Clay tossed the second piece of wood into the fire with a sharp, backhanded flip of the wrist. His expression showed disapproval.

"We canwin," Grayson insisted. "They have the regiments, but they're scattered all over the planet. A planet, anyplanet, is one hell of a big place." He spread his hands."The argument hasn't changed since we signed the contract. Not really. With our ‘Mechs, and the people we have with us, we could turn things around for the rebels' campaign."

"How?"

"By hitting the Dracos where they're weak, when they’re weak. By fighting a strictly guerrilla war. By refusing to fight on their terms. Keeping good relations with the civilians and the rebels, and using them as our source of food and non-military supplies." Grayson's answer had come out like rapid-fire.

"And what will we fight this war with?" said Clay. "We need military supplies, too."

"Wha', laddie," McCall said. "If tha' Dracos hae got the ammo an' weapons to fight with, then we just go an' takit wha' we need frae' the source!"

Clay snorted, but Grayson nodded. "Exactly right. Our rebel friends will be able to pinpoint enemy supply dumps and depots for us, or put us in touch with Verthandian civilians who can. After that, it's just a matter of picking our time and method of approach very, very carefully."

Jaleg Yorulis stirred uneasily on his mossy log perch. "There is another choice," he said. "We could go over to Kurita."

The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Yorulis looked at the others, defiance quirking at the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Well? Why not? What chance do we have fightingthem?"

"Plenty of chance," Lori replied slowly. She, too, seemed to be winning her inner struggle against despair. "They're big, clumsy, and slow," she said. "We're not. We'll have the help of the Verthandians. They won't."

"They'll catch us and..."

"Jaleg," Grayson interrupted. "Do you want out of your contract with the Legion?”

“Huh? No! I just..."

Grayson probed the fire again with his stick. Sparks showered and swirled. "This unit will notwork for the Draconis Combine. Not while I'm in command." He raised his eyes from the fire until they met Yorulis', challenging the younger pilot. "Do you want to contest my command of this unit?"

"Of course not, Captain! But, I mean, it’s ridiculous to think that we can take them, one on one! It seems to me that our contract with the Verthandi rebels is ended now. They have nothing left to fight with."

"They have us," Grayson said. "That's why they hired us. That's why we're here. To train them and to organize their army into an effective force. You, sir, may help us, or you may buy out of your contract."

"You know my bond's on Galatea."

"So is mine. We'll trust you for it. But I'm telling you, if you buy out, you'll have to stay here. We won't have passage out until we control a port facility and Captain Tor can get a ship through the blockade to us. That's going to take some doing. Unless we can figure a way to get you out on a Kurita freighter. Even then, the chance of you getting picked up by their security is plenty high. The choice is yours. Pilot. Fight with us, or stay here out of the way until we can figure out what to do with you."

Yorulis muttered something.

"Eh? Speak up."

"I said I didn't sign a suicide pact! This whole thing is crazy!"

Grayson sighed. He switched on his wrist computer, then flicked a tab that flashed the word RECORDon and off in green letters on the small screen. He extended his wrist toward Yorulis. "MechWarrior Jaleg Yorulis, do you hereby renounce the legal contract between yourself and the mercenary company known as the Gray Death Legion?"

"Huh? I didn't..."

Grayson switched the recorder off. "Son, I can't have you a part of this unit if you are not wholeheartedly committed to it...'to us! If we get into a scrap and you’re standing on our flank, we haveto know we can count on you! The people who hired us have to know that we're not going to switch over to the other side first chance we get. Thatmeans we had damn well better do everything legal, in the open, and strictly by the book, or they'll have our hides and ComStar will take what's left.

"So, if you want out, just say so! No penalty or bond forfeiture, and no hard feelings. If things go against us, you lie low for a month or two, then work your way on a Kurita freighter to someplace where you can get passage to Galatea. Or you sign on with a merc company working for the Combine. We won't be in a position to stop you...then. So? What'll it be? Are you in or out?"

"What about my ‘Mech?"

Grayson's gray eyes were cold as ice. "It's not your ‘Mechuntil you've earned it. You can take with you what you brought into this agreement, your personal gear and the bond on Galatea. The Stingerbelongs' to the unit."

Yorulis stared into the fire. "I'll stick it," he said.

But can we depend on you?Grayson wondered. It may be best—for you and for the rest of us—if you remain behind for the next few missions. We can't chance having you break during combat.

He shifted his eyes to the others of the group. "How about the rest of you? If you have any doubts, if you want out, now's the time to say it. Davis?" Davis McCall grinned and gave a thumbs up gesture. Grayson turned to catch Clay's eye. "How about it, Delmar?"

Clay nodded too, and added, "It may be suicide, but I don't see any option."

Grayson looked at Piter Debrowski. Debrowski and Yorulis were the biggest unknowns in the situation. Their only combat experience so far had been at Hunter's Cape and in the fracas outside Regis. They'd handled themselves well so far, but...

"Piter?"

"I'm with you, Captain. We can't go back now.”

“You're right about that," he said, looking into the dark beyond their little fire. "God help us, we can't."

20

 

Tollen Brasednewic shifted the 5mm laser rifle nervously in his arms. He was crouched at Grayson's side in the dense underbrush of the slope above the road across the Basin Rim. "They're coming,"he said, eyes fixed on the lower ground.

"I hear them," Grayson said, cradling a TK assault rifle salvaged from the Phobosafter the landing. He checked the 100-round magazine cassette fitted into the weapon's stock, but did not look in the direction of the sound that was beginning to penetrate the rustle of wind and the shrieks of aviforms in the jungle canopy. "You'd better give the signal."

The merging of rebels with mercenaries into a single combat unit was a touchy business. Technically, Brasednewic held the militia rank of Colonel, outranking Grayson's rank of Captain. In actuality, the two shared command, but Grayson was well aware that the red-bearded rebel resented having to take some orders from an offworlder. After all, the rebels had been fighting their Kurita occupier for ten years. What could offworld mercenaries teach them about war?

Brasednewic pulled out a palm-sized transceiver, flicked it on, and pressed a sender switch three times in quick succession. Kurita commo operators might hear the brief burst of carrier-wave static or the three rapid clicks, but it would carry no information for them, might not even be noticed. To the rebel and mercenary troops hiding in the jungle, the signal carried message aplenty. They’re coming. Be ready!