The Wasp came at him again. Daniel turned into it, preempted its assault by hammering the area with missiles from his XX-rack and ATM launcher. When the stealth-equipped machine staggered out of the destructive rain, he shouldered it aside and left it sprawled over the scarred earth. A pair of Jessies smashed it down again on their way by, slamming a curtain of short-range missiles across its back.

Then they were moving south and west, away from the foothills and back into the Suriwong Floods. A Tian-zong fired gauss slugs at him from long range, missed. The Ijori ’Mech struck out at sixty kilometers per hour in pursuit, but could not even keep up with the Dynasty Guard armor sent by Rieves.

It was a race to see who would reach the southern battle first.

If Viktor Ruskoff could hold on for their arrival.

The Ijori charge had smashed into Ruskoff’s line like a sledgehammer, putting forward every effort to bring down the Planetary Legate. Evan smashed the Zeus’s gauss rifle into useless scrap, and put a deep ax wound into the assault ’Mech’s knee as well. The Zeus went down, and a mix of Purifier and Fa Shih attempted to reach the stricken ’Mech.

Then a savage counterthrust by the militia Vindicator and several Brutus assault tanks drove Evan back. He lost his Purifiers to heavy bombardment by a JES II strategic carrier. The Fa Shih barely made it out ahead of a hunter-killer pack of hoverbikes.

The Capellan force hammered forward again, trying to reach the wounded Zeus. But The Republic defenders had stood up under their first assault. They were better prepared for the second. The third. Artillery fire fell haphazardly now as a see-saw offensive spread forces all across the Suriwong Floods, leaving some vehicles stranded, others burning.

There always seemed to be more, though, as reinforcements on both sides of the line streamed in for Ijori’s last stand.

“Ijori-one, be advised: Dynasty Guard has broken The Republic cordon!”

Not even the unflappable Shiao Mai could hide his excitement. With the Guard finally loose in the Suriwong Floods, Capellan forces tying up Ruskoff’s command had a chance. Mai and House Ijori had a chance. It all came down to time.

Hours, perhaps minutes.

A Republic VTOL, swooping in from far afield, strafed over Evan’s small spit of rocky land. Touching off his jump jets, he rose on streams of plasma and swatted the fragile craft out of the air with his battle-ax.

He landed in a ready crouch, knuckles white as he gripped his control sticks with renewed strength. From The Republic backfield, Ruskoff’s Zeus limped forward once again.

“Hold the line,” Evan reminded them all. His voice tightened. “Hold.”

His Ti Ts’ang’s lasers speared one Republic minigun cycle as it tried to jump between two rocky upcroppings, crisping machine and rider and dropping them into the sluggish waters.

A pair of new Jessies slid around a willow copse, chasing a Cavalry Condor out over deeper water. The Condor took heavy missile strikes against its skirting, foundered and sank.

Then dozens of hard-hitting fists pummeled Evan’s Ti Ts’ang across the head and shoulders, driving it to one knee. A Tundra Wolf crashed out of the nearby willow copse, spreading missiles through the air as if newly restocked. The ATM warheads blossomed new fire around Evan’s position, shaking him violently against his harness, but he held into his seat with a determination born from knowing his attacker.

Daniel Peterson had returned.

Suriwong Floods

Sarrin Province, Liao

15 August 3134

Missiles hammered into the side of the Ti Ts’ang’s head, ringing in Evan’s ears like the sounding of a deep gong. Shaking him. The straps of his harness bruising his shoulders, across his chest, digging the buckle into his gut.

The saunalike atmosphere of the cockpit dulled his senses and the world swam in front of him. Sweat stung at the corners of his eyes and burned on his lips.

Gravity pulled, dragging him downward with such steadfast force that it felt as if the sixty tons of BattleMech strained in Evan’s muscles. So easy to let go. Sprawl the Ti Ts’ang full out, then labor back up afterwards.

Instead, Evan Kurst straightened in his seat, willing the ten-meter-tall machine to follow him as it came up off one knee. He took a step forward. Another. He walked the machine out of a haze of gray smoke and fire, wading into ankle-deep water and pulling his crosshairs over the Tundra Wolf’s outline. Ruby fire stabbed out into the other ’Mech, splashing armor into a mist of gray droplets.

“Ijori-one,” Mai broke in over the communications band. “Enemy converging on your position.”

“Let them come,” he croaked. He drove his heat up another degree, firing a full spread of lasers.

Daniel Peterson answered with his own energy weapons, carving deeply. Then Evan’s ’Mech rocked to the side as Ruskoff’s Zeus slammed a PPC into the Ti Ts’ang’s shoulder. And another. Armor flashed into a molten, fiery mist and ran in quick flashfloods of melted composite. It dripped to the ground or resolidified in waxy gray sheets along the Ti Ts’ang’s skirted waist.

Computer estimates painted his damage schematic nearly black from head to foot. He had a few tons of armor clinging to his ’Mech, but not much more than that. He’d lost three heat sinks, and the scorching heat baking his lower legs could only mean a breach in his engine shielding. In short, Evan’s machine was a walking skeleton.

Swallowing dryly, wishing for even the smallest taste of the Floods that surrounded him, Evan coaxed life into his throat. “Not much longer now, Shiao Mai.”

If the House Master agreed, it did not show in his voice. “Cavalry-five, forward and flank,” Mai Wa ordered, wheeling the last of the heavy armor around in a pincer maneuver. “Scout lance, fall back. Infantry, ground and hold.”

The Armored Cavalry drove back Peterson’s Tundra Wolf, hammering into his side with heavy-hitting Gauss slugs. Artillery tore into one Regulator, smashing it beneath the muddied waters, but Mai kept the remaining tanks on Peterson until his retreat formed a new break in The Republic line. But not for long. Into that split limped the Zeus, with a pack of hoverbikes clinging protectively to its shadow.

The Zeus came on steadily, with the kind of determination only an assault ’Mech carried with it.

“Evan,” Mai commanded, “you are under orders. Not to die until I tell you.”

Another PPC slammed into Evan’s left side, drilling deep. Some of the hoverbikes throttled forward, ready to engage. Evan’s lasers crippled one, and sent another running.

He checked his HUD. One Condor. A handful of Fa Shih. A stripped-down Ti Ts’ang. They weren’t going to stop Ruskoff’s Zeus. But he was under orders.

Two hundred meters. Another PPC blast stabbed him low in the torso, carving into his gyroscope housing. The Ti Ts’ang folded over as if gut punched. It wavered on unsteady legs. Evan strained against his controls, contorting his body to give the gyro-struck ’Mech some additional force of balance. While he was doubled over, another PPC stream missed high, and a new brace of warheads from Peterson’s Tundra Wolf slammed into his back, one of the few places he still had good armor.