Twin lasers blaring, 'Mechs fight to the death House honor at stake, but - but ... now what? Death poses a real problem. I know - I'm a fair judge of the subject. As a MechWarrior, I face it every minute I'm on the battlefield. If things go well, I inflict death on others; if things go very, very badly, it is inflicted on me. So far, I'm happy to report things haven't gone that badly, though it has been very close a time or two. But to a poet, death is another problem entirely. There isn't much the word "death" rhymes with. I mean a true rhyme, a genuine rhyme. I don't know any MechWarrior named "Beth", and as for the antiquated name of "Seth", that seems to have fallen out of common usage about a millenium ago. Sure, there are "heath" and "teeth" and other sight-rhymes and near-rhymes, but that's cheating. And since I don't write with a "lithp", I can't help but make a "meth" out of the whole "death" thing. Maybe I should give up writing poetry. It is such a morbid hobby anyway. Besides, I can't give up being a MechWarrior; that's what I am. At least when I am piloting my SHD-2H Shadow Hawk, the Gopher Baroque, I am doing something meaningful. And that's more than I can say for the last three hours, which I've spent staring at a single line of an unfinished poem. Disgusted, I tossed the pocket comp on my desk and stood up to leave. A walk in the open air of a warm late afternoon might help clear my mind. Then came a knocking at the entrance. It wouldn't be Ludmilla Janonka, my lance leader; she wasn't that polite. It also wouldn't be Robyn, my wife, who knew better. Nor was I expecting anyone else, but then one never knows. I swung the door open and stared into the eyes of a stranger. He was a stocky man of medium height, younger than I, with a broad crocodile smile. He bowed ever so slightly and I returned the gesture. "You are Sandusky Sorrell, Honorable MechWarrior?" "I suppose I am, " I replied indifferently. Modesty prevented me from vouching for the honorable part, but everything else fit. "Permit me to introduce myself. Iam Toki Hoshiyama-Jones." I didn't say anything and he continued after a considerable pause. "I am sorry, but does this name mean nothing?" "I'm afraid not, Mister -" "Hoshiyama-Jones, Mr Sorrell. An historian for the Draconis Combine. I have just been assigned to write a detailed unit history of Galt's Grenadiers. " Oh-oh. I gestured for him to come in as I hastily cleared off a second spot to sit. Hard copies of rough drafts were scattered from Terra to Star's End, and I apologized for the mess. He glanced only fractionally at my papers and took no apparent notice. "What more can you tell me?" "I have spoken to Major Gait of my project," he began slowly. "During the next six to nine months, I will accompany your unit in rear areas, ask questions, receive candid answers, and compile facts. Then I will leave to write an official unit history for the archives of House Kurita." "Sounds ambitious. Where would you like to start?" He looked at some notes on raggedy-looking flexcards, an old-fashioned dyestylus at the ready. "First, with brief personal descriptions of everyone in Galt's Company. Second, with an analysis of the unit's organization, equipment, and combat capabilities. "What do you mean, personal descriptions?" "Your impressions, Mr Sorrell. "Sandy. Call me 'Sandy'." He made another note. "Thank you, Sandy. And please call me 'Toki'. Your thoughts on every MechWarrior in your company. Feelings among lance-mates, whom you like, whom you dislike, character traits both positive and negative." The hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle. "Hmm. I'm not sure this is a good idea. Why ask me?" "Do not be concerned. Before I am through, I will be asking everyone about everyone else. Major Galt merely suggested that I start with you. An objective observer, he said you are." That sounded like something the major would say. I relaxed slightly. "When did you want to start, Mr Hoshi - Toki?" "What are you doing this evening?" He stopped grinning. "N-nothing, "I thought quickly. The poetry could wait, of course, but I wanted to confirm this person's story before I expressed any further opinions. For all I knew, this smiling type might be an agent for the ISF, House Kurita's pervasive and less-than-magnanimous secret police. It would not be unlike them to use such a tactic for ill purposes. In the few years Galt's Grenadiers have been under contract to the Draconis Combine I had almost grown accustomed to political intrigue, espionage, and double-dealing, But I had never grown to like it, and neither had Major Galt. "I would like to talk with my commander before I begin..." "Ah, yes, " he said, shuffling through his notecards and extracting an odd-sized one which clearly didn't belong. It turned out to be a sealed envelope which he passed to me. "I believe this is for you, Sandy." I gave him an odd look which he ignored, and tore the envelope open. It was a very brief note, written in Galt's own unmistakable hand: "Sandusky, T H-J chks out so far. Ops within I S freely discussable. A good man he is, son. JG." The paper bore Galt's personal watermark, proving it authentic without question. Though the message seemed abruptly cryptic, it told me plenty. Gait had already begun checking Hoshiyama-Jones' background and hadn't found anything negative. Yet. That also meant that Galt was still looking. In the meantime, I could discuss most of the events from the Grenadiers' past while under contract within the Inner Sphere; any excursions into the Periphery were to remain our own business. Finally, upon meeting him, Galt thought Toki could be trusted for now. Perhaps the most meaningful pieces of information came from Galt's use of my formal name and this reference to me as "Son, " a technically inaccurate term he uses with great rarity and deliberation. Then I noticed the first letter of each sentence: S-0-A. Stay on Alert, shorthand for "watch yourself". I smiled inwardly. Lord Kurita wasn't the only one skilled at playing games of intrigue, when necessary. "Well, Toki, that clears up my questions, " I said smoothly. "We can begin right now, if you like." His smile was answer enough. How does a person explain the entire soul of another person to a curious but ignorant third party? That person's hopes, dreams, fears, strengths, weaknesses, talents, failings, all that which makes a person unique, in fifty words or less. Someone who has fought by your side and perhaps saved your life once or a dozen times? It's not easy for me; Miguel Castillo does a better job at such an oversimplification. Miguel is not foolish, he simply prefers to believe that the universe is an uncomplicated place except when he is forced to accept the contrary. I envy that in him; he will enjoy talking to Toki. "This won't be easy," I admitted slowly, "but I might as well begin with the lance I'm in: the Fire Lance." "Please do," Toki prompted gently, stylus in hand. "Lieutenant Ludmilla Janonka is the lance leader, she's commanded it since late 3022 when Lt Mikhail Gorodny left Gait's Grenadiers and Lt Jacobs became company second-in-command. She pilots a Quickdraw. I'm assistant lance leader, since I was transferred in May of '27. "Where were you before that?" "Oh, in the Command Lance with Major Galt. Anyway, Janonka is one tough lady, a tall curvaceous brunette with a muscular build. She can probably beat three out of any four average MechWarriors, male or female, using their choices of weapon - wit, fists, firearms, or 'Mechs. She doesn't always believe in fighting fairly, but she does believe in winning. And she's an excellent 'Mech gunner." "Sounds like you don't like her very much. " "No, I honestly don't," I grinned. "But I do respect her." I leaned back. "Then there's Malcolm Wingu, a slender, hickory-skinned Trebuchet pilot, a really good-looking guy. He is pleasant, soft-spoken, and exceedingly polite, a good friend. He's also a fanatic about ancient history, claims he can trace his own ancestry back almost fourteen hundred years when his forebears were African kings, even before they moved to the Americas. " Excuse me ... Africa?" "A continent on Terra, or so Malcolm says. I've never been to Terra." "Neither have I, " Toki added, "just curious. " He continued to scribble. "The last in my lance is Kali Konishi, medium of stature and delicate of feature. She has a Dragon." I didn't say anything for a moment as I collected my thought. "It's sort of funny. Kali reminds me a little of a porcelain doll, beautiful, yet hard and dangerously cold. It's as if somebody touched her they would suffer freeze burns as a result. And she has a strange attitude. Every time anyone gives her an order, Galt or Janonka usually, she obeys - but I get the feeling she's been laughing at us, deep down inside. And I know she's only been with us for a little over a year, but she is a really poor pilot and gunner." "You mention appearances. This lance sounds likea very attractive group of MechWarriors. " I laughed aloud, then got glasses, and a small bottle, and poured drinks for both of us. "It is. I'm the ugliest person in it." Toki grinned quickly, then jotted a few more lines down after taking a glass. "Then there is the Recon Lance," I continued. "Lt George Bester, a Locust and kind of shy in camp, but a real panther on the battlefield. He loves to run his Mech maxed out, evading enemy fire by presenting himself as a difficult target. My wife, Robin Fielding-Sorrell, is a Stinger pilot and a natural-born flirt. Malcolm calls her a 'short, buxom serving wench', a joke we share which has to do with Terra's early Middle Ages. There's a little rivalry between us because she's a better gunner, but I'm a better pilot. Keeps things - taut. Ana that's Anatole Dash, but most everyone calls him Ana - has a Phoenix Hawk. He's short and rather dumpy-looking, but he fancies himself as a gallant nobleman and ladies' man. Underneath his penchant for exaggeration and a flair forthedramatic, Ana isan untiring perfectionist. That is, in everything except his own affairs; he still has a lot to learn about handling a 'Mech. The fourth member of the lance, and the company's other Shadow Hawk pilot, is 'Crazy Jack' Deever; he didn't get that nickname from the way he parts his hair. He loves the snap-shot, firing immediately after calculating an initial trajectory. There is nothing he likes better than a hot firefight while he laughs hysterically over the radio." "Sounds like a very unusual fellow," Toki commented casually. "Oh, yes. He's a little calmer now that he's getting older, but not by much. Still, he spends less time in stockade than he used to. " Toki observed, "I do not mean to criticize, but having a 'Mech as slow as a Shadow Hawk strikes me as a rather unusual component for a Recon Lance." "Crazy Jack is sort of a troubleshooter, when he isn't causing trouble. A Locust, Stinger, and Phoenix Hawk do not offer a lot of firepower, and all of the other 'Mechs in this company are slower. So his 'Mech is nominally attached to the Recon Lance if speed isn't so important. In other circumstances, he may likely be attached to the Fire Lance; its just depends on the tactical situation. " Toki chewed on the end of his stylus. "Hmm. You are in the Fire Lance and your wife is in the Recon Lance. Is this not an inconvenience?" "Yes. Yes, it is. When I was transferred from the Command Lance to the Fire Lance, Crazy Jack was transferred from the Fire Lance to the Recon Lance. I asked Major Galt why we couldn't swap duties so I could be in the Recon Lance with Robyn. I made a most eloquent plea and we had a lengthy discussion on the subject." "And?" Toki leaned forward. "I lost." I laughed abruptly after taking a long pull on my drink. "The major refused to put us in the same lance on the grounds that our close proximity might cause either of us to disobey orders during the heat of battle, simply to protect the other. If Robyn were in trouble, for example, I might do the wrong thing, tactically, just to rescue her. Emotion versus logic, and logic had to win where Galt was concerned." "A hard man. "But a fair one," I countered, somewhat defensively. "John Galt saved my life, even when by all rights he should have given me up for dead." "Sounds like an interesting story. "A long one, too. " "That leaves just one lance, " he said. "Right, " I answered, "The Command Lance. Major Galt has a Warhammer, as does Nicholas Nakamura. Captain Bodo Jacobs pilots a Crusader and Miguel Castillo pilots an Ostsol. Nicholas (or Nick-Nack, as we call him) joined Gait's about two years ago. Before that he served with a Kurita Sword of Light regiment. Apparently he had a clan dispute with another MechWarrior, someone named Wilk. Galt accepted him after Ken Tong got married and left the Grenadiers. That surprised me, because most Sword-of-Lighters tend to be a little more politically motivated that John Galt approves of. Nick-Nack was different, more conscientious than most - not a great pilot, but he tries hard. I guess he reminds me a little of myself when I was younger. Miguel Castillo was my first friend when I joined Galt's. He used to have a Rifleman, but had it shot out from under him in 3026. It was either an Ostsol or join the Dispossessed; what choice did he have? He's a devil-may-care kind of fighter, but he will unflinchingly dive into a melee to pull out a friend. Sometimes he plays dead on the battlefield, then makes a killing shot when least expected. Captain Bodo Jacobs, the second-in-command, takes charge of the company when Galt is away or personally leading another company of the Grenadiers. Jacobs is cool under fire, rarely raises his voice, and is about the closest thing to a robot I've ever seen in a human warrior. I'm not sure if he has any close friends, but he is a solid leader and would probably warrant the command of his own battalion in any other mercenary unit." I leaned over and refilled our glasses, then said nothing. "What about your commander. Who is John Galt?" "He's a man who leads a battalion of four 'Mech companies and supporting units. He's a man who broke a high-paying contract with the Federated Suns over an affair of honor - because of the way they mistreated and plotted against one of his Mech Warriors. He's a man who saved my life, and nearly took it in the bargain." "Sounds like another long story," Toki said, sipping slowly. "And what about your real family?" I sat up with a start; that was one question I had not expected, though I certainly should have. I thought about it for a moment, as objectively as I could. My father, Dayton Sorrell, once a powerful man controlling the DropShip facility on Kathi 1, dead these past five years (or is it six now?). My cousin Columbus, who schemed to steal a family fortune - and succeeded. My younger sister Xenia, perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever known, who fell in love with the one man to whom I owed everything - but her. My family. "My real family?" I knew I spoke the words, but I couldn't recognize the voice as my own. "I just told you about my real family, Toki. The others don't matter anymore. "Except Xenia, one small corner of my mind screamed. "Galt and my wife Robyn are the only family I have." The complement of Galt's Company, Toki and myself included, gathered early the next morning in the mobile headquarters building. Major Galt stood at the forefront, a side-view symbolic map of the stellar system displayed on an electronic projection behind him. He had a remote control device in one hand and was Speaking his usual firm baritone. "Good day, comrades. You certainly recognize this diagram of the Weisau system." Galt pressed a stud and a series of straight lines converged at a single point near the top of the projection, high above the system's ecliptic plane. "This is the location of the JumpShip recharge station at Weisau Zenith, the only operational recharge station in-system. Of course, the jump point itself is nothing more than a set of coordinates in open space." He pressed the control again, and a small speck lit up in the heart of the system's dense belt region. "This is a large planetoid, where navigational and communications equipment are located. The Draconians refer to it as Jump-Station Kusari." Another press of a button, and the entire display rotated, changed orientation, and assumed a top-view perspective. A somewhat larger dot identified as Weisau traced an orbit around its primary, the path visibly egg-shaped even on this scale. Galt continued. "Due to the peculiar eccentricity of the Weisau orbit and the intensely powerful planetary magnetic field surrounding it, JumpShips cannot obtain sufficiently accurate navigational data to reach the jump point without course corrections. Jump-Station Kusari, orbiting at at greater distance but following a less eccentric track, transmits this data. Anyone who controls this planetoid controls outgoing JumpShip travel from this system." "So?" Crazy Jack interrupted. "House Kurita already controls this system." "I know that, Jack, and I'm getting to my point." Galt bridled. "Since we are stating the obvious, let's not forget that this has been a pretty quiet sector, relatively speaking. The fighting had been concentrated elsewhere, much of it near Dieron and Galtor. It is now believed that a Davion JumpShip containing at least one battalion of 'Mechs is on its way here. According to sketchy intelligence reports, the ship will enter this system within a week's time. It may attempt to drop some or all of its 'Mechs on Kusari, and seize control of the station. After this happens, of course, the Federated Suns can use Weisau as a fleet staging area for further attacks against the Draconis Combine." "That shouldn't be too hard to defend," Captain Jacobs put in calmly. "Perhaps," Galt replied. "The only problem is that we don't know for certain if Kusari is the intended target. Certain resource centers on Weisau are equally valuable if measured against different criteria. The Grenadiers will have to defend both." That causal remark brought the room to utter silence. A single battalion of dispersed BattleMechs is rarely force enough to defend an entire stellar system adequately. Galt flashed another projection on the wall, a picture of a world. "Kusari is a small planet as much as it is a large planetoid. It possesses a thin atmosphere and extensive frozen deposits near the poles, mostly a mixture of water ice and a slushy compound organically similar to liquified soil. No one seems quite sure what the stuff is, and frankly, I don't care. Our job is to defend it." "The jump station itself consists of a series of single story structures and the ground transceiver, an elliptical bowl-shaped antenna about thirty meters across, with two signal collectors in the foci. The Kusari garrison must play a waiting game: either it will have to defend the station against a 'Mech assault for as long as possible, or it can withdraw after several weeks have passed and no attack proves forthcoming." "What about an Air Lance? Will the Jaguars be here in time?" That was Miguel Castillo. The aerospace craft in question was a new experimental design from a small company just entering the field. The Jaguar was supposed to be an effective AeroSpace Fighter as well as a medium range reconnaissance craft. Galt's Grenadiers had offered to field-test four prototypes for the firm, but they had not yet arrived. No one knew where they were or what was holding them up. They would have been very handy to have for this assignment. "No," Captain Jacobs said. "Holcomb Manufacturing has not been in touch and we are still awaiting word." "This means that the Kusari detachment will have to go in without air support. I'm afraid that you will only know when - or if - the Davion DropShip has arrived when you see enemy 'Mechs coming over the horizon, unless you happen to pick up a pulse on the deep-space doppler." "Major?" I asked. "Yes, Sandy?" "You said that the information may not be wholly accurate. What if the timing is incorrect and their DropShip beats us there?" Major Galt didn't say anything for a long moment, as he stared at me. "Then we will have to take it away from them, or blow the station up as a last resort. Either way, interstellar access to this system must not fall to the Federated Suns." He turned and gazed absently atthe opposite wall of the building. "Meanwhile, our other 'Mechs will defend strategic locations throughout Weisau." "Who's going?" Janonka demanded. "You are," Galt responded flatly. "Captains Lopez and Jacobs and I have temporarily reorganized the Grenadiers into nine separate task troops. You will take the Fire Lance plus Deever to Jump-Station Kusari." Janonka muttered a profanity as Deever cackled softly. "Sir," Robyn began, "may I ..." "Request denied, Fielding-Sorrell. Any other questions?" No one responded. "Then that will be all," Major Galt concluded. Everyone filed out. Robyn and I were headed back toward our quarters when Toki called from behind. "Sandy, uh, when can we begin the unit history?" "Later, Toki," I called back, not missing my stride. "When I get back." If I get back. Five days later, Janonka, Wingu, Konishi, Deever, and I were on the Ti Plains of Kusari, about 20 klicks from the jumpstation. Without Robyn near, it already seemed as though five weeks had passed. The Fire Lance of Galt's Grenadiers, with the addition of Crazy Jack Deever, came over the ridge in loose formation on final approach to the communications and navigational tracking station. Everyone got their first unobstructed view of the shallow basin below. We weren't alone. "You guessed right for a change, Sorrell," Janonka said drily over the radio. "Davion did beat us here." I did a quick 120-degree scan. There were four BattleMechs in my field of view, and all bore the sword and sun insignia: two Valkyries, a Stinger, and a Wasp. One Valkyries was fewer than a hundred meters away, directly in front of me with its left flank exposed. This may be easy, I thought quickly. But then again... Janonka was talking to me again. "Sorrell, take Wingu and Deever and break left. I'll take Konishi." "Affirmative, Lieutenant," I responded. Malcolm was on my immediate left, with Jack on his left. "Go to freak three," I added, then retuned my own 'Mech transceiver to another frequency. "Malcolm? Jack?" "You got me," Jack said, laughing. "I read you, Sorrell," Malcolm's refined voice came on seconds later. "Jack, let's you and me take care of this blip; Malcolm, take out that other Valkyrie at about two-zero-zero meters, mark zero." They responded by initiating fire against their respective targets. I fired my autocannon, short-range missiles, and laser at the nearest Davion 'Mech, but missed with the autocannon; just too close. Jack hit both legs and the right arm, no mean feat when fighting from the left side. I was more directly behind the'Mech and hit it twice in the right torso, destroying the rear armor, and completely obliterating that section. The Valkyrie slowly turned around to face the three of us. Each of us fired on it again, and I hit it this time with missiles and laser both, striking the center torso and right arm. In turn, the Valkyrie fired back at Malcolm, its medium laser hitting the Trebuchet's center torso. This particular 'Mech was at a profound disadvantage having to fight at point blank range without its most effective weapon, the long-range missile rack. "How is it, Malcolm?" I asked politely, already knowing. "No significant effect, Sorrell, of course. But thank you." Then came the sound of missiles whistling by and impacting against Deever's Shadow Hawk. "I'm hit!" Jack cried out. "Right arm and torso, missile fire. The sky is spinning and everything's going black, hee hee." I grinned in spite of myself. "Will you live?" Jack was beginning to sound like Anatole. "That's an affirmative." "Good, we need all the help we can get, even from crazy people." By this time, the other 'Mechs from the Federated Suns were advancing in our direction and each of us had more targets than we knew what to do with. "Sorrell!" This was Janonka. "I'm pinned, can you provide support?" Her Quickdraw was only 130 meters away, facing off against the Enforcer and taking moderate damage. "I'm coming, Lieutenant. Jack, Malcolm, hold positions." I moved out, dashed forward, and circled around the Enforcer to get a clear shot from behind. I didn't like exposing my rear arc to a Valkyrie, but it was better than leaving the lieutenant outnumbered and in a tactically awkward position. I noticed what she meant; her'Mech's outer armor was badly scarred and had been hit at least once by a large autocannon shell. To further aggravate matters, a platoon of rifle-armed jump infantry was underfoot, conducting repeated close assaults. I fired again but only hit with my autocannon on the Enforcer's left arm, not enough of a blow to have any real impact. To my horror, I watched several incoming salvoes of missiles and a second autocannon shell strike the Quickdraw, severing the 'Mech's left arm completely amid a shower of sparks. Almost everyone was concentrating their fire on her. But not quite. Seconds later, missiles and laser fire also struck my Gopher's rear, badly damaging the armor on the left and center torso sections, not to mention jarring me heavily. It didn't look pretty, but I thought it would hold barring further hits. Meanwhile, Janonka continued to slug it out, her Quickdraw looking particularly odd with its left arm resting on the ground directly in front of her position. I knew her 'Mech could not last more than another half-minute. Desperately, I took careful aim at the Enforcer and jumped in near-perfect "death-from-above" style. My life flashed before my eyes as my 'Mech straddled the Enforcer's right side, hitting its head with my left leg and its right arm with my right. The Enforcer rocked wildly and stumbled forward, but somehow remained on its feet. Gyros whining furiously, I jockeyed to maintain control, but the Gopher Baroque fell. I reached out, scrabbling with my right arm to grab the Enforcer's right leg, and missed by only a couple meters. I did my best, but it wasn't enough. Only the Davion 'Mech had stumbled too far forward. I looked up just in time to see Ludmilla take careful aim and punch with her Quickdraw's remaining fist, hitting the Enforcer squarely in the head and knocking that appendage cleanly off the 'Mech's shoulders. In what seemed like agonizingly slow motion, the BattleMech turned slightly and crumpled to the ground, its pilot killed instantly. I struggled with the controls and fought the Gopher back onto its feet, the left leg suffering from the landing. Out of the corner of my viewscreen I could almost feel a palpable change on the battlefield when the dust cleared. Nearly everyone, Davion and Grenadier alike, took pause to stare at the headless Enforcer. The infantry, previously ignored, was now scattering madly as Kali's' Mech danced a brief jig and took careless aim in their direction. I switched to Janonka's private command frequency. "Lieutenant," I said, "I think you should withdraw while you can." "I'm in command here, Sorrell," the lieutenant growled. "Don't tell me what I should do." "Ludmilla," I spoke earnestly, "please listen. If you take another major hit you won't be around to tell anyone what to do. I can take over and continue." Long seconds passed, as the action around us resumed its previously torrid pace, with missiles, volleys, and bursts of laserfire lashing the air. I heard her sigh heavily. "Very well, Sorrell. Carry on, and regroup at the landing zone." I sighed myself. "Very good, Lieutenant." She slowly moved off while I provided covering fire. Switching back to the general channel, I called out: "This is Sorrell. I'm assuming command. Status report, everyone?" "This is Deever. I've been hit in torso and right arm, but I'll live - I promise." "Wingu reporting. Minor hits on right arm and left torso. Multiple hits on right torso, fairly serious, will try to shield." "Thank you both." I waited. And waited. "Konishi?" "What do you want?" She sounded peeved. "Status report, please." "Oh, very well. This is Kali Konishi. One hit, right leg, armor damage only. Fully functional." I heard her conclude by muttering softly: "Now will you quit pestering me?" "Thank you. I have moderate armor damage in left and center rear torso, but am still operational. Let's proceed, Grenadiers." The melee continued. While a Locust pilot and I jockeyed for position, I suddenly heard Deever exclaim: "Good shot, Malcolm!" As busy as I was with my own battle, I had to ask. "What happened?" "Malcolm got a rear-end angle on a Stinger and shot its right arm off." "I'm overheating a little, though," Malcolm added modestly. I opened up with autocannon against a jump platoon, cutting down half its number, then shifted fire and blasted the rear of the hapless Locust with missiles and laser. No critical hits, but it shouldn't be able to withstand much more. I think we were winning, but it was terribly difficult to tell. Then another salvo of missiles came in, striking the Gopher's front right torso, closely followed by a laser blast from behind which struck the already-weakened center torso armor, penetrated, and reached the vulnerable engine compartment. In seconds it started to get even warmer in the cockpit and I could smell a trace of smoke; I prayed everything would hold together. The half-decimated jump infantry platoon continued to pepper my 'Mech with machine gun fire which thrilled me not at all. Nevertheless, I was grateful they didn't have missiles, because at the moment I had little else to be grateful about. The Locust and Wasp on my immediate flanks pivoted to get a better angle on my Gopher, so I decided it was another good time to jump, and possibly my last opportunity. "Hold together," I whispered to the leg actuators and jumped, landing almost a hundred meters away and repositioning myself in the Locust's rear arc exactly as intended. I just got a glimpse of a large missile salvo coming from Wingu and striking the Wasp, demolishing the right arm and torso sections. Crazy Jack finished up with more missiles and another burst of laser fire, apparently crippling the gyro. The 'Mech spun around almost 360 degrees, then fell over with a distinct crunch. Twenty seconds later, the four remaining BattleMechs from the Federated Suns were leaving the area at best speed, their surviving lance commander seemingly disillusioned with the outcome. "Should we go after them?" Jack inquired, chuckling rudely. I considered the question as I let the Gopher idle and wiped a rivulet of sweat from my brow. Several prominent bruises were already forming from the battering; I'd likely be sore for days. Janonka's Quickdraw was seriously damaged, my own engine had suffered a critical hit, and the other 'Mechs of this little task force were only in slightly better condition. "No, Jack," I said finally. "We'll let them get away this time - they won't be coming back. I think we've taught them enough of a lesson. Let's go home." As we headed back in the direction from which we came, I had occasion to pass by the Enforcer where I paused for a minute. It could just as easily have been Ludmilla's Quickdraw or my own Shadow Hawk, but it wasn't. Not this time. I looked at the chronometer on the control panel: less than three minutes had elapsed since I first set eyes on Jump-Station Kusari. Things happen very quickly in battle. Suddenly I remembered something that I had to go back and get. When I finally rejoined the other 'Mechs on their way to the pickup point, Malcolm gently asked me where I had gone. "Just a little errand," I said vaguely, but then he noticed and nodded. In the Gopher's left hand I held the left arm of Janonka's 'Mech. After another four-day DropShip rides back to Weisau and a ten-hour debriefing by Captain Jacobs, I was pletely exhausted, mentally and physically. Major Galt generally was the better officer, but Jacobs' debriefings were longer and even more thorough. By the time I was finished, the only person I wanted to see was Robyn. I walked from the headquarters building in the direction of my quarters when Miguel Castillo in standard cockpit garb passed by, running at a trot. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" I asked, waving. Miguel stopped. "Regular picket rotation, " he said, grinning widely despite the gap between hisfront teeth. "I'm going out with Bester and Dash from the Recon Lance. Normal patrol." I nodded. "Hey, wait a minute? Where's Robyn? Is she going... " "Relax, " he said. "Robyn and I traded slots. She's waiting for you in your quarters." Some of my exhaustion melted away. "Oh. Thanks, old friend." "Anytime," he winked, then took off. When I got to my quarters Robyn met me at the door, a short, bright, perky, buxom package. She wasn't looking perky right now. "Someone has been waiting for you, " she said softly. I could tell from her expression that she meant someone besides herself. I groaned. "Not Toki, I hope. Listen, I really don't want... " "Ssh. No, not that nice historian. He is fascinating to talk with, though. " "Well, who is it?" I grumbled. Ludmilla Janonka stepped through the entrance. She looked uncharacteristically subdued. Now what did I do? "I'll leave you two alone for a minute, Robyn said, excusing herself and going inside only to close the door. I looked at my boot. "Yes, Lieutenant Janonka?" I looked up momentarily, only to see that she was looking down at her boot. "Sorrell...Sandusky..." I stared, now definitely puzzled. "Back on Kusari, you did something to me." Whoops, I called her by her first name and practically ordered her out of battle. She must have been perturbed by my audacity. "L-look, I'm really sorry if I spoke disrespectfully--" I stammered, suddenly nervous. "No, no, it's not that at all." From the tone of her voice, I couldn't tell if she was angry or apologetic, but she continued. "It's about that bonehead attack you made, jumping on that Davion heavy while other enemy 'Mechs were behind you. It was a really stupid thing for you to do and I just wanted to - to thank you for saving my life by doing it. " She looked sheepish, and I think she might have blushed but I never could prove it. Then her face slowly regained its natural scowl, and she turned around and walked away. I shook my head slowly, then opened the door and entered where Robyn waited. I collapsed listlessly onto a double-settee and she poured beverages. We were both mid-savor when another knock come at the door. I sighed. "I'll get it, " she said, primly. This tine is was Toki, his cheerful face wedged through the partially-opened door. "Oh, good. You are back, Sandy." I waved weakly. "I have only a few questions I'd like to ask right now." "Sorry, Mr. Hoshiyamo-Jones, "Robyn said firmly, "but I have a few questions to ask Sandy myself. And mine come first. "But -" "Please come back in, oh, say a week. Then Robyn cocked her head at me as she closed the door very slowly on a bewildered Draconis historian. I stood up and gestured to her to wait. "No, Toki," I called out, biting my lower lip and grinning, "I think you'd better make it two." Then Robyn closed the door. Neither of us saw Toki scribble a few more lines on another card and walk off, muttering quietly to himself. 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