“Clearly, he wanted nothing more than to save the Prince. He did not press his advantage against us as we had in hounding Ian Davion to his death. He stole all the glory and honor from my greatest victory.”
Akira swallowed past the thick lump in his throat. “What happened later, in 3016? All I know are vague rumors. When the ISF came to our home and arrested Mother and me, they only said you’d disgraced yourself and the Dragon. They laughed and said we were to become slaves…if we were lucky.” He looked into his father’s eyes. “What could you have done that was so terrible?”
Yorinaga’s eyes slitted. “For killing the Prince, Takashi Kurita promoted me to tai-sa of the Second Sword of Light—a great honor. I would control the Dragon’s personal regiment. I was given free rein to plan operations and direct our battle for Mallory’s World. I spent three years developing my master plan, but throughout that time, I had but one goal. I was not out to conquer Mallory’s World as much as I desired to crush the Kell Hounds and avenge myself upon Morgan Kell.”
Yorinaga looked at his son. “Everything was perfect. The Thirty-sixth Dieron Regulars managed to pin down the Kell Hounds’ Second ’Mech Battalion, leaving the First trapped high in the mountains. I had selected the First ’Mech Battalion as my primary target because Morgan Kell commanded Second Battalion and I wanted him to know I had crushed his brother’s half of the unit when I came for him. He surprised me, however, and was present, with his command lance, consulting with his brother.”
Akira felt uneasiness roiling in his gut. The calmness my father has shown since leaving exile is unraveling. This is the man I remember from my youth, but I’m not sure I prefer him to the Yorinaga I have come to know as the commander of the Genyosha.
Yorinaga tucked his hands into the sleeves of his kimono. “One of my scouts recognized Morgan’s Archer and reported his presence back to me immediately. He also noted how the Kell Hounds had dug themselves into a nasty position. Our only routes to them were along alleys in which the mercenaries could concentrate their fire. Our assault would be difficult, but we were the Second Sword of Light—Takashi Kurita’s own regiment. We would not be defeated.
“Then something remarkable happened. Morgan Kell marched his Archer from behind the fortifications and began to recite his lineage. I felt blood pounding in my temples as I listened to his voice. He was calling me out to engage him in single combat. He was willing to put his life on the line to save his people, and I accepted his bargain!”
Yorinaga’s eyes flashed as he remembered the battle. “You should have seen it, Akira, for it was an incredible battle. Kell and I both closed. His medium lasers stabbed again and again at my Warhammer, and I answered with staggered blasts of PPC fire. Armor melted and ran like wax from both our ’Mechs, but all the wounds were superficial. Morgan danced his Archer around, avoiding my shots while managing to sting me repeatedly.
“He was good, very good, but not good enough. I knew I wouldn’t kill him unless he could be lured into making a mistake, so when two of his shots hit my right PPC, I switched the weapon to standby and did not use it in our next series of exchanges. Realizing my weakness, Kell swung his Archer around and came in for close combat.”
Yorinaga’s hands left his sleeves and dropped into the position they would have occupied in a Warhammer’s command couch. “I brought the right PPC up and fired. The particle beam sliced through the Archer’s right shoulder like a cleaver, severing the arm cleanly. Kell’s Archer stumbled to its knees and waited for me to execute it.”
Yorinaga’s face reflected the pain of that moment. Akira longed to comfort his father, but he knew that would cost the older man face. This is his struggle. I will respect that. He waited silently for his father to continue.
Disbelief edged into Yorinaga’s voice. “In my exultation, I took no notice of the fact that my targeting crosshairs did not blink when I dropped them on the Archer’s form. The computer refused to lock onto the target, but that mattered not at all. This was no combat. This was an execution. Why would I need computer assistance? Without care and with too much emotion, I fired every weapon I had at the Archer.”
Yorinaga stared up at the bloody moon. “Every weapon missed. PPC beams flashed wide of the target, reducing the ground they hit to molten glass. My SRMs flew out in a haphazard spread, bracketing the Archer but doing no damage. My lasers shot short or high at their own whim, and my machine guns chattered away impotently. Panic rose in me as the heat buildup spiked within the cockpit, but it was not the heat that alarmed me. Somehow I had missed my foe!
“Suddenly, the Archer’s missile pods popped open. Two flights of LRMs leaped forward. Even though the warheads did not have time to arm themselves, the missile impacts battered me. It was like taking shelter in a tin shack to avoid a hailstorm. The missiles crushed armor and spun my Warhammer about in a full circle, but somehow I managed to keep my ’Mech upright.”
Yorinaga’s hands tightened into fists. “When my vision cleared, I fired everything at the Archer, but again nothing hit it. The one-armed ’Mech struggled to its feet, continuing to ignore my assaults. Then Morgan made his Archer bow to me.”
Yorinaga fell silent as though this last statement somehow explained everything that needed explanation. Akira felt a chill run the length of his spine. There’s the conflict. My father both hates and respects Morgan Kell for what he did. With that bow, Kell acknowledged my father as the superior fighter, but robbed him of his victory.
Akira kept his voice low. “It is said you opened your canopy and threw your katana and wakizashi to Kell.” Those blades had been in the Kurita family for over three hundred years, and you received them from the Coordinator’s hands. What made you do that?
Yorinaga nodded wearily. “I felt I had no choice. After doing everything possible to kill Morgan Kell, I had failed in that duty. I had ceased to be a faithful warrior right then and there. I had to acknowledge him as my superior.”
Yorinaga’s head came around. “And it is true, I did utter a haiku:
* * *
Yellow bird I see.
The gray dragon hides wisely.
Honor is duty.
* * *
“Many took it as my death haiku, but it was not. In Morgan Kell, in his ability and intelligence and understanding of our way, I saw something that could destroy the Draconis Combine.”
Akira frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I, fully, not until years and long meditations later.” Yorinaga hesitated, as though reluctant to reveal a damaging secret, but the look in his son’s eyes seemed to make him continue. “With bushido, we find the discipline to become fearless warriors. Honor is all-important, and our concept of self is secondary to state and family. We are but an extension of the Dragon, and our actions honor or shame the Coordinator.”
Yorinaga nodded slowly. “Morgan Kell understood this. He used my desire for honor to save his men. Had I killed him, I would have allowed them to mourn their slain leader, and I would have accepted their pledge of neutrality. The Kell Hounds’ freedom would have been purchased not with Morgan’s blood, but with the honor he showed me in that situation.
“When he bowed to me, he trapped me. We had agreed to fight so that the victor could be merciful to the vanquished. I had lost, and because bushido bound me to do so, I was forced to withdraw. To do otherwise might have won the battle, but it would have shamed Takashi Kurita. He could live without Mallory’s World, but could he live without honor?”
Yorinaga swallowed hard. “I returned to Luthien and reported what I saw and felt to the Coordinator. I then resigned my commission and asked to be allowed to commit seppuku. The Coordinator exiled me to the Zen monastery on Echo V while continuing to refuse my request. Eleven years later, he finally agreed to grant it, provided I first create and lead our elite unit, the Genyosha.”
Akira pointed off toward the rubble representing Ryde. “We will meet the Kell Hounds then?”
Yorinaga nodded gravely
. “Yes. Just as Morgan Kell studied to know me and use that knowledge against me, so I studied him while on Echo V. I know him…I share his abilities. Kell and I will meet again on Ryde, Akira. And there we will destroy one another.”
BOOK II: DECEPTION
“It is double the pleasure to deceive the deceiver.”
Jean de la Fontaine
Chapter 11
BETHEL
CAPELLAN MARCH
FEDERATED SUNS
9 APRIL 3029
Justin Xiang stood in the middle of ’Mech Bay One of the Leopard-class DropShip Ganju and stared up at his BattleMech. Over five times his height and massing fifty tons, the Centurion known to Solaris VII fight fans as Yen-Lo-Wang towered above its master. Humanoid in configuration, its left arm ended in a mechanical hand while the muzzle of an autocannon formed the right arm’s terminus. The ’Mech’s faceplate had been opened upward, and a rope ladder spilled down the machine’s breast to the deck.
Justin smiled to himself. You saw me safely through my battles on the Game World. Let us hope you’ll make this raid work, too. Justin had just reached out for the ladder when he heard someone call his name. He turned, the smiled still on his lips.
Alexi Malenkov, Justin’s chief aide on the crisis team, jogged awkwardly in his direction. A black jumpsuit covered the lanky blond from hooded head to feet and gloved wrists. A mirrored faceplate rode clipped to his shoulder, but when in place, would give Alexi complete night vision in addition to cleaning the air of all harmful gases and smoke. A bulky backpack contained his parafoil, and a rucksack belted to his middle contained all his weaponry, except for the needle pistol riding in a holster beneath his left armpit.
Justin’s smile grew wider. “I think, were we to drop you alone on the facility, the Feds would surrender straight away,” he said, chuckling at the sight of Alexi. “You look pretty fearsome.”
Alexi joined in the laughter. “Thanks. After this raid, I’ll go into holovids. There’s got to be a commando series coming out of this.”
Justin nodded. “Malenkov the Mercenary. I can see it now: dolls, holovids, clothes. Probably earn more than the guy who does the Immortal Warrior series. Hope you remember your friends when you get rich.”
Alexi nodded confidently. “No problem.” His smile slowly died as a frown creased his brow. “A couple of our people seem to be a little too anxious about notching their guns, though. We’ll be down and gassing the lab while you and the other three ’Mech pilots bring your ’Mechs up. What do you want me to do with any trigger-happy folks?”
Justin frowned. “Our people have to return fire if they’re opposed, but if they start shooting things up, you’ll have to kill them.” Justin pointed toward the Centurion. “Once I strap in, I’ll remind everyone we’re here to steal the golden egg, not kill the goose. When we’ve driven Davion back, we’ll want to use these people to our own benefit.”
Alexi flashed Justin a thumbs-up. “Got it. Good luck.”
“And to you, Citizen Malenkov.” Justin punched Alexi lightly in the shoulder. “Shoot straight, but keep your head down.”
Alexi turned away, leaving Justin to mount the ladder to his ’Mech’s cockpit. Nimble as a monkey, Justin ascended the ladder and reached the cockpit despite his mechanical left hand. Once inside, he settled into the command couch and touched a button on his right that reeled in the ladder and dropped the faceplate down into position. With a hiss, the cabin pressurized itself.
Justin unzipped his black jumpsuit, revealing the cooling vest he wore beneath it. Plastic tubes of coolant ran between the material next to his skin and the vest’s outer layer of ballistic cloth. Justin snaked out the vest’s power cord and snapped it into a socket on the left side of his couch. He felt the ticklish sensation of fluid moving through the tubes as the vest pulled heat away from his body.
Through slits on the thighs and upper arms of his jump suit, Justin pressed medical monitoring electrode pads to his flesh. He then opened a panel on the right side of his couch and pulled out four cables. He clipped one end of each to the pads, then snaked the cables up through the appropriate loops on his cooling vest. He let the plugs hang limp at his throat.
Reaching up and behind himself, he pulled his neurohelmet from the shelf above his command couch. He settled it down over his shoulders, adjusting it to rest comfortably on the vest’s padded shoulders, with the neurosensor ring pressed snugly against his head. With the triangular faceplate centered, Justin pressed some Velcro tabs to keep the helmet in place, then plugged the four sensor wires into the sockets on the helmet’s throat.
He grinned to himself. It’s been far too long since I’ve been in a ’Mech. What I have been doing is vital to the war effort, but being denied a ’Mech is almost unbearable. I’m a MechWarrior first. Nothing will ever take that from me.
Justin reached over to his metallic left hand with his right and tugged back on the middle and ring fingers until they pressed nearly flat against the back of the hand. With a click, a small compartment cracked open at Justin’s left wrist. He slid the panel back, allowing a ribbon cable to spring out like a striking snake. Justin snapped the connector into a socket below the joystick on the command couch arm.
With his right hand, he punched a button on the console to his right. The computer’s voice echoed within his neurohelmet. “I am Yen-Lo-Wang. Who presents himself to the King of the Nine Hells?”
“Your humble servant, Justin Xiang.”
Light static played through the speakers before the computer replied. “Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Proceed with your supplication.”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “Vengeance is justice when visited upon the unjust. Grant me the power to dispense justice.”
“Authorization confirmed. All I have is yours to use.” As the computer’s voice died, all the ’Mech’s screens blossomed into color. The computer filled the primary monitor with a green and gold tactical readout of Yen-Lo-Wang and its unusual weaponry array. The Centurion had been modified for combat on Solaris. In place of the LRMs normally found in a Centurion’s torso, Justin had an autocannon magazine. The Luxor autocannon in the ’Mech’s right arm had been replaced with a heavier Pontiac cannon that gobbled up ammo at double the Luxor’s rate of fire—hence the need for the additional magazine.
Justin glanced at his inert left hand and the colorful cable running from his wrist. Just thinking about moving the hand to manipulate the targeting joystick accomplishes the job for the lasers, fore and aft. Right hand takes care of the autocannon. With any luck, though, our little ruse will mean no ’Mechs show up and I won’t have to shoot anything.
Justin punched up a radio link with the DropShip’s DropMaster. “What is the situation out there, Master Chung?”
The older man’s seamed face appeared on an auxiliary monitor. “It would appear, Citizen Xiang, that your assessment of Captain Redburn is correct. We show the ion trail of an Overlord DropShip in a low arc heading for the reactor assembly plant. We are continuing to send and receive messages to and from the Maskirovka cell in that area. Redburn took the bait. You are to be congratulated.”
Justin smiled to himself. I taught Andrew Redburn a great deal as his commanding officer. Andy’s getting his people into place in preparation for the Fourth Tau Ceti Rangers’ diversionary dip. “As nearly as you can tell, the Ganju has remained safely hidden in the Rangers’ DropShip scanner shadow?”
“Roger, Citizen.” Chung glanced at a monitor, then looked back at the communications camera. “All radio traffic appears normal, and I’ve heard no mention of anything other than an Overlord incoming. We’re ten minutes to atmosphere and fifteen to split off. Davion’s people have sent up no fighter cover, so I would anticipate a smooth run at the target.”
Justin nodded. “Good. Keep me informed. Out.” Justin hit a switch that transferred him to the tactical frequency all twelve of his people were monitoring. “Look sharp, people. We’re about twenty minutes from the paradrop and twenty-five f
rom unlimbering our ’Mechs. Let me stress once more that this is not designed to be a ‘wet’ mission. Yes, we’ve practiced it with opposition just to keep us sharp, but we’re not on a search and destroy mission. The Chancellor wants these scientists kept alive so we can use them later, after we throw the invaders back.”
Ling’s voice broke into the circuit. “Why don’t we just take them with us?”
Justin narrowed his eyes. Citizen Ling asks too many questions. “We are to leave them here because to take them with us would necessitate moving the whole lab. The Chancellor believes it is better to steal the eggs than to pay for the goose’s upkeep. That is beside the point, however. Keep yourselves ready for a fight, but you are not to murder those who have been overcome by the gas. Understood?”
Verbal confirmation came from everyone as the Ganju bucked through its first impact on the atmosphere. “Jumpers report to the jump bay. MechWarriors finalize all facets of your preparation. This is it, gentlemen and ladies.” Justin smiled cruelly. “This is the beginning of the end for Hanse Davion.”
Sparks showered from Yen-Lo-Wang’s legs as the ’Mech strode through the NAIS facility’s electric fence. Justin pointed toward the darkened road that ran off to the west. “Kwok, Ivanov, head off that way and secure that approach with your Ravens. Livinsky, watch our back trail to the Ganju. When the team comes out, it will be your responsibility to buy the time to get to the ship if we have trouble. Make sure your Vindicator is in position to do just that.”
“Roger, Justin.”
Marching the Centurion over to the three-story glass and brick building, Justin saw an individual on the roof wave his hands in an “all clear” sign. Justin nodded, bringing the Centurion up to the building. They’ve pumped that gas in for five minutes. Everything should be under.
Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59 Page 9