by Andrew Keith
On top of it all, there were still four Free Skye 'Mechs off the Leopard, which so far had not taken part in the fighting. They'd touched down well back from the battlefield and started off toward the Europa's landing berth, but partway through the fighting had turned, evidently in response to instructions from the enemy commander, and were about to join in. Their weight would be decisive wherever they hit Alex's thin line. And the enemy fighters hadn't added their authority to the battle yet, either.
Alex cursed under his breath as he studied the display. He'd gambled with the lives of his father's best soldiers, and it looked as if he'd already lost. If they didn't get the plan back on track soon, it would all be over. The other Legion outfits would be destroyed piecemeal unless they recognized the hopelessness of their situation and surrendered first.
"Ghost Leader, this is Europa," came Fowler's voice interrupting Alex as he wrestled mentally with the problem of shoring up the failing defensive perimeter. "We have engine start. Lifting off now."
"I copy that, Europa," he replied. It wasn't much to set against all the problems, but Alex could hardly restrain himself from cheering. "Follow the plan. You won't have the fighters, but do your best."
"Affirmative, Ghost Leader. We'll make it."
The blip that marked the DropShip on his monitor changed from green to blue to indicate that the vessel was now airborne, and the tiny symbols alongside it started changing rapidly as the Europa gained altitude and speed. The ship was moving southeast, over the city of Dunkeld and across the River Earn, leaving the battlefield far behind. In moments it was no longer visible on Alex's screens.
Whether it could elude enemy pursuit as easily remained to be seen . . .
Meanwhile, Alex Carlyle had a battle to fight. With the Europa now out of the picture there was a chance, just a chance, that they could still force the Free Skye troops back far enough to switch over to Phase Six—the final phase of the plan.
He keyed the channel reserved for the units tasked for Skysweep. "This is Ghost Leader," he said, his mind racing ahead as he framed the words. "The Europa's off. I think we can still persuade the bad guys they're outclassed if we concentrate our fire target by target. A couple of saturation attacks might make the difference."
"Aye, that's a bonnie notion," McCall said. "They'll nae want that kind of attention for long."
Heartened by the major's support, Alex went on. "All LRMs to concentrate on one target." His fingers danced over his targeting computer, calling up the coordinates of the cluster of 'Mechs he thought belonged to the enemy command. "I'm feeding the data through the net now. Execute on my command."
He finished punching in the firing program for his own weaponry, then hesitated, his finger poised above the firing stud.
This was a last-ditch effort, Alex knew that. What he didn't know was if it would work.
30
Dunkeld, Glengarry
Sky March, Federated Commonwealth
7 April 3056
Oberst Wilhelm Streiger checked the heat levels on his Warhammer and gave a thin smile. The cooling system had finally done its job, and the 'Mech was ready to re-engage. This time, he was sure, the results would be decisive. His tactical map showed the enemy falling back to the left and right of the Dunkeld spaceport, and Major MacLeod's fresh 'Mech lance was moving up to join the fight. When the fighters arrived, the Tenth could give the Gray Death a knockout punch.
"Vanguard One, this is Anastasia," Lippard broke in from the DropShip. "The Legion DropShip has lifted off."
Streiger rechecked his monitor quickly. With the ship showing every sign of having problems with the cold-start process, he'd put it out of his mind as a major factor. A DropShip without fusion power couldn't use energy weapons at all, and it would take most of the ship's battery power to use missiles. He had just about discounted it as a potential force in the battle.
Now it was powered up, and that might mean trouble.
But the DropShip was already moving off his monitor, heading southeast and gaining speed and altitude fast. Apparently its crew had decided to abandon a hopeless fight instead of staying around to support their comrades on the ground. So much for the vaunted Gray Death comaraderie.
"Anastasia, can you intercept him?" Streiger asked. "We don't want to lose that ship if we can help it."
"It would be chancy unless we sent some of the fighters after them," Lippard replied. "He's got the same speed we do, and he's headed toward mountain country. I imagine Carlyle's pilots know the ground a hell of a lot better than we do, and I don't intend to play follow-the-leader through mountains in a DropShip."
Streiger hesitated a long moment. The landing-force fighters could catch and probably bring down the ship, but he wanted those fighters here to support his 'Mechs. He could order up more fighters from the armada, of course, but he didn't know if von Bulow would be willing to grant the assistance. The general had used the landing force to spring a trap, and he wasn't likely to throw more troops into it now.
He let out a breath. "No, we want the fighters here, where the real danger is. That DropShip doesn't have anywhere off-planet to go. Track his movements, and we'll follow up on it later."
Lippard's relieved sigh was audible. "Understood, Vanguard One. We'll keep an eye on the bastard. Anastasia out."
Streiger turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings. "All right, kids, let's show them what the Black Watch can do!" he said over the lance channel.
His Warhammer began lumbering forward, back toward the site of the earlier fighting. On his map he saw that neither of the Gray Death 'Mechs from the earlier encounter had moved far since he'd broken off. Now that Streiger had Croydon's Thunderbolt and Coleman's Griffin with him, the Legion 'Mechs wouldn't be able to hold out for long . . .
"Incoming! Incoming!" Croydon shouted, her voice suddenly sharp and urgent over the commlink. "Multiple missiles incoming!"
And then the sky fell in on Wilhelm Streiger.
* * *
"That's our cue," Davis Clay shouted as the missiles stretched toward the enemy Warhammer. The sheer exhilaration of combat had washed away his doubts and fears, and all that was left was the desire to wade in among the enemy and fight. "You with me, Caitlin?"
"If the old girl'll get me there," Caitlin DeVries responded. "Lead on, MacDuff..."
"And cursed be he who first cries hold ..."
"Enough!" Caitlin joined in on the last word.
Clay considered using his jump jets again, then quickly rejected the idea. He'd been lucky that his earlier maneuver hadn't shattered the weakened ankle joint, and it would be tempting fate to try it a second time. The leap behind the Crusader had been his only option when Caitlin had called for help, but now he had to be more careful, instead of jumping, he steered to join the Marauder in moving alongside the admin building to follow the enemy 'Meeh that had broken off earlier. Alex's new firing plan had targeted the Warhammer and his two companions, and Clay and Caitlin were perfectly placed to exploit that devastating barrage of LRMs.
They rounded the corner just as a salvo of missiles dropped among the three Free Skye BattleMechs. Blast after blast went off all around them, and Clay saw shards of armor whirling away from the right-hand BattleMech, a Thunderbolt. He stopped his Griffin where it stood and raised the PPC clutched in the 'Mech's right fist. With his other hand he quickly programmed his own missile salvo to add to the fury falling on the enemy from the unseen 'Mechs of the Legion's long-range strike force.
Somehow the Thunderbolt pilot managed to get off the first shot, but the laser beam barely grazed the Griffin's right arm near the shoulder. The momentary contact caused armor to melt and slough, but in the next instant Clay was returning fire with far more devastating effect. The PPC caught the Thunderbolt square in the chest, and the 'Mech staggered back under the force of the particle-beam explosion.
But the chest armor was too thick to penetrate, even with the damage the enemy machine had already suffered from the falling
missiles. Clay cursed, and kept cursing as his missiles went wild and detonated harmlessly fifty meters beyond his target.
Now the enemy Warhammer was stalking forward, slow, ponderous, its built-in PPC arms swinging up to draw a bead on Clay's Griffin. He took a step back, then realized the nearest cover was too far away to reach in time. He'd have to use his jump jets again ...
Twin hammers of raw power slammed into the Warhammer just as Clay was reaching for the jump jet controls, and the bigger 'Mech never fired. Clay watched, stunned into immobility for an instant as Caitlin's Marauder strode past him, both PPCs firing again. The heat cost would be ruinous, especially with some of her coolant systems already damaged in the earlier encounter with the Warhammer, but she kept advancing nonetheless.
The Warhammer backed away, leaving one PPC tube lying on the ground. Caitlin's massive firepower had melted right through the weakest part of the elbow joint, and the damaged arm was trailing myomer fibers, wiring, and random sparks.
Clay snapped out of the spell that had frozen him and retargeted on the Warhammer himself, letting off another PPC round that scored a deep hit in the bigger 'Mech's chest armor.
"My heat's past the red line," Caitlin reported grimly. "But if we back off now we'll be flapping in the breeze."
"Yeah," Clay grunted, firing again, this time at the enemy Griffin that was running forward to the support of its damaged consort. The beam missed, but in that moment another missile strike landed among the three hostile 'Mechs. The Griffin held its ground and snapped off a shot that caught Caitlin's Marauder in the chest, but the other two had obviously had enough. They turned and headed away from the Gray Death 'Mechs at a run, leaving, their comrade to fight as rear guard.
When Clay and Caitlin started forward together as if to challenge the Griffin pilot to close combat, he triggered his jump jets and bounded back, getting off one last parting shot before all three enemy 'Mechs disappeared beyond the shelter of a blast berm.
Clay didn't choose to pursue.
* * *
At Dunkeld spaceport's main gate, Lieutenant Darlene Lucci held her hand up as the tall, angular shape of the fifty-ton Enforcer strode across the compound, its autocannon blazing away at Lieutenant Bergstrom's retreating Valkyrie just outside the perimeter fence. Behind her, the other members of First Squad waited, silent, motionless, almost invisible amid the rubble of the gatehouse. This was just the kind of work the Gray Death's elite armored infantry trained for, in the tradition that had made Grayson Carlyle a legend before his mercenaries had even owned a single BattleMech.
The Enforcer rushed forward as Bergstrom headed for the cover of a warehouse in the industrial park that butted up against the port. The pilot was clearly determined to catch up with the last of the recon lance BattleMechs before Bergstrom, like her three subordinates, vanished into the city.
If he noticed the three infantry troopers by the gate at all, the Enforcer pilot obviously didn't regard them as any threat to the mountain of metal that surrounded him. A typical 'Mech jock, Lucci told herself with a grim smile. They never thought much about the infantry.
Bergstrom's Valkyrie paused in its flight and let off a volley of missiles. They overshot by a good two hundred meters, which wasn't usual for the recon lance's commanding officer. She'd practiced this sort of fighting in conjunction with the armored infantry before, shooting wide on purpose to keep from jeopardizing Lucci's troops as they prepared to go into action.
But her shots served their purpose. The Enforcer pilot, seeing his chance, stopped his headlong rush as he tried to bring his deadly autocannon to bear. As he did so, Lucci brought her upraised hand down in a short, sharp chopping motion. "Now!" she shouted over the commlink, and instantly the two troopers followed her out of the rubble in a sprint across the open tarmac toward the enemy 'Mech.
Individual men, even men wearing combat armor, looked pitifully small and helpless in the shadow of a BattleMech, but looks could be deceiving. As she ran, Lucci triggered the jump pack on her back and jumped. The rocket-assisted leap left her clinging to the side of the Enforcer's right leg, and in a few swift, well-practiced motions she attached the demo charge to the 'Mech's vulnerable knee joint, then let go, using her jump pack again to bound clear of the action. The other two troopers went through the same drill, Olsen planting his charge on the right leg opposite hers, while Tjore set his on the left knee.
The enemy pilot must have realized the danger by then, but it was too late. A light laser stabbed toward the infantry as they scattered, barely missing Lucci. Then the charges detonated.
Tjore's went off first, not seeming to do much damage. Then the two on the right leg went off almost as one, and as Lucci ducked behind a half-ruined wall she could see the Enforcer staggering. The kneecapping charges didn't leave much outward sign of damage, but they could wreck the workings of a BattleMech's joints when properly placed.
The Enforcer took a tentative step forward, swayed, and paused. Clearly the pilot was having trouble making the leg work properly. He'd be trying to realign the actuator circuitry, trying to find a quick fix that would let the 'Mech move freely again. Without mobility, BattleMechs were nothing but massive, heavily armed targets . . .
The pilot was so busy he didn't see Bergstrom's Valkyrie and Ryoo's Javelin leaping over the fence to land less than twenty meters away. The two light 'Mechs opened fire with everything they had at close range, and in a matter of seconds the Enforcer was riddled with a dozen major hits. Lucci saw the pilot punch out just before the autocannon's magazine blew. She didn't even need to give the orders for Tjore and Olsen to close in and disarm him before he could get disentangled from his escape chute.
"Thanks for the assist." Bergstrom's even voice in her suit headphones didn't betray a hint of emotion. "Let's move right and see if we can help Lewis next. You game for it?"
Lucci smiled and waved. "Bring 'em on," she said.
Some day, maybe, 'Mech jocks would learn not to take the mudfeet so lightly ...
* * *
Julio Vargas pulled back sharply on his joystick and pushed forward on the Slayer's throttles. Gee-forces pressed Vargas back into his seat as the fighter angled skyward. His situation board showed two of the five enemy fighters, a pair of thirty-ton Sparrowhawks, pursuing him while the other three turned back toward the fighting on the ground.
Vargas muttered an oath under his breath. He'd hoped they'd see him as more of a threat, at least send the heavier Lucifers after him.
But Vargas was a card player, and he always did his best with the hand he was dealt.
He set up a random evasion program on the flight computer and turned his full attention to the weapons board. The Slayer mounted a single rear-facing laser among its other armaments, and Vargas let the autopilot do the flying while he worked to line up the cross hairs for a clear shot. His fighter was weaving back and forth under the computer's guidance, but the target lock system compensated automatically for the evasive pattern. All he had to worry about was whatever his two opponents might be doing to dodge his fire—at least until their own computers matched up the Slayer's programmed maneuvering with something they could recognize and predict.
Captain Julio Vargas didn't plan to give them that much of a chance.
One of the Sparrowhawk pilots was pulling ahead of his comrade. Vargas brought the cross hairs down onto the image of the fighter on his rear monitor. It flashed red as the targeting computer locked on, and Vargas tightened his finger on the firing stud.
The rear laser flashed, catching the Sparrowhawk dead center across the cockpit. In one smooth motion, Vargas overrode the autopilot and pulled the Slayer into an overhead loop. His left hand danced over the weapons controls, setting up his forward-facing weaponry to fire simultaneously when he next pressed the joystick trigger.
The Sparrowhawk loomed large up ahead, banking left and down as the pilot reacted to the hit that had burned a deep, jagged gouge in his cockpit armor. The evasive maneuver was blocking the se
cond Sparrowhawk from seeing exactly what was going on, and that gave Vargas the perfect opening.
His hand tightened around the trigger as the HUD cross hairs were turning red, and five lasers lanced out as one. The heavy autocannon in the nose chattered, adding a full cassette of high-explosive shells to the havoc erupting around the enemy fighter.
Vargas pushed the nose down, diving steeply under the Sparrowhawk as it blossomed into a fireball and came apart. Most pilots would expect an enemy to climb over an exploding aircraft, and that was exactly what Vargas was counting on.
He grinned under his flight helmet as a pair of laser bolts ionized the air above the collapsing fireball. The second Sparrowhawk's pilot had tried to anticipate him, firing without even waiting for a lock. A few shards of burning debris rattled off the Slayer's fuselage and wings, but otherwise he was undamaged . . . and diving straight under the surprised enemy.
The Sparrowhawk started a belated turn to chase him, but Vargas pushed the throttles even further forward, pulled out of the dive, and banked sharply right. Seconds later he was squarely on the Sparrowhawk's tail.
It took three shots before enough lasers penetrated the armored tail and started melting through engine circuitry and control surfaces. The Free Skye pilot punched out as his fighter came apart around him.
"Whoa, there, Dragonslayer!" a familiar voice crackled through Vargas' headphones. Lieutenant Joseph Diskin sounded like he was running on pure adrenaline. "Save a little bit of that action for your buddies, skipper!"
"It's about time you slackers showed up!" Vargas shot back. The other four fighters had finally made it, and that made the odds look a whole lot better all of a sudden. "Let's get down there and bag us some bad guys!"