The terse orders had the desired effect. The sole reply was a crisp ‘Yo’. St. George moved through the rain in a direct line toward McHaigh's men, a line that would take him straight into the path of the Steiner Stalker.There was no sign of the giant assault 'Mech. The Steiners must have seen his forces moving up and mistaken them for something more than what they were. Harris's determined resistance must have misled them into thinking he had powerful back-up. St. George strode past the remains of the Hunchback.It looked nothing like the manshaped machine it had once been. The pieces were so small that most of the flames had already gone out in the downpour.
Out of the rain loomed the distant heat signatures of a line of Mechs firing to the right and left. ‘McHaigh?’ The question was superfluous. ‘Aye, Cap'n.’ The Sergeant's voice sounded happier than he had a right to be. ‘You can fall back through us, sir. We got a little help, though they won't stay long. Or so they say.’
‘Help? Who?’ the Captain couldn't think who was left. Regimental was pulling out, and battalion had come apart.
A third voice cut in, ‘Wake up, Academy boy. The Steiners are hot on your tail, and I don't intend to stand by here forever, just so you don't get your machines dirty.’
‘Seguin, what the hell? I thought you were going to but out if we got caught up the line.’ The Captain was astonished that the mere had stuck his neck out for them.
‘Academy boy, you make me regret coming back for you. You're the only one of the tin soldiers on this whole planet that hasn't come completely apart. You stick up for your men. And you took in those two orphaned Rifleman,stiffening them up enough so that they would stay alone in the salient until McHaigh...’
‘Sergeant McHaigh,’ McHaigh said. ‘...SergeantMcHaigh could come for them.’ The mercenary Captain paused to catch his breath. ‘Let's just say I'm impressed. Now don't go and spoil it by standing around here all teary-eyed with thanks.’
‘Swords of St. George,’ the Captain growled into the radio. ‘Fall back to the power plant. On the double.’
The battered Swords formed up and began to fall back, and Captain St. George joined them.
‘How do you like that? Not even a 'thank you kindly, Captain Seguin'.’ The mere's tone indicated he hadn't expected one.
‘He's got a lot on his mind,- you old pirate.’ Sergeant McHaigh put in before he. too, turned and walked off into the rain.
The Captain of Seguin's Strikers watched them go. He'd hit upon the most effective way to slow down the regular Lyran forces. He hoped the confusion would slow Hansen's Roughriders, too. At least enough for the Academy boy to get away. Now,he thought, how does that speech go? Something about being an unemployed mercenary unit looking for a hire. Yes. that sounded about right.
The Swords of St George raced through the power plant, and into the city. The rain that had hidden them throughout the retreat diminished to a drizzle.
‘McHaigh, we'll take parallel streets back to the spaceport. You take Swords Three and Swords Two, and head back on the main drag. I'll take what's left of One and our two new recruits...’—the Captain surveyed the map on his tactical readout—’and follow you by 30 seconds on this side street off to the left. It seems to make it almost all the way to the port.’
‘Aye, sir. You'll be our reserve. If anyone cuts us off, that is.’
‘That's affirmative, Mac. If you encounter any resistance, move around it, if you can. Anything too tough to move around, we'll just have to punch through.’ Before St. George could say anything further, they were interrupted. All the 'Mechs froze for an instant. The sound was like a roll of thunder that went on and on. The company's Mechs scattered, each trying to find some kind of building to squeeze up against for cover. The sound reached a crescendo, the roar of a fighter wing coming in low. The evil-looking Seydlitzfighters flashed past overhead.
‘Lord, that was a full wing of Lyran fighters.’ Breaking in on St. George's battalion frequency, the unfamiliar voice came from one of the Riflemen.
‘He's right Cap'n,’ added Lipescue. ‘They were heading straight for the port!’
‘McHaigh, move out. Now!’ St George ordered. ‘Keep to the sides of the road, but go. on the double.’
With a hasty ‘aye,’ the Sergeant's Wolverinemoved off at the head of a column of six 'Mechs. the remains of two of St. George's lances.
On Battalion, St. George contacted the Riflemen.‘Are you ready to move out?’
One of the Riflemenraised its right weapons arm. and a voice over the radio came back. ‘I'm Corporal Jones. The lady in the other 'Mech is Private Cho. We're with you all the way.’
‘O.K.. Jones, you're my backup. We're moving out on this side road. If anything goes wrong, you'll get hold of Sergeant-Major McHaigh immediately. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then follow me on the double.’ With that, the Captain took off after his retreating lances.
The sky in the direction of the spaceport was being ripped and torn by the contrails of gyrating fighters. Even as Captain St. George watched anxiously, a DropShip clawed through the swarm trying to reach deep space.
The Swords moved through the vacant city unobstructed. The pace they set caused the heat to rise to unbearable levels in his own Shadow Hawk.St. George knew It was the same for all his men, but he dared not stop.
The fighting over the port continued. Communications from Regimental had stopped minutes ago. The only sounds coming over his radio were reports from his own company.
McHaigh reached the gates. ‘We're at the port, Captain. Should we wait and form up before we move in?’
‘Don't stop,’ St. George ordered. ‘Bust straight on through. Watch for fighters, but don't stop!’
‘We're bashing through the perimeter fencing now, Captain. The fighters seem to have pulled out’ The Sergeant's voice sounded odd.
‘Good. They've pulled back to refuel. Get to the DropShip, Sarge. We're right behind you.’
‘We're almost there, just past these warehouses. Captain, there's a lot of smoke coming from the flight line...’ McHaigh's voice faded out.
‘Oh, God, no.’ The voice that cut in was Lipescue's. The despair gave it an ugly sound.
‘Sergeant McHaigh, report!’ There was silence. Captain St. George felt the icy hand of fear clutch his heart. His lance charged through the fence. If anything, his speed increased as he bolted the last few meters past the walls of the warehouses that led to the flight line. The Shadow Hawkemerged onto the tarmac.
The 'Mechs of his company spread out in a half circle like mourners at a funeral pyre. Against a backdrop of grim gray sky and straggling undergrowth stood the burning DropShip.
Captain St. George moved forward like a man in a nightmare. This was the one contingency he had not foreseen. He knew they would wait for him, and so they had, to the bitter end.
Silence. Then the other ‘guests’ started to arrive from among the port's outbuildings. An Atlasloomed up and came to a halt as a Cicadaraced by.
Over St. George's radio, on broad beam, came a voice. ‘It almost worked. The merc's surrender slowed down the regulars, but we came right on through. Formally, sir, Hansen's Roughriders would like to offer the men of The Swords of St George 'alternate transportation.'‘
FINAL EXAM
-Bear Peters
Tension filled the large, dimly lit room where a trio of men hunched like witches over the cauldron-like Tactical Plot Simulator. The oldest of the three looked with concern at the scenario laid out on the plotting board. Sizigmund MaqAloo General (retired). Professor of 'Mech Deployment and Assault Strategy, hoped the actions of the elder of the two students would not confirm his fears.