A grating sound was quickly followed by a small explosion on Austin’s right shoulder. To his surprise, he found that his autocannon had cleared and he could fire again. He hobbled over and stood with his back to the refitted ’Mech, firing at any target he saw. Austin lifted his autocannon to fire at movement showing on the edge of his radar screen, only to have the weapon jam again.
For a change, he let out a heavy sigh of relief at the weapon’s failure. Austin would have fired reflexively on another of the MBA ’Mechs, this one a modified MiningMech firing salvos of SRMs at infantry and light-armored vehicles as it came. The autocannon mounted on its other side was silent, having jammed like Austin’s.
Austin checked his console again, but he was weaponless. His rear-facing laser had been removed before the Centurion had gone on display and the one on the right side of his torso struggled to recharge. Given its wildly fluctuating voltage, the laser might never work again. And the autocannon? Jammed beyond repair.
A heavy blow knocked him forward a few steps. He swung the Centurion around as quickly as he could and faced his rescuer. Through the forward view screen Austin saw the other pilot gesturing to the radio.
Austin shook his head to indicate he had lost all communication capability. The other pilot signaled that Austin should eject, but Austin wasn’t going to abandon Sergeant Death. That would be like leaving a fallen comrade for the enemy. It had shown itself to be as deadly a resource now as when his father had driven it.
He coughed, then blinked as smoke burned his eyes. Austin saw the trouble now. Red lights had replaced all the green on his control console. The recycling pump for his coolant had died. Stealthy fires worked their way along most of the wiring, spelling death for the magnificent BattleMech. Austin hit the emergency shutdown, then scrambled to unstrap and pull off hoses going to the coolant vest. Twisting until he thought he would tear himself into pieces, he got free of the pilot’s couch and scrambled up and out of the hatch.
Standing on the Centurion’s shoulder, he waved to the IndustrialMech. The deadly spinning blade on the ’Mech’s shoulder slowed and finally grated to a stop. Only then did the ’Mech move closer. With a powerful jump Austin shot through the air and grabbed frantically for a handhold. He slid a few centimeters, then found both footing and a secure grip.
From the hatchway of the Centurion erupted flame so intense his pants legs began to smolder, though he was five meters away. The ’Mech driver was already turning away to protect him with the bulk of the fighting machine. With practiced ease, he bent to let Austin jump to the ground.
The hatch on the ’Mech popped, and Austin got another surprise.
“Manfred!” he called, staring at his rescuer. “You’re alive!”
“Be grateful you can’t get rid of me so easily!” Manfred laughed and then dropped to the ground to clutch Austin in a powerful bear hug.
“How? I saw you blown up!”
Manfred laughed and shook his head. “Your father called me as I was leaving the limo and warned me about some missing explosives. Borodin had found out and told the Baron in time for him to tell me. The Kuton station is such a threat to Elora that it didn’t take long to figure out that a DropShip filled with supplies headed to the moon might not be the safest place for me to be.” Manfred turned somber. “I never entered the ’Ship.”
“I saw you. Marta saw you!” Austin protested.
“The bulk of the ’Ship blocked your view. I made a serious mistake then. I didn’t go into the ’Ship, but I tried to contact the pilot. All I had was one of the Span-net phones. No one in the DropShip could pick up that frequency, so I couldn’t warn them.”
“You should have told Marta. She could have contacted them through the control bunker,” said Austin.
“The engine ignition sequence started, and I ran like a fool to keep from getting fried. I found a ditch to protect me from the backwash. Then it was too late. The ’Ship blew up as it lifted off. There was nothing I could do, so I thought it would be better to let Tortorelli and Elora think they had actually killed me.”
“But where did you get the ’Mech? You must have told Marta you were alive.”
“Sure, but by the time I got in touch, you’d disappeared. Your father and Marta knew I was alive. Maybe even Borodin, though I doubt it. I bet if you asked him, he’d say he knew.”
“You saved me,” Austin said, looking around. Governor’s Park was silent now. Craters had been blown in the ground and smoldering tree limbs littered once immaculate lawns. But Austin ignored that. The damage to the Palace of Facets seemed minor, although a fire chewed fitfully at the south wing and immense chunks had been blown out of the eastern section.
“My father?” Austin asked.
“He’s alive. Borodin’s watching him.”
“What do we do now?” asked Austin. “It looks peaceful here.”
“There’s still a war to be won. We took out the medium tanks and set the infantry here to running, but the Behemoth withdrew and there’s an entire city full of Home Guard going after an Atlas.”
Austin looked at the Centurion and knew its fighting days were at an end.
“Get me a ride and let’s go mop up the Legate’s troops in town,” Austin said.
“Nothing for you to maneuver. I’ve radioed for the other MBA ’Mechs to converge on the Atlas. Fighting’s got to be stopped there, but your place is here,” Manfred said. He turned to get back into his ’Mech.
“You can’t do this. I want to fight. I deserve to be there.”
“Sorry,” Manfred said, vanishing into the ’Mech. The hatch clanged shut like a peal of doom for Austin. He stood staring as Manfred got the modified ’Mech moving toward Cingulum.
Austin refused to be left behind. He ran to the south entrance of the Palace and was met by Dmitri Borodin and a half dozen soldiers he recognized as FCL.
“Master Sergeant,” Austin said. “Is everything under control?”
“Lieutenant, we got things all quieted down. We lost a fair number, but it’s no surprise we gained a fair number as the Home Guard runnin’ the tanks bailed out and surrendered. Came to us, not wanting to fight the Governor.” Borodin smiled and added, “The Governor might have had a part in it, too. He used our short-range radio and asked for all loyal to The Republic to come to our side.”
Austin grinned. Maybe there’s some fight left in the old man after all.
“Two tankers and a fair number of infantry,” Borodin confirmed. “I’m not too sure about the captain in charge of the mission—the one in the Behemoth. I think she might be fixin’ to quit, too.”
“Excellent work, Master Sergeant,” Austin said. “You are in command.”
“You’re rankin’ officer, Baronet,” he said. “I think the Baron wants to see you.”
“How fast are the tanks, the ones that surrendered?” Austin asked.
“You don’t want to get in those metal coffins,” Borodin said, his eyes fixed on Austin. “That wouldn’t be a fittin’ way for the Baronet to travel. What you want is something that’d go in style.”
“I won’t mention it to the Baron if you don’t,” Austin said, his heart racing. He looked at Sergeant Death and knew his ride wouldn’t be a BattleMech. Even if Manfred had a spare modified ’Mech for him, it would take too long to program the neurohelmet so he could get into the thick of battle.
Borodin took out his radio and spoke in it, then looked skyward.
For a moment, Austin didn’t see anything. Then a small dark dot appeared at the far north end of Governor’s Park.
“An FCL sergeant talked the crew into letting her give you a look at the battle,” Borodin said. “FCL’s got our fingers stuck about everywhere. You might keep that in mind, Lieutenant. They’re all loyal troopers, no matter what uniform they’re wearing.”
“I understand, Master Sergeant. Thank you.” Austin threw up his arm to protect his face as a Lamprey Transport VTOL—it looked like a modified model—kicked up dirt and debris all aro
und him. Austin turned, saluted Borodin, knowing he would keep the Palace and the Baron safe, then put his head down and sprinted for the open door.
The battle at Governor’s Park was over. The war had yet to be won.
38
Cingulum
Mirach
9 May 3133
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” shouted the pilot over the rotor noise. Austin recognized her as an FCL technician in spite of the Home Guard insignia she now wore.
“I didn’t know you could fly a Lamprey, Sergeant Posner.” Austin swung into the rear infantry bay next to the machine gun mounted in a side door and started to strap himself into a drop seat.
“I learn fast, sir. I’ve always liked choppers and spent a lot of time in simulators, so the Legate stuck me in one. You thinking on using that gun, Lieutenant?” Posner called back. “Put on the door gunner harness. Don’t want you getting sucked out.”
“See how fast you can get us to the fighting, Sergeant,” Austin said, taking her advice, getting out of the drop seat and climbing into the web harness. He had barely finished cinching up the broad straps when the helicopter surged, shooting upward like a rocket as Posner applied full lifting power to the rotors.
Austin found a helmet and put it on, checked to be sure he could speak to the pilot, then dropped the face guard to keep the whipping wind from making his eyes water. He wanted to see everything. And from five hundred meters, he did. Austin turned grim as he stared down at the destruction Governor’s Park had sustained that he had been unable to see from ground level. The Behemoth had left deep ruts and the lighter Condors had chewed up a considerable amount of landscaping, but the real demolition had come from the fight between the BattleMech, the IndustrialMech, and the invading force.
A catch came to Austin’s throat when he saw the damaged bulk of Sergeant Death sprawled on the ground. As the VTOL gained forward speed, he spotted Manfred dutifully striding toward Cingulum in his modified ’Mech just beyond the park perimeter. The Lamprey flashed overhead at its top 150-kilometer- per-hour speed, leaving Manfred to plod along. Austin started to wave, then heard an explosion that brought him around.
He cycled on his helmet faceplate magnification and studied the city. Ahead he saw amber lasers licking across the Atlas. The BattleMech struggled to avoid the punishment as it replied with its own lasers. The explosion had come from a tank being hit by return fire. Austin couldn’t tell what type of tank had been destroyed—he was still too far away to look down into the urban canyon formed by the buildings. But the secondary, internal magazine explosion told him it was unlikely any of the crew escaped.
“Where to, Lieutenant? The middle of the action?” Sergeant Posner spoke to him now over the radio in his helmet.
“Circle the fight. I need to see what we can do to help out most.” He clung to a handhold welded on the side of the Lamprey as Posner banked sharply. Austin saw the battle centered in Havoc. Many buildings had been destroyed, leaving mountains of debris. Sharp, shining steel beams poked out of the rubble like bones of a skeleton. Worst of all were the immense craters that had been blown in the ground. Some were deep enough to swallow the Atlas whole.
“The BattleMech’s taken some serious damage, Lieutenant,” the pilot said. “It’s not putting up much of a fight. Not shooting unless it’s shot at. But it doesn’t look to be in immediate trouble.”
“When the ’Mech does respond, it’s pinpointing its target. No collateral damage, if it can avoid it.” Austin knew the orders had to go beyond that. Keep loss of life to a minimum. The Atlas had been given the unfortunate task of restoring order while faced with armored units of the Home Guard and not just unarmed, unarmored rioters.
“Whoa!” Posner exclaimed, the helicopter sideslipping suddenly. Austin was glad he had fastened the harness. He was thrown outward and might have tumbled from the Lamprey otherwise. “We’re taking fire from below. What do you want to do, Lieutenant?”
“You’ve got missiles. Respond,” Austin ordered. The VTOL shuddered as Posner launched a salvo of four SRMs. The smoke trails snaked off toward the ground, but Austin couldn’t tell if the pilot hit her target. The Lamprey banked sharply to avoid return fire. Austin saw LRMs shrieking past, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch them. The helicopter was too lightly armored to withstand a full salvo, but Posner showed great skill avoiding potential disaster.
“Their battle armor is moving in on the Atlas,” Austin radioed to Posner. “Get us down where I can do some work keeping the mites off the giant’s leg.”
“I’m trying to contact the Atlas, sir. Radio signal’s jammed.”
“Elora,” Austin grumbled. Louder, he said, “Keep trying to signal the BattleMech to clear out. There’s no reason for it to stand and take a beating.”
“It’s built to take punishment,” Posner said. As if to prove her claim, the BattleMech took a full barrage of missiles. It lost a small amount of armor on the left torso, possibly damaging its own SRM launcher, but otherwise shrugged off the assault.
Austin knew the Atlas could withstand repeated attacks, but that wasn’t why it had been built. It had been constructed to dish out destruction.
The chopper swung around and then dropped like a rock between tall buildings. Posner flew at ten meters above the street, flashing over a battle-armored squad moving quickly toward the BattleMech. She pulled back sharply, spun about 180 degrees, and put Austin in position to fire.
He gripped the machine gun and drew back the loading lever. He hesitated for a moment, then opened up. The machine gun chattered noisily as it spat out leaden death. The stream of bullets stitched across concrete and asphalt and caught the leading battle-armored soldier squarely. The heavy bullets sang off the armor and knocked the trooper back.
Then the VTOL suddenly rose. Austin lost his balance and swung out, looking straight down. The squad he had fired on had scattered, taking cover. They wore Hauberk armor and all trained their lasers on the Lamprey. Austin saw the laser fire miss, splashing against nearby buildings, blowing off hunks of steel, vaporizing glass and filling the air with concrete dust.
Posner swung back and Austin got into position. The machine gun sights swept across the battle-armored squad again, and Austin squeezed off a long burst. He saw the squad leader jerk about, then smash into the ground facedown. A muffled explosion lifted the ton of battle armor up and dropped it down. Austin had struck the missile launcher and the soldier’s own armament had destroyed the armor.
And the soldier.
Then the helicopter flashed past and Posner climbed fast.
“Tank,” she said needlessly as a football-sized hunk of nickel fired from a Gauss rifle seared past.
“Behemoth,” he agreed. “Moving in on the BattleMech. Any luck getting in touch with the Atlas?”
“None, but I’ve picked up comm on a different frequency. One used by the AWC.”
The VTOL shuddered as autocannon fire struck and rebounded from its armored belly. As it struggled to gain altitude, Austin got a quick glimpse of new troop movement below. Tortorelli’s forces were making an all-out assault on the BattleMech. A company of battle armor moved up slowly under the covering fire from a Condor tank. In the distance Behemoth tanks systematically leveled the buildings with Gauss rifle and heavy laser fire to further expose the BattleMech.
“The MechWarrior is pretty clever,” Posner radioed. “He’s using the rubble well to keep away the attackers, but he’s running out of time. They have it circled and are tightening the noose.”
“Patch me through on the AWC frequency,” Austin said. He scanned the battle-torn terrain and saw how the Atlas was being inexorably pushed forward by the lighter tanks to a point where a trio of Behemoths could concentrate their fire.
“You got it, Lieutenant.”
“AWC force, come in,” Austin said. He shifted his focus for a moment to send a long burst from the machine gun raining down against a Condor tank. The tank’s armor was more than up to the ta
sk of deflecting his rounds, but he got the tank driver’s attention and halted its advance. For a few seconds.
“Who is this?” came the suspicious reply.
“Lieutenant Ortega, FCL,” he identified himself without thinking. “Are you bringing up modified IndustrialMechs?”
“We need more ID, Lieutenant.”
“There’s no time. Manfred Leclerc is on his way in his ’Mech from Governor’s Park. The Palace is secure and Governor Ortega is safe. I’m in a VTOL above the city and the Atlas is being boxed in.”
“Can’t contact the BattleMech,” came the reply. “Frequency is jammed.”
“How far away are you? Can you clear a retreat path for the Atlas?”
“We’re under heavy fire from a tank, a Behemoth,” came the reply.
Static drowned out contact, but a distant voice came through that set Austin’s heart racing. He shouted, as if this could make Manfred hear him better.
“Manfred! How long before you can engage?”
“The other MBA ’Mechs are under attack,” Manfred reported. “I’m using a frequency to them that Elora’s not jamming.”
“I need to break that jamming. Can you send a ’Mech to the Ministry of Information and destroy the broadcast towers on top of the building?”
“Done,” Manfred reported a few seconds later. “The ’Mech will reach the Ministry in a few minutes.”
Austin came to a quick conclusion. There wasn’t time to wait. The Atlas was advancing into the shooting gallery formed by three Behemoth tanks. If they all opened up on the BattleMech, it would be seriously damaged and the battle-armored troops on the ground could disable it.
“Engage immediately. We have to let the BattleMech get free.”
“I’m not going to worry about collateral damage,” Manfred said.
The Ruins of Power Page 22