With six of the seven Gray Death BattleMechs now present, the great, silent metal machines dominated the cavern.
"Yes, we've been able to assemble and hide everything we need for quite a nice little army here," Ericksson said as he led Grayson into the cave. "The computers and electronics are left over from great-granddad's day, when he started building and repairing AgroMechs for the plantations around here. And there's room enough to hide these ‘Mechs and the whole rebel army." He stopped and fixed Grayson with a penetrating, appraising look. "We've done well for ourselves without outside help," he said. "But we can't fight BattleMechs on our own. With the right training, we can take on Nagumo's whole army, and win! That's why we need you and your people."
The training itself was far more involved than Ericksson's statement made it sound. It was after that conversation in the caverns that Grayson met the Free Verthandi Rangers, the people his unit was supposed to train. Like most rebel armies, this one was a mixed lot There were a few grizzled veterans from the rebel field army who had volunteered to learn how to fight ‘Mechs. Most, however, were fresh-faced and idealistic young men and women, some no more than twelve or thirteen standard years of age. Harriman Olssen, son of the rebel Council's Olssen, was all of fifteen.
Grayson had been the son of the commander of an independent BattleMech mercenary company, and his earliest memories were of BattleMechs and the special men and women who piloted them. He had been only ten when he'd been formally inducted into Carlyle's Commandos from the household of family members, technicians, and specialists who formed the body behind the regiment's fighting head. For ten years after that he had studied, worked, fought, and sweated under the tutelage of Weapons Master Kai Griffith and others, honing mind, body, and reactions into the blend of skills a Mech Warrior needed. He had trained his body hard, sharpened his mind. Mental disciplines akin to those of the ancient martial arts had taught him to become one with his weapons, whether they were bare hands, laser, or BattleMech, allowing him to bring mind and body into subtle union. He had still been a Mech Warrior Apprentice when disaster fell. On Trellwan, his father had been killed, the Commandos scattered, and Grayson himself had been stranded on an enemy-garrisoned world because everyone thought he was dead.
Not every unit went to the same lengths to train their prospective Mech Warriors. Many used some variant of a military academy, a series of courses lasting between three and six standard years. Yet it was true that the basic skills necessary for maneuvering a BattleMech in combat could be mastered in a few weeks of intensive training. Entire ‘Mech armies had been fielded by young pilots who barely knew how to trigger their weapons. Needless to say, the battle records of such green armies were not impressive, save in the length of their casualty lists. Yet Verthandi's Revolutionary Council wanted the Gray Death to prepare just such an army, a small one, for slaughter.
Grayson was bound by the word of his contract. Here in the Caves, he was supposed to teach this gang of mostly boys and girls the art of BattleMech warfare. For the first time, he seriously regretted ever having signed that contract.
* * * *
At sea, the storm continued, lashing at the jury-rigged Phobos.Winds and rain threatened to nudge her yawing, pitching, twenty-degree list into the final lurch to the bottom. Use Martinez sat at the controls, watching seasickness overtake one of her engineering Techs on the canted deck. She averted her eyes at the last moment to study the pressure gauges for the hot water boilers that the Caledonian had helped design and wire, all the while cursing unintelligibly. With the drunken stagger of the ship and the mingled stinks of fear and vomit assaulting her senses, her own stomach was none too steady at the moment.
Steam pressure was still holding as throbbing pumps gulped in sea water and funneled it past the Phobos'sdrive reactor. Steam and hot water continued to thrust the DropShip unsteadily through the foaming sea. At times, they seemed to be barely making way, but they weremoving. As long as the storm lasted, they were also safe from hostile, prying eyes.
She muttered something vicious.
"Ma'am?" The sick Tech looked up, his face pale and drawn, his arm wedged against a support beam to steady himself against the ship's motion.
"Nothing, Groton. Nothing. Remind me to order an all-hands evolution when we make port. This ship stinks, and we're going to have a scrub-down, fore and aft!"
Groton looked, if possible, more miserable than before. "Aye, Captain."
She checked the repeater screen, which showed a computer-generated map of the Azure Sea and the point of light plotted on it by the ship's internal tracking system.
"God help me," she added, more to herself than to the Tech. "If we make it, I won't know whether to curse that bastard Carlyle for being a genius, or curse myself for following him into this mess!"
* * * *
"I don't care what you've been told or taught, a BattleMech is not invincible!"
Sergeant Ramage paced a narrow track in front of the twenty-odd Ranger trainees gathered to hear his lecture. They were seated on the sandy floor of the cave entrance. At their backs, the sky was overcast, but showed signs of revealing the afternoon sun. The Order of the Day was that ‘Mechs and large concentrations of people were to remain under cover. Looming behind Ramage was the bulk of a Stinger,and his lanky frame reached barely halfway up the Stinger'sarmored leg to its knee.
Grayson leaned back against the slick wetness of a boulder at the cave entrance, folded his arms, and listened closely to Ramage's performance. Grayson himself had trained Ramage. The career infantry NCO had formerly been a sergeant in the planetary defense militia on Trellwan until Grayson had taught combat tactics to him and the other Trellwanese. Ramage was doing a good job, Grayson decided. He was a lively instructor, and his voice and gestures communicated that enthusiasm. He'd already established a rapport with his students.
Grayson could find no fault with the Verthandians' willingness, determination, or courage, either, which had been put to many a grueling test in the last three weeks. The students had been organized into lances, with one Gray Death veteran trooper from the combat platoon acting as lance corporal to three Verthandians. Company, platoon, and battalion command elements were formed of mixtures of mercenaries and natives, for the Verthandians would have to fight under their own officers when the time came, not under the offworlders. Recruit officers learned side by side with their enlisted counterparts.
The Gray Death's technical platoon was involved as well. Sergeant Karelian was in charge of organizing the Verthandian Techs into military technical squads. Fortunately, the Verthandians were well-trained in a wide range of mechanical and technical skills. The Legion would definitely not lack repair and maintenance personnel.
Grayson's big worry was the combat recruits. There were two separate groups of them. One consisted of those who knew how to pilot ‘Mechs and now needed to learn how to do so in combat. That group was small and select; Grayson had met all of its members and given several lectures, as had all the Legion's MechWarriors. They were an eager group. Several among them, including tall, rangy Collin Dace and Rolf Montido, were experienced combat warriors. Others, like Vikki Traxen, Nadine Cheka, Olin Sonovarro, and Carlin Adams, had only recently learned how to pilot a ‘Mech and had never been in combat at all.
Ramage had taken the second group in hand as his personal charges. They were to be the nucleus of the Verthandian ground forces, trained in anti- ‘Mech commando tactics and transformed into an elite force. Though far larger than the first group, many had already dropped out, choosing to remain instead in the regular rebel army. Enough remained that Ramage had subdivided them so that some were at practice while he gave demonstrations to others.