Ariana Winston rose and paced across the room. "Well, we can't spare any ships to run them back to the Inner Sphere," she said. "And we can't leave them here. If they get picked up by the Clanners, God knows how much damage they could do by shooting their mouths off at the wrong time.
"Although I suppose it's possible that the pirates might mistake us for the Explorer Corps." Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "Especially if we tell them that's who,we are.
She stopped pacing and thought for a moment. "But even with that, some smart Clan officer might be able to extrapolate the size of the task force by picking the pirates' brains. I mean, the pirates saw X number of 'Mechs and Y number of DropShips. The Clanners might not get it exactly right, but they might make a good guess. And remember, the 'Mechs the pirates did see had Eridani Light Horse and Star League markings. One of the first questions a Clan commander is going to ask is, 'What kinds of markings did the enemy 'Mechs have?' If the bandits remember enough to tell them, the Clanners will know the Light Horse aren't back on Kikuyu and Mogyorod. God knows what they'll make of that little bit of information."
"So what do you suggest, Marshal?" Redburn set his cup down with a clatter.
"I suggest we give them a choice," Morgan said. "They can sign on as infantrymen, able deckhands, stevedores, whatever. Or, they can get locked in the brig until this operation is over, at which time they'll be delivered to the proper civilian authorities."
"May I remind you all that the reason we ran into these beggars in the first place was because we had to replenish our water supply?" Regis Grandi cut in. "This task force has limited supplies of food and water. We cannot afford to be saddled with extra mouths to feed, especially those who will be doing nothing other than sitting in the brig.
"As unpleasant as the decision is, our policy must literally be 'join or die.' "
Instantly, both Redburn and Winston were on their feet.
"I will not countenance the murder of helpless prisoners," Redburn bellowed. The vehemence of his outburst surprised Morgan. Over the many years that Morgan had known Andy Redburn, his friend had mellowed from the brash young man who had once threatened to punch a Baron of the Lyran Commonwealth into a steady, reliable field commander. One thing that hadn't changed was Redburn's sense of fair play and compassion. The idea of killing defenseless captives appalled him.
"Again, people let me remind you that these 'helpless prisoners' are pirates," Grandi shot back. "They are, by their own admission, responsible for Blake alone knows how many murders."
"And you, sir, are using a specious argument to prove an immoral point," Winston shouted, hands clenched into fists as she leaned across the desk into Grandi's face.
"God in Heaven, woman, who do you think I am? Amaris? Hitler?" Grandi shot to his feet, anger painting his face crimson. "I don't want to kill these people, but what are we supposed to do with them? We can not just leave them here. When the Clans find them, do you think they'll have any trouble interrogating the pirates? Those filthy rats will give us up just to save their own disease-ridden hides. Then what? I'll tell you what. Then, the Clanners swing around on our tails and slaughter every last person in this task force, that's what."
"That's enough, Colonel!" Morgan's angry bellow shocked the bickering officers into silence. "God's blood, I'm getting tired of this. Since you officers can't agree on anything, I'll tell you how it's going to be."
Morgan felt his stomach tighten. "General Winston, your people onplanet will locate and destroy the pirate base. All traces of this task force's presence onplanet must be eradicated. Those pirates taken prisoner in the assault will be given the option of joining this task force as laborers. Those who refuse to join will be court-martialed and executed."
Redburn began to protest, but the blistering look he received from his friend and commander froze the objection in his throat.
"-That's it. Dismissed."
"Sir, I will relay your instructions to my people onplanet." Ariana Winston's voice was cold and formal. She stalked from the office without a salute, not even looking at her commanding officer. Grandi followed quickly, but Andrew Redburn lingered behind.
"Listen, Morgan," he said, voice was quiet and steady as he sank into the chair in front of his friend's desk. "I'll support your decision. You know that. So will the rest of the Uhlans. I'd never say anything against you in public. But think very carefully about what you mean to do.
"You know that the DEST and Fox teams won't have trouble with your decision. Sometimes, I wonder if those people have any soul at all. The Capellan troops aren't going to squawk, either. I'm not too sure about the Com Guards, Lancers, or the Drakøns. Of course, you know that Marshal Bryan and the Lyran Guards are going to go ballistic. She'll probably accuse you of 'barbaric mistreatment of prisoners' or some such drek. Naturally, Katherine will pick it up and try to use it against her brother. But that's not what worries me."
Redburn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his friend's desk. "You're going to have to tread carefully around the Knights and the mercenaries. MacLeod and the Highlanders are fairly pragmatic, but you heard how Winston reacted, and she's worlds more reasonable about things than Masters. I can guarantee none of them are going to be overjoyed at the thought of executing prisoners.
"If we tell Masters about the court-martial, he'll insist that he be allowed to sit on it, or heaven help us, even defend the pirates. He bloody sure isn't going to countenance executing them out of hand. We're going to have to do this thing ourselves." Morgan realized that Redburn was suggesting they leave Masters and the other commanders out of the loop during the court-martial proceedings.
"Now, the fact that they are pirates might, might, mitigate the circumstances this time, but as soon as this traveling circus runs into Clanners who don't want to become bondsmen, there's going to be trouble."
Wearily, Morgan sat forward, resting his face in his hands. Rubbing his eyes, he looked across at his friend.
"All right, Andrew, what do you suggest as an alternative?"
"The ring-leaders should be executed, of course. As for the rest, those who refuse to sign on could be held in the brig until the next time we jump into a system with a habitable planet. Then, they can be marooned."
Morgan nodded wearily.
"All right, so long as this compassion for murderers doesn't put us behind schedule."
21
Sweetwater Lake Basin
Meribah System
Deep Periphery
17 November 3059 1630 Hours
"Talon One? Hatchling One. In position, awaiting orders." Lieutenant Charles Emrys spoke slowly and distinctly into the helmet-mounted radio's boom-mike. A short burst of static punctuated the message.
Emrys and his platoon of twelve Light Horse armored infantrymen were crouched at the edge of a sizable man-made clearing. Whoever had initially cleared the ground that was now occupied by the pirate base, the bandits were less than diligent about keeping their perimeter clear. A thick tangle of brush and vines had grown up at the edge of the base, affording the armored troopers as good cover as they could have wished for. Emrys himself was hunkered down, as much as his power suit would permit, beneath a thick, thorny bush. Given the armor's camouflage and his carefully selected hide, Emrys knew he should be all but invisible at more than four meters.
He also knew that, a few kilometers to the east, BattleMechs of the Eridani Light Horse's Fifth Striker Battalion were waiting for his report. Scouting was one of the tasks assigned to the Light Horse's armored infantry platoons. The power armor employed by the mercenary troopers wasn't quite the equal of the so-called "toad-suits" used by Clan Elementals. The armored skin was thinner, and the suits lacked the heavy anti-'Mech missile launcher and automated medical systems of their Clan counterparts. Still, the level of protection, offensive capability, and mobility provided by the standard power suit was a quantum leap above that of regular infantry forces.
The operational plan was simple, at least in theory.
The armored infantry would scout out the pirates' base and report back to Captain Martin Izzat, commander of the Twenty-fifth Battalion's Seventh 'Mech Company. Once a scan of the enclave was complete, the 'Mechs would move up to capture the base, with the armored infantrymen in support. Emrys feared that another officer was likely to be on the field as well, a fellow called Murphy, whose laws had plagued fighting men since the beginning of time.
Using information provided by the few prisoners willing to cooperate, the task force's intelligence division had pieced together a rough model of the pirate base. But when Emrys and his platoon finally reached the spot detailed by the captives, he realized that calling the ramshackle huts and corrugated metal buildings a base was giving it too much credit. The pirate enclave looked more like the refugee camps the Light Horse had helped to erect following the bloody, destructive battle for Coventry.
"Hatchling One, can you give me a, remote feed?"
In response to the request from the 'Mech officer, Lieutenant Emrys activated the video transmitter built into his suit's long-range communications system. The system sent a coded signal back to the waiting 'Mechs, whose computers translated the message into a grainy image displayed on one of the many monitors cluttering a BattleMech's cockpit.
How could a man fight like that? Emrys wondered. Surrounded by computer screens and flashing lights? It's all I could do to learn to operate this suit, let alone a BattleMech.
The image he was broadcasting was of a collection of dilapidated shacks clustered around a broad open area. In the center of this "town square" stood a half-dozen rust-streaked BattleMechs, the heaviest of which was a 65-ton JagerMech, still sporting the gray and black splotches of urban camouflage.
Emrys panned the camera around, coming to rest on a small knot of women emerging from one of the huts. Their tattered clothing might once have been any color, but now it was stained an off red-tan, the color of the local clay. The women were lugging a large plastic-wrapped bale, a task made difficult by the leg irons clamped around their ankles.
His curiosity about the contents of the bundle turned into anger as Emrys realized that the women were being used as slaves by the pirates. The rage vanished when he saw the direction in which they were dragging their burden.
"Hatchling One, pull back." Captain Izzat's voice crackled in Emrys' ear. "They're heading right for you."
"No can do, Talon." Emrys' voice sank to a whisper, even though the women could not possibly have heard him through his heavily armored suit. "We move, and they'll spot us for sure. Best to brazen it out and trust in our cammo."
"All right, Hatchling, it's your call. Act at your discretion, but try to avoid any civilian casualties, O.K.?"
"Roger that."
Emrys passed the order to his platoon. He knew that most people, these women included, only saw what they expected to see. With luck, they would walk right past the green-and-brown-camouflaged troopers.
Unfortunately, neither luck nor the capricious Mr. Murphy was on his side.
The woman struggling with the front of the bundle, a tiny thing who might have once been pretty (it was impossible to tell under the layers of dirt), suddenly jerked upright, dropping her share of the load. Before any of her exhausted partners could speak, she let out a shriek and bolted back toward the compound. Or tried to. The poor wretch got about three steps before she stumbled and fell heavily, tripped by the hobbles.
Emrys thought the fall should have knocked the breath out of her lungs, but her ever-louder screams of terror and alarm proved him wrong.
"Toads! Toads! There are toads in the woods!" The woman bolted back the way she had come, having apparently mistaken the Light Horse armored troopers for Clan Elementals. "Toads" was the somewhat derisive slang term initially applied to Elementals during the Clan invasion. Given the superficial similarity of shape between Inner Sphere power suits and Clan battle armor, the mistake was understandable.
Emrys loosed a blast of profanity fit to make a sailor blush. "That's done it. Talon One, we've been spotted. Hatchling is moving in."
The twelve armored troopers of the First Armored Infantry platoon leapt forward into the compound.
Three men dressed in fatigues and dirty body armor came out of the nearest building, through the same door used by the women. Each had a long arm gripped tightly in his hands. The lead bandit actually managed to get his weapon up before Emrys' team could react. A gout of flame thirty centimeters long leapt from the assault rifle's muzzle. Emrys flinched inside his armor as the metal-jacketed slugs beat out a dull, clanging tattoo on the hardened steel shell. Seeing that his small arm was useless against the nightmare figure that was drawing closer, the pirate began groping for the firing grip of the grenade launcher slung beneath the Kogyo-Reyerson-Toshiro assault rifle.
Emrys knew that, while the slugs stood little chance of penetrating his battle armor, the half-kilo explosive charge fired by the grenade launcher might breach his suit. He brought his power-suited left hand up, and, praying that there were no innocents on the other side of the clapboard wall, triggered a burst of machine gun fire. The slugs ripped into the pirates, spinning the lifeless bodies in a macabre dance. Behind the pirates, splinters flew through the air as the wooden frame wall virtually disintegrated.
Bolting past the still-twitching bodies, the lieutenant smashed through the door. The room looked like a slaughterhouse. Six men and two women, in various stages of undress, lay slumped on the floor. Five of them were sprawled in the huddled, shapeless way that only the dead can achieve. The others, spattered in blood, writhed convulsively with the pain and shock of their wounds. Against the far wall cowered a small knot of survivors, fear stretching their faces into death-like masks.
"Blast!" Emrys spat. He stopped for a split second, wondering if he had time to treat the injured and secure the living. He certainly couldn't leave potential hostiles behind him.
The decision was taken out of his hands by the sharp crack of missiles being fired.
"Hatchling One-Four." The cry held a note of surprise and fear that could not be wholly masked by the metallic quality of the comm system. "Enemy 'Mechs moving in fast." A pause, presumably while Trooper Crow fired a laser bolt at the onrushing enemy. "I identify three mediums. One Blackjack, one Centurion, and one Dervish."
Cutting in his external speaker, Emrys barked an order at the terrified mob. "Stay put. If you leave this building, you'll be killed."
Yeah, and you stand an equally good chance of dying if you don't leave. The thought leapt unbidden to his mind. He forced it away. Time for recriminations later. Right now, he had a job to do.
A clap of thunder, barely deadened by the suit's noise-attenuation circuits, shook the ground, as a lightning-bright stream of charged particles lashed the muddy earth less than five meters from where Emrys had emerged from the building. For long seconds, he tried to force his mind fo focus on the puzzling fact that he was now looking up at the overhanging eaves of the building he had just exited. Then, the realization dawned on him. The concussion of the near-miss had thrown him onto his back.
Willing his balky limbs to move, Emrys struggled to his feet.
"El-Tee, you all right, you need a medic?" The faceless head of Sergeant Grinnell's power suit appeared in Emrys' view screen.
"No," Emrys grunted as he was helped to his feet. "No, Sarge. I'm O.K."
"Right. I wouldn't try to fire your weapon, though. The barrel's clogged with mud."
"Dammit." Emrys slapped the machine gun's barrel housing with the suit's grabber claw. "Any good?"
"Nope. You must have jammed it into the ground real good when you fell."
"Aaah!" Emrys voiced an inarticulate snarl of disgust. "All right, Sarge, you get on with business. I'll stay here and try to coordinate. Maybe, when the ground-pounder comes up, I can get one of them to clear this bloody gun for me."
Emrys could feel Grinnell's eyes upon him even through the heavy armored visors each man wore. Without another word, the sergeant
turned and vaulted the wreckage of what had once been a ground car. The lieutenant dropped to one armored knee behind the smoldering, twisted metal.
Unlike its larger cousins, his suit didn't have enough room for a tactical display. From what he could determine by the brief, static-distorted radio messages, his platoon had managed to destroy one 'Mech, a 20-ton Locust, almost before the pirates knew they were under attack. Some of the bandits had been caught away from their machines, and had surrendered when the troopers of Second Platoon burst into their barracks. Other enemy pilots had managed to mount their 'Mechs before the attacking infantry men cut them off. Now, the pirates were engaging his men in a close-range brawl. The platoon's armored infantry were superior to any foot-slogger in the field, but even their heavy power armor couldn't last long against BattleMechs. He needed Seventh Company to relieve his hard-pressed troopers.
"Talon One, this is Hatchling One-One," Emrys growled into his transceiver's boom-mounted microphone. "Where the devil are you guys?"
"Cool out, One-One." Izzat's thick New Syrtis drawl eased from the headset ear piece. "The cavalry's on the way."
* * *
Izzat's company began closing on the pirate base before the echoes of Emrys' initial machine gun burst faded away. The first on the scene was Private Henry Stano's Valkyrie. The green replacement, flush with the excitement of his first engagement, had charged ahead of the Seventh 'Mech Company's main body. For a few seconds, Stano traded laser and missile fire with a pirate Dervish. Then, a devastating blast from a PPC caught his 'Mech just below its armored ribs. Whirling to face the new threat, Stano made a mistake. In turning to engage the Griffin, which had managed to flank him, he exposed his thinly protected back to the damaged, but still active, Dervish. The Val's meager armor shattered under a merciless volley of twenty-four short- and long-range missiles and two laser bolts. Staggered by the pounding, Stano struggled furiously with his controls, fighting to keep his 'Mech on its feet. When the Vol's CASE panels blew away, the rookie warrior's nerve snapped.
Twilight of the clans III: the hunters Page 21