Erik would have loved to appreciate the lake for its own sake, and perhaps someday he’d return here for just that reason. But today he saw the lake only in strategic terms: a potential heat sink, a place where he could plant his ’Mech and empty his weapons with no fear of overheating.

Out in front of him, a Spider trotted, wings glinting in the sun, jump jets occasionally flaring just long enough for it to bounce over a stream or crevasse. To his right and left, slightly behind him, a pair of Hatchetmen, their mighty namesake in time with their steps, paced his Centurion. In his rear camera, he could see a recently captured Thor bouncing over the caramel-colored rocks, its shoulder-mounted missile canister ready to back them up with ranged fire.

It was exciting to have the rare opportunity to field a brace of ’Mechs, leaving their conventional forces to hold rearward positions. Erik could almost imagine they were in the glory days before The Republic, and the flexibility of the ’Mechs, unencumbered by conventional forces, made it easier to do what had to be done.

Though final victory had been slow in coming, the last stronghold of House Liao on New Aragon had been broken. All that was left were scattered pockets of resistance, isolated forces that had to be eliminated before Erik’s forces could move on. He knew that was the real strategy here: a delaying action. It had worked for a while, but they were almost done.

“Commander! Twelve o’clock high!”

The voice in his headset was Angie Chelsy, commander of the Ghost Legion, pilot of the Hatchetman to his right.

He raised his eyes to find himself looking right down the tubes of a seventy-five-ton Tundra Wolf’s blazing jump jets.

Erik staggered his Centurion to the side so rapidly that he nearly toppled into the lake, the gyros whining as the ’Mech struggled to stay upright. The Tundra Wolf landed with a thunderous report, almost within ’Mecharm’s reach. Erik backpedaled, his brain running as fast as a computer to assess the situation.

The Tundra Wolf was primarily a long-range fighter with terrible heat efficiency—not the sort of ’Mech that wanted to be caught alone. The heat issue explained why the pilot had sought out mountain lakes. But why hadn’t he attacked from a distance?

The answer had to be that he was low on missiles, perhaps even out. That left him with a good suite of lasers, but not enough to deal with a brace of ’Mechs. He had jumped to the high walls surrounding the lake, hoping to take out Erik with his “death from above” attack. Then he could wade into the lake and put his lasers to work on the rest, perhaps scatter them.

It hadn’t worked. What, Erik wondered, was plan B?

He smiled grimly. There was no plan B. It was an act of desperation by an outgunned ’Mech. Though the Tundra Wolf’s original Clan-designed weapons had no minimum range, Erik knew that in many of that model, if not most, those weapons had been replaced for lack of parts. Assuming this was the case, Erik was now inside his enemy’s minimum firing range. It was a calculated risk, but a good one.

Erik spun his ’Mech’s torso, bringing his own light Gauss rifle to bear. Even at this range, it wouldn’t do much against the heavily armored ’Wolf except keep him off balance.

That was the point. The two Hatchetmen moved in from either side, their massive weapons raised high. They crashed into the ’Wolf in a shower of sparks; their deadly blades fell again and again, sending chunks of armor flying in all directions. Erik stepped in close to join the fray. He smashed his ’Mech’s fist into the ’Wolf’s already mangled left arm. It ripped off with a shriek and tumbled into a snow bank, trailing sparks.

Past the ’Wolf, Erik could see the Thor in the distance, lining up for a shot. He shouted, “Clear!”

All three of his ’Mechs stepped back at once, and for a moment the Tundra Wolf stood alone. Then a pair of missiles from the Thor ripped into its back, and pulse lasers from the Spider raked across its front armor and cockpit. There was a flash of escaping plasma before the ’Wolf’s damaged reactor detonated its remaining ammunition.

Erik instinctively turned his cockpit away as pieces of the shattered ’Mech slammed into his right-side armor. He heard Angie’s victory whoop in his headphones as her ’Mech trotted in front of him, hatchet held high, shreds of armor still dangling from the top of its blade. “Look at that baby burn!”

He turned back to see the shattered hulk of the defeated ’Mech, engulfed in flames and glowing plasma.

“One down,” she said, “and none to go.”

Erik nodded to himself. They hadn’t seen any other tracks in hours. “That’s a good day’s work, people. Let’s get back to base.” He pushed his throttle toCRUISE , set a way point for their waiting DropShip, and settled back to enjoy the ride. He surveyed his damage display. The explosion had cost him some armor, and he’d damaged his ’Mech’s left leg slightly avoiding the Tundra Wolf’s attack, but nothing more serious.

Angie’s Hatchetman fell in at his left shoulder. “Well fought, Commander. It took courage to go toe-to-toe with the ’Wolf the way you did. Or to time the Thor’s attack as you did.”

“It was nothing, really.”

“You take risks, Commander. Not that you’re foolhardy—far from it. But you have a warrior’s heart, and you don’t lead from the rear. I appreciate it. The troops who serve under you appreciate it. I wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you, Angie. That means a lot, perhaps coming from you more than one of the Davion Guard.” Erik liked Angie. Her Ghost Legion was full of tenacious fighters whose loyalty to the Duke was far more tenuous than the Davion Guards Erik more often fought alongside.

The Ghost Legionnaires said what was on their minds, Angie most of all. Erik found it refreshing. “Angie, go to a private channel.” He switched channels and activated a scrambler to keep their conversation private.

“What’s up, Commander?”

“This is warrior to warrior. Call me Erik.”

“Erik, then. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment while he thought, then let it out slowly through his nose. “What do you think of my uncle?”

“The Duke? That’s a very loaded question, you know. You could get a girl in a lot of trouble.”

“This is just between us. Soldier to soldier—what do you think?”

She chuckled. “I’m not sure how well I know him. My direct contact with the Duke has been brief and rather—intense.”

Something about the way she said that made Erik wonder if he’d put his trust in the wrong person, but she quickly allayed that fear.

“In some ways, I don’t think I know him at all, and yet, I probably know him much better than you realized.” She chuckled again. “You don’t have to worry, Commander; I said this was between us, and no matter what might happen in the future, it will remain that way.

“Actually, when you ask what I think of the Duke, I have to ask which Duke. He’s like a fine diamond, different from every angle, in every light. It’s a quality he shares with other members of the Sandoval family.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hope this isn’t too impertinent, Commander, but you aren’t at your best around him, and he seems to be at his worst around you. You’re a warrior, a leader, a man of many talents, yet the Duke fails to treat you with the respect that you deserve. The troops speak of it in whispers.

“Don’t get me wrong. They’re loyal to the Duke, of course. He’s a dynamic leader, and he treats us well. But those who have served with you are loyal to you, too. When they see the Duke dressing you down like a buck private, it distresses them. It’s as though he’s belittling them personally.”