The anger in Yorinaga's voice told Akira he had struck a nerve, but the reply cut off all chance of further discussion. "I guard his honor because he is the Dragon. That is enough. My life, and the life of every person in the Draconis Combine, is his to play with, to use or to warp in any way he sees fit. He is the Dragon, and I live to serve him."
Yorinaga's voice lost some of its intensity. "We will not speak of this again, my son, for some might consider the conversation treasonous. There is no more time. We have arrived and must, once again, become warriors and serve the Way of the Sword."
Akira shifted his radio back to the tactical frequency he shared with his company. "Jack, I'm back, but I'll stay up here. If we get hit, we'll form up as the left flank. Have Korasulance keep their eyes open on our back-trail."
Seaborg replied quickly and positively as Akira brought his Orionaround the last bend in the canyon they had traveled to the heart of Nusakan's equatorial desert. Opening out away and down from his position, framed by canyon walls that widened out and vanished at the horizon, Akira saw a flat scarlet plain dotted with purplish succulent plants sprouting golden spikes. In the center of the plains rose up one massive mesa, shaped by eons of harsh desert winds. Like lesser Acolytes surrounding a Precentor, smaller outcroppings of purplish lava-rock rose up from the desert floor to surround the centerpiece.
Dragon's Blood! It's incredible!Mechanically, Akira directed his 'Mech forward into the desert valley, seeing but disbelieving everything. Can anything be left, or has my father been cheated after all?
Beginning at the valley entrance, the shattered bodies of Battle-Mechs lay scattered about. At first, Akira saw them as toys smashed in anger by a child, but he rejected that analogy. The destruction here is too complete. A child would have been careless in lashing out. This is deliberate.
'Mechs from the Fifth Sword of Light lay staring up at Nusakan's twin suns, the desert heat rising in blurry waves from their shapes. All had gaping rents in their armor. Limbs, broken and maimed beyond recognition, covered the sandy surface chaotically. In several places, one or two legs stood as monuments to the 'Mechs they had carried into battle, though no sign of their torsos remained.
Mixed among them, but too few in number for Akira's ease of mind, were 'Mechs with the black legs and red body color scheme favored by the Kell Hounds. Those 'Mechs, though equally as dead as the Draconian machines around them, had not been as savaged in battle. With the exception of two 'Mechs whose heads had been crushed, the Kell Hound war machines were uniformly missing their faceplates. All this carnage, yet the Kell Hound pilots still managed to escaped their doomed 'Mechs. They value their lives over their honor and their machines.
A shiver ran down Akira's spine. The Coordinator directed us to destroy all the mercenaries on Northwind because he claimed mercenaries had no honor. When I faced Team Banzai on North-wind, I saw mercenaries fighting to save people not even in their company. Here these "dishonorable " Kell Hounds have managed to rip up one of our best units and still save their pilots. I fear we too often die for honor in our 'Mechs rather than fight as best we can and escape to fight again.
Catching sight of movement in the distance, Akira added magnification to his forward sensor readout and directed his attention to the large mesa. Before it, in an arena-like, bowl-shaped depression, two 'Mechs squared off. At the north side of the arena were several ranks of 'Mechs with their backs to the large mesa. Akira recognized their colors as those of the Kell Hounds. Opposite them, in the black and gold of the Fifth Sword of Light, a half dozen Kurita Mechs also watched the battle in the pit.
The Kell Hound 'Mech, a humanoid Cyclops,looked tired and battered. Armor hung from it in broken sheets. Its left leg, which had been virtually stripped of armor, had been fused at the knee. Despite its injuries, however, the 'Mech triggered a staggering burst from the autocannon mounted at its right hip, then drove in at its foe.
The Bansheeit faced took the hail of slugs in the chest and rocked backward. Armor, the first it had lost in battle, streaked away in smoking shards. The crater in the armor looked like a raw wound over the Banshee'sheart, but still showed evidence of yet more armor between the hole and the 'Mech's insides.
A transmission from one of a half-dozen other Fifth Sword 'Mechs watching the battle from close up crackled through Akira's neurohelmet. "Praise be to the Dragon! You have come. Now we can complete the destruction of the mercenary dogs. Hurry! When Tai-shoConti destroys this Bradley, the Kell Hounds will kill him."
Yorinaga's sharp reply came quickly, "lie.It is an even battle. The mercenaries will respect it."
The name "Bradley" rang a bell in Akira's mind. Bradley... Scott Bradley. He commanded the mercenaries on Northwind. Conti's Fifth Sword used us to destroy Bradley's command while Conti ripped up the Davion garrison, the Fifth Deneb Light Cavalry. Bradley wants to avenge the warriors who died there.Akira's tawny eyes narrowed. How is it that a mercenary whose 'Mech has obviously seen battle can demand satisfaction of the Fifth Sword's leader and not know honor?
The Cyclop'srush forward seemed to surprise the Banshee'spilot. As the Combine 'Mech twisted to avoid the brunt of the charge, the Cyclops'sballed left fist smashed into the Banshee'sright shoulder. With a sound like a thundercrack, the mechanical fist pulverized ceramic armor plates into dust.
The Bansheebrought its left fist round in a murderous hook, but the Cyclopsleaned dangerously to the right, ducking beneath the blow. Bradley pushed off with his good right leg and twisted awkwardly around to slam his Mech's right fist into the Banshee'sspine. More armor evaporated into dust, opening a hole in the Banshee'sback.
Unbalanced by the missed punch and sped on by the blow to the Banshee'sspine, the ninety-five-ton 'Mech pitched forward. Conti, reacting quickly, reached out and grabbed the Cyclops'sdamaged left leg as he fell. Rolling the Banshee,he snapped the limb clean off, dropping the Cyclopsonto its back.
Gracelessly, Palmer Conti brought his 'Mech to its feet and raised the Cyclops'sleg in both arms like a club. Flat on its back, the Cyclopslifted both arms to protect its head. Conti's voice, full of victory, filled the radiowaves with a wide-beam broadcast. "That, Major Bradley," he boasted, "is why your people died on Northwind!"
A gout of red-gold flame erupted from the Cyclops'sautocannon muzzle. The stream of shells it spat out sliced into the Banshee'sright armpit like a chainsaw. Armor parted like tissue paper and rained down confetti-like over the arena. Myomer muscles snapped like rubber bands stressed beyond tolerance and the ferro-titanium ball-and-socket shoulder joint gave way. Still clutching the Cyclops'sleg in its fist, the Banshee'sarm sailed from the arena.
The impact of the autocannon's fire spun the Bansheeto the right. The Cyclopslashed out with its leg, crushing armor on the Banshee'sleft ankle and slamming that leg against the Banshee'sother leg. The Bansheeflailed madly against the air in a vain attempt to regain its balance, then toppled slowly and inexorably onto its face.