I'd say." MacLeod didn't disguise his admiration, and Loren shared it. It was a bold action on the part of Katrina Steiner. And as any warrior knew, it was boldness that separated the dead from the living.
"What will you do, Colonel?" Loren asked.
"Right now, we get on over to the War Room. I want to review our current roster and get some messages out to the regiments in the field. This order changes things a great deal."
"Someone tried to kill you within the past twenty-four hours and the assassin is still on the loose," Mulvaney protested. "With all due respect, sir, you should rest some more. I can handle the duty assignments and whatever orders you may have."
MacLeod slipped off the table and onto his feet. It was true that he looked drained and was obviously in pain despite the painkillers. "Major," he said, "I know my duty as well as you. I'm not just a regimental commander, but CO of all the Highlander units, here and abroad. This is no time for me to sit around twiddling my thumbs. Even if the bastard had shot off my arm I'd still be going to the War Room." He took a firm step toward the door and looked back at the two Majors. "Jaffray, you're with us."
"Sir?" Loren couldn't believe what he was hearing. As a member of the Capellan Armed Forces, his presence would be unusual, to say the least.
MacLeod turned and faced him with the same look he'd given Mulvaney only moments before. "No lip out of you now, lad. I want you in Operations with Mulvaney and me, for now anyway."
"Sir!" Chastity protested. She cast an angry look at Loren, then back at Colonel MacLeod.
"Major, before you hit me with a hurricane of arguments and quotes from operations manuals, let me just tell you this. Jaffray here just saved my hide, and in anybody's book that counts for quite a bit. Besides that, he's a seasoned officer in an elite military unit. He might just be able to offer us some help."
"This is most unusual, sir. He's a Capellan officer." Mulvaney didn't use the word "enemy," but the undertone was clear.
"Well, I'm not intending to let him walk out of there with any military secrets," MacLeod said, turning toward the door again. "And besides, that's an order." The last words were spoken in a much sterner tone.
Loren felt his heart begin to pound slightly at the thought. There was more on his mind than the chance to see the inner workings of the Highlanders' regimental command structure. War was breaking out in the Inner Sphere, and he'd spent his life training in the art of war. Now he found himself separated from his unit.
What bothered him for a fleeting moment was that he did not miss the Death Commandos. He should be longing to return to his unit right now—it was the very nature of his training. But instead he felt an uneasy comfort being with MacLeod and even Mulvaney. The Northwind Highlanders had begun to accept him as one of their own. It was a feeling of family that he'd not felt since the death of his grandfather. Losing the old man had pained him deeply, but suddenly on Northwind, it was almost as if his grandfather was still with him, temporarily overshadowing any thoughts of the Commandos. A twinge of guilt nagged at him with each limping footfall.
He looked down at his lapel and saw the black death's head of the Death Commandos looking back at him, almost seeming to grin. The Highlanders had a rich history, but he had something too—his mission. No matter what, he must never forget the real reason he had come to Northwind.
9
The Fort
Tara, Northwind
Draconis March, Federated Commonwealth
18 September 3057
The Highlander War Room was located deep in the heart of The Fort. Four different sets of guards, each dressed in pristine Highlander formal uniforms, were assigned to various checkpoints along the final passage leading to it. Loren noticed that the walls in this area were heavily reinforced concrete with thick ferro-steel plates embedded for additional support. After passing the final checkpoint he was convinced that the War Room could probably survive a direct nuclear strike if such weapons were ever employed in war again.
He had a difficult time keeping up with the others, the inflatable auto-bandage and sedatives throwing a slight gait into his walk. He knew Mulvaney was furious, but he couldn't help thinking that if their roles were reversed he'd be even more suspicious and protective of his lord and his unit.
At the last set of doors Mulvaney signed them in on a sheet outside a bulletproof security station. The massive chromed doors looked more like a bank vault than the entrance to the command and communications hub of the Highlander regiments. Loren followed the two Highlanders in and heard the doors shut behind him with a deep echoing thud.
The War Room was essentially a fixed command and communications facility. When a regiment was in the field, it used a much smaller mobile command and control facility. But on a stationary assignment like Northwind the larger War Room-type center was the best possible arrangement. Numerous computer-generated map displays lined the walls, and in the room's center were several chairs with built-in armrest controls surrounded by a massive array of computer and communications terminals. Loren saw at least a dozen officers in the dimly lit room, each wearing remote microphone/headsets. As soon as they saw Colonel MacLeod, every bit of furious activity stopped and the officers snapped to attention. MacLeod's injured arm prevented a quick reply, but his nod seemed to be enough.
Loren guessed that MacLeod was permitting him to see the War Room out of pride. Such a place did not offer up great secrets but instead revealed a unit's degree of organization, and what Loren saw in the Highlander Ops Room was impressive. It wasn't the first regimental command center he'd ever seen, and from intelligence reports he'd read on those of Wolf's Dragoons, the Kell Hounds, and the Gray Death Legion, this one ranked in the same elite class. The communications terminals were inter-networked to provide data-sharing on command. The position of the three raised rotatable central seats was optimal to allow the commanding officer and his key staff full view of the entire room and most of the terminal screens. Like the CIC of a combat War-Ship, the room was designed to feed information quickly to the commanding officer. From one spot, a single person and staff could coordinate the activities of all four regiments of the Northwind Highlanders as well as the defense of the planet itself.
MacLeod checked the armrest controls of the largest of the three command seats, then turned to his executive officer. "Run through today's rotation, Major."
"The First Kearny has two battalions of Chahar and one on Sargasso," she said, pointing a hand-held control at one of the computer-controlled wall maps. Two planets along the Clan Occupation Zone map lit up. "Second Kearny is assigned to Hood IV, Newton Square, Arluna, and two companies on Barcelona."
MacLeod watched the map knowingly. "That leaves us with Stirling's Fusiliers on Ozawa, and they're due to rotate back home in a few weeks." The planet Ozawa lit up on the star map as he spoke. Like Northwind, Ozawa sat in the Draconis March. But it did not take a military specialist to comprehend the significance of the other planets mentioned, each in the Lyran sector of the Federated Commonwealth, each located along the border of the Clan Occupation Zone. Should the Clans decide to break the truce and renew their invasion, the Northwind Highlanders were poised to bear the brunt of such an offensive.
"That's correct, sir."
"Suddenly I feel very lonely here," MacLeod said softly, almost to himself. There were hundreds of light years separating the rest of the Highlanders and MacLeod's Regiment on Northwind. Ozawa was nearby, but the other farflung regiments were at least fifteen jumps away by the best possible scenario.
"Lieutenant Gomez," MacLeod barked, looking away from the map. Despite his injury, he seemed to be in his element, in command of his regiment and his forces.
A tall red-haired Highlander stepped forward
at crisp attention. "Yes, sir!"
"Open the communications line with ComStar and download any transmissions in the queue."
"Yes, sir." Gomez dropped into one of the three center seats and began to hammer furiously at the keyboard.
Loren peered over her shoulder and then back at Mulvaney. "You have a direct line to the ComStar HPG?"
Mulvaney sat down next to Gomez and began typing as well. "Direct line is a misnomer. We have the capability to batch our transmissions and dump them on a direct line with the ComStar HPG station in the city. We pay a dear price to the Federated Commonwealth for batch updates to our comm center here, but it gives us the next best thing to a direct on-line hookup with the regiments."
"Impressive," Loren said. The hyperpulse generator network was the backbone of all interstellar communications; and having a direct tap to an HPG was rare for a military unit.
"Paint me a picture, Gomez," Mulvaney said as she surveyed her own terminal.
"I have order confirmations from all units in the Lyran Command," the Lieutenant replied. After several slower deliberate keystrokes, Gomez smiled in satisfaction. "We're linked and loading, sir."
MacLeod crowded over Mulvaney's shoulder while carefully pulling a small black case containing wireframe reading glasses from his pocket. Placing them on the end of his nose he squinted down at the monitor.
The electronic maps cast an eerie glow over the War Room's occupants. Some of them were clearly marked "Northwind," while others showed different planets. The icons on the screen were semi-familiar, the markings of military units. The small oval icons of the Highlanders were easily recognizable by the sword against a bright red and blue tartan plaid. The bright colors of the various terrains made the maps look more like some kind of abstract painting than intelligence tools. Loren was all the more impressed. From this one place Colonel MacLeod had his finger on the pulse of four regiments of the Highlanders.
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