The elder student. Cadet Willis Crawford, reached out to touch one of the miniature fighters that represented his DropShip's close-fighter support. A sigh went up from the surrounding auditorium, and then the rest of the class, hidden in the darkness, held its collective breath, most praying for disaster. To redeploy now, before the DropShip was down and the 'Mechs on board dispersed, was either a bold stroke or a foolish error.
At Cadet Crawford's right hand stood the flamboyant Anton Marik, younger brother of Janos Mank. Captain-General of the Free Worlds League. Anton, the nominal second-in-command on this assignment, could offer assistance or opinions, but 50 far, Crawford had taken the drop on his own. Anton could not have been more proud if he had evolved this new assault variant himself. Even at Princefleld, an Academy that fostered intense competition among all of its students, these two had formed a bond of friendship.
With a momentary flicker, the computer display of the potential enemy defense zones and DropShip attack lances changed. The enemy response opportunities grew. The class grumbled like an invisible animal closing in for the kill. Professor MaqAloo pinched his lip in a characteristic gesture of disapproval. Anton's faith never faltered, however, as his classmate redeployed the fighters further out, and sharply diverted the descending craft to an alternate landing site.
The computer, its defenses taken by surprise, diverted to cover the feint. Crawford's fighters hit the computer's Mech concentrations. The enemy fighter counterattack was drawn off by the fighter feints. During the precious seconds it took the simulation to redeploy, Crawford recalled his fighters and deployed his 'Mechs to mop up the ground resistance.
The lights in the auditorium came up, and the class began to babble its assessment of the new and innovative tactic.
‘Well done. Will!’ The young Marik slapped his friend on the back.
Professor MaqAloo cleared his throat and stepped over to face the young man.
‘Cadet Crawford, that was clever work, taking into account the computer's tendency toward a conservative defense.’
‘Thank you. sir.’ Crawford interrupted enthusiastically. ‘I knew I could draw off its fighter reserves.’
That's enough, Cadet.’ the old man said sharply. ‘You have fooled the machine, and so you are guaranteed a favorable grade. However, if you tried that stunt in the face ot Humanopposition, you'd lose that Drop-Ship! Keep that in mind.’
With that, the Professor turned and stalked off with crisp military precision.
‘Don't mind that sour old rust heap.’ Anton Marik told the man destined to become his closest friend. ‘C'mon. Together we can lick anything.’
As his younger friend turned to go, Willis Crawford felt a cold chill run down his spine.
Was the Professor right? Was there some angle he hadn't covered? No way. The old man was just a washed-up war horse, too rusted out to accept a new idea. With his own military talent and Anton's backing, what could possibly go wrong?
THE JUDAS BLIND
-Michael A. Stackpole
Somehow I'd hoped that growing a bushy black mustache would be enough to disguise me because getting killed this early on would certainly hurt any chances ot the mission coming off as planned. Actually, the plan was for me to avoid being killed at all—at least my version of it did. Still, some of the Intelligence types who were scoping this thing out for Duke Michael Hasek-Davion allowed as how survival was not 100 percent necessary to the mission's successful completion. Real rays of sunshine, those guys.
When I noticed a trio of long shadows stretching behind me down the rubble-strewn alley. I realized my mustache and ratty street clothes had not concealed my identity from the residents of the sawararenaislum. Pulling myself up to full height and expanding my chest in an effort to appear more menacing, I only wished I'd been endowed with my brother's height and heftier build. The three people producing the shadows behind me responded to my gambit with the low hum of a vibroblade.
Dressed in a leather flight jacket one size too small for his ample belly, a tall, heavy-set man drifted forward from the alley's depths. He came close enough for the weak yellow light from the street to illuminate his cruel face. With a full, fleshy face that even three days' growth of black beard could not harden, he had the complexion a mushroom would have envied. The man narrowed his piggish little eyes, then smiled to show me both teeth he still claimed as his own. ‘We got us a good prize here, nan datte?’
I raised both hands and opened them toward him as nervousness tied my stomach in knots. ‘Sumimasen, anata.I am not familiar with the streets of Hakkinshi. Perhaps you could direct me back to my hotel?’
I caught the dip of his head in the half-light a second before it registered upon the brain of the man he meant to signal. The vibroblade's murderous hum zeroed in on my back like an angry wasp, but I dropped to one knee, ducking under my attacker's slash. My Fingers closed around a heavy stick of wood, which I drove back behind me as hard as possible.
My blow caught the thug just below his belt buckle, and he doubled over as I twisted toward him. Swiveling the club around, I brought my right hand up, smashing the thug's jaw shut with a tooth-shattering crack. As the man flew up and back, his vibroblade dropped from nerveless fingers. Before the deadman-switch could shut it down, the weapon had burrowed to the hilt in the mist-slickened tarmac.
His two compatriots stared with shocked expressions at their fallen comrade. Pressing the advantage of surprise—in accordance with Duke Michael's admonition to ‘adapt and innovate’—-I wielded my club savagely. Swatting the next nearest bandit across the head, I slammed him face-first into an alley wall.
Then I parried the whirling length of chain employed by the third ruffian, letting it whip itself around my club. Tugging back hard, I pulled my skinny, pimple-faced assailant forward. Utterly off balance, he squawked for help in a high-pitched voice, but never dreamed of releasing his deathgrip on the weapon. I chopped my chain-weighted club down on his wrist sharply, breaking his grip. When he turned to run, clutching his wrist to his chest, I sent him sailing back to the street with a none-too-gentle kick to the seat of his pants.
Stars exploded in my eyes as the man I'd knocked into the alley wall caught me with a roundhouse right. I reeled across the pavement slamming heavily into the far wall. My attacker drove at me like a prize-tighter, but I sidestepped his second punch, relishing the cracking sound as his fist smacked into the brick wall behind me. His scream of pain shifted tenor as I jerked my left knee up into his groin, then died abruptly as I brought my club straight down on his head.
I turned quickly enough to see the fat man slip on some fetid garbage in his haste to escape. Snaking the length of chain from the club. I shook my head ‘Why is it that everyone thinks a MechWarrior is useless outside his 'Mech?’
Without replying, the fat man scrambled to his feet. He shot me one porcine look of horror, then tried to run off. Arcing the club down at his legs. I managed to trip him into a pile of rotting garbage He cried out, but the garbage so muffled his scream that it sounded as though he were drowning.
Crouching down, I activated the vibro-blade long enough to pull its 30 centimeters of blade from the ground. Shutting it all the way off, I tucked the blade through my belt. Then I slung the chain over my shoulder and sauntered down the alley to where the fat man wallowed in refuse.
I smiled at him. ‘Tea leaves add some nice color to your face.’ With one end of the chain in either hand. I looped it around his head. Pulling back gently, I helped him slide into something approximating a sitting position. ‘I have some questions you want to answer, wakarimaska?’
He nodded dejectedly. ‘Hai. wakarimas.'
I nodded to reassure him. ‘Good. Go ahead, flick that eggshell off your ear. It looks ridiculous. Now, I was told that if I were to find the Little Dragon anywhere, it would be here.’ I narrowed my eyes ‘You're not little, and you certainly aren't a dragon...You'd not be the one I'm looking for, would you?’