Lethal heritage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "So that's how you rationalize collaborating with them, quiaff?"

  Ryan's use of the Clanner term shook Phelan. Is the desire to stop the Clans enough to justify betraying my own people until I can accomplish my goal? Am I trying to atone for the breaches of trust I committed under interrogation, or am I helping Ulric for other, more personal reasons? I can't hide behind the fact that they're attacking Rasalhague, where the people despise mercenaries. I've helped Ulric plan a campaign that will not lose. Am I playing Judas to the Successor States to avenge myself on Tor Miraborg and my peers at the Nagelring?

  He swallowed hard. "As things stand now, no force can defeat or even slow the invaders because no one knows enough about them. Each of the Clans has its own way of pacifying the planets it takes, and the Wolf Clan seems to be the least harsh. In fact, when they move, the Wolves leave little more than a token garrison force to work with the existing governmental structures to maintain order. Conquest by the Wolf Clan is probably no worse on the ordinary people of a world than being conquered by a rival lord in the constant warring among the Successor States.

  "There's another thing, too." The mercenary met Ryan's gaze. "Right now the Precentor Martial and I are the only people who have a rapport with the invaders. We're the only ones learning how to deal with them on a personal basis, which means we could act as intermediaries between the Clans and the rulers of the Successor States. We might just be able to bring this war to a close sooner so fewer people have to die."

  Ryan spat on the floor. "You're a dreamer ... and a captive. They're using you. And when they're done with you, they'll discard you like a spent shell casing."

  "You may be right, but at least I'm trying." Phelan glared at Ryan. "I don't like thinking of you and me as members of the same species, but we're on the same side in all this. And, yes, I might be betraying part of the Successor States to the invaders, but I'm giving it over to the Wolf Clan. If the Wolves become ascendant, then maybe I'll be in a position to exert some influence."

  Kenny Ryan ground his teeth together. "I was wrong. You're not a dreamer, you're a fool. Paint whatever face you want on it, Kell. You're a traitor to your people."

  Unbridled fury ripped through Phelan as Ryan's words hit home, but it was directed as much at himself as at the Periphery bandit. No! It's not like that! "Think whatever you want, Kenny. It doesn't matter to me. I may not owe the people of the Inner Sphere anything, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and see these Clansmen slaughter innocents."

  ***

  Phelan stood next to Ulric in the holotank, while the rolling landscape of Rasalhague's northern continental mass stretched out in all directions around them. As they walked forward, new terrain scrolled up over the rounded horizon. In response to a command Ulric had given upon entering the tank, the world remained lit as if it were only several hours past dawn no matter where they stood.

  Phelan pointed to the south where a thick tropical belt girded the world's equator. "This is the first thing you can discount that the Ghost Bear's Khan is not likely to ignore. Scale up to one meter equals fifteen kilometers." As the computer complied, flattening out the horizon and increasing the resolution of the topography, a large urban settlement on a narrow bay materialized. "That's Firebase Tyr, home to the Third Rasalhague Freemen. They're a tough BattleMech regiment with some battle experience. They're normally based on Kandis but were recently moved here to reinforce Rasalhague. However, they won't be much of a factor in your battle."

  Ulric frowned. "Explain."

  Phelan smiled. "Ages ago, when people first settled on Rasalhague, they ran into a little problem with a virus native to the planet."

  The Khan nodded and rubbed his hand across his jaw. "Yes, the Fenris Plague. I had forgotten about that. Surely they have conquered it, quiaff."

  The mercenary nodded. "Yes, soon after the world was colonized. But over time, the strains became less virulent as they mutated. The deadly form of the Fenris Plague ceased to exist centuries ago, but milder cousins of the virus still crop up. Each year, starting in July, the new virus gets its start in the tropics and works its way around the world. The Freemen have been scattered around to keep all the troops from getting sick at once. Most of the unit is on leave during virus season, which is just as well because the tropics are unbearable during that time anyway."

  The Clan leader shook his head. "What do you think are the chances the Freemen will have been recalled to oppose us?"

  "The chances are about fifty-fifty because the government has a problem. If they recall the troops to Tyr, many of them could get sick because they have developed no immunity. If they move equipment out to staging areas so the Freemen have their BattleMechs, the chances of the current virus being spread around the world that much faster are incredible. Furthermore, even if the Freemen are scattered around in company-level units, they're not likely to be much of a threat because they'll be reacting to your strikes. Their transport network isn't likely to be very quick, especially if you control the skies."

  Ulric nodded in reluctant agreement. "That brings us to another point: aerospace superiority. The report from the Ghost Bears indicated that the aerospace regiment of the First Rasalhague Drakøns was an elite unit that could give us considerable difficulty."

  "The report was correct in its assessment of the Drakøns. Even so, I think there's a way to neutralize them."

  The Khan watched Phelan closely. "Yes?"

  Phelan rubbed his sweaty palms against the breast of his jumpsuit. "Drakøns are the Elected Prince's Honor Guard and bodyguard regiment. They are formed along the lines of Davion Regimental Combat Teams and consist of Rasalhague's most elite warriors. Their strength is deceptive, especially in aerospace fighters, because of how they're organized. 'Mech companies have four lances, not three, and missile support lances often have five or even six BattleMechs in them."

  The mercenary clasped his hands at the small of his back. "As I understand your unit organization, a single Battle-Mech, two AeroSpace Fighters, or five of your Elementals are called a Point, and five of those make up a Star—a unit roughly analogous to what I call a Lance. The Drakøns' aerospace company, unlike others in the Successor States, puts four fighters in a lance, not two. That means a full regiment runs with 108 fighters, a formidable force, no matter what technological advantages you have over them."

  Ulric nodded, conceding the bondsman's last point. "As you noted in the last briefing session, the extended range of our weapons does not work well in tight fights, which are exactly what Inner Sphere pilots are used to. So how do we eliminate the flying Drakøns?"

  "I said neutralize, not eliminate." Phelan took a deep breath. "Elected Prince Haakon Magnusson of Rasalhague was an old anti-Kurita revolutionary from Alshain. In his fighting days, they called him the Silver Fox. Actually, he's not that old, but his career as a terrorist on behalf of Free Rasalhague predates independence by many years. He's uncomfortable with pitched battles. In fact, the hit-and-run fights that have given the Ghost Bears problems are a result of his people using their old tactics against them.

  "The Drakøns are his bodyguard and are as loyal to him and his Ministers as the Smoke Jaguars are to the ilKhan. The way to pull the flying Drakøns off is to give them a mission: getting the Silver Fox to safety. If you don't hit Reykjavik in the first pass because, operating on mistaken information, you assault Asgard, the new capital they are building, the Silver Fox will have a chance to bolt. He'll head for a JumpShip at the nadir jump point, believing that as long as he has his freedom, he can one day throw you back."

  Ulric smiled appreciatively. "If Magnusson escapes and our AeroSpace Fighters shadow him, the Drakøns will have to stay with him all the way to ensure his safety. They'll end up jumping out with him."

  The Kell Hound nodded. "Not only that, but his survival means other worlds in Rasalhague will not capitulate easily. You've developed a good method of bringing conquered worlds to heel by permitting them a certain amount of sovereignty. Th
at's a salve to the egos of the Rasalhagians, and makes them far more cooperative. I gather, from some of the reports I've read, that the Ghost Bears and Smoke Jaguars haven't learned the technique yet."

  Ulric interlaced his fingers, then pressed them together against his lips. "Let us just say that their philosophical outlook does not allow them the flexibility that could assist their quest." He closed his eyes for a moment. "That would leave us with the Drak0n ground forces and the First Rasalhague Freemen to deal with."

  "Right. The Freemen should be easy to handle. They're stationed on the south polar continent, which is in the middle of its winter right now. Though they're specialists in cold-weather fighting, and reportedly revel in battles that take place in the continual dark and blizzard conditions of the winter, the icy flatness of the terrain make them extremely vulnerable to the extended-range capabilities of your 'Mechs. I would suggest BattleMechs with large complements of energy weapons because the cold can affect missiles and the loading mechanisms for projectile weapons on even the best machines."

  "I concur," said the Khan. "What about the Drakøns?"

  Phelan sighed heavily. "They're good, and they have infantry and armor support. I think the only thing you can do is to slug it out with them. Perhaps your armored infantry can harry the armor and slow it down. The Drakøns might accept free passage from the planet so that they can join the Prince, but I think that has only a slim chance of working. Slightly better might be an offer to make them part of your garrison here, especially if you threaten to bring in your own mercenaries to do the job if they don't agree."

  The Clansman beamed suddenly. "An excellent suggestion. That is just what I might do if I win the bidding." Ulric looked away, already concentrating on the battle he would wage with Bjorn of the Ghost Bears. Almost as an afterthought, he asked, "Anything else, quineg?"

  "Aff, Khan Ulric." Phelan saw by Ulric's reaction that he had expected a negative response. I can't let happen to Rasalhague what happened on Turtle Bay. "I know of something that will guarantee you win the bidding." For the first time, Phelan saw uncertainty on the older man's face, and it worried him. Have I overplayed my hand? Have I made myself a danger to him and the Clans?

  Ulric's features settled into an impassive mask. "What is it?"

  Now or never. "Bid away the Dire Wolf."

  The mercenary's answer brought a momentary look of shock to the Khan's face, but it faded quickly. "You do not know what you are suggesting." Even as Ulric spoke, his gaze flicked over Phelan, seeming to reassess what the bondsman had become.

  Phelan straightened up. "I believe I do, Khan Ulric." The Kell Hound suddenly found his mouth going dry. "I saw the holovid of the Sabre Cat, the Smoke Jaguar flagship, lasing Edo to put an end to the riots there. I watched as missiles leveled buildings and lasers stabbed down from high orbit to melt the streets. The Sawagashii River boiled away to nothing! In a matter of minutes, a city of over a million was reduced to a charred, glassy scar on the face of the planet. How can you say I don't know what I'm asking?"

  "Even the ilKhan believed that a prison break and six weeks of riots were not enough to justify that sort of retaliation." The Khan's eyes focused beyond the holotank. "I give you my word that I will never so level a world."

  Phelan's hands convulsed into fists as Kenny Ryan's words echoed in his mind. "I know that and I believe it, or I wouldn't have helped you plan your assault on a free world. The problem is that I don't know that about Bjorn." The mercenary forced his hands open and rubbed at his temples. "I know the Dire Wolf is capable of the same planetary bombardments and assaults, and I know it's been kept like an ace in the hole in case you run into something you can't handle."

  His head came up and his hands dropped back down to his sides. "I requested and got information on Bjorn. His holograph showed four-pointed gold stars on his collar where you wear the red dagger-stars. Ranna told me the red dagger-stars indicate someone who is a MechWarrior and that the gold stars are worn by those who come up through the Orbital Craft branch of your services. That tells me that Bjorn, no matter who or what he has advising him, is going to be dependent—consciously or unconsciously—on DropShip and JumpShip resources.

  "Because Rasalhague actually does lie in your invasion zone, you will bid first. I know that the winner of the bidding has the right to bring down as much force as he offers in his first bid, and I know the first few bids are preliminaries to set the stage for the bidding war." Phelan felt the pulse pounding in his temples, but made no attempt to control his anger. "If your bid does not include the Dire Wolf, Bjorn will have to eliminate the Ursa Major from his first offer, or he will concede defeat with the opening bid. You'll put him off balance from the start. He'll never get back on line quickly enough to oppose you effectively."

  The Khan's face hardened. "This is not how things are done. There is a formula to the bidding. You are asking me to violate the tradition that governs our ways."

  "That's right. I remind you, however, that it was my reputation for unorthodox action that made you ask for my assistance. There it is. An unorthodox action that will win you the right to take Rasalhague."

  "I will do this." Ulric's cerulean eyes became slits. "And I will endure whatever are the consequences of such an action but only if you will give me something in return."

  Phelan hesitated. "What can I give you? I am your bondsman. You already own me."

  The Khan shook his head slowly. "I have made you privy to military secrets and classified material. To obtain your help, I have made you a severe threat to the invasion and to the Clans. So much so that whether I succeed in the bidding or not, I believe the ilKhan will ask me to destroy you." A pain flashed through Ulric's eyes. "It would not please me to do so."

  I've blundered onto my own vibramines! A sickening void centered itself in his stomach. I was foolish to believe Ulric would not have recognized what sort of monster he'd created by giving me the data needed to help him. "The assault will be as bloodless as possible?"

  Ulric nodded. "Once the world is pacified, you may accompany me on an inspection."

  "Well-bargained and done." Phelan swallowed past the naranji-sized lump in his throat. "I give you my word, as a MechWarrior, that I will not attempt to escape or communicate what I know to anyone without a directive from you. Before you owned my body, now you own my soul."

  27

  Black Pearl Base, Sudeten

  Tamar March, Lyran Commonwealth

  12 July 3050

  Kai Allard, seated at the far end of the briefing table, shifted uncomfortably. I never should have let Victor talk me into attending this liaison meeting. He should have brought someone like Renny Sanderlin ...If I'd known that going to meet Victor when he arrived would get me placed in one of the strategy groups, I might not have been so anxious to see him right away.

  From the head of the table, Morgan Hasek-Davion acknowledged with a nod Dan Allard, Chris Kell, and General Adriana Winston of the Eridani Light Horse. "Thank you for the briefing on mercenary resources and readiness. I share your concern about the way the invaders seize the 'Mechs of mercenaries they capture. I cannot indemnify you against losses in the name of the Federated Commonwealth, but I am willing to use my personal resources and influence to help restore BattleMechs to those who've been Dispossessed. This is obviously not a guarantee that everyone will return from the battles with a 'Mech—I cannot reward foolishness or incompetence—but I don't want to see good MechWarriors fall into the ranks of the Dispossessed, because of the whim of some enemy commander."

  Daniel Allard smiled grimly. "Understood, Marshal, and greatly appreciated."

  Morgan looked down at the far end of the table. "Victor, may we have your report from the Junior Officer Strategy Group."

  Victor stood, sliding his chair back from the end of the table. "As directed, we studied all the information currently available on the invasion. As we all know, the invaders have superior 'Mechs that outgiin us and are heavily armored. Their range extends wel
l beyond that of our 'Mechs, which gives them an almost unbeatable advantage on the ground. In the air or space, however, our aerofighters can reduce this range advantage because of superior mobility over groundbound 'Mechs, but the increased weaponry and armor still causes problems."

  Victor punched a couple of keys on the keyboard he'd plugged in at his end of the table. Over the middle of the black briefing table, a computer-generated hologram came into focus. The left half of the object appeared in vector graphics, with a series of notations pertaining to design appended. Shiny metallic flesh coated the other half, giving the image a more humanoid appearance.

  "Besides improved 'Mechs, the invaders have these armored infantry soldiers. Because they can jump significant distances and are exceptionally hard to kill, we've taken to calling them Toads. From the little we can see in holovids, the armor makes the infantry personnel immune to at least one shot with anything under a PPC or heavy autocannon in damage potential. We have nothing even roughly analogous to his branch of their army, and the Toads have actually destroyed scouting lances on their own."

  Andrew Redburn, seated at Morgan's right hand, lifted a finger to draw Victor's attention. "Have you a rough equivalency rating worked out?"

  Victor looked down. "Kai?"

  Even though he knew the answer, Kai typed furiously on his noteputer. The machine's answer reconfirmed the numbers floating around in his head. "We estimate a point-two efficiency rating. That means a battle between one twenty-ton Locust and five Toads should leave 50 percent casualties for each side. When the Locust has been destroyed, only two Toads will be dead." He glanced at the noteputer again. "This evaluation includes the following assumptions, however. First, that the Toads would be using nothing heavier than their SRMs and small lasers, and second, that the Locust pilot had significant trouble targeting the Toads because of their high mobility."