Wolf Hunters

by Kevin Killiany

  To Jerry it was the perfect fighting machine. And its spirit—lord of the earth—had inspired the "Juggernauts" name of his mercenary command.

  What he did not like was standing at the edge of the windswept practice field with a handful of techs watching while someone else sat in his cockpit. But he had to admit it was an awe-inspiring sight.

  The torso swung left with what Jerry knew was head- snapping speed. Certainly faster than anything that big had any right to move. The arms—more like stubby wings than true arms, devoid of hands or elbows, but bristling with weapons—spread wide. Right arm, torso, and left arm—Jerry would have fired the torso, then both arms—the three weapons clusters took out three standing targets.

  A wall of superheated air washed over Jerry and the others standing with him, the tang of ozone triggering more than one reflexive glance to the heavens. The mind knew it was the particle projector cannon, but the body always read "lightning."

  Pivoting on the balls of its clawed feet, the massive machine brought its legs around to align with the torso. The arms swung back close to the body, weapons still directed forward, as the pilot powered down.

  After a pause the hatch—proportionally tiny and high on the broad, triangular back that rose above the visible viewport—swung open and Tal Sender scrambled across to the automatically descending chain ladder.

  Jerry strolled over, reaching the foot of the ladder at about the same time as the Clanner, and tossed him the overcoat he'd brought. Tal's grin saved him asking what the MechWarrior thought of the Sagittaire.

  "You didn't jump," he said instead.

  "I have never flown a BattleMech," Tal answered. "I prefer to face my enemies with my feet firmly planted."

  "Drop that 'Mech on top of one enemy and you won't have to face the rest," Jerry said. "All you'll see are their running backs."

  Tal smiled, allowing the boast to pass unchallenged. "A formidable machine," he said.

  "Doesn't have the weapons mix of yours," Jerry said, trading compliment for compliment. "Your gauss rifle. If I could think of a way to add one of those . . ."

  It had been Tal Sender's idea that all of the Mech- Warriors qualify on every machine the Juggernauts fielded. Jerry had balked at the idea at first, but had seen the logic. You knew what to expect when you knew what the other guy was capable of.

  His biggest surprise had been learning Molly Ling- strom's Sirocco didn't have seven separate targeting systems—one for each major turret. He'd seen her fire in multiple directions so often that he'd assumed a complex computer interface was controlling the weapons. Instead, he now knew, it was her superhuman ability to multitask.

  Don Avison had listened with amusement when Jerry explained his revelation, then pointed out that the tankers had conducted the same cross-training from day one.

  "You never know when you might need to wear more than one hat," he'd said.

  Jerry had to admit he'd never considered the crew mindset would have BattleMech application. Now that he was considering it. the utility of Juggernauts being trained to handle the widest variety of weapons and equipment possible made a lot of sense. He wasn't about to suggest to proud Mech Warriors like the Clanners that they learn how to drive an APC or carry a rifle, but within limits the idea had a lot of merit.

  He was still chewing on the idea as—after turning his Sagittaire over to the techs—he and Tal made their way to the compound they'd been assigned. Tal waved off the suggestion of a change to warmer clothes, indicating the path to the command center with a sweep of his arm.

  Glancing at his chronometer, Jerry nodded. Samuel Abu Bakar, commanding general of the Zebeneschamali

  Planetary Militia was scheduled—finally—to lay out the parameters of their mission this afternoon.

  Arriving late might be the fashion in some circles— he'd met commanders who thought it implied power— but that wasn't his style. That the Juggernauts mounted more firepower on the ground than the entire planetary militia said all that needed to be said about power anyway.

  If you leave out the Jade Falcons and that damned "no- shoot" contract, Jerry thought. What had Fiona called it? "A bastard freebirth of safcon and hegira."

  Posturing and politics aside. Jerry always preferred arriving early.

  The Izar agent on Carnwath had been amazed they'd deduced their true destination. His report had evidently gone a long way toward convincing the local powers that the Juggernauts were military professionals, not mere hired guns. They'd been presented to the planetary legate—now representing the Carnwath Coalition, not The Republic—and the governor, provided one of the best compounds Jerry had ever bunked in, and been afforded complete access to all practice and maintenance facilities.

  He couldn't have demanded better treatment if they'd conquered the place.

  Guess they're glad we're not Jade Falcons.

  Early as they were. General Abu Bakar was waiting for them. A rapier-thin man, he very nearly matched an Elemental's height with one-third the mass.

  Of course, most natives of Zebeneschamali were tall. Jerry suspected it was a side effect of the three-fourths- normal gravity that gave his step an unaccustomed bounce. He wondered how Sergeant Oscar coped with it.

  Abu Bakar was dark even for a Zebeneschamali, his cheeks an almost blue black. Jerry imagined that was mostly a testimony to a life in the constant winds of the plains; he couldn't imagine the dim red sun having the power to burn.

  Flanking the general were two aides with local rank insignia Jerry could not read. He mentally assigned them the ranks of captain and major based on their apparent ages. Which was probably higher than he thought, he reminded himself. Either the light gravity or the native genome resulted in almost everyone being a standard decade older than he thought they were.

  He nodded to each in turn with professional courtesy, but—as the general made no introductions—left it at that.

  The room's environment was set to Zebeneschamali comfort standards, which meant Tal was wise to keep his overcoat on in the near-candlelight dimness. The brightest light source was the three-by-four-meter holographic topomap table occupying the center of the room.

  "You are, of course, aware of the legends of Blakist fanatics hiding on our southernmost continent," Abu Bakar began without preamble. "We had dismissed these as apocryphal for generations. However, recent surveys of the western mountains of South Arragon have caused us to rethink that position."

  Jerry nodded, acknowledging the words as he surveyed the map table. There was no scale, but the general features were clear: a wide rolling plain that ended against a mountain range that rose in steady steps to towering cliffs that fell into the sea. Details of the mountains themselves were fuzzy and seemed to shift when he peered closely.

  He sighed.

  "Just once," he said wearily. "I'd like an opponent to not find metal-thick mountains to hide out in."

  The Zebeneschamali Jerry had pegged as a captain barely suppressed a chuckle. Abu Bakar thought about it a moment, then he, too, smiled. His lips moved slightly, but the amusement in his eyes was genuine.

  "It would make our jobs easier," he agreed. "But where is the sport in hunting a jaraal that impales itself on your spear?"

  Making a mental bet that a jaraal was not a hamster. Jerry grinned his agreement. "Where do you think they are and why?" he asked.

  The scale of the map changed, the sea, much of the mountain range and most of the plains disappearing. Now central was what looked like a series of roughly parallel rifts in the mountains, their vibrating outlines advertising the degree to which local metals fogged orbital scans, and a central, bowl-shaped valley. Several individual rock formations stood out from the body of the range. The formation looked unusual to Jerry, but he was not geologist enough to figure out what it indicated.

  "These," Abu Bakar said as patches of prairie glowed faintly around and beyond the outriding hills, "are food crops. They do not appear to be formally cultivated nor do they show signs of systematic har
vesting. But they are not native to the region. Some are not native to Zebeneschamali."

  "A lot of off-world plants show up on every colony," Jerry pointed out, aware he might be talking himself out of a job. "And you say these are not cultivated?"

  "They do not appear cultivated," Abu Bakar repeated. "These areas are large enough that, with careful husbandry, they could feed a population of several hundred—perhaps a few thousand—without obvious evidence."

  "Okay," Jerry drew the word out. "There's food. What else?"

  "The nature of the location." The general pointed out the central bowl and narrow fissure valleys. "It is not artificial, but this formation is concealed from all but the most intense scrutiny and easily defended. Geotherma! venting makes the valley significantly warmer than its surroundings, and density imaging indicates the surrounding hills contain many caves. There is also what appears to be a spring-fed stream flowing from here toward the sea."

  "The mountains are higher toward the sea," Jerry said. "The stream flows uphill?"

  "It follows a ravine," Abu Bakar said.

  Jerry nodded sagely, aware he'd just lost some of his credibility.

  Still making his case, Abu Bakar described the half- dozen species of edible herbivores that wandered the nearly frozen plains abutting the metal hills. While there was no evidence of concerted herding, none were particularly difficult to capture or kill.

  Jerry found himself nodding again. Taken together, the plentiful game, the irregular areas of food plants, copious supply of fresh water and, most of all, the sensor-proof caves all gave credence to the legend of a Blakist stronghold on South Arragon.

  However, while it was possible—just—that there were survivors on Zebeneschamali, there was no evidence the hypothetical descendants of these hypothetical refugees were still cultists.

  Or Fiona may have had the right of it back on Carnwath. The grandchildren of fanatics, raised in isolation, may be rabid in their ideology.

  Jerry abandoned the circular argument. Only finding the survivors would answer the questions. Until then there was no point in speculating.

  "They've been there—if they are there." he said, "sixty years with no indication of activity . . ."

  "That we know of," Abu Bakar interrupted. "The Blakists of ComStar were notorious for their ability to manipulate events without detection."

  "If they were as adept as modern myth paints them," Jerry countered, aware of his unintended pun, "they would still be in power.

  "I'm thinking our quarry, Blakist or no, lacks the resources to make war, or you'd have heard from them before now. On the other hand, if they are there, and if they are the fanatics you suspect they are," Jerry said, giving a bit of weight to the pronoun, "even outnumbered and outgunned, they are likely to mount a desperate defense."

  Around the map table heads nodded.

  "Traditionally, there are two approaches to a situation like this," he went on. "A small team of specialists to make contact and evaluate the situation. It's inexpensive, it's precise, and—if it's the wrong choice—it's a waste of a perfectly good special operations team and their attendant experts."

  Again the nods. No surprises there considering the sort of force he commanded and the fact that Abu Ba- kar's superiors had hired the Juggernauts.

  "Option two is an overwhelming assault force," he said. "Usually this will discourage anyone who might be there from even trying to resist. However, it also ensures—if they should choose to fight—it will be their own lives and not ours they'll be wasting."

  "What do you propose?" Abu Bakar asked.

  "We're deep with heavy ordnance," Jerry said, "but light with scout vehicles. A joint force, combining our strengths, would be best for making a quick end to this."

  "And overall command of this combined force?" The general's tone revealed he'd guessed the answer and was ready to debate it.

  "Your people will be scouting from vehicles," Jerry said, filling his voice with cold iron. "My MechWarriors will be breaching the stronghold, my infantry will be clearing the tunnels. If my people are going to fight and maybe die for you, they're going to do it under my command."

  Abu Bakar had pulled himself to his full height at Jerry's first words, but rather than snap back he paused, clearly weighing the mercenary commander's point. After a long moment, the tension drained from his body.

  "Agreed," he said.

  Jerry concealed his surprise at the easy victory with a curt nod. Local militia forces were almost never put under a mercenary command. Then again, local militia forces usually had the might of the Republic of the Sphere to back them up. The closing of the Fortress was changing the rules by which everyone played. He supposed the real test would come if he and the commander of the attached militia contingent disagreed on anything.

  "If you have all of your survey data available?" he asked. "And a breakdown of what resources are available?"

  The ZPM officer Jerry had pegged as a major extended his hand, data crystal glittering in the dim light. Jerry took it and rolled it about his palm like it was a die he was about to throw.

  "Give us a few days to look this over," he said. "And we'll get back to you with a detailed plan and timetable."

  Abu Bakar dropped his chin to his collarbone in something between a nod and a bow. Collecting his two officers with a glance, he swept from the command center. Jerry had never seen anyone pull that off without a cape before.

  Glancing at his chronometer, he saw there were still a few minutes before the meeting just concluded had been scheduled to start. He wondered if that said something about the culture of their employers or just the personality of General Abu Bakar. Either way, it was useful intel for dealing with the Zebeneschamali Planetary Militia.

  31

  Hanoi, Hsien

  Former Prefecture VI

  20 March 3136

  "Irian was a waste," Green reported. "The Senate Alliance tried to bypass Senator Hughes and suborn Governor Syrmar and Legate Martinez directly."

  Thaddeus waved him into a chair opposite his desk in the small office he'd been allocated by Planetary Legate Reed. There was nothing covert about the paladin's visit; the locals reacted as though it were routine.

  "Didn't they realize the Hughes family spent the last century acquiring control of everything on that planet?" he asked. "They are Irian."

  "I believe they tried to paint themselves as liberators." Green turned a hand palm up. "Then were amazed to get diplomatically booted off-planet." Thaddeus shook his head at the thought of seasoned senators making so obtuse a strategic error. The Senate

  Alliance had let it be known from the beginning that Irian was to be within their borders. Evidently that bold prediction had been made without consulting Hughes.

  With proper planetary defense forces—and Lord knew Irian had the resources to build or buy quite a force— Irian could probably stand alone, though its 'Mech- building ability would make it a ripe target. His hope had been to make it the capital of a six-world rulership stretching from Miaplacidus to Nathan to Connaught.

  The bungled overture by the Senate Alliance did keep Irian in play. But it made the world leery of any treaties with other worlds. Without Irian, the other five worlds lacked the economic and military resources to form a viable unit.

  "I underestimated Riktofven—and particularly Ptolomeny—in holding that alliance together," he said. "Even before Levin's damned Fortress, I expected internecine conflicts to pull them apart.

  "The only light on the horizon is the Oriente Protectorate moving against Park Place." The paladin's smile was bitter. "The senators will be too busy fighting for their own security to worry about expanding,"

  He stopped, eyes losing focus as he considered his own words. A damaged infrastructure might be the perfect reason for absorbing a high-tech world. And, on the other side of the coin, there were Hughes ruling Irian in fact if not always name, and there were cousins of those same Hughes in the ruling house of the Oriente Protectorate. And his
own brother Frederick . . . Wheels within wheels within wheels.

  "Our situation here is not much better," Green was saying when his employer resumed listening. "This close to the walls of the Fortress Republic. Hsien seems to not realize they're on the outside."

  "I did notice the business-as-usual attitude," Thaddeus said. "When I was here prior to my mission to New Aragon, they had been excited at the prospect of being a staging world for The Republic's defense against the Capellans. All the economic benefits of a large military base on-planet with none of the dangers."

  "The sudden withdrawal of Republic forces to Elgin should have produced an economic depression and military paranoia," Green agreed. "The locals are either remarkably self-assured or very good at denial. Either way, there's no crack in their facade we can turn to our advantage."

  "Understood." Thaddeus waved away the apology implied in the man's tone. He knew Green was confident of his abilities and his assessment. He rotated his chair slowly to regard the view from his ground-floor window.

  A screen of evergreens fronted by a low hedge in the process of being clipped—the worker's temporarily abandoned shears and sack of prunings marking where he'd stopped for lunch—and a high wall beyond.

  He pulled his mind away from assigning symbolic values to each of the elements and considered the problem at hand.

  "How about the other worlds in this neighborhood?"

  Green smiled slightly at his boss' name for the strongholds they were establishing. But he agreed the non- threatening designation made sense from a psychological point of view.

  "Tall Trees, Saiph, Menkalinan are all on board," he said. "No surprises considering their lack of defensive resources. They've already hammered out the ground rules for negotiating a treaty. But New Canton is a no go-"

  "Why?"

  "Balantine and Ling are both sure the Capellans are coming." Green shrugged. "Neither one—and none of their people I could reach—is interested in making any political moves that might make The Republic think twice about coming to their aid."