A blind cub should have spotted the danger here and sent a foot patrol to scout ahead. But the Black and Reds were truly blinded by their confidence that it was their destiny to kill, not to be killed. They drove into the trap with only a slight delay, as they argued who would take point and who would absorb any mines on the road ahead. Now the trucks full of infantry filed by. Coming soon would be the ’Mechs. A huge Atlas led them, or at least stumbled in the first position. That one would be almost comical if he didn’t have at his fingertips the power to smash every machine that stood behind the Lone Cat.

But it was the Spider following the Atlas that caused fear. The pilot of that one knew what he was doing. While those ahead and behind him moved with a tipsy jerkiness, that one walked smoothly, even through the inevitable potholes. Ben turned to Sean and Maud, who were beside him. “That Spider is the one we must kill.”

“Looks a whole lot easier than the Black Hawk we took down,” Maud said.

“Th-three ’Mech MODs against one real B-BattleMech driven by a trained MechWarrior will be j-just about even odds,” Sean told her. Usually, the boy agreed with whatever the girl said. Now Sean looked past her to the enemy. “It can j-jump. It has two lasers and a cooling system that lets it jump, f-fire, and run when others might be overheated and locked up. With an average warrior, it would take the th-three of us to bring it to ground. If th-that man is good, it will be b-bad for us, Maud.”

“Aw, it’ll be fun dancing with someone who knows how,” the girl shot back. “Those guys out Harlingen way were pussycats.”

“Close up,” Benjork ordered. He tightened his harness and made sure all his cooling lines were free. The lightweight neurohelmet had shifted, so he repositioned it. He set his Gatling gun spinning slowly and punched his mike.

“Lieutenant Hicks, flares on my count. Three, two, one, fire. ’Mechs advance,” he ordered.

Rather than charge out the garage door, the strike team had rigged the thin metal walls with charges. They blew out, dropping metal sheets on the ground. The ’Mechs stepped over the pole frame and in two seconds, twelve ’Mech MODs stood ready for battle, facing other ’Mechs that were still concentrating on following their leader.

Then the daisy chain explosions went off.

Dynamite charges set under the road blew up in a running explosion that quickly flew from the front of the line to the rear. The leading Atlas was just past the first explosion. Benjork doubted the charges were strong enough to knock that huge thing down, anyway. It swayed, but remained on its legs.

The Spider driver showed his worth. Knocked sideways, he hit his jump jets and shot into the air. Working his wings, he stabilized himself in midflight and even got off a slashing shot. Benjork gave the Spider a burst of thirty-millimeter tungsten slugs as it set down in the stream. Even with surprise, water, rocks and incoming fire, the Spider made a good landing.

Farther down the line, the explosive charges did their best to convert Black and Red ’Mechs into pretzels. Those that survived the initial experience came under fire from the gray ’Mechs from Falkirk. The Black and Reds that could, fired as they backpedaled into the river. Nearly half could do nothing more than pop their canopies and throw up their hands.

Trucks with their loads of potential hangmen came under fire from rocket grenades and machine guns. A good chunk of the men stood up in the trucks, hands in the air. Others grabbed at the mounted machine guns or tumbled over the truck sides, pulling back the arming levers on their automatic rifles. They died quickly. In the ditches on either side, men and women fired from the concealment of their fighting pits, taking down those who wanted to fight, usually missing those who did not.

The Spider clearly fell into the fighting category. He raced upstream, back the way he’d come, his laser raking the back of the fighting holes, killing men and women as they killed those around the trucks.

“Get him!” the Lone Cat shouted, sending bursts after the Spider and leading Sean and Maud in chase. Behind them, militia infantry began peeling drivers out of damaged Black and Red ’Mechs. Four men in Gnome battle armor began an assault on the still befuddled Atlas.

In a shower of white water, the Spider jumped for the top of the stream bank. He landed well, twisted around, and fired twin lasers. He missed Benjork, but there was a short scream on the radio before it cut off.

Ignoring everything but the fleeing Spider, the MechWarrior put his engine in the red, raced for the wall, chose a fallen stone for his launch pad, and threw himself at the top of the riverbank. Here it wasn’t quite ten meters high, and he landed just below the lip. Firing two rockets to keep the Spider busy, Ben used his repaired rock cutter to slowly pull himself up the rest of the way. Not pausing to regain his balance, he threw himself after the Spider, converting the near fall into speed.

Behind him, Sean’s voice was intense. “I’m coming. Quick, s-somebody give me a hand up.”

Benjork left Sean to others. The Spider was just disappearing over a small rise. Following, he upped his periscope for a quick check before crossing that rise.

The Spider was trotting backward, both arms up, lasers aimed back at the exact spot where he had crossed the hill.

Benjork sent his ’Mech ten long paces past that point, then pedaled it into a turn. Using his periscope—this time for targeting—he lobbed his last two missiles over the hill. The Spider staggered sideways, firing his lasers at nothing. Benjork trotted his ’Mech across the rise, sending stream after stream of heavy tungsten slugs at him. The Spider’s right winglet took hits—possibly the right rocket outlet as well.

“No more flying, rocket boy,” Benjork growled.

The Spider backpedaled, bringing his lasers around to aim at his tormentor. Then a burst of thirty-millimeter fire from the right grabbed the Spider’s attention as it shattered his left laser.

“G-got you that time!” came from Sean on radio. “How do you like that, you bloody hangman?” He loosed two missiles that sent the Spider hopping sideways to escape them. The Spider regained its balance and fired its remaining laser at Sean.

That left Benjork free to carefully aim his Gatling gun at the Spider’s side. Rounds slammed into the BattleMech, spalling off its armor. The Spider tried to sidestep out of the line of fire, but Ben followed him, holding him, pinning the Spider and hammering it with shot.

So the Spider hit his jump jets.

Maybe he didn’t know how damaged his wing and rocket outlet were. Maybe he forgot. It didn’t matter. The Spider shot up, arcing to the left as soon as it left the ground. The pilot tried to correct, but the damaged wing drove the Spider to the left as misdirected plasma from a split rocket motor burned through the bottom of the ’Mech.

The flight ended in a pair of wild uncontrolled loops. Then the Spider buried itself in a surprisingly small hole only a hundred meters from where it had taken off.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Sean. Never trust one of those jumpers,” Benjork told the young MechWarrior and anyone listening on the radio as he turned to the young man’s gray ’Mech.

The ’Mech stood deathly still, a red-hot hole in its chest sending up wisps of smoke.

“Sean!” Benjork shouted, and put his engine in the red as he raced for the ’Mech standing frozen in place, as if even a soft breeze might be more than it could handle.

He slammed to a halt in front of the ’Mech. Now he could see that a laser had cut through it, straight as a diamond drill. He peered into the armorglass hood as it slowly fogged over with sweat and blood. Sean’s lips moved. Over the radio Benjork heard a weak, “W-we got him.” Then the gray ’Mech that had meant so much to the young man whose regiment would not entrust one to him, toppled over.