Just as suddenly, the universe unfolded again like a huge origami flower. The disk of white filling the viewport fragmented into countless small star dots, and Phelan rubbed his eyes to erase the afterimage. In the space of a heartbeat, the Dire Wolfhad hurled itself more than thirty light years away from the realm he had once called home.

Cyrilla punched the release button on her restraints and stood framed in the viewport. She smiled, then turned to point toward the blue-green ball striated with white that showed through the window.

"Here we are, Phelan. Welcome to Strana Mechty. Welcome to your new home."

3

Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters, Outreach

Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth

5 February 3051

 

In a headlong sprint, Hanse Davion dashed from behind a boulder to the ruined wall of an out-building, then threw himself forward in a long, rolling dive as yet another target popped up. Twisting into a squat .ball, he planted his right foot and tried to turn back toward the mannequin, but the loose gravel gave way and sent him sprawling flat on his face. Dammit, I'm getting too old for this nonsense,he cursed inwardly. Spitting out rust-colored dirt, he flopped over onto his back as a series of laser bolts lanced through the air above him.

Hanse jerked the trigger on his laser rifle, returning the mannequin's fire. The ruby darts from his weapon ripped a bar sinister across the target, but not before it adjusted and tracked him. He felt the searing heat of three bolts as they stitched a track down his right flank and leg. Immediately his leg stiffened, locked in a mechanical rictus because of the bulky exoskeleton he wore.

"Justin, I'm hit!"

Without waiting for a reply from his partner in the run through the Dragoons' live-fire range, Hanse dragged himself behind the wall he'd originally sought and levered himself up to his feet. He put all his weight on his left leg and let the rifle dangle from its pistol-grip in his right hand. "I'm mobile, but in name only." He forced a chuckle into his voice. "My kingdom for a horse!"

Hanse marveled at how easily and fluidly Justin Xiang Allard moved from point to point as he crossed to the Prince's position. Still possessed of the litheness and strength of youth though he was close to Hanse's age, the Secretary of the Federated Commonwealth's Ministry of Intelligence molded his body to the available cover and gave the targeting mannequins no opportunity to track him.

Justin glanced at Hanse. "I've got one at two o'clock from your position." He measured the distance between them carefully. "Cover me and I think I can nail it when I'm halfway home."

Hanse nodded and shoved the snout of his rifle around the edge of the wall. With his first bolt, the mannequin oriented toward him and brought its rifle to bear. Hanse clipped off two more shots, both of which passed over the target's head, then he saw Justin's shots burn a triangular grouping just above the robot's midsection.

"Hanse, down!"

Spinning back away from the edge of the wall, Hanse saw another mannequin rise from the ground to his right. Even as he brought his own rifle around and awkwardly pivoted on his locked right leg, he realized he was blocking Justin's line-of-sight to the target. As the mannequin's rifle centered itself on his chest, Davion also knew that he'd never get off a shot in time to prevent getting killed.

When three laser bolts suddenly blasted into the side of the robot's head, the mannequin's laser rifle drooped to the ground without firing a shot. Hanse, heart pounding in his ears, sagged back against the adobe wall and closed his eyes. Rivulets of sweat plowed through the layer of red dust on his face and neck. That's closer than I ever want to come again.

"Are you all right, Highness?"

Hanse opened his eyes and saw the concern on Justin Allard's face. "I'll survive. I'm just tired. That was fancy shooting."

Justin jerked his head toward the target as two other men walked around the corner. "Thank them, not me."

One of the approaching men, small and silver-haired, smiled wryly. "My shots missed. You have the Kanrei to thank for saving you."

Taller and more slender, Theodore Kurita barely acknowledged the mention of his title. He surveyed the surrounding area, his tension betrayed only by a vein pulsing in his forehead. It paralleled an old scar that ran from mid-forehead down into his left eyebrow.

I know that look,Hanse thought. It's the warrior's edge. For him, this is no game.Letting everyone see that the exo-skeleton had locked up to simulate his wound, Davion took two halting steps forward. Shifting his rifle from right hand to left, he offered Theodore his hand. "Thank you. Your skill is most impressive, Kanrei."

The Prince of the Federated Suns half-expected Theodore to snub him, but the Kurita Warlord accepted his hand and shook it firmly. "Perhaps my skill with a rifle is impressive, but my sense of direction is not." He glanced back at his partner. "I fear Prince Magnusson and I are lost. If we had not gotten off our side of the course, I never would have seen your target."

Before anyone could comment, a hiss of static from the communications devices both Justin and Haakon Magnusson wore presaged a message from the Rangemaster. "Range Control here. Time limit's up, gentlemen. Your run is over. Please remove the power packs from your rifles. We'll pick you up a klick out on a heading of oh-four-five degrees."

Justin hit the talk button on his radio. "Roger, one kilometer at oh-four-five degrees. ETA one-half hour. One of us got hit."

"Limp in whenever. We'll wait. Range Control out."

Theodore popped the clip from his rifle and slid it into the open slot on his belt. "I do not believe I have ever found an exercise that so accurately recreates combat conditions."

Magnusson agreed. "Our rifles may have been powered down, as were those of the mannequins, but not by much. I touched a spot where a shot had gone awry and it was still hot."

Hanse slapped a hand against his ribs. "Where I got hit feels like a nasty sunburn. I assume the Dragoons wanted to impress us with the gravity of the current situation."

"A wise approach," Theodore said quietly. "Some among our peers seem not to fully comprehend the danger the Clans present to the Inner Sphere."

Hanse stopped. "Do you refer to Lady Romano, or is your comment directed at me?" He asked the question without recrimination, but Magnusson looked as though Hanse had deliberately insulted Theodore. The Warlord of the Draconis Combine, on the other hand, seemed to weigh his words carefully before speaking.

"May I speak frankly with you, Prince Davion?"

"I would prefer it, Kanrei." Hanse hobbled toward a wind-sculpted rock to lean wearily against it. "What is on your mind?"

Theodore drew in a deep breath. "What concerns me is fighting a two-front war. Both of us know, from our own sources as well as from briefings Jaime Wolf has provided, that the Clans have hit the Draconis Combine as hard as they have hit the Lyran portion of your realm." In deference to Magnusson, Theodore bowed his head in the other man's direction. "Of course, neither of us have lost as much as the Free Rasalhague Republic, but we have been hurt.

"I fought against your surrogate twenty years ago and I tasted my share of defeat as well as savoring a few minor victories." The Kanrei slung his rifle over his shoulder by the strap. "Ten years ago, I battled you directly. In each contest, I have found you more than capable, and if not for a trick or two that you did not anticipate, I might have been left with utter defeats instead of the stand-offs I obtained."