"My grandfather founded Verthandi's largest AgroMech company, and he started it here in the Fox Island caves, where shelter was free and various metals easy to obtain and smelt. Most of the forges, casting equipment, and the big ‘Mech rigs and cradles are still there, too big to move and too useful to junk. The main manufacturing center is in Regis now, but there is a sizable ‘Mech facility still in operation on, or rather under, the island. Of course, we've seen to it that records of its existence 'vanished' in a tragic fire, just about the time the Combine moved in. This is the primary facility for all of the rebellion's ‘Mechs and heavy machinery now. There are facilities there that your people can use as a barracks, and I assure you that your ‘Mechs will be well hidden."

"Sounds ideal," Grayson said, fascinated by the description.

"I doubt that we could have kept our operation secret as long as we have without the Caves. The concentration of metal ores in the surrounding rocks help screen us from enemy spy satellites and instrument probes."

"Well, that being the case, there's only one thing more I need.”

“And that is?"

"About twenty hours of sleep. I've been on my feet...or on my ‘Mech's feet, ever since I got to Verthandi, and that was about this time yesterday. I can't even remember how long it's been since we pushed past the Kurita blockade that I've had more than a catnap. If you'll have someone show us to those quarters, Citizens, I think my people and I are due for some down-time."

13

 

The Verthandi BattleMech training program began early the next morning.

Ericksson had not exaggerated the size and complexity of the Fox Island caverns. Their opening was a cathedral-sized gap in the face of a sheer, gray cliff. Grayson could see that the area at the bottom of the cliff had once been paved. Patches of ferrocrete still showed beneath a riot of moss, ferns, and exuberant jungle growth, and empty, overgrown stone buildings still squatted under mats of the omnipresent tropical vegetation. The cave opening itself was festooned with blue-green vines and hanging streamers. What's more, the entrance was so tall and narrow that even a low-angle satellite photo taken on a cloudless day would show the opening as no more than a shadowed fold in the face of the limestone bluff.

Once he was inside, the impression of a remote and untouched jungle cave was instantly dispelled The ceiling rose from the smooth, sandy floor of the cave in a vault fifty meters high. Fluoros were strung across the empty space, casting harsh pools of light everywhere, and the far wall opened into numerous corridors that led to the bowels of the island. Everywhere were grim-faced men and women in combat fatigues repairing equipment, going through the motions of weapons firing and reloading drills, cleaning weapons, hauling crates and boxes of supplies, or walking sentry.

Stored about the outer cavern's walls was a treasure trove of tools and electronic equipment. The bulky apparatus for calibrating ‘Mech actuators and feedback sensors was there, as was a Descartes Mk XXI computer, ideal for programming ‘Mech on-board systems. When Grayson recognized the squat, gray shapes of a pair of ‘Mech simulators against one wall, he felt a pang of nostalgia. It had been in such semiportable, computer-moderated ‘Mech simulators that he had received his own BattleMech training.

Nearby, a rebel Stingeroccupied a ‘Mech repair cradle. Straddling it was a cross-braced mobile power crane that held a two-ton chunk of composite armor plate suspended above the ‘Mech's exposed torso circuitry with effortless ease. Rebel Techs and astechs climbed the crude scaffolding and webwork that surrounded the ‘Mech. The arc-glare of a welding torch danced at the Stinger's head, showering white sparks. Tomlinson, Grayson's Tech, and Karelian, the Legion's senior Tech, had both already assured him that they would be able to repair the damage to his Shadow Hawk'sautocannon as well as the antennae on the Rifleman.Indeed, here was everything needed to service, repair, and maintain the unit's ‘Mechs.

Much of the equipment was of commercial manufacture. Grayson was not surprised to learn that the biggest industry on Verthandi was Ericksson-Agro, a respected manufacturer of AgroMechs for use on farms and plantations. The treasure cache under the Ericksson landhold had been where Olaf Ericksson, Ericksson's great-grandfather, had launched himself on the path to financial success at the head of the local AgroMech manufacturing empire. He could also see the ores Ericksson had described. Rock formations in walls and the distant ceiling threw back a metallic glint. It was easy to see how a cave system such as this could have fueled the creation of Ericksson-Agro.

There were AgroMechs within the caves, too, fourteen of them. Most were outfitted with jury-rigged machine guns and autocannons that would be next to useless against BattleMechs, but effective enough against troops and light vehicles. Eight of them were vast, four-legged machines that Ericksson called LoggerMechs, 60-ton, boxcar-shaped monsters designed to cut and drag timber in Verthandi's jungle logging camps.

And there were BattleMechs as well, two full lances of them. Besides the Stingerin the repair brace, there was a 55-ton Dervish,a pair of Phoenix Hawks,a battle-worn, 70-ton Warhammer,two Wasps,and a Locust.They bore various numbers, emblems, and camouflage paint schemes. Ericksson had explained that a few were Kurita machines, brought in by former Loyalist MechWarriors who had had enough of their Kurita masters. The rest, including the Warhammer,had belonged to the handful of men and women of the planet's Defense Militia in the days before the Kurita forces came. General Thorvald himself had been a Mech Warrior as well as a popular member of the Council of Academicians. The Warhammerwas Thorvald's own personal ‘Mech, an heirloom of Scandanavian warrior ancestors from the days of the Star League.

With six of the seven Gray Death BattleMechs now present, the great, silent metal machines dominated the cavern.

"Yes, we've been able to assemble and hide everything we need for quite a nice little army here," Ericksson said as he led Grayson into the cave. "The computers and electronics are left over from great-granddad's day, when he started building and repairing AgroMechs for the plantations around here. And there's room enough to hide these ‘Mechs and the whole rebel army." He stopped and fixed Grayson with a penetrating, appraising look. "We've done well for ourselves without outside help," he said. "But we can't fight BattleMechs on our own. With the right training, we can take on Nagumo's whole army, and win! That's why we need you and your people."

The training itself was far more involved than Ericksson's statement made it sound. It was after that conversation in the caverns that Grayson met the Free Verthandi Rangers, the people his unit was supposed to train. Like most rebel armies, this one was a mixed lot There were a few grizzled veterans from the rebel field army who had volunteered to learn how to fight ‘Mechs. Most, however, were fresh-faced and idealistic young men and women, some no more than twelve or thirteen standard years of age. Harriman Olssen, son of the rebel Council's Olssen, was all of fifteen.

Grayson had been the son of the commander of an independent BattleMech mercenary company, and his earliest memories were of BattleMechs and the special men and women who piloted them. He had been only ten when he'd been formally inducted into Carlyle's Commandos from the household of family members, technicians, and specialists who formed the body behind the regiment's fighting head. For ten years after that he had studied, worked, fought, and sweated under the tutelage of Weapons Master Kai Griffith and others, honing mind, body, and reactions into the blend of skills a Mech Warrior needed. He had trained his body hard, sharpened his mind. Mental disciplines akin to those of the ancient martial arts had taught him to become one with his weapons, whether they were bare hands, laser, or BattleMech, allowing him to bring mind and body into subtle union. He had still been a Mech Warrior Apprentice when disaster fell. On Trellwan, his father had been killed, the Commandos scattered, and Grayson himself had been stranded on an enemy-garrisoned world because everyone thought he was dead.