A kilometer away, the Dragoons halted their feigned retreat. Weapons blazing, they turned on the Draconians. Their furious charge struck with ruinous effect.

Minobu saw now that Wolf had had his own reasons to delay the battle. While the duels were taking place, his engineers had been tunneling under the glacier's surface, preparing the pits and carefully placing the explosive triggers. In one clever maneuver, the Dragoons had cancelled out most of the Ryuken's numerical advantage.

Knots of Kurita 'Mechs were scattered across the glacier, and the Dragoons set out in pursuit over stretches of intact ice. The battle spread across the Opdal Glacial Fields. Instead of a head-on, multi-regimental battle, the fighting dissolved into a series of unconnected struggles by units of company or battalion size. Swept forward with the advance, Minobu's Dragonwas being dragged along by the ebb and flow of the Ryuken- ni’sretreat down Hamar Valley.

Pressed and harried, the Kuritans fought fiercely, but the Dragoons allowed them no quarter. In the smaller battles, most of the advantage went to the mercenaries, who had far more experience in such combat.

Disrupted by the surrounding mountains, Minobu's comm channels were filled with static, cutting him off from most of his command. When he finally managed to break free from his own pursuers, there was little he could do to reunify his forces. Minobu knew it was only a matter of time until the Dragoons reduced his troops to a point beyond effective opposition.

Suddenly, the pressure on the Draconians let up. Everywhere across the now extensive battlefield, Dragoons pulled back. Praying over the open channel, someone thanked Buddha for the miracle. From his own vantage point, however, Minobu was able to discern the true reason for Dragoons' unexpected withdrawal. The reprieve to his troops was not of supernatural origin.

The Eighth Sword of Light had finally arrived.

Faced with the arrival of fresh enemy troops, the Dragoons contented themselves with the havoc they had caused. Scattered as they had become in pursuit of the Ryuken and the Galedon Regulars, they were in danger of being defeated in detail. Rather than face the concentrated troops of the Sworders, the Dragoons retreated.

Their withdrawal was orderly. They knew, as did Minobu, that there would be other battles.

53

Trolfjel Highlands , Misery

Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine

20 May 3028

 

A pale glow on the horizon marked the coming dawn, and colors began to appear to Minobu's night-sensitive eyes. Another morning on Misery, another day of battle with Wolf's Dragoons. It was almost a month since that awful battle on the Opdal Glacier. The Kuritans had recovered somewhat from the bad beginning, but the fighting had continued week after week, with neither side gaining a clear advantage.

As the light grew, he watched men and women scurrying about the camp, stocky in their cold-weather gear. Through the speaker set into the transplex window, he could hear the faint sounds of the Techs powering up BattleMechs, getting them ready for their pilots. Reloads from the dwindling stocks of ammunition were being distributed to the machines.

He turned to the man who had stood by his side in silence for the last half-hour.

“It is time for you to rejoin your troops, Michi-san.”

“ Hai,Minobu- sensei.”

Minobu almost laughed at his protege's renewed use of the honorific. “This is hardly the time to let your rebellious streak show.”

“There may not be another time.”

Minobu's amusement evaporated. “Then you feel it, too. That this will be the last battle.”

“Hai, sensei.”

There seemed little to say.

“Fight well,” he enjoined Michi.

“I am samurai, sensei.It goes without saying.”

Michi's words pleased Minobu. The young man's inner strength had grown. He was no longer the unformed boy whom Minobu had taken on as an aide. Minobu reached out to touch the other man's shoulder. Looking down into Michi's dark eyes, he said, “I hope that each of my sons will grow to be as honorable a samurai, Michi Noketsuna.”

“Your sons should follow in your footsteps rather than mine, sensei.It is a path of great honor.”

Minobu restrained his emotion. “Enough, my young friend,” he said, dropping his hand. “There is a battle to fight and your place is out there. Go now.”

Michi bowed, deeply and respectfully. Minobu returned the bow, with proper consideration to his own superior rank.

Michi bowed again before pivoting on his heel and vanishing into the heatlock.

When next Minobu saw him, Michi was an anonymous figure under the bulk of cold-weather gear and goggled breath mask. Minobu watched through the transplex as Michi braced against the wind, heading for his 'Mech.

Like all the Kurita 'Mechs, the red Ostrocwas battered, and the hasty repairs necessary to keep it fighting showed in patches of armor coated only with dark antirust sealant. Battle and the harsh climate of Misery were taking their toll. It was small comfort to learn from the scout report that, even with their superb technical staff, the Dragoons were showing the strain as well. A month of constant skirmishes and several pitched battles had worn them all down. Neither side would be able to endure the pressure much longer.

Things might have been different if Samsonov hadn't deserted them. Twice after the disastrous first battle, Minobu had maneuvered Wolf into committing his whole force. Twice the signal for Samsonov's attack had gone out. Twice the Warlord's regiments had not arrived, and Minobu's command had barely extricated themselves before being overwhelmed.

The first time might have been an accident, a missed signal. The second left no room for doubt. The Warlord had betrayed them, abandoned them to the mercy of the Dragoons. More, Samsonov had betrayed House Kurita. The Draconis Combine could ill afford the damage the Dragoons were inflicting. Even if the Dragoons were finally put down, the cost had run too high.

Samsonov would not be allowed to escape justice this time, as he had after Galtor. There could be no pardon from the Coordinator. The crime was too blatant, Samsonov's hand in it too visible.

But that did not improve the current situation. Minobu was still bound to follow the Coordinator's orders, still committed to destroying the Dragoons. When Samsonov did not arrive with additional troops, Minobu had no choice but to make do with what he had.

Now, for the first time in weeks of struggle, there seemed to be a hope of achieving that end. Many of the 'Mechs taken out during the trap at Opdal Glacial Fields were back in the line, having been repaired with parts from other machines crippled in subsequent battles. The Kuritans were stronger than they had been since that terrible day on the glacier. Even so, this was a last gasp, their final chance at an offensive action against the Dragoons.

Wolf's main body had been maneuvered into position. Minobu's own forces were also in place, awaiting word from the Eighth Sword of Light, who should have reached their jump-off points two hours ago. Any minute now, Minobu thought, they would signal that they had begun their assault.

As if on cue, a commtech approached. He bowed deferentially and presented a message flimsy. “From Sho-shoTorisobo, Eighth Sword of Light, sir.”

Minobu ignored the outstretched hand and its paper. “What does he have to say?”

“He reports success, sir. The Dragoons are moving down onto the plain. He reports all is proceeding according to plan.”

According to plan. Such a simple phrase for something so complicated. If Torisobo's message was accurate, the Dragoons, surprised by the Sworders' assault, would be moving in front of the Ryuken and the Galedon Regulars' hidden positions. Unaware of their enemy, the Dragoons would be exposing their flank. In the usual morning snow-storm, visibility would be low. The Dragoons would move close without realizing their danger, and short-range fire would devastate their ranks. The Kuritans would be among them in the first rush. The battle would be brutal, but it would reduce the Dragoons' advantage of trained gunners, giving the Draconis forces a chance to win.