Star lord

by Donald G. Phillips

  "Cut the chatter," Bovos returned.

  "Hey, this is just a milk run, boss. We come in like the cavalry, rescue the stranded settlers, and ride out."

  Bovos shook his head and smiled in spite of himself. Dozer never stopped joking, never seemed to take anything seriously. He'd been shuffled through three other units before being assigned to Bovos, who was apparently the only commander with the patience to deal with him. "The order stands, Dozer. Kill it."

  "Roger, Ox, sir," Dozer said snappily, always determined to have the last word.

  "Lieutenant." This time it was the heavily accented voice of Corporal Gustav Hoffman in his Griffin. "Request permission to open fire on Dozer if he keeps it up."

  "Request denied ... for now." Bovos glanced at his chronometer. Time to make contact with HQ in Timothy, the nearest town. He switched over to the regimental line and transmitted his lance's coordinates, as was standard procedure every hour. The tactical display immediately showed that the coordinates had been sent, but no echo came back from the Hussars command.

  Either regimental communications were down or he was getting interference from these rock formations. Bovos transmitted again and still received no echo response from the base. If we were at war, I'd be worried, he thought Somebody back at base is asleep at his post. He moved the Hermes along a rocky outcropping and began to punch in the direct communications link that would let him contact the base personally. Procedures had to be followed, even if it meant getting the comm officer busted for dozing off.

  A signal from Striber interrupted him. "Ox, this is Gramps. Did you just pick up some signatures on your short-range sensors?"

  Bovos checked his sensors and their settings. He saw nothing, but cut his speed slightly to maneuver through the rock outcroppings that surrounded him like an obstacle course. "Negative, Gramps. Did you?"

  There was a pause. "I thought I saw reactor pulses— 'Mechs. Just for a minute, then they disappeared."

  "Bearing?"

  "Ahead and on the flanks." There was something in Striber's voice that Bovos had never heard before—it sounded like foreboding, maybe even fear.

  "Ox to lance, all halt. Short-range scans. Anyone picking up readings out of the ordinary?" Bovos checked his own sensors again, but saw only the blips of his lance. They were spread out and blocked off from each other by a maze of rocks and pathetic clumps of dried-up trees.

  "Hey, Lieutenant, this is a cakewalk—remember? Maybe Gramps has spent a decade too many in the cockpit, eh? I'm not picking up—wait a minute—what in the name of—"

  Dozer's words were cut off by an explosion and a wave of static before the line went dead.

  "Dozer, come in!" Bovos watched as a pair of red fusion-reactor signatures came to life on his screen right next to Dozer's Wasp. His battle computer raced through the readouts in its database and displayed the icons as BattleMechs. A medium Centurion and one of the most heavily armed and feared assault 'Mechs—an 80-ton Awesome. Dozer's 20-ton Wasp was no match for even one of them, especially in such tight quarters. They've either been running silent or operating some ECM so we couldn't pick them up. This whole DropShip crash was just a trick to lure us in.

  "It's a frigging trap!" he shouted in rapid-fire. "Dozer, get out of there. Jump, damn it! Hoffman, give him cover. Gramps, form up on me." Suddenly a pair of short-range missiles streaked from behind a tortured cluster of rocks nearby, slamming into the torso of the Hermes. The 'Mech staggered back under the impact even as its torso armor fragmented and rained down over the rocks. Infantry with SRM launchers! So much for a simple rescue mission.

  Bovos aimed his flamer at the cluster of trees, and opened up with a jet of fiery death. The dry trees and brush danced to life as the flames burned a swam through them, leaving only charred ground and black smoke. Though he'd probably missed, right now Bovos would settle just for keeping his attackers on the move and not shooting at him.

  Dozer's panicked voice came on line for a brief second. "They've got me pinned, Lieutenant. It's them, it's the Kni—" Another blast echoed from the distance, shaking the ground. In the air, Bovos suddenly saw the outline of a 'Mech, Dozer's Wasp, aloft and in mid-jump. Then, just as suddenly, it plunged downward, engulfed in an inferno of fire and explosions, until it disappeared from view behind the rocks. Another explosion followed a moment later, the death knell of the young Mech Warrior. Checking his sensors, Bovos saw that they no longer registered Dozer's 'Mech. Twenty tons of high-tech metal and electronics destroyed in an instant. Dozer had been outgunned and outmassed in that light 'Mech. He never had a chance against those bastards.

  But Hermann Bovos had no more time to ponder fate, his own or anyone else's. "All fall back on my position. Watch for enemy infantry." The words were barely out of his mouth before the Hermes shuddered under the impact of a wave of missiles that came streaking at him from a 'Mech outside his field of vision. Several missiles slammed into his right arm and torso. Three others missed, but hit the rock formation behind him, bringing down a shower of debris on his thinner rear armor. The 'Mech reeled slightly and probably would have fallen if not for its gyro and some fancy piloting by Bovos. I've got to get out of here, he thought. This is an ambush plain and simple and the worst thing we can do is dig in. We've got to break out—and now.

  Striber's voice over the commline didn't offer much comfort. "I've got a Whitworth moving in on me, and that blasted Awesome's headed toward you, Lieutenant."

  "We've got to get out of here, Gramps," Bovos said, his sensors painting a similar story. "You and Hoffman, head back, fall back toward the city."

  Hoffman's Griffin came into view at the same time as the Centurion. Bringing his Imperator Ultra-5 autocannon online, Bovos targeted his cross hairs. The approaching Centurion ignored him, too busy trying to evade fire from the Griffin. The Hermes's battle computer locked on target, the enemy 'Mech's red and silver paint scheme no more than a blur as Bovos fired his autocannon.

  Everything happened in less than a heartbeat. A stream of autocannon shells peppered the Centurion's right side, pitting armor and sending a spray of steel, smoke, and shrapnel out over the rocks and trees. Hoffman was still firing too, triggering a barrage of PPC fire at the Centurion. The blue lightning missed by less than a meter, striking a nearby rock with a mighty crack!

  The Centurion was fighting back with its medium lasers and autocannon. The wave of the fire washed over Hoffman's 'Mech like an unstoppable tsunami of destruction and death. Several of the autocannon shells slammed into the Griffin's cockpit, blasting away armor and shielding. The rest tore into the 'Mech's right torso and upper chest. Bovos ignored the rising heat in his cockpit, concentrating on trying to see the Centurion through the smoke. Hoffman must be in some serious hurt after that round. He's got to break off the assault or he's toast.

  But the Centurion was charging straight toward Hoffman. Pulling back its giant left arm, the pilot swung and punched, with pile-driver precision, its armored fist striking squarely into the Griffin's chest. Bovos heard Hoffman's scream over the commline as he fought to keep his 'Mech standing, but the scream didn't last long. The Griffin fell backward, leaving much of its internal structure and myomer bundling wrapped in the twisted and coolant-smeared fist of the Centurion.

  Bovos stared in horror as the Griffin's fusion reactor erupted in a ball of flame, Hoffman's screams echoing in his ears. Hoffman was dead, but there was no time to mourn now. In a cold rage he triggered another wave of autocannon shells at the attacker. Most of them missed, but those that hit slammed into the Centurion's legs. The 'Mech turned and faced Bovos just as the red and silver Awesome entered the battle zone.

  Bovos knew he would never survive a direct assault by this super-charged, mammoth 'Mech. The Awesome was well-armed, but it was also slow-moving. His only chance would be to outrun it, so he followed his own orders and broke the Hermes into a mad dash. Despite the twisting path he made, the Awesome very nearly scored with its extendedrange PPCs. Scanning ahead, Bovos saw S
triber's Phoenix Hawk and another enemy 'Mech. "Gramps, I'm closing on your position. Are you in trouble?"

  "Get out of here," Striber fairly screamed over the commline. "Forget about me!" The thunderous racket in the background told Bovos that the Sergeant was under heavy attack. His heart began to race even faster with the fury of losing the last member of his lance. Just at the edge of his field of vision he saw the outline of the enemy—a Battle-Master, a 'Mech even more prodigious than the Awesome. Firing on the heavily armored assault machine was almost useless, for it could withstand severe punishment. But what else could he do? Bovos triggered his lasers, sending a pulse beam of burning energy out at the massive foe. From the smoke and debris he could tell that Striber wasn't giving up either, but trying to fight his way free. Stray blasts of laser light illuminated the smoke clouds and gave Bovos an idea of his lancemate's position.

  "Fall back, Gramps. The cavalry's on its way."

  "Much appreciated, Ox." Striber sounded grim and determined. "He's an older model, but still a killer."

  Firing the Phoenix Hawk's jump jets, Striber shot up and away from the BattleMaster. But the red and silver 'Mech replied with a salvo of SRMs from its left torso and PPC fire from its right arm. The stream of high-energy ion bolts hit the right leg of Striber's 'Mech, blasting away most of the armor and severing several large bundles of myomer muscle. Striber did not return the fire, probably intent on putting as much distance as possible between what was left of his Hawk and the BattleMaster.

  Bovos didn't want to get too close to the monster 'Mech either, just enough to draw its fire away from Striber. As the Phoenix Hawk dropped toward the ground about 200 meters from the BattleMaster, Bovos triggered another volley of autocannon rounds. He wasn't really even trying to hit the bigger 'Mech, just trying to land them close enough to do damage and divert its attention.

  It didn't work.

  The BattleMaster hefted its right arm upward and fired again at Striber. The lightning burst of PPCs hit the Phoenix Hawk's cockpit on the side, blowing away armor and sending arcs of excess energy dancing around the torso. The PPC attack was followed within seconds by several medium laser hits, one of them slicing upward like a knife across the chest of the Phoenix Hawk. Up, up, up until it tore open the front of the cockpit.

  They were all gone now, but Bovos had to get to battalion headquarters and warn the rest of the Hussars—if any were still alive. Again breaking into a run, he noticed that he was not alone. Between him and the way back to Timothy was a Whitworth, with the Awesome moving up slowly on his right flank. While Bovos had been concentrating on the Battle-Master, these two had been maneuvering into position to encircle him. The Centurion is out there somewhere too, he thought. These 'Mech pilots were savage and they'd staged a perfect ambush. Who the hell were they?

  Choosing the Whitworth as the weakest of his foes, Bovos turned the Hermes toward it and pulled his throttle back to maximum speed. As the targeting cross hairs locked on, he switched all the weapons over to his primary trigger circuit. Bovos knew he couldn't afford to hang around in a fight for long. He'd have to fire everything at once at optimum range. If he was lucky, that would be enough to break him out of this little trap and get back to the city.

  Not waiting for Bovos to get closer in range, the Whitworth opened up with a literal wall of long-range missiles. Bovos didn't try to dodge them but charged straight through, the warheads exploding across the surface of his 'Mech, rocking the Hermes II with each gigantic pop. His tactical readout was more red than anything else, screaming for his attention. It showed him armor shredded almost everywhere, with the 'Mech's upper torso taking the most damage.

  Looming in front of him was the Whitworth, its red and silver paint scheme shining in the sun. Bovos had seen the design before, several times, mostly on holocasts. Those were the colors of the Knights of the Inner Sphere! What in the name of Kerensky are they doing attacking us? We're on the same side!

  The Whitworth cycled another full salvo of long-range missiles as Bovos opened up with autocannon, laser, and flamer simultaneously. His pulse laser stitched away the armor plating on the enemy 'Mech's right arm while the autocannon rounds ripped the limb off at the shoulder actuator. The flamer scorched the 'Mech, burning away the shield symbol of the Knights and leaving the torso a ball of fire. Bovos was feeling the heat too. The temperature of his cockpit soared as he fought for air inside the neurohelmet. Only his cooling vest was keeping him from roasting alive, but how long could it hold out against this heat?

  What happened next took him totally by surprise. The Hermes shook violently as its left leg took a PPC shot that felt like a hit from a battering ram. Bovos never saw it coming. The blast shattered the knee joint from behind and he felt the 'Mech's gyro fight his every effort to remain standing. In the end the Hermes collapsed, falling forward as it went. Bovos was tossed around in the command couch, the body restraints digging deeply into his flesh and his head banging into the communications controls. As the battle computer and displays went completely dead, a wave of nausea swept over him and bile rose in his throat. I'm dead. I didn't even take out one of them, and now I'm going to die. The air had the metallic taste of ozone and he could smell burning myomer and coolant. He tried to raise his head to see, but the cockpit was dark. The only sight was the rocks and dirt of Shimgata Mesa breaking through what was left of his viewport.

  Bovos waited what seemed like an eternity, waited for the final shot that would finish him off. But it never came. Shaking his head groggily, he reached down and released the restraint controls, which threw his body against one side of the cockpit. We were ambushed plain and clear by Thomas Marik's own Knights of the Inner Sphere, he thought. They're supposed to be an honorable order, the best of the best and all that rot. While Bovos and his lance were getting slaughtered, the Knights must have struck at the rest of the battalion as well, which would explain why he hadn't been able to raise them earlier. Why would Captain-General Marik order the Knights to attack his own troops? Was he making overt moves against the Duchy? Why now? Bovos couldn't guess the answer, but surely it must be as mysterious as the reason why he alone had been spared.

  2

  Aux-Huards Plain

  Valexa

  Capellan March, Federated Commonwealth

  3 April 3057

  Hauptmann Garth Hawkes sat back lazily in his seat near the bar, tipping his glass and watching the foam atop the dark ale drift about. The tavern was in what was left of the village of Lucille, only a few kilometers from his unit's posting. Battered, almost a forgotten dot on the map, it was one of those towns that barely survived the three centuries of war since the fall of the Star League.

  Looking around him at the other few patrons in the place, Hawkes thought about his unit's recent posting to the world of Valexa, a planet close enough to what was lately becoming a troubled Sarna March. It was no secret that Sun-Tzu Liao had been stirring up trouble on many of the Sarna worlds for the past two years. And it was no surprise that he was doing a good job of it because many of its people still considered themselves Capellans. His unit, the Sixth Crucis Lancers, had been sent to Valexa in the recent spate of troop movements to the area, but there wasn't much to do beyond endless patrols to every little village and hamlet. It was the kind of duty Hauptmann Garth Hawkes hated—pure busy work. Still, orders were orders and his duty was to carry them out no matter what his opinion of them.

  Now he was being pulled away again. Not by a military matter but by family obligations. The man he was to meet was a close friend of his father, "The General," as he was affectionately known even to his children. Hawkes had welcorned the summons as a respite from the constant touring of the countryside. Not often did a young officer trying to make an impression and win a possible promotion find many chances to rest.

  He was startled from his reverie by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor as the impressive form of Leftenant-General Mel Aleixandre took a seat at the table.

  "Still weari
ng that pony-tail, eh, Garth?" Aleixandre said while signaling the bartender to bring him the same as Hawkes.

  "It's within regulation, sir."

  Aleixandre laughed and clapped Hawkes on the back. "So it is. But tell me, Garth, how's it going? It's been a while since we've had a chance to talk. Too damn long for the son of one of my best friends. And how is the General anyway? Have you spoken with him lately?"

  "Not in a good two months. The mails are having a hard time catching up with me."

  "I guess that's partly my fault. I'm the one got the Sixth Crucis Lancers posted to Valexa in the first place." Aleixandre took a long draw on his ale and smiled.

  "Remind me to thank you some other time," Hawkes returned, then swallowed the last of his. The bartender was at the table to refill the mug even before he was done.

  "Listen, Garth, maybe you should consider yourself lucky. Things are relatively quiet here on Valexa, but next door in the Sarna March Sun-Tzu's guerrillas have some planets in open revolt, not to mention all the home-grown local resistance movements. Count your blessings. Valexa isn't a hot spot—not yet anyway."

  "Politics," Hawkes muttered as though the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "I'm a MechWarrior. What you're talking about is just politics. Give me a foe and a good fight, a fight where I can do what's just and right."

  Aleixandre chuckled slightly. "Your father always said you were an idealist. Head in the clouds. I guess I should be thankful you've stayed with the AFFC instead of running off to join Thomas Marik's Knights of the Inner Sphere."

  Hawkes had heard of the Knights, everyone had. Thomas Marik had only recently created them as a kind of private force, with the express aim of encouraging a high moral tone among warriors. They were supposed to be the best of the best, and Marik had recruited them from all over known space. In answer to his call, more than a hundred and fifty Mech Warriors had made their way to the capital of the Free Worlds League and sworn their allegiance to Thomas Marik as their liege lord.