Black smoke boiled into the cold green sky above the spaceport. Seconds later a pair of dull thumps sounded across the desert, followed by the rattle of small arms fire in the direction of Mount Gayal. From where his 'Mech surveyed the edge of the port, Grayson could see the brooding, truncated pyramid of the Castle halfway up the slope.
"That'll be our friends," Grayson told Sergeant Larressen. "What do you think? Can we manage the Stingertoo?"
Larressen stood close by the Locust'sleft foot, gloved hands on his hips, puffs of white vapor issuing from his mouth in the frigid air. He was breathing hard after the struggle to raise the Wasp.
"We can try." He panted a bit over the radio circuit. "The question is whether we can move it once we get it up."
"Try it"
The Locusthelped maneuver the transporter sled across the sand to the side of the fallen Stinger,and they repeated the loading process. The ramp was long and broad enough for only one 'Mech, and so the Stingerhad to be piled on top of the Wasp.As the Locustbacked the Stingeronto the heap, Larressen detailed eight men to retrieve the 'Mech's arm from the sand 50 meters away.
"Striker One, this is Three."
"Yeah, Three. Go."
"Can't hold 'em much longer. We ambushed 'em with rocket launchers, but it didn't slow them down. The Shadow Hawkis closing on us, while the Marauderis still headed toward you... and we can't do a damn thing about it."
"Right Scatter your mines and, withdraw. We're rollng."
"On our way."
Grayson gave the go-ahead to the transporter's driver, who was perched in the vehicle's cab high above the desert, almost at shoulder level with Grayson's 'Mech. The vehicle was rated for 60 tons, but the pair of 20-tonners on its salvage deck were so precariously fitted that Grayson did not want to trust even diamond monofilament lashings when the accelerating vehicle hit rough ground.
Grayson opened a combat channel to all units. "All Strikers, this is One. Mission accomplished! pack it in, we're going home!"
"Striker One, this is Two!"
"Go ahead, two."
"Ramage, Lieutenant. We've got a bit of a problem here."
Grayson closed his eyes. Problems just now were what they did not need. "What is it?"
"Civilians, sir! A couple hundred of them! We got into a firefight with sone sentries. Turned out they were guarding a quonset hut full of prisoners."
"What's the problem?"
"God, Lieutenant, how're we supposed to get them out of here? Half of 'em are sick, and none of 'em fit to run ten klicks back to town!"
Suddenly, Grayson had a mind's eye image of the prisoners — shocked, weak, tired, and nowhere to go. He remembered Renfred Tor saying the bandits' prisoners would end up as slaves, remembered Claydon's pain at the memory of his mother. He couldn't leave those people to the mercy of the bandits. Twisting the Locust'scontrol stick, he urged the machine into a lurching, thudding run. Once across the shredded remnants of the spaceport fence, he pressed toward the sound of gunfire.
Machine gun fire howled and whined from the damaged armor of the Locust'shead. Grayson swung his 'Mech, tracing IR shadows of hidden men. The Locust'smachine guns stretched out with lazy, probing streams of tracers, then ignited a hastily constructed barricade of fuel drums and wooden crates. As the barricade exploded into mere dust and splinters, Grayson's external mike picked up a ragged cheer from men trotting out from cover. Their tired faces were blackened with grime, and many were missing helmets and other gear. Several were being helped along by unwounded comrades, but his men still had the strength to cheer.
The former prisoners, however, were dazed and uncomprehending. The assault team had liberated a half-dozen scout hovercraft from somewhere in the port, and these were crowded to overflowing with the weakest and sickest of the ex-prisoners, and with some of the women. From the shattered windows of the port control tower, tracers flashed and spat, seeking the refugees. A soldier screamed, thrashing on the ferrocrete. The Locust'smachine guns fired again, and broken glass and fragments of stone showered from the tower to the ground.
"Sergeant Ramage!"
"Sir!"
"Check those buildings over there." From his higher vantage point, Grayson could see what looked like storage sheds to the north. The Locustgestured with a gun arm. "See if you can round up more vehicles."
"Sir!"
"Striker Four!”
“We're here!"
"You're going to have to run interference for us. Go for the Marauder!Slow him down!"
There was no response, but Grayson didn't have time to pursue it. The hovercraft carrier's commander must be in shock with orders like that
"Transporter!"
"Yessir!"
"Change of plan! Swing north toward the port. You'll have some passengers.”
“Yessir!"
His console warned him of probing radar. "Move it men! We're out of time!" Explosions echoed across the desert. The Marauderwas there, four kilometers off and closing with ponderous, slow-motion strides. The hovercraft peeled off to meet this new menace, snarling low across the wastes to loose missiles and pulses of laser light.
Grayson had a new worry now. None of the ex-prisoners had cold-weather gear. The sub-zero temperature would quickly kill them if they weren't moved to shelter fast. It was also possible the Maraudermight get them.
Grayson tracked and fired with his laser. At over three klicks, he thought he had scored hits, but could not be sure. At such ranges, even the most powerful ‘Mech-borne lasers were practically useless.
The Marauder'sautocannon winked fire in return. Flame gushed from a striken GEV, strewing metal, plastic, and bodies across the sand. The other hovercraft circled around, seeking to strike their target from the rear, where the armor was thinnest. The Marauderslowed, paused, searching for ambush or concealed attackers.
The transporter ground to a rumbling halt, and the freed prisoners swarmed up along the sides, grabbing handholds and being pulled up by troopers onto the broad deck. Heavily laden hovercraft thrummed past, racing for Sarghad. Others deposited their passengers beside the transport, then swung north to gather more stragglers.
The ferrocrete emptied, except for the littered debris of battle. Grayson called all units.
"That's it! Fall back! Striker Four, drop your mines and break off! Rendezvous at Sarghad!"
Autocannon shells probed and followed, falling short.
They were well underway when the Marauder,perhaps suspecting an ambush, broke off the chase.
* * * *
Thirty hours after the battle at the wadi, Harimandir Singh stared at an image of the boy he'd thought was dead.
"So," he said. The word held calm acceptance, as well as grim anticipation. He fingered the 2-D photo his spy had handed him. "So Carlyle's son is alive. And you say he'sthe one behind this... this situation?"
Stefan nodded jerkily. Singh terrified him. He never knew how the Red Duke's man would react to the news he brought, and the uncertainty was wearing on him.