"Aff, Star Colonel," the man responded. He dropped the electronic clipboard he was holding onto a table and dashed from the room. Denard ran a hand through his short hair, rubbing his scalp vigorously.
"What is our current situation?" Across the room, a MechWarrior consulted her clipboard in response to the vague question.
"Five Elementals dead, Star Colonel. Twelve BattleMechs damaged. Of that total, four will have to be scrapped. The remainder are being repaired as we speak." She glanced at the clipboard a second time. "Five 'Mechs damaged but operational."
"When will we be back to full strength?" asked Denard quietly.
The answer hung in the officer's throat for a moment before she managed to speak. "We can field a fully repaired star in just over six hours. A second star will be available seven hours after that." The officer stopped.
"Did that answer my question?" Denard asked the officer.
"Neg, Star Colonel. In truth, we will have to await reinforcements before returning to full readiness. Until that time we will be short one star and one point of Elementals" Denard raised a finger to his lips and tapped them slowly.
"I see. So you are telling me I lost an entire star, had two more damaged, and in return I have destroyed two enemy 'Mechs, quiaff?"
"Aff," the officer responded.
Denard turned to an Elemental. "Have we heard from Star Colonel Bondan?"
"Aff, Star Colonel. She asked if we required assistance to track down the raiders. I declined the offer."
Denard hitched his head at the response, but smiled slightly. "You overstep your authority, Paie." The man bowed his head, but Denard's smile grew wider. "Still, it is good to have a warrior one can trust." Paie nodded but kept his head low, shielding his smile from his commander.
Denard clapped his hands together and walked around the room.
"I do not think we have much time, but we have got some rebuilding to do." He pointed at Paie.
"Get over to the command center of the Fourteenth and ask Bondan to dine with me tomorrow. I need to keep on her good side, and a personal visit might help. Besides, I have an offer she might like to hear." Paie hustled from the room as Denard moved on to another warrior.
"See to the arrangements," he said simply, hitching a thumb over his right shoulder. The man left on the heels of Paie.
Denard turned to the remaining man in the room. "What is the status of the raiders' DropShip?" he asked.
"The surviving crewmembers have been transported here. We are currently investigating the crash site ..."
"Stop," Denard interrupted.
"Stop, Star Colonel?" the man asked in shock. The order went against all his training. "Certainly the DropShip contains valuable information," he offered.
Denard rolled his eyes and looked at Thrace, who stood alone in the comer of the room. She shrugged and Denard turned back to face the man.
"Of course it contains information. I want you to stop investigating the crash and start repairing the DropShip."
The man's face drained of all its color. "But, Star Colonel, damage to the ship was extensive."
Denard jabbed a finger toward the man, but choked back a hasty reply. Clenching his outstretched hand into a fist, he returned it to his side. "Of course. But the DropShip is a vital part in my plans. It must be ready to fly again and soon. I am understood, quiaff?" Denard glared at the man, daring him to reply.
"Aff, Star Colonel," he said in resignation.
Denard smiled. "Now was that so hard?" He looked over at Thrace, who remained impassive. "How many days until she is back in the sky?"
The warrior consulted the clipboard. "As I have stated, damage was extensive." He paused for several minutes, studying the clipboard intently. "Three weeks, Star Colonel. The ship could be ready in just over twenty days." He looked up and smiled, but his face fell when Denard sadly shook his head.
"You have five days."
The man's jaw dropped. "But ...," he stammered. Denard held up a single finger, and the man fell silent.
"Five days. If necessary, pull technicians off the BattleMech repairs." The man's eyes grew wide at the authorization, as did Thrace's, but Denard did not miss a beat. "Furthermore, treat the crew with respect. See to their comfort. They will be needed to provide access to the security files of the ship."
"Even the Mech Warrior?" asked Thrace. Denard turned in surprise.
"A MechWarrior?" he asked. "Did I miss something?"
Thrace shrugged. "We captured a female MechWarrior following the first battle. We have been holding her with the other raiders until we determined what to do with her." Thrace shrugged again.
"Move her in with the others for the time being," Denard said. "I will decide what to do about her later. Did she fight well?" he asked as if by afterthought.
Thrace nodded. "Well enough. She was overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Her comrades tried to fight their way back to her, but they could not. She is in the hospital with a concussion."
Denard looked over at the other man in the room. "You are still here?" he asked in mock amazement. "I would have thought you had too much to do to stand idly by while your commander discusses that which does not concern you. Perhaps you need further instruction?"
"Neg, Star Colonel." With eyes firmly on the floor, the man hustled out the door, leaving only Denard and Thrace in the room. The woman crossed the floor at a leisurely pace and stood before Denard.
"So, Star Colonel, what is your game?" she asked.
Denard feigned surprise. "Me? Surely you do not mean your cluster commander. Hero of his Clan." Thrace smiled with him, but the bitterness of his last words killed the smile. As she suspected, he hated his command. She watched him for a moment, but he remained silent. Finally, he laughed, a hollow, bitter sound.
"Have you ever had a dream, Thrace?" He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing. Thrace knew the question was rhetorical, so she made no reply. "A dream that kept you awake at night? A dream that filled you with passion and gave you the strength to go on when all hope seemed lost?"
"Aff," she mouthed silently, but her commander missed the reply. He stood and stared at a computer screen.
"I have had such a dream," he said, looking at her across the room.
"What was it?" she asked. Denard looked down at his hands. Already they were starting to bruise from the pounding they had given the protective case of the holographic projector.
"I dreamed I would be the best warrior ever to live." She almost laughed, but caught herself just in time. Such a dream was shared by every Elemental in the sibko. Only the ones who held on to that dream survived the training and went on to see actual combat. It had to be an Elemental's one burning desire. Looking at her commander, Thrace saw that dream burning more fiercely than in any other warrior she had ever known.
"What happened?" she asked quietly.
Denard sighed and his massive shoulders slumped. Again he laughed, this time with a hint of mirth. He turned and looked her in the eye.
"I achieved it, Thrace," he whispered.
"On Tukayyid?"
"On Tukayyid," he said. "For one week I was the best the Clans had. I was one man against the storm. I fought and killed and I destroyed and I reveled in the power." His hand curled into a fist for the fourth time, but as Thrace watched, the hand slowly opened again. She knew he was slowly mastering his emotions. He slapped his thighs and looked around the room. "And this is what I get. Cluster commander of a second-rate garrison unit that cannot even defeat a gang of Inner Sphere raiders in an uneven fight."
Thrace remained quiet as her commander's words echoed through the empty room. What he had said was true. He was the finest fighter she had ever seen. Perhaps he was the greatest warrior the Nova Cats had ever produced. And surely that was the Clan's great aim. Carefully controlled breeding programs assured that the best warriors would live again in their offspring. If an individual warrior achieved greatness, he or she could be assured of living forever in future generations. T
he giftake, where the gene sample of the warrior was taken for use in future offspring, was one of the Clan's most sacred rituals.
Thrace looked Denard in the eye, trying to see a spark within. Anything to indicate that the man she had fought alongside on Tukayyid was still alive in the bitter shell before her. As she watched, Denard smiled. She found herself smiling too, but without finding the spark she sought.
"You have a plan," she said. It was not a question. There was no doubt Denard had a plan to reacquire some of what he had lost.
"I have a plan," he agreed, "but it all depends on that savashri DropShip." He almost snarled the words, but managed to hold his emotions in check.
"You plan to leave Courcheval," she stated. Denard looked at her as though he had been run through. To her the plan was so obvious she wanted to laugh, but bitterness ate at her and she remained solemn.
"Not just leave," he finally stammered. "Leave with a flair."
"Aboard a stolen Inner Sphere DropShip," she said. 'That should really impress the Khans." Denard looked at his aide, eyes wide. In the several years he had known her, she had never spoken to him in this manner. Nor would she have ever allowed anyone to speak to him in such a way. He knew he should be furious, but the only emotion he felt was confusion.
"Listen to the plan, Thrace, before you pass judgment."
"I have passed no judgment, Star Colonel. I merely state what is obvious to me."
"Then just listen. We use the Inner Sphere DropShip to return to their waiting JumpShip. We both know it has to be hiding out there somewhere. Inner Sphere pilots are not fond of either glorious death or suicide missions, so they must have a JumpShip in waiting. Once we have docked, we seize the JumpShip and return to Wolcott." Denard held up a hand to stall protests. "I know what you are thinking, but hear me out."
"We release the DropShip at Wolcott and await the next incoming vessel. We already know that the Kuritas pick up and deliver during the same run. The Elementals remain on the JumpShip and take over the approaching DropShip. The JumpShip course is already laid to either Pesht or to Luthien. We arrive at our final destination and attack the Kuritas in their own homes."
Thrace examined the plan dispassionately. She assumed Denard was no fool, which answered several questions, but more remained. "Who is on the first DropShip?" she asked.
"Two BattleMech stars from the Forty-sixth Nova Cat Cavaliers. We are forbidden to assault Wolcott, but raiding is certainly acceptable."
"Any Cavaliers selected would die," she responded.
"Of course, but they would not die immediately. Certainly there are ten warriors among the Cavaliers willing to face the challenge of such a raid. Given the information on the JumpShip, we might even be able to arrange a pickup."
Thrace doubted that, but she also knew there would be no lack of volunteers among the MechWarriors of the Forty-sixth for such a raid.
"After we get to Luthien, how do we return to Clan space?" she asked. Denard's eyes went wide and he laughed, the first genuine laughter she had heard from him since he had assumed command of the garrison cluster.
"We will arrive in Luthien like hunting cats among the flock. If we jump to Luthien, we destroy their space station and flee. If it is Pesht, we take what fortune provides." His smile was firmly in place, but Thrace doubted the joy reached below the surface.
"Surely," he continued, "capturing a JumpShip would represent no significant challenge to the Elementals selected to accompany us." Thrace nodded. He naturally assumed she would accompany him on the mission, and Thrace knew he was right.
"Then why?" she asked finally. Denard's smile fell away. Back was the shell of the man she had come to know over the last year.
"To prove I can still do it? Maybe," he mused. "Actually, it is because I want my offspring to be part of the retaking of Terra. I want them to succeed where we have failed."
Thrace scowled. "You have your bloodname. You are a Star Colonel. You have already participated in the giftake," she countered passionately.
"Aff, Star Captain, but when? Unless I prove my ability one more time, my offspring will not be born for one hundred years, if that soon." He thumped his chest. "My son or daughter will surpass me in ways I cannot even begin to imagine."
Thrace nodded. In addressing her by rank, Denard had put an end to the conversation. They were no longer talking as one soldier to another. The discussion had moved to commander and aide. She looked at him one last time, piercing his soul with a stare as direct as she could muster. Still there was no spark in the man's eyes.
She turned to leave the room, knowing full well that Denard did not plan to return to Courcheval. His gene sample was securely stored away on a nameless shelf in a nameless lab on their homeworld. All that remained for Denard was to find a way to die as gloriously as possible. Not me, Thrace silently vowed. If there is some way for me to survive this raid, I will find it.
25
Courcheval
Nova Cat Occupation Zone
29 July 3057
Rose followed immediately after the two hovercraft, which he now recognized as Savannah Masters, down an unseen side trail. Moving in silence behind him was the rest of the Black Thorn line, each warrior mourning the loss of Badicus O'Shea in his own way. Rose went through the standard piloting functions by reflex, giving them no more thought than he gave his feet when walking down the street. The other members of the Black Thorns would spot trouble long before the Masakari's scanners picked it up.
Night was falling and the hovercraft finally began using aviator lights to see the way. The standard headlights of each vehicle had been darkened to mere silts, allowing the pilot to see the terrain before him without giving away his position to reconnaissance aircraft. The 'Mechs simply switched to low-light scanners, which made the ground jump out in vivid green detail. The system worked well when moving slowly over nearly any terrain, but it failed miserably when used at any type of speed. As many of the Black Thorns already knew, low-light destroyed depth perception.
It was fully dark when the two hovercraft stopped before an undercut in the hillside. To Rose it looked as if a giant machine had gouged out a portion of the hill and carried it away. He was to learn later that that was exactly what had happened. As he watched, a man stepped out from the underbrush and moved toward the vehicles. Rose could see him exchange signs with the hovercraft pilot, then step back.
As the hovercraft moved forward, Rose followed. Nearing the undercut, he saw that it was actually a large entranceway cut into the side of the hill. The hill itself would completely obscure the doorway from the air, and even on the ground, someone could easily miss the entrance because of the concealment provided by the surrounding foliage.
First one, then the other hovercraft disappeared from view. Rose went in next, crouching low as he walked the Masakari through the entryway and down a sloped tunnel. One hundred 'Mech steps later the tunnel leveled out and elbowed to the right, opening into a large cavern. The lights of the cavern cast a faint glow, making low-light unnecessary so Rose switched back to standard vision. He rounded the corner and stopped in awe of what he saw.
The cavern was twice as tall as the Masakari and nearly as large as the Black Thorns' compound warehouse back on Wolcott. Halogen lights had been placed near the rooftop, fully illuminating the entire chamber, which contained several vehicles and a host of people scurrying around them. There were no 'Mechs in the cavern, but Rose saw a Harasser missile platform, a brace of Scorpion light tanks, and a single Hetzer assault gun. There were other vehicles here as well, but Rose couldn't determine their parentage, let alone their purpose, because they seemed to have been patched together from so many different parts. Except for one or two civilian vehicles, the rest were all obviously war machines.
As the Savannah Masters slid into adjacent stalls, a flagman motioned Rose to follow him. Rose moved down the cavern, creating a sensation as the technicians and pilots all stopped their work to gape and gasp at the huge OmniMech. The succe
eding Black Thorns were similarly guided, and soon the entire company was berthed in work stalls. Rose began the shutdown process on the Masakari, locking all systems down for exit. Then he set his neurohelmet on the shelf above the command couch and stood up to,unlock the exit hatch at the top of the Masakari's head. By the time he climbed down the retractable ladder to the ground below, a small crowd had gathered at the 'Mech's feet. Rose descended silendy into their midst.
The braver of the technicians held their ground as Rose stared at them. Others shrank away and returned to their duties until the crowd became less than half the original size. Rose greeted each tech brave or curious enough to remain, but most only mumbled a greeting and continued to inspect the Masakari. Several of the Black Thorns joined him, all obviously bursting with questions that they were holding until their guide rejoined them.
As Rose watched her approach, he could tell that she was a ranking member of the Courcheval resistance movement, if not the leader. Not only did the others defer to her, but she carried herself with a confidence few of the others could match. Her wingman walked alongside her. The two could not have made an odder pair. She was short and walked with almost too much intensity. Her arms swung in wide arcs as she moved and her hips swayed in counterpoint. Rose knew most men would find her attractive, maybe even beautiful, but he didn't share that opinion. His tastes ran toward taller, leaner women.
Her wingman ambled alongside her, easily keeping pace with her short stride by moving with a deceptive shuffle that ate up the distance. He was rail thin, with stooped shoulders and an unruly crop of thick black hair. If she was fire, he was water. His hands were shoved into the pockets of a long coat, a posture that initially made Rose nervous. He hated not being able to see another person's hands. Several other Black Thorns must have had the same reaction, for Rose noticed some members of the company subtly adjusting their stance and dropping their hands toward their weapon belts.
The woman walked up to Rose and extended a hand. "Welcome to the underground," she said with a smile. "My name is Sho-sa Elaina Cantrell." Rose took the offered hand and swallowed the small appendage in his own. Despite the difference in the sizes of their hands, her grip was as firm as his.
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