The trio of medium lasers mounted in the Thunderboltdid more damage. Two melted away armor in the Ostsol'schest, and the third savaged the left leg armor. Another shot or two in those places and he could cripple the enemy 'Mech.

The Ostsolgave back better than it got, however. The twin large pulse lasers mounted high in the torso superheated armor over the center of the Thunderbolt'schest and on the left arm. One of the medium pulse lasers in the 'Mech's belly added more damage to that on the Thunderbolt'schest, reducing its armor to 40 percent of the original, while the other one burned a nasty gash in the armor on the Thunderbolt'sleft thigh.

The Ostsolhad burned off more than two tons of armor plating, and the Thunderbolt'sgyros sought to compensate for the weight loss. Chris managed to keep the 'Mech upright, tracking the Ostsolwith his sights. The assault had left him running hot, but he could see that his enemy had also pushed his heat high in hopes of scoring a crippling blow.

In a split-second Chris decided not to push his heat again. He knew his 'Mech was better-suited to a slugging match than the Ostsol.He triggered his three pulse lasers and felt a heat spike gush hot air into the cockpit. Sweat covered his exposed flesh, but he was concentrating too hard on the damage his shots did to worry about heat.

The medium pulse lasers all hit, but they failed to punch through the Ostsol'sarmor. Two continued his assault on the center and right sides of the chest, but the third burned armor from the 'Mech's vestigial left arm. The pilot kept his 'Mech upright and returned fire with a vengeance.

The Ostsolpilot had decided to take no chances. One of the two large pulse lasers he directed at the Thunderboltmissed high, but the second burned almost all the way through the armor over the 'Mech's heart. A medium pulse laser followed it up and melted away some of the center torso's internal structures. Warning klaxons screamed throughout the cockpit, then more of them sounded as the second pulse laser blasted into the Thunderbolt'shead, vaporizing virtually all the armor.

Chris reflexively shied away from the brilliant head-shot, and his Thunderboltrecoiled with him. It stumbled and went down to one knee. Chris jerked forward, held in his command couch by the restraining belts, then arched his back and pulled the Thunderboltupright. Its right leg kicked out to stabilize it—dirt clods flying and trees falling as the foot dug into the dark loam for solid traction.

My chest armor is breached!Chris looked at the glowing circle of red on the auxiliary monitor's picture of the Thunderbolt.He knew a shot there or to the head with anything the Ostsolcarried would finish his 'Mech and likely kill him. He swung his large laser over to cover the enemy 'Mech, prepared to trigger everything. Now is no time to be cautious.

As he dropped the crosshairs on the Ostsol,he noticed it was not moving at all. Shifting his holographic display over from vislight to infrared, he saw the machine glowing like a supernova. It's overheated. The computers shut it down.

He tightbeamed a message to the pilot. "Pop your canopy now and surrender. The fight is over for you."

Chris got a reply, but not the one he expected.

As he watched in horror, the canopy exploded outward in a shower of smoky glass fragments. A fireball ignited in the cockpit and he expected to see the command couch shoot out on an ejector rocket. He knew that ejecting into the woods was suicidal because the trees would crush any escaping pilot against their boles before the couch could correct its course. Instead of the command couch and pilot, the fire spat out bits and pieces of both. The spherical head plumped at the edges, then the top of it blew clean off.

The Ostsolfell forward, spilling burning sparks from its cockpit like glowing coals bouncing from a toppling barbecue.

Chris's mouth went sour. He knew that what he had seen couldhave been a failure of the escape rocket to ignite properly, or else the failure of restraining bolts to pop free on the command couch. Deep down he hopedthat was what he had witnessed, but he knew it was not.

That pilot committed suicide to avoid capture.Chris swallowed hard. We've always known these bandits were unusual. Just how unusual we underestimated by a parsec.

* * *

Phelan acknowledged the radio call from Dan Allard with a nod. "Roger, Colonel, the Sidhe have broken and are heading north. I will have Conal's people move in and cut them off from the DropShip out there to pick them up." Phelan twitched his right hand and brought his crosshairs onto a Riflemanlining up a shot at Ranna's Warhawk.He punched his thumb down and sent a large laser beam slicing through the Rifleman'sexposed knee joint. The beam melted away the ends of the ferro-titanium bones, pitching the big 'Mech to the right and spoiling its aim at Ranna.

The Clan Khan keyed his radio to Tac Three. "Star Colonel Ward, the Sidhe are headed in your direction. Stop them."

"They will not pass, my Khan."

Conal's reply bothered Phelan briefly, but then a bandit Vindicatortook notice of him. The 'Mech's PPC swung into line with the Wolfhoundand let fly with a bolt of cerulean electricity. The energy whip flayed all the armor off the Wolfhound'sright arm and started to work on the pseudomuscles and bones. Phelan rocked back in his command couch and felt a static tingle over his arms and legs.

A glance at his auxiliary monitor told him that the 'Mech's arm still functioned and that its large laser mounted was still useable, but not whether the Vindicatorhad hit it again. Can't take that chance.He gritted his teeth and spitted the Vindicatoron his crosshairs.

The combination of the Clan targeting computer and Phelan's steady hand kept all the Wolfhound'sweapons tight on target. The green beam of the large laser punched into the left side of the Vindicator'schest, reducing more than 60 percent of its armor to vapor and liquid droplets. Then the trio of medium pulse lasers sent a hail of red energy darts through the armor steam. Flames jetted back out through the quintet of LRM firing ports in the 'Mech's left breast and a greenish tinge in the smoke told Phelan that a heat sink had been blasted away. The 'Mech's left arm sagged as the shoulder girdle evaporated.

The sheer violence of the assault against it twisted the Vindicatoraround and dumped it on the ground. As the pilot tried to lever the 'Mech back up, pushing off the ground with its PPC, two green energy spears passed through it, one reigniting the fire in its chest and the other obliterating its head. Decapitated by the beam, the 'Mech flopped onto its back, with twin smoke plumes drifting upward.

"Thank you, Ranna," Phelan gasped as heat shot into his cockpit. His heat sinks labored to purge it, and brought the temperature down quickly, but the burst of heat from his attack left him breathless for a moment. "Good shooting."

"It would not do for the Khan's Honor Guard to allow him to die."

Conal's face appeared on Phelan's secondary monitor. "The bridges have been blown. Old Connaught is safe."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I have blown the bridges, as you ordered. Your home is safe." Conal's image vanished and was replaced with a gun-camera feed showing the two bridges over the Kilkenny sagging into the river. "The bandits will not cross!"

"What have you done, Conal?" Phelan slammed one fist against the arm of his command couch. "I told you to stop them, not blow the bridges!"