The big man had answered Minobu's questions freely, breaking the veil of secrecy that seemed to surround Wolf's Dragoons. He was, however, uncommunicative about anything prior to the Dragoon service with House Davion.
Shostokovitch made sure that Minobu saw all the facilities the Dragoons had in service onplanet. The only place off limits seemed to be the upper decks of Wolf's command DropShip, the Chieftain,but Minobu did not find that unusual. Wolf was the lord of these men—and women, he reminded himself—and it was only proper for him to have private quarters. With a nudge and a wink, Shostokovitch had assured Minobu that Wolf kept a bevy of beautiful girls hidden there to while away the hours between battles. It was a joke, of course, something the big Colonel seemed to have in inexhaustible supply. Sometime during the second day, Minobu had capitulated to his companion's boisterous and good-humored insistence on being called by his nickname.
“Shos, will Colonel Wolf recall the commanders to meet Lord Kurita's DropShip?”
“Don't think so. It's starting to turn into real business out there, and Jaime won't let a little pomp get in the way of that.”
The three-day delay in Lord Kurita's arrival had forced Wolf to allow his Regimental Commanders to disperse to their combat assignments. Now, it seemed, the pressure of combat command would keep them from reassembling to meet the Coordinator. Colonel Dumont had gone off to the northwest to supervise the harassment of Port Gailfry, while Colonel Korsht had joined Major Yukinov and the bulk of the Dragoon forces in the field. Shos and Flight Colonel Carmody remained at the port. Carmody, though he complained loudly about it each day, seemed content to control orbital operations from the ground. Shostokovitch, with no combat assignment, chaperoned Minobu and, in his own words, “hung around to intimidate the hostiles.” Every time he said it, his booming laugh echoed across the landing field, but Minobu was not sure he understood the joke.
Wolf was still present. As the days passed and Lord Kurita's arrival continued to be delayed, he seemed to grow restless, stalking about the center, speaking rarely except to give an order or ask for information. Rather then being angry, as frustrated commanders so often were, he seemed distracted, removed. Each time a new report came in from the field, Wolf entered it into the holomap himself and projected endless variations of possible follow-up moves. He was trailed everywhere by his communications specialist, Captain William Cameron, who whispered in the Colonel's ear like a guardian spirit.
Minobu studied Cameron. The young Dragoon was at least thirty years younger than Wolf and overtopped the Colonel by a head. His slender frame was presided over by a plain, freckled face, which gave him a decidedly unprepossessing appearance. This, combined with his quiet manner, led to the man's being overlooked and ignored in the crowd of flashy officers surrounding Wolf. Unobtrusive he might be, but unimportant, no. Cameron's common appearance hid an uncommon talent.
William Cameron was Wolf's filter. Data relayed from the field and the main battle computer through the Tacticon B-2000 system aboard the Captain's CP10-Z CyclopsBattleMech were fed to the unit he carried on his shoulder. Thus, Cameron was able to monitor all Dragoon communications simultaneously, making sense of what would have been senseless babble to most other people. He was able to select and isolate important data, updating his commander's situation map and informing him of any vital communiques. Most important, his judgment of the value of information was reliable. Cameron's talent, allied with Dragoon technology, was a powerful combination that freed Wolf to exercise his considerable command powers—a freedom most leaders would have paid dearly to possess.
At an order from Wolf, Cameron started around the map table toward Carmody. He hadn't covered half the distance before he stopped suddenly and stood listening intently for a moment. When he spoke, Cameron's voice was low, with an uncharacteristic tinge of emotion. Eagerness perhaps? “A delta call, Colonel.”
“Feed it here,” the Colonel said.
Wolf's fingers flashed across his com pad. Unit readiness data twinkled into being above the holomap. Harsh red spots appeared about a third of the way from Batan to Fasolht. Lurid crimson light surrounded those spots, suffusing the terrain feature that stretched across every projected line of march Minobu had seen in the planning discussions. As Wolf became engrossed with the images developing on the display, Cameron returned to his side.
Unwilling to interrupt Wolf, Minobu turned to his companion. “Colonel Wolf seems disturbed, Shos. What is a delta call?”
“Means trouble,” the big man said, the bantering tone completely gone from his voice. “Somebody has got himself into a situation.”
“What kind of situation?”
“Ambush. Battle. Something big.” Shostokovitch pointed at the image. “See. It's in Kelly's area, near a place the locals know as Fire Rift. Kelly's run into something, and as commander on the spot, he's determined that what's come up could affect the plan. So he's checking with the boss. Watch the map.”
It was flickering again. The red-tinted portion of the map grew until it almost filled the image volume. Where unit representations had indicated battalions, the symbols for companies and lances appeared. Several of the strength rosters for the Dragoon units in the area registered casualties. A yellow flare, indicating ongoing conflict, limned several ridge lines. Behind those highlights, the ghostly red sparkling that marked suspected troop concentrations was prominent in the area Shostokovitch had indicated as Fire Rift. Somehow enemy troops had developed a position across the Dragoons' intended path.
“Jason, get me a terrain map ...” Wolf's eyes flicked over to Minobu, then quickly away. Minobu gave no sign that he had seen. “Map data to augment the projection. I want good detail so we can all see the position. Then dump it, with any refinements, into Williams's Tacticon.”
Minobu noticed a slight emphasis on the word all,an indication that the composition of the group around the table mattered to his order. Wolf had almost slipped and revealed something that he had been keeping secret, a hidden source of data that could supply refinements.There was no clue about what kind. Perhaps the ISF would know; they would certainly be interested.
From the moment Cameron had announced the delta call, activity around the map table had increased. More officers had shown up, their tousled hair, bleary eyes, and rumpled uniforms showing that some had been roused from sleep. Apparently, no one had seen fit to call in Hawken and Terasu from where they were readying their companies for Lord Kurita's arrival. Wolf looked up, rapidly taking in the officers gathered around the map table. “Kelly's got a hot-spot. Several 'Mechs are down in an area called Fire Rift, some kind of geological anomaly.”
Major Stanford Blake, Wolf's intelligence chief and the first off-duty officer to arrive, took up the situation briefing.
“The hostiles have been identified as belonging to an outfit called The Snake Stompers. William, bring up the merc file on them. These guys are long-term borderers with a big hate on for Kurita.” A new data window opened in the holo image. “As you can see, preliminary recon and intelligence reports give a 90 percent probability that they have a battalion on Quentin III and another two here on Four. Prime base on planet is at Carson, with two companies detached to stiffen the garrison at Fasolht. The early reports indicate that it's only those two companies causing the ruckus. But that's enough to give us trouble.”
“These are tough customers,” Wolf summarized. “They're vets and they know the planet.”