Binding Force

by Loren L. Coleman

  Raven Clearwater sat forward, hands clasped in front of her on the table. “But there’s a chance, Battalion Commander Non, and we should avail ourselves of it. I volunteer for the mission. I was forced to leave him there, it’s my responsibility.”

  “No, Raven,” Terry said kindly. “I was Aris Sung’s second in command, responsible for his safety. Losing him to the Jinxiang was my fault. Don’t forget that I started out as infantry. I’ve been specifically trained to infiltrate an urban environment. I should go in, alone.”

  Ty Wu Non worked to not let indecision show on his face or in his movements. Sending Terry Chan in after Aris Sung would create a situation that he could not control, and so should not allow. But then Terry really was the most qualified to operate in that environment, and Aris could indeed have the answers they needed as well as precious military intelligence on the Kaifeng SMM. He decided to test her reasoning. “Lance Leader Chan, have you considered your responsibilities to your company?”

  Her reply was well-prepared. “Yes, sir. Over the last half hour. But the truth is that my company currently answers directly to Company Leader Thom Lindell, as per your instructions, and so I operate more in the function of lance leader anyway. The minor disruption in our chain of command is offset by the potential gain.”

  She had him there. Ty felt a twinge of uncertainty in his gut, but could not pin it down long enough to analyze. So he could find no reasonable argument against Terry Chan’s idea. “Very well,” he said, nodding. “You will infiltrate Tarrahause as you see fit. But regardless of success, I want you back no later that twenty hundred hours day after tomorrow. Understood?”

  Terry Chan nodded back. “Understood, Battalion Commander. But I expect to be back well before then.”

  “Why is that?”

  Terry smiled. “I believe I know right where to look for him.”

  * * *

  The main warehouse of Highway Terminal Number Two West had been filled recently. Not with sacks of rice or crated fruit and vegetables, though one corner of the large building was stacked high with such food items. What occupied the spacious building was a pair of BattleMechs. A Raven, with its hallmark beak-like nose, and a Blackjack. Jungle camouflage covered the Raven, and the Kaifeng SMM shield rode on its upper right leg. Only the Blackjack’s left arm still showed any sign of camouflage, the rest having been painted over with a black base. Two technicians worked up on a hydraulic lift, paint guns wafting a black spray back and forth as they ate up the last of the camouflage.

  SMM Major Karl Bartlett walked through the partially open main doors, leaving behind the humid jungle heat of Kaifeng for the immediate relief of the warehouse’s shaded interior. Paul Harris and Kevin Yang, two of his most trusted leftenants, Linebacker pilots in his own lance, followed close behind. Their eyes were wide with curiosity. Bartlett knew they had questions, but they were good enough soldiers to wait for his briefing.

  He stopped walking when the paint fumes began to sting at his nose. “Okay,” he said calmly, “here’s the deal. Out friends in House Hiritsu are willing to up the stakes. If we can arrange to severely discredit House Hiritsu, they’ll deliver their battalion commander and his most loyal warriors into an ambush.”

  Bartlett smiled at their wide-eyed looks of shock, enjoying the surprise he’d generated. He’d been working toward a grand play such as this ever since General Fallon had given him direct access to the Hiritsu traitor, something that would vault him into the limelight as the man who defeated a Capellan Warrior House. It would get him out of Cyndi Fallon’s shadow. Almost certainly he would be sent to Sarna. And if the Sarna Supremacy ever did fail—and let’s face it, he thought, even the Solaris bookies only give us a one in five chance of making it to the year 3060 as an independent state—that kind of reputation followed a man. Karl Bartlett would be able to get a command anywhere, except maybe in the Capellan Confederation.

  Kevin Yang’s surprise melted into a puzzled frown. “What are our friends getting out of this? Seems kind of one-sided to me.”

  Paul Harris answered before Bartlett could speak. “Obviously they’re working to take down the upper leadership so they can take control of their precious House. From what I understand”—he looked to Bartlett for confirmation—“they’ve never asked for anything except that we fight a series of limited engagements. They don’t want the House destroyed, just weakened.”

  Bartlett nodded. “There might also be some other political considerations back in the Confederation as well, but those don’t concern us.”

  The two leftenants looked at each other and then back at him. “What’s the plan?” Harris asked.

  “These two machines”—Bartlett jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the Raven and Blackjack—“are going to be painted the green and black of the House Hiritsu. The Raven is Trufeau’s, from our own scout lance. He thinks it’s down with actuator trouble. The Blackjack we borrowed from Jacob’s Juggernauts. Both are standard Liao designs that have been seen in the Hiritsu assault force.

  “Tomorrow, during the Dragon Boat Festival, you two will take them through our picket line and raze the lakeshore area where the festival is taking place. Breaking the cease-fire, violating the fertility rites festival. The people of Kaifeng will turn rabid against the Capellans. Hiritsu wouldn’t be able to hold the planet then even if the SMM packed up and shipped out, handing over the keys to the world.” He chuckled, obviously amused with the plan.

  “Walk through our picket lines?” Paul Harris looked doubtful. “Do they know we’re coming?”

  “And what do you mean by raze?” Yang added.

  “Of course they don’t know you’re coming,” Bartlett said. “I want this kept to as few people as possible. But I’ve positioned the watch stations to leave a good-sized hole in the southwest sector. That gives you clear access to Lake Ch’u Yuan’s western shore. The festival is on the north shore, so you’ll have to walk around part of the lake.

  “As for what I mean by raze,” Bartlett said, looking hard at Kevin Yang, “is heavy property damage. Kick in buildings, step on cars, throw a medium laser or two into a zongji stand—disrupt the festival.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened further, as if unable to believe what he was hearing. “Two words, Karl. Ares Conventions. Ever hear of it?”

  Bartlett turned a withering glare on Kevin Yang. Of course he’d heard of it. The Ares Conventions were a system of regulations designed to keep war to the battlefield and spare the civilian population as much as possible. The rules had been intended to keep war from plunging the Inner Sphere back into the dark ages. But dammit, he wasn’t asking them for a Kentares Massacre. “We’ll pad the report later to indicate massive casualties,” he explained. “We don’t target our own people.”

  He didn’t mention the real casualties that would occur simply from collateral damage. By the look in Harris’ eyes, Bartlett saw that he already realized and accepted that. With his wife in Hiritsu hands on the recharge station, it was doubtful the man would balk.

  Yang shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “The general know about this?”

  “No!” Bartlett barked, then softened his tone into a low growl. “And she’s not going to either. Cyndi Fallon would never go for this because she can’t make the hard decisions. She’d rather sit here and pray for reinforcements and allow our friends to dictate our strategy to us. Well, guess what, gentlemen? Sarna is under blockade. Three Liao warships—warships! two frigates and a destroyer—with an impressive fighter screen, have Sarna closed up tighter than a Lyran merchant’s purse. And Sarna jump points are swarming with marine assault craft. Any JumpShip not willing to risk a pirate point has to risk boarding parties. They’ve already repulsed three Sarna attempts to break out and get us reinforcements.”

  “Why haven’t we been told this before?” Paul Harris asked, clearly upset. “I would call this affecting our strategy.”

  Bartlett smiled thinly. Because I withheld it for the shock value, here and now. �
�Fallon doesn’t want it widely known that we’re cut off from Sarna.” Which was true enough. He let his voice turn cold. “Current estimates from Sarna predict a break-out within the next few weeks.”

  “Weeks?” Harris shouted, then continued more quietly. “That means we can’t hope to see help for at least a month.”

  Bartlett nodded. He could see he had their attention. “Or we can end this matter ourselves.”

  Kevin Yang still had reservations, but Bartlett could see his resolve cracking. “You trust these people? I mean, Capellan Warrior Houses have never been known for harboring traitors.”

  “That’s true,” Bartlett acknowledged. “But I guess times change, even in the repressive Capellan Confederation. Our friends have been right several times now, at the cost of Hiritsu lives and equipment. I’d say they’ve bought their credibility.”

  Not only that, Bartlett thought, but tonight he would be meeting the go-between who had passed along all the information so far. Face to face. That would give him a chance to double-check the particulars and iron out any wrinkles. Especially this Aris Sung who was supposedly at large in Tarrahause; he could be a problem. The only thing that confused him was why the informant wanted to meet in a public place. That wasn’t typical for such a sensitive meeting.

  Paul Harris suddenly spoke up. “You think people will believe a Capellan Warrior House intentionally targeted civilian targets?”

  Bartlett was ready for that question. “Look at the Hiritsu strategy. They’re concentrating on shutting down our food production, preventing our exports. You’ll be coming in from the west. The main docks that receive shipping off the Jinxiang are on the southeast lakeshore.”

  “So we’re merely heading for the docks, and the festival is in the way,” Harris finished, the reservation gone from his voice. He was obviously sold.

  Kevin rubbed at his chin. “I’d feel better if they were the ones actually committing the crime, though. Their battalion commander, huh?”

  “I’ve been guaranteed that their commander and several of his most loyal supporters will be present.” Bartlett leaned forward. “I believe we can take out a full company along with their higher-ranked officers, and force them to abandon their efforts against Kaifeng. Even if they tried to mount a full assault against Mahabohdi then, they wouldn’t have a strong enough force to take it.” He paused for effect, then continued. “What do you say, gents? Either of you want to be known for decimating a Liao Warrior House?”

  More glances between the two men and around the warehouse, then after a quick nod from Kevin Yang, Paul Harris answered for them both. “All right. What exactly do you want us to do?”

  21

  The Gold Pavilion, Tarrahause

  Tarrahause District, Kaifeng

  Sarna Supremacy, Chaos March

  24 July 3058

  The Gold Pavilion was loud and obnoxious. The newest video games on Kaifeng lined an entire wall, challenging the reflexes and, occasionally, the intelligence of the patrons. Most of their noise was lost to the two jukeboxes that competed with each other from opposite sides of the large, open room, holo images of the musical performers dancing on top. The bar was set in the middle of the room, an island amid a small, dimly lit sea of dark carpet, tables, and bodies. Just the kind of place that would be popular with Kaifeng’s MechWarriors.

  Aris had cut his dark hair short, having shaved it over the ears to remove the singed hair and imitate one of the latest styles. Li Wynn stood a loose guard outside, supposedly watching the dark streets for Djing-cha troops, but mostly to keep him out of Aris’ way. Right now he was wandering about the place, sipping at the four C-Bill soft drink he’d picked up at the bar. He doubted that any other warrior of House Hiritsu would ever voluntarily enter such an establishment. The discordant music and smoky atmosphere assaulted the senses, a harsh contrast to the austere, House-controlled life.

  Kaifeng MechWarriors had taken over one corner of the large room, packing chairs tightly around a cluster of three tables as if setting a defensive perimeter around some important facility. Apparently the Kaifeng SMM got on well with their mercenary cousins. Aris counted three military regulars and four mercs as he walked past, with two whose affiliation he wasn’t sure of. For the most part they made it easy, wearing jackets or shirts with unit insignia on them. There were of course other tells as well, like military haircuts and shaved areas of the head for better contact with neurohelmet sensors, but those couldn’t always be trusted.

  The main target of Aris’ little scouting mission sat against the wall, chair rocked back on two legs while he enjoyed a cigarette and kept a close eye on activity throughout the club. He wore a utility jacket made from the lightweight but strong fabric favored by FedCom MechWarriors once they left the steamy confines of their cockpits. The red and black Kaifeng SMM patch rode on one shoulder, and another patch on his left breast gave his rank and name as Major Karl Bartlett. Aris figured him to be a FedCom defector who’d stuck around when Sarna went independent. The man had a snobbish air about him as he listened or spoke to his fellow warriors, like he was superior to the average Sarnese. Every few seconds he would tilt his head up and exhale smoke from his cigarette toward a ceiling fan, watching it get cut into thin ribbons and then finally disperse.

  The MechWarriors had appropriated chairs from several nearby tables. Now Aris grabbed one of those that stood empty and spun it back to its former position so he could sit. Taking a seat, he set his drink down on the table and pretended to search the crowd for friends. One of the mercenaries took notice of him, but shrugged it off when Aris nodded to a nonexistent comrade on the other side of the bar and motioned to the captured table as if signaling that he’d found a place for them.

  Spies did many things in the holovids, Aris thought. But one thing they didn’t do was draw attention to themselves. Especially when taking up a position where they could eavesdrop on their target. The way Aris just had.

  Ipso facto, as far as the Kaifeng warriors were concerned, Aris couldn’t be a spy.

  Conversation among the Kaifeng MechWarriors drifted back and forth among topics ranging from old war stories to the latest ’Mech bouts on Solaris. Aris picked up little through his first two glasses of soft drink. He started to plan a new approach, deciding his waiting-for-friends cover must be wearing thin, when his luck turned. A new arrival to the group, who pulled up a chair from another table though several still sat vacant among the other warriors, led the discussion back to the previous night’s activities.

  “So what’s the news?” he asked. “We know yet what happened to our guests last night?”

  There were several derogatory comments concerning various aspects of House Hiritsu competence. One warrior, a mercenary, suggested that the main assault force must have gotten lost in the jungle on the way to Tarrahause.

  “Yeah, so what happened to Phineas’ lance?” asked a younger member of the group with a strong outback accent. “I heard a single CapCon ’Mech took ’im and one of his mates apart.”

  The mercenary glowered. “They had infantry support. Popped on us before we could ambush the ’Mechs. We were told there’d be no infantry.”

  “Wasn’t no infantry,” another mere said. “Not unless the Capellans have turned in SRM-packs for molotovs as their standard anti-Mech weapon.”

  “Any news on that, Major?” the new arrival asked. “We got dissidents crawling out of the Zone maybe?”

  Aris took a sip of his drink, leaned forward and with a large wave attracted the attention of a waiter. He ordered another, loudly. This one with alcohol in it, though he never intended to drink it.

  Karl Bartlett shrugged in response to the question. “Maybe,” was all he said.

  “You okay, Karl?” another Mech Warrior asked. “You seem kinda edgy tonight.”

  “Yeah,” chimed in the outback accent, “has there been some word from our friend, Major?”

  It required a bit of self-control for Aris not to lean in, trying to hear better a
s the Hiritsu traitor was finally mentioned. Bartlett leaned forward and stubbed his cigarette out against the tabletop. “Nothing,” he said curtly. He’s lying, Aris thought as the Kaifeng Major ham-handedly changed the topic. “I can tell you that our scouts found out where the Hiritsu force is holed up, though. Port Terminal Five South.”

  Many of the warriors sat up at that news. “Fifty klicks from here? That’s a bit close, isn’t it?” asked a nervous-looking member of the group. Aris thought he’d heard someone call him Kevin earlier.

  “Maybe a bit,” Bartlett said. “They could launch a fast strike against us, that’s for sure. I’ve got to tell you, I’m a little concerned that they might not wait out the entire cease-fire.”

  Aris couldn’t help the frown. The line sounded rehearsed, staged. Was there a reason Karl Bartlett wanted his people nervous? Aris couldn’t see it. But the fact remained that if Ty Wu Non gave the word of House Hiritsu, then the cease-fire would not be broken by the Warrior House.

  Others didn’t share Aris’ trust. The outback warrior nodded his agreement of Karl Bartlett’s assessment. “Damn Cappies are sneaky as Dracs, but ain’t half as honorable.”

  “What would you know about the Draconis Combine, Martin?” It was the new arrival again. He leaned over and punched his friend lightly in the shoulder, adopting a mocking version of the other’s accent. “Back hills trail-runner. Ya haven’t been off-planet any more than us, and I bet you kin count your years off the southern continent on one hand.”