• • •
“Simon,” Katrina said, templing her fingers in front of her. Her office went silent as she spoke, eerily silent. “You have let me down. You have let down the whole of the Federated Commonwealth. Because of you, and your incompetence, my brother has been able to land his troops on Avalon Island.”
Simon Gallagher did his best to restrain his nervousness, but Katherine could see it. A bead of sweat on the brow, a hand tapping on the arm of the chair. Good, he understands that his life is on the line, Champion or no. “Your Highness, I have already sacked the personnel responsible for this grievous error. From where I sat, with the intelligence at hand, the landings in Portsmouth looked to be the primary assault.”
Katrina shot a glance at Jackson Davion, then back to her pet Field Marshal. “We are far too pressed right now for me to try and replace you, regardless of what I think of your competence, Simon,” she fired back. “But know this, if Victor reaches this palace, you have plenty on your files that he will find most amusing. You will, as will your family. I will see to that myself. Do I make myself clear?”
For a heartbeat, Simon Gallagher said nothing. Staring at her coldly, he understood the implications of what she was saying. For him, there would be no endgame. “I understand you completely, your Highness.”
“Good,” she replied. “Because this war is not mine alone. Everyone loyal to me stands to lose everything should we fail here.
“Everyone…”
• • •
General Christifori stood beside her bed. Two IV bottles fed Katya, keeping her alive and hydrated. The nurse had told him, advanced neurofeedback. The hits had set off an internal explosion that had sent a pulse of bio-electrical feedback into her neurohelmet and right into her brain. It was the bane of a MechWarrior. The condition was survivable, but painful.
Archer reached out and took her hand. It didn’t move. She had been there with him from the beginning. In fact, it was her prodding that had convinced him to take a stand against Katherine. Now she was lying here, in a hospital bed, because he had ordered her into action.
Damn.
Archer winced. If she were awake, he knew she would be pushing him, telling him not to waste time at her bedside. With Katya, the cause had been everything. Taking out Katherine had been the focus of her last few years. Injury would not stop that.
Christifori leaned over her. “I’m always counting on you to be my conscious, Katya. Now you can’t. So what would you want me to do?” He spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper.
No response came. He didn’t expect any. In his mind he heard her talking. Heard her words. He nodded. “Alright then. Once more unto the breech, eh?”
He let go of her limp hand and turned away. Activating his comm unit he signaled. “This is Specter One. What’s the status of my ’Mech?”
“Sir,” came a voice that could only be Major Gett. “Why do you want to know?”
“Major, I assure you I don’t need or want a lecture. What is the status of my ’Mech?”
“Sir,” she replied curtly. “Your Penetrator is little more than a shell. It’s going to take two days and two teams to get it operational. We don’t have any reserve equipment not allocated.”
“Then get those teams to work, priority one,” he said. Turning he gave Katya a glance. “Yes, my friend, I’ll end this thing once and for all.”
Chapter Six
Approaching the Davion Palace
New Avalon, Crucis March
Federated Suns
20 April 3067
Sergeant Reed swung his battered Lancelot wide of the incoming missile salvo. The SRM carrier had unleashed a volley of death and destruction down at his position at maximum range. The stubby missiles twisted and contorted, raining down all around him. His Lancelot quaked. Its right arm, already a mangled clump of metal, caught three warheads, twisting it around even more. A puff of white smoke popped out from the elbow actuator and he watched as the metal and myomer stump dropped off to the ground. The ’Mech’s weight shifted with the loss of the arm, but he easily compensated.
Suddenly he saw something out of the right side of his cockpit. It was a BattleMech and according to his tactical display, it was friendly. The massive bird-like ’Mech was a dull primer gray color, obviously repair armor plating. It stopped and leveled its massive arms out for a shot. He watched as glowing-jade beams stabbed out at the SRM Carrier.
The boxy little tank was easily in range and tried to make a break for better cover. The beams sliced its flank armor, cutting long black slashes. Reed watched as smoke, oily black, rose from the rear hit. The SRM carrier lurched to a sudden stop. Hatches opened and the crew began to crawl. The smoke seemed to come from every seam, every crack, every hatch. Small wisps, then tendrils of twisted darkness.
Then it blew up.
It was an orange ball of fire that engulfed everything around the SRM tank. The blast was massive and over in less than a second. The crew never stood a chance. Sergeant Reed was stunned at what he had seen. If not for the ’Mech, a Penetrator, arriving, he might have been wiped out.
He stabbed his comm panel. “Whoever you are, thanks for the assist.”
A very solemn, almost calming voice came back to him. “The Remagan boys are a tough unit. Watch yourself trooper.”
“Who are you?” Reed asked.
“Christifori,” came back the voice. “General Christifori.” Suddenly the Penetrator turned and ran off, obviously having detected another target. Reed sat in his Lancelot’s command seat, his mouth hanging agape. He had heard stories from the other MechWarriors about Christifori. For the last few weeks, he and members of his unit had been operating as an independent command. Word was that Prince Victor had ignored the
