“What you were doing—it may have seemed like a game, but it wasn’t. This is what it was about. You made me forget that for a while, but I remember now.”

“Is that what this is? You’re punishing me for your moment of weakness?”

“You know too much to be let go. I never should have let you go last time, but I honestly thought you might get out. Instead, you undoubtedly went back to your controllers and told them how weak Erik Sandoval-Groell was. This attack might not even be happening if I’d done what I should have done with you in the first place.”

“Which would be?”

“You’re a spy, Elsa. An agent of the enemy. What do you think?” He turned and walked away.

The ’Mech bays were underground, along the ’Mech-sized tunnels that ringed the base. Erik trotted his Hatchetman out of one of those tunnels and up the ramp to the surface. The brightest stars still shone in the purple predawn sky, but at this time of year in St. Andre’s arctic, the sun only went down for a few hours each night, and even then, not far below the horizon. Erik could see a glow near the horizon that promised the sun would be back soon.

He switched his viewscreen toNIGHT VISION , and watched the line of armor and artillery along the cliff edge, ready to bring their ranged weaponry to bear against any ship that tried to land. There were sporadic reports of hover scouting vehicles up and down the coast, but they always withdrew as soon as they were fired upon.

Down below the cliffs, there were clusters of armored units guarding each of the tunnel entrances, and squadrons of armored troops inside each tunnel. Armor and ’Mechs were clustered around each upper entrance as well, since any ’Mechs that made it over the cliff would likely make those a target. Beyond that, he had scattered armor, artillery, and infantry units—dug into the abandoned streets of Port Archangel, or hidden close to the cliffs.

He’d kept most of his ’Mechs up above, some out of necessity, since they lacked the necessary jump jets to transverse the cliffs. But in general, he thought they would be more effective on the flats, where they had room to maneuver.

“Commander.” It was Sortek. “We’ve got one of the locals, who says she knows the ins and outs of shipping here.”

“Put her on.”

There was a delay as someone probably scrambled to find the woman a headset. “Commander Sandoval, this is Mary Neskowin.”

“Mary, thank you for aiding us.”

“It’s my planet, too, Commander. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t quite know yet. It would help to know something about your background.”

“Well, I served on a tanker for six years, and I work for the Harbor Authority on dredging and channel maintenance. I’ve seen every kind of ship that operates in these waters.”

“Very good, Mary. If you can stand by there, I’ll consult with you if I need you.”

He trotted the Hatchetman along in front of the line of armor, making sure that every pilot and tank commander got a good look at him.

“Sir.” It was Clayhatchee this time. “We’ve got ships on radar, big and slow-moving. Could be hauling ’Mechs.”

“Mary, are you there?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“If you can give me any kind of information on those ships, it might be useful.”

“I can’t tell you much without visual. Based on the speed and size of returns, they’re probably tankers or cargo-haulers of some kind, but I can’t be more specific.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“Commander.” It was Clayhatchee again. “We’ve also got some ghosts about thirty klicks offshore. We can’t seem to get past their electronic countermeasures—they could be attack helicopters.”

Erik muttered a curse. Intelligence had reported increased use of attack helicopters and VTOLs by the Cappies. The cliffs would offer no defense against them, and the air-defense towers were designed primarily for aerospace fighters and larger spacecraft attacking from above. They’d be of little use against the nimble and low-flying helicopters. On the other hand, helicopters were vulnerable to ground fire, if anyone was lucky enough to get a hit.

Most of the defenders had shut down their engines to conserve fuel. The time for that was ending. Now there were exhaust plumes coming from many of the vehicles.

The light was red, and the sun was beginning to show itself. It would climb slowly, and not very far, casting long shadows over the battlefield. The fighting would all be over before it dropped from sight again.

Erik moved closer to the cliffs. He zoomed his viewscreen in on the big boats on the horizon. They were curious-looking things, boxy, slab-sided, with low, peaked roofs broken by huge hatches. They looked more like floating buildings. Each was big enough to hold half a dozen ’Mechs, but there was no way of knowing what, if anything, they contained. They were lingering just outside missile range, and appeared to have dropped anchor.

Then something else moving on the horizon caught his eye. He panned the camera, and saw dozens of bumps on the horizon. Hovervehicles, tanks, missile carriers, scout cars, APCs—almost anything that could hover. Following them were bigger vehicles—hoverferries that probably had been pressed into service to haul troops and armor that moved on tracks or wheels. The attack was finally here. But where were the ’Mechs? They should be landing ahead of the main force.

He looked back at the big boats.

“Commander.” It was Sortek. “It may not do us any good now but Mary Neskowin says she knows what those ships are.”

“They’re what we call ‘bulkers,’ Commander. They haul heavy bulk cargo: rock fill, demolition rubble. We use them to haul away material that we dredge out of the channels so we can dump it at sea.”

“Dump it? How?”

“There are chutes in the bottoms of the hulls.”

Erik suddenly felt his stomach knot. “How deep is the water out there?”

“The bottom is flat out to about twenty miles, and there it’s no more than fifty meters deep.”

Erik switched quickly to the command channel. “This is Commander Sandoval. All units, we’ve got massed ’Mechs in the water! They’re coming up the beach!”

Just then something like a giant metal frog broke the surface a hundred meters off shore, two metal boxes on its shoulders belching fire. It was the upper torso of a Catapult, missile launchers blazing.

It was quickly joined by another, and another, then a Mad Cat III, laying down a rain of fire on the shore defenses.

The fire was quickly answered from above. Missiles exploded around the ’Mechs, as Long Toms, Snipers, and Thumper artillery units found their range. Direct fire came from units on the beach, and hoverunits that raced out into the surf to attack the ’Mechs from behind.

For a moment, and only a moment, the advance seemed to stall.

Then, another pair of ’Mechs appeared, breaking the surface even farther offshore than the first wave. They were tall, red-and-black giants, stubby fins on their backs like a hornet’s wings.

Tian-zongs. Heavily armored, overwhelming in firepower. In many situations, they were limited by their poor speed.

Not here.

They opposed a force that had nowhere to run. They moved in until they were chest-deep in the water, then set up an overlapping sweep of the beach, firing their lasers almost continuously, hammering larger targets with their Gauss rifles.

Erik watched helplessly as their forces were shredded, the Catapults and Mad Cats using the Tian-zongs’ cover to advance toward the cliffs. His fists clenched inside the Hatchetman’s cockpit. He ached to be down there with them. But he knew that, soon enough, the battle was coming to them.

The artillery and missiles screaming down from the cliffs were finally getting results. One of the Catapults waded back into the water, armor in tatters, plasma leaking from its damaged reactor.