The Last Charge

by Jason M. Hardy

  “Why did they do that?”

  “Do Clanners need a reason?”

  “Good point. All right, this is their fight. Let them finish it.”

  * * *

  The two ’Mechs wilted under the barrage from Alaric’s units. They did not even have time to return fire, and Alaric did not see them eject. The machines were neutralized.

  “All units to me,” he said. “There are more Silver Hawks ahead.”

  This time, no one in his command mentioned that these troops might be surrendering. They simply obeyed.

  The Clan Wolf forces were gathering closer together, and the next volley was blinding when it came. The targets made a few surprised, hesitant steps, but then stopped moving forever.

  The voice of Duke Vedet, insistent to the point of panic, came over the comm. “Wolf units, stop firing! For God’s sake, stop firing! These are surrendering units! You are destroying units that are surrendering! Cease fire!”

  “We do not take orders from Lyrans,” Alaric said over the Wolf-only channel. “Continue forward.”

  His troops kept marching, pushing fire ahead.

  * * *

  “I won’t just stand here while he butchers us!” Parsons screamed.

  “He’ll stop! Give me more time!” Vedet replied.

  “We’re dying! We have no time!”

  “If you return fire, you will give me no choice but to restart our attack.”

  When Parsons’ reply came, his voice was torn and ragged. “Bloody Lyrans! Bloody piece-of-shit Lyrans! Couldn’t trust…you shits!”

  That was the last Vedet heard from Parsons. A few feeble lasers sprang from the Silver Hawk survivors, only to be met with a screaming volley of shells from Duke Vedet’s troops. The Silver Hawks tried to run, but most of them didn’t have a chance to take more than ten steps.

  * * *

  Roderick made his ’Mech take a step forward, then stopped it. The battle had seemed over, and then downtown Helmdown had erupted into a firestorm.

  He knew what was happening, but it was too late to do anything. He couldn’t stop the Wolves, and now the Silver Hawks had returned fire. Nothing in the universe could save them now.

  The only thing he could do was keep his troops from participating. So he held them back and stood by as the last defenders of Helm were massacred.

  * * *

  The voices kept creeping into Carleton’s head. They sometimes got lost in the patter of the rain, but then they would get louder. He swatted at them absently, but he couldn’t control his hands well, and they just bumped into his nose and ears and didn’t do anything to keep the voices away.

  None of the voices made any sense. What they were talking about seemed foreign, distant. The rain on the canopy seemed much more pressing, much more deserving of his attention.

  But then there was a voice that seemed familiar to him. It didn’t sound happy. Something was wrong. Carleton wished he knew what it was.

  Then he felt pain. He’d been in pain for a while, in all parts of his body, but this was new. Stabbing pain in his head. Like something was screaming. But not the voices. They seemed to have stopped.

  He closed his eyes to ward off the pain, but he still saw stars. So he opened them again and watched the rain and didn’t feel any better.

  15

  Helmdown, Helm

  Marik-Stewart Commonwealth

  29 April 3138

  There would be time for rest. To sleep, to forget, or to just think of something else. Not much, but some. A few troops would stay behind; the others would prepare to move on and continue the campaign. Moving on was a process that took time and mostly did not involve the fighting men and women, so they could take some well-deserved time off while the support personnel did what they were supposed to.

  There were officers who wanted to rest as well, but a flurry of messages and demands were flying back and forth between the highest ranks. The negotiations to get two people in the same place sometimes seemed more complicated than interplanetary trade agreements, especially when those people were deliberately avoiding each other.

  Vedet felt he had the advantage in this particular game. Part of good business leadership involved finding people who didn’t want to be found, and that was experience Alaric Wolf did not have. Vedet would pin him down, and pin him down soon.

  He had brought support with him on his campaign to confront the Wolf leader—multiple witnesses were always good for the type of confrontation he was planning. Along with a beefed-up security detail, he had brought along Mercy Billings, who was not the boldest fighter in his unit but had a great memory and a sharp eye. Two guards walked ahead of Vedet, two on each side, four behind. They walked firmly through the rain, which had fallen throughout the night and threatened to cover everything with mud. They were a good-sized group, and Vedet thought the tramp of their feet made an impressive noise, though there was a bit of a slosh to it thanks to the muddy ground.

  Two massive guards, each holding an Imperator SMG, stood in front of a door leading to a Wolf ’Mech hangar. Between the two of them they had the door well blocked.

  “Stand aside,” Vedet barked.

  “No entry for non-Wolf personnel,” one of the guards said.

  “I am the ranking officer on this planet! You will stand aside!”

  The guards were unimpressed. “Lyran rank means little in Wolf space,” one of them said.

  “This is not Wolf space! Helm has fallen to the Lyran Commonwealth. It is our planet, and I am the ranking commander on it. I have authority here.”

  The guard’s eyes looked quickly at Vedet, like the brief flick of a snake’s tongue. “Where our Clan is, Wolf space is,” the guard said. “You do not hold authority over us. Your archon will tell you the same thing.”

  Because my archon is a fool, Vedet thought.

  “I wouldn’t worry about a distant Steiner,” Vedet said aloud. “I’d be more concerned with the Lyran standing in front of you right now.” He leaned toward the guard as he spoke.

  The guard took no notice. “Entry into this hangar will do you no good. Star Colonel Alaric is no longer here.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “He did not tell us where he was going.”

  Vedet turned away, unwilling to waste another moment with the guards. This pattern had repeated itself several times throughout the morning. It wasn’t, Vedet believed, that Alaric was avoiding him—he did not think the Wolf commander backed down from many confrontations—but simply that he was quite busy after the end of the battle and was making no effort to wait for Vedet to catch up to him or to make it easy for Vedet to find him. That is to say, avoiding Vedet might not be his primary purpose, but it was a happy side effect.

  He would have to slow down eventually, though. Like Vedet, Alaric had likely been up for more than an entire day, much of it spent in battle. They were both weary, Vedet imagined, but Alaric lacked one thing Vedet possessed—the adrenaline of outrage. That would carry Vedet forward when Alaric was starting to settle down.

  For the next hour and a half, though, Alaric showed no signs of slowing. Vedet and his entourage pursued him across the Wolf camp, consistently arriving at every location just after Alaric left. But finally Alaric became involved in a task that made him stay in one unsecured point long enough, and Vedet caught up to him.

  Alaric was standing in the rain at a makeshift airstrip, reviewing the supply of munitions and arranging to replace the bombs he had unleashed on Helmdown. He was soaked, his hair dark brown with moisture, but he did not seem to notice the rain. He had no slicker or umbrella or anything else—he still wore his ’Mech uniform, every centimeter of which was soaked.

  Vedet spoke loudly as he walked up to Alaric. He had already planned what he was going to say, choosing his words carefully for maximum impact.

  “Star Colonel Alaric!” he yelled, making sure he could be heard above the patter of the rain. “You fought without honor!”

  It worked. Alaric turne
d immediately to Vedet. The duke could not make out his expression through the rain and darkness, but he had a guess what it looked like—Alaric did not have the most expressive face, and it was likely on the angry end of its limited range.

  “I am impressed, Duke Vedet, that you believe you are in any position to lecture anyone about honor.” Alaric’s voice was resonant, carrying through the rain though he did not yell.

  “They were surrendering! I had accepted their surrender, and you massacred them!”

  “I neither received nor accepted an offer of surrender,” Alaric said. “There were enemy troops on the field, and I dispatched them as I would any other enemy. It was war.”

  “It was bloody murder!” Vedet said. “Cold-blooded murder! The Silver Hawk units were not even returning your fire!”

  “I am not responsible for their poor tactics,” he said. “I also do not feel an obligation to explain what they did. My job was to win the battle. Which I did.”

  “You did nothing! It was my victory! I had convinced them to surrender, and you couldn’t accept that, so you massacred them!”

  “You may be surprised to learn this, Duke Vedet, but all the circumstances of battle do not revolve around you. You did not convince them to surrender—you merely responded to their desperation. And my actions had nothing to do with you. Perhaps it will comfort you to know that I gave no thought to you throughout the battle.” Alaric paused. “Or perhaps it will not. Narcissism does not like to be ignored.”

  Vedet’s fingers opened and closed. He would have liked to reach for his sidearm, but knew he would die if he did. “You should watch your words,” he growled.

  “I believe you started the conversation by questioning my honor,” Alaric said. “I was merely matching your rhetoric.”

  This was getting off-track. “This isn’t about me,” Vedet said. “This is about you massacring the Silver Hawks.”

  “I killed the enemy, which is the point of war,” Alaric said. “And this is entirely about you. You care nothing for the lives of the Silver Hawks—you hate them more than I do. You are only upset because you thought to crown yourself the conqueror of Helm, and now that opportunity is gone.”

  “My motives are not the point! You were reckless and bloodthirsty. Do you know what will happen if the story of what you did gets out to the general public?”

  Alaric leaned forward, and rain streamed off the top of his head and ran in rivulets off his brow. “I am fighting a war. I am not conducting a public relations campaign.”

  Vedet threw up his hands. “You’re nothing more than a barbarian.”

  “And you are a craven politician, but why waste our time on name calling?”

  “This is hopeless.” Vedet turned to Billings. “This is what the archon gets for enlisting the help of people who have no understanding of political realities.” Then he waved to his security officers. “Let’s go.”

  He took a dozen steps through the muck before Alaric’s voice stopped him. The voice carried perfectly through the rain, though it did not seem like Alaric was speaking any louder.

  “How do you suppose Anson Marik will react to this battle?”

  Vedet stopped. He wasn’t anxious to continue the conversation, but the question interested him. What was Alaric implying?

  The duke turned. “What do you mean, how will he react? He’ll hate it!”

  “And if news of the loss of his troops—and the way they were lost—reaches his ears?”

  “He’ll be furious,” Vedet snorted. “He’s a pool of anger on his best days. Your massacre will drive him insane with rage.”

  “And if he knows I intend to move deeper into his realm?”

  Then Vedet saw it. He blinked a few times, then hated himself for showing any sort of reaction to the Clanner’s stratagem.

  “He will want you dead,” Vedet said grudgingly. “He’ll throw extra troops at you to slow you down. They’ll fight instead of running.”

  Alaric nodded. “He and his army will make their stand. He will not be able to retreat in front of us again. We will not have to chase the Silver Hawks all over the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth—he will bring them all to me so he can have a chance to defeat me.”

  “The Silver Hawk Irregulars will not be an easy foe, no matter how badly we’ve hurt them. You’re bringing a large force down on yourself—and me, if I stay anywhere near you.”

  “I am not concerned about fighting them head-on instead of piece-by-piece,” Alaric said. “Are you?”

  Vedet fumed silently. He was supposed to be exposing Alaric’s tactics for their cruelty, not admiring them. But he wasn’t about to let Alaric see any of that. “This is a big risk you’re taking. One you took without consulting any of your fellow commanders.”

  Alaric’s face was completely hidden by the dim light and thick rain. “This is war,” he said. “I assumed everyone was here to fight.”

  There was nothing more to be said. Vedet glared at Alaric for a time, hoping he conveyed anger at the Clanner’s tactics instead of frustration; then he turned away so he could get the hell out of the Clan Wolf camp.

  It probably is best to finish this campaign as soon as possible, Vedet thought. So I can take my army away and never fight on the same side as a Clanner again.

  * * *

  Perhaps he could have moved northwest. Then he could have brought his forces east and approached the Silver Hawk forces from the opposite side of the Wolves. Then he could have…he could have…

  Roderick shook his head. There was nothing he could have done from that position. The problem was not a matter of location. He’d have to try again.

  He could have said something over the comm, when Clan Wolf started firing on the stationary troops. He could have talked to Alaric, asked him what he was doing, made sure he understood that the troops he was firing on had surrendered.

  No, no, that wasn’t any good, either. First, Alaric wasn’t about to explain what he was doing to anyone. Second, he had no doubt that Alaric knew perfectly well what he was doing. Explaining it to him would not have changed a thing.

  Then perhaps he should have become involved in the situation earlier. As soon as the Silver Hawks broadcast their willingness to surrender, maybe he should have been involved instead of Vedet. Alaric’s execution of the troops may have had something to do with his personal grudge against Vedet, though Alaric seemed to fight from a purely tactical standpoint. There was usually much more at stake in Alaric’s moves than personal grudges—though Roderick was certain the Clanner wouldn’t mind settling a few of those if the opportunity happened to arise.

  Maybe if Roderick had intervened and negotiated the surrender properly…

  “Either that map is the most beautiful piece of paper you’ve ever seen, or you’ve fallen asleep with your eyes open.”

  Roderick blinked several times. His eyelids felt like sandpaper. He raised his head while trying to rub some soreness out of his neck and looked for whoever had just spoken.

  The room was dark except for a light on his desk. The map was well illuminated; everything else in the room were shadows in the dim morning light. He had to squint to see Trillian Steiner standing in front of him, her lips wearing a slight smirk. Her eyes, though, were worried.

  “What are you…when did you get here?”

  “A few minutes ago. At about the time I said ‘Hi, Roderick.’”

  “You said hi?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” Roderick twisted his head to one side, then the other. He heard light snaps and pops from his neck. “I didn’t hear that.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She sat down. Roderick thought she looked a little rumpled—a wrinkled brown shirt and blue pants, and heavy, mud-stained boots. Her hair looked like it had been pulled back a long time ago and then ignored—loose strands fell everywhere.

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Waiting. Watching. Gathering info. The things I generally do.”

  “Have you been up all nigh
t?”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t need to be.”

  “There’s fighting going on,” she said. “If there’s anything to do to be useful, I should be doing it. Not sleeping.”

  Roderick looked ahead and watched as his vision blurred. Trillian was barely more than a smear in space. “All right,” he said absently.

  She leaned forward a bit. “If anyone’s going to sleep, it should be you. You look wrung out.”

  “I’ll get some rest soon. There’s just…just something I was working on.”

  She looked at the paper he had been staring at. “A map of Helmdown?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why are you looking at that?” She leaned over farther, twisting her head to get a better look at it. The light shone beneath her chin and made her look ghoulish. “It’s not exactly accurate anymore. Not after what Alaric’s aero units did.”

  “It’s accurate enough. For what I’m doing.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He looked down at the map again and rubbed his forehead with both hands. The map blurred in front of him. His eyes, at least, were ready for sleep. “It’s…it’s nothing. Just reviewing some tactics.”

  “Maybe you’d do that a little better with a clear head,” she said. “After some rest.”

  “I don’t feel like resting just yet.”

  “Bullshit. You almost look like you’re asleep right now.” Her eyes narrowed. “Something’s wrong with you. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I just like to do my review when the battle’s fresh in my mind.”

  “Fresh? Roderick, you almost fell asleep in the middle of that sentence! Nothing is fresh in your mind at the moment.”

  “It’s just what I like to do, Trill,” he said. He tongue felt thick in his mouth, so he spoke slowly.

  She stared at him silently for a minute. “No,” she said. “Something’s wrong. You’re not just following routine. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”

  Something in Roderick collapsed. It was like there was a platform in his mind holding all the blackness that had built up in him at the end of this battle, and when Trillian spoke the thin twig holding the platform up snapped in two and the blackness ran free. It poured through his mind and out his mouth, and when it did it washed away the weariness and pain and left only anger. He jumped to his feet and planted his hands on his desk so he could lean forward and bark at her.