“Keep your vest on, Captain. You don't want me to damage the Colonel's property, do you?”

“Just get on with it and save the smartass remarks for when we're out from under Kuritan guns.”

West had no more to say as he fell to work separating the Crusader'shead, which held the pilot cockpit, from its body. It took the Griffin five minutes to wrench the head assembly free from its moorings. Each twist must have tumbled the Kurita ‘MechJock painfully within the cockpit. With the head tucked safely under one arm, the Dragoon 'Mech joined its lancemates for the high-speed trek back to the command post.

Fraser's lance passed the sentries and clomped down into the basin where Wolf's command complex stood. The camouflaged canvas was heaped with snow, both as insulation and for disguise in the stark landscape. To the left of the entrance, Selden's Wasp LAMand Vordel's Victorstood guard. To the right, Cameron's Cyclopstowered over the tents. Beyond it, more 'Mechs could be seen. Among them, Dechan recognized the sinister black form of Natasha Kerensky's Warhammer.He hadn't realized that the Widows had made it to Misery, but he should have known that nothing would keep them from this fracas.

The hatch on Cameron's Cyclopswas open, and the cockpit heaters threw waves of distortion around him as he stood there, bundled heavily against the cold. He waved in acknowledgement to Dechan's radio call.

Dechan requested a security detachment to meet him. Cameron made the arrangements, then passed on the coordinates of a repair park so that the lance could resupply. Before the other 'Mechs turned off the track, Dechan relieved West of his burden.

The Shadow Hawkcontinued forward onto the flat space before the command center. Halting before the assembled security troopers, Dechan lowered the captured head to the ground.

“Here,” he announced over the external speakers. “See if you can crack this open while I get down.”

By the time he had struggled into his cold-weather gear and popped the Hawk'shatch, the security team had convinced the captured pilot to open his own hatch. As Dechan scrambled down the ladder, two troopers were helping the prisoner out of his cockpit. The man was battered and bleeding from several wounds. Despite his shivering, no one offered to get him something warmer than the light uniform he wore.

Dechan led the way into the tent, followed by Major Kormenski and two troopers with the prisoner in tow. The guards had to drag the Kuritan when one leg collapsed under him.

The air temperature was noticeably higher inside the heatlock. After passing through to the greater warmth of the inner tent, Dechan still felt chilled from his short stay outside and was reluctant to remove his coat. He compromised by letting it flop open. In the short walk through the corridor to the main tent, he noticed that he could smell things again; sweaty bodies, old food.

“Colonel, we caught something that might interest you,” he announced on arrival.

The Dragoons around the holotank were expecting him, and no one seemed surprised at his announcement. That professional detachment vanished when Dechan turned to the prisoner, who hung slumped in the grip of the security troopers. He pulled the man's head up by his hair.

“Singh,” hissed Major Blake.

The prisoner shrugged off the hands that held him, but his barely suppressed grunt of pain told what the effort cost him. He coughed and spit out blood and tooth chips before turning his face toward the Colonel.

“Hello, Wolf.”

Fadre Singh squared his shoulders, which made his rank bars of a Kurita Tai-saglint in the light. He took a halting step toward the mercenary leader. The guards moved to restrain him, but Wolf waved them back. Singh continued until he was face to face with Wolf.

“Surprised to see me, O great master of the Wolf Dragoons?”

“In this condition ... yes.”

“When have you ever been concerned over my condition? I spit on your concern, fossil. You are nothing and your command is even less. The Draconians have you where they want you. Your days are numbered.

“I'm glad that I'm free of you. My eyes have been opened to what you and your cronies are doing. It was clear from the way you all treated me after Hoff. My skill and my achievements meant nothing to you. You cast me away, though you had to know I was in the right. You sided with senile and cowardly old Parella. You must be senile yourself, old man.”

“Watch your mouth,” Blake interjected.

“Why should I?” Singh snapped at him.

“I've got no respect for him,” he said, waving his arm to encompass all the people present. “Or for any of you. You've all fallen from whatever you once were. You can't see ability when it's under your collective noses. If I could have gone back, I would have, but you cut me off there as well. You cut me adrift.

“What did you expect me to do? Roll over and beg for favor from your gray-haired tyrant? Plead to be restored to the clan? I've been making my own way.”

Singh's laugh was ragged. He swung his head back to Wolf.

“I owe nothing to you and your puppet Dragoons, Wolf. I don't need any of you. I fooled you all and found somebody who can appreciate my abilities. Warlord Samsonov knew a commander when he saw one. He gave me the command I deserved.” Singh paused and locked eyes with Wolf. A cruel grin split the prisoner's face. “All it cost was the name of your bolthole.”

The sound of indrawn breaths was loud in the shocked silence. Jaime raised his hand to strike Singh, but the man's body spun away before he could connect, driven by the impact of several heavy slugs. Wolf pivoted, looking for the gunman.

Natasha Kerensky stood calmly, no hint of remorse on her face. Smoke rose from the barrel of her Marakov.

“Those who break faith with the unity shall go down into darkness,” she quoted.

52

Opdal Glacial Fields, Misery

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

25 April 3028

 

Minobu stood in the open hatch of his Dragon.The cold wind whipped in eddies between the 'Mech's bulky shoulders, chilling him through the cold-weather gear he wore. He was careful to avoid contact between his exposed skin, already chafed from this brief exposure, and the cold metal of the Binox forty-powers. Through the device, he studied the serried ranks of the Dragoon BattleMechs drawn up across the principal arm of the Opdal Glacier. They stood tall among the naked fangs of dark rock jutting above the ice surface.

Motion caught his eye and he focused on it. Black 'Mechs, stark against the snow, were moving into place on the Dragoon left flank. Through the Binox, he could easily distinguish the red spider insignia, which told him that the Black Widows had arrived to join the Assault 'Mechs of Zeta Battalion. A powerful anchor for the Dragoons line.

The days of preliminary skirmishing were over. Here amid the peaks and glacial surfaces, the armies had come together, reaching an unspoken agreement on the battle site. It was not the site that either general would have chosen, but each found it acceptable. Barring static defense of an important point, Minobu knew that a commander could rarely expect to fight on terrain of his own choosing.

Minobu slid back into his 'Mech and dogged down the hatch. Out of the wind and back in the heat of the Dragon'sinterior, he found his clothes suddenly too warm. He squirmed out of the jacket and clambered into the pilot seat.

“All commands report status. Code twenty-three,” he ordered. Slipping the neurohelmet onto his shoulders and connecting his cooling system, he watched ready lights flash green on the command board his Tech had rigged over the comm board, crowding the cramped cockpit even more. Minobu bore the loss of space easily. Although the jury-rigged system offered nothing like the capabilities of a Tacticon computer, it did increase his ability to communicate with his command. That capacity more than compensated for the personal discomfort. By the time he had finished hooking up, only one light remained unilluminated. Minobu keyed open the channel to the commander of Ryuken-go.