Wolves on the Border

by Robert N. Charrette

  “Don't be put off by Colonel Shostokovitch. His sense of humor is often difficult for those around him. Please take a seat and we'll get down to business.”

  “I ... well. . . . yes, of course.” The Baron had been thrown off-balance after all, leaving Wolf the initiative. Things were not proceeding as he had rehearsed. The man was not at all what Davis expected. Wolf seemed earnest, open. He had a cultured voice. Clearly, this was no common mercenary commander.

  “I wish to apologize for the inconvenience of our presence here. I assure you that we are equally inconvenienced. Our arrival was unplanned. Your orbital defenses were a bit more determined than we expected.” Wolf shrugged, a half-smile on his face. Davis was distracted by the shifting play of colors on the holomap where the disposition of Dragoon forces was displayed. This Wolf was not infallible, Davis gloated to himself. The merc no doubt thought the Baron would be too discomfited to notice the map, which might work to the advantage of the Davion forces.

  “We have had to divert the bulk of our force here to assure safe landings,” Wolf continued, seeming not to notice the Baron's interest in the holomap. “Batan is not our target, and I have no wish to bring the war here, Your Excellency. However, do not misunderstand me. Since we are here, I intend to hold the port as long as we are on planet. Its facilities are too convenient.

  “Our troops will be moving out soon, leaving only garrison forces. The strain on your city should be small. Your cooperation can minimize that strain.”

  Ah, Davis told himself, here come the, invective and threats, followed by orders to supply the invaders with provisions and workers, all with no recompense.

  “If you will ensure that there will be no guerrilla activity or sabotage against my rear areas, I will declare the city a clear zone—no combat,” Wolf said. “We will also need laborers, but there will be no slave gangs or forced labor. We will pay fair rates for fair work, 2 percent over current market rate for supplies ... in C-bills.” Wolf paused only briefly to let the Baron assimilate the offer. “Do you find these conditions unreasonable?”

  “I think ... well ... no.”

  The merc Colonel had caught him off-guard again. The terms were generous and more than he could have imagined. The offer to declare the city clear and thus spare it the ravages of the invasion was too good to be true. There had to be catch. “Colonel, why are you offering this?”

  “You are suspicious, and I can't blame you.” Wolf gave him a conspiratorial look. “It's simple. We have no quarrel with your population. Our mission is an ordinary objective raid, but our forced landing here has complicated matters. Your cooperation will simplify things and make my job easier. For that, I'm willing to pay. Think of the people, Your Excellency.

  “We are mercenaries. The defending BattleMech forces on Quentin are mercs, too—businessmen like us.” Wolf gestured as though to suggest that Davis was also a businessman. “We are aware of the costs of doing business. There's an opportunity here for a clean military action. Certainly, this planet encourages it. City fighting can be very costly, and I want to avoid it if I can. Don't you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we see eye to eye. I can count on your cooperation.”

  “Well ... What you say does make sense,” Davis stalled, stroking his chin. He asked about the administrative details, trying to keep Wolf talking while his own mind raced. It was a good deal. Batan would be spared war's ravages this time. It might even come out ahead because competition on-world, especially from Port Gailfry, where the mercs were heading, would be lessened. He could always report to the Duke that the mercenaries had held hostages and forced his cooperation. It wouldn't be too hard to cover up the profit he would make.

  “Yes, Colonel, we have a deal.”

  When Wolf returned from escorting Davis to his car, Minobu noted that the mercenary seemed pleased with the results of the meeting. “All right, people, let's get back to work,” he said, running a hand back through his hair. “William, clear that junk from the holo.”

  The air above the table shimmered as the image changed. Additional details of the terrain developed while colored images representing units flowed across the map. When they came to rest, the simulacrum was far different from what had shown during Baron Davis's visit. In particular, the blue, symbolizing Dragoon units, was more prevalent. New unit markers had appeared, most in and around Batan. None of the units previously shown, except for a few at the Batan spaceport, occupied the positions they had a few minutes before. Wolf had obviously intended the Baron to see the holomap and the false information it contained. Minobu wondered how much of Wolf's expressed intentions was accurate. The man was a clever strategist, operating on many levels at once.

  The officers began to describe the operations of their commands, illustrating highlights of current deployment or planned movements by manipulating the holographic representation through their comp pads. Minobu learned the details of the Dragoon plans. No, he reminded himself, he was only learning what they wanted him to know of those plans.

  Planned troop landings would be completed by 0600 standard hours tomorrow. Then, the bulk of Alpha and Delta Regiments, along with elements of Gamma, would begin their move south and west of Batan. They were ostensibly moving to join those components of Delta Regiment engaged around Port Gailfry, which was what the carefully controlled communications traffic would indicate. The move was intended to draw the Davion forces out to attack the tempting offered flank of the Dragoon thrust. That flank was actually to be a screen of units that would retreat under pressure, drawing the Federated troops further into Wolf's trap.

  When the enemy was strung out enough, the Dragoons would strike, hitting the Davion flank and engaging them in a holding action. Meanwhile, the main force would attack the real target, the city of Fasolht and its BattleMech factories, whose defenses would now be weakened by the absence of units on their way to hit the supposedly vulnerable Dragoons. It was a complicated plan, one that Minobu would never have considered for Kurita House troops, let alone mercenaries. Wolf and his officers, however, did not seem to think the complications and contingencies unusual, and their tone was confident.

  When Wolf announced his satisfaction with the results of the preliminary skirmishing and the preparations for further action, the discussion turned to the security of the Batan region. All was reported to be well. No enemy units had been sighted within one hundred kilometers of Batan for twenty hours. Wolf turned to Minobu. “Do our arrangements satisfy you, Colonel ... er ... Chu-sa Tetsuhara?”

  “Assuming your reconnaissance reports are accurate, Colonel Wolf, I can find no fault. However, my colleagues may suggest some minor alteration in dispositions to demonstrate their tactical expertise.”

  “I understand,” Wolf said, smiling. “Even so, I expect your Lord Kurita will have a safe landing.”

  “Yeah,” Wilhelmina Korsht snorted. “Once he's down, he'll have his own bodyguards to look after him. If he gets into trouble then, he won't be able to blame us.”

  “Easy, Willie,” Wolf chided. His next remark was addressed to all of his officers. “I think we're done for today, people. Dress uniform tomorrow in honor of Lord Kurita. He may only be a head of state, but he is our paymaster.

  “Dismissed.”

  Shocked at the irreverence to Lord Kurita, Minobu watched the Dragoon officers disperse. They had handled the strategic and tactical discussion with impressive expertise and dispatch, yet their lack of respect was both distressing and confusing. Minobu knew that respect was integral to an appreciation of what was proper.

  Then there was Wolf himself. He seemed to be a man of many faces, adapting to the circumstances. Minobu could not help but be intrigued.

  He moved to where Wolf still stood at table. “Why do you play this game, Colonel? Hiding among your fellow officers?”

  Wolf looked up at him, silent for a moment. “Tells me a little something about the people I'm dealing with.”

  “So ka.” Minobu nodded in
understanding. “I, too, have learned something about the people I am dealing with.”

  “Did you now?” Wolf's look was sharp. He hefted his comp pad, then said, “You know, you're the first to get it right in quite a while ... Ki, you said.”

  “Yes.”

  “I'll keep it in mind.”

  7

  Batan Spaceport, Quentin IV

  Draconis March, Federated Suns

  17 June 3023

  Minobu entered the command center in the company of Colonel Andrei Shostokovitch, the big Dragoon assigned to be Minobu's guide around their camp. The tour had started three days ago at the crash site of a Davion DropShip. The Dragoons were already refurbishing it as their own; their contract allowed them salvage rights to enemy equipment they destroyed. Since then, the two Colonels had been near-constant companions during Minobu's waking hours. “Liaison to the liaison,” was how Shostokovitch put it.

  The big man had answered Minobu's questions freely, breaking the veil of secrecy that seemed to surround Wolf's Dragoons. He was, however, uncommunicative about anything prior to the Dragoon service with House Davion.

  Shostokovitch made sure that Minobu saw all the facilities the Dragoons had in service onplanet. The only place off limits seemed to be the upper decks of Wolf's command DropShip, the Chieftain, but Minobu did not find that unusual. Wolf was the lord of these men—and women, he reminded himself—and it was only proper for him to have private quarters. With a nudge and a wink, Shostokovitch had assured Minobu that Wolf kept a bevy of beautiful girls hidden there to while away the hours between battles. It was a joke, of course, something the big Colonel seemed to have in inexhaustible supply. Sometime during the second day, Minobu had capitulated to his companion's boisterous and good-humored insistence on being called by his nickname.

  “Shos, will Colonel Wolf recall the commanders to meet Lord Kurita's DropShip?”

  “Don't think so. It's starting to turn into real business out there, and Jaime won't let a little pomp get in the way of that.”

  The three-day delay in Lord Kurita's arrival had forced Wolf to allow his Regimental Commanders to disperse to their combat assignments. Now, it seemed, the pressure of combat command would keep them from reassembling to meet the Coordinator. Colonel Dumont had gone off to the northwest to supervise the harassment of Port Gailfry, while Colonel Korsht had joined Major Yukinov and the bulk of the Dragoon forces in the field. Shos and Flight Colonel Carmody remained at the port. Carmody, though he complained loudly about it each day, seemed content to control orbital operations from the ground. Shostokovitch, with no combat assignment, chaperoned Minobu and, in his own words, “hung around to intimidate the hostiles.” Every time he said it, his booming laugh echoed across the landing field, but Minobu was not sure he understood the joke.

  Wolf was still present. As the days passed and Lord Kurita's arrival continued to be delayed, he seemed to grow restless, stalking about the center, speaking rarely except to give an order or ask for information. Rather then being angry, as frustrated commanders so often were, he seemed distracted, removed. Each time a new report came in from the field, Wolf entered it into the holomap himself and projected endless variations of possible follow-up moves. He was trailed everywhere by his communications specialist, Captain William Cameron, who whispered in the Colonel's ear like a guardian spirit.

  Minobu studied Cameron. The young Dragoon was at least thirty years younger than Wolf and overtopped the Colonel by a head. His slender frame was presided over by a plain, freckled face, which gave him a decidedly unprepossessing appearance. This, combined with his quiet manner, led to the man's being overlooked and ignored in the crowd of flashy officers surrounding Wolf. Unobtrusive he might be, but unimportant, no. Cameron's common appearance hid an uncommon talent.

  William Cameron was Wolf's filter. Data relayed from the field and the main battle computer through the Tacticon B-2000 system aboard the Captain's CP10-Z Cyclops BattleMech were fed to the unit he carried on his shoulder. Thus, Cameron was able to monitor all Dragoon communications simultaneously, making sense of what would have been senseless babble to most other people. He was able to select and isolate important data, updating his commander's situation map and informing him of any vital communiques. Most important, his judgment of the value of information was reliable. Cameron's talent, allied with Dragoon technology, was a powerful combination that freed Wolf to exercise his considerable command powers—a freedom most leaders would have paid dearly to possess.

  At an order from Wolf, Cameron started around the map table toward Carmody. He hadn't covered half the distance before he stopped suddenly and stood listening intently for a moment. When he spoke, Cameron's voice was low, with an uncharacteristic tinge of emotion. Eagerness perhaps? “A delta call, Colonel.”

  “Feed it here,” the Colonel said.

  Wolf's fingers flashed across his com pad. Unit readiness data twinkled into being above the holomap. Harsh red spots appeared about a third of the way from Batan to Fasolht. Lurid crimson light surrounded those spots, suffusing the terrain feature that stretched across every projected line of march Minobu had seen in the planning discussions. As Wolf became engrossed with the images developing on the display, Cameron returned to his side.

  Unwilling to interrupt Wolf, Minobu turned to his companion. “Colonel Wolf seems disturbed, Shos. What is a delta call?”

  “Means trouble,” the big man said, the bantering tone completely gone from his voice. “Somebody has got himself into a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?”

  “Ambush. Battle. Something big.” Shostokovitch pointed at the image. “See. It's in Kelly's area, near a place the locals know as Fire Rift. Kelly's run into something, and as commander on the spot, he's determined that what's come up could affect the plan. So he's checking with the boss. Watch the map.”

  It was flickering again. The red-tinted portion of the map grew until it almost filled the image volume. Where unit representations had indicated battalions, the symbols for companies and lances appeared. Several of the strength rosters for the Dragoon units in the area registered casualties. A yellow flare, indicating ongoing conflict, limned several ridge lines. Behind those highlights, the ghostly red sparkling that marked suspected troop concentrations was prominent in the area Shostokovitch had indicated as Fire Rift. Somehow enemy troops had developed a position across the Dragoons' intended path.

  “Jason, get me a terrain map ...” Wolf's eyes flicked over to Minobu, then quickly away. Minobu gave no sign that he had seen. “Map data to augment the projection. I want good detail so we can all see the position. Then dump it, with any refinements, into Williams's Tacticon.”

  Minobu noticed a slight emphasis on the word all, an indication that the composition of the group around the table mattered to his order. Wolf had almost slipped and revealed something that he had been keeping secret, a hidden source of data that could supply refinements. There was no clue about what kind. Perhaps the ISF would know; they would certainly be interested.

  From the moment Cameron had announced the delta call, activity around the map table had increased. More officers had shown up, their tousled hair, bleary eyes, and rumpled uniforms showing that some had been roused from sleep. Apparently, no one had seen fit to call in Hawken and Terasu from where they were readying their companies for Lord Kurita's arrival. Wolf looked up, rapidly taking in the officers gathered around the map table. “Kelly's got a hot-spot. Several 'Mechs are down in an area called Fire Rift, some kind of geological anomaly.”

  Major Stanford Blake, Wolf's intelligence chief and the first off-duty officer to arrive, took up the situation briefing.

  “The hostiles have been identified as belonging to an outfit called The Snake Stompers. William, bring up the merc file on them. These guys are long-term borderers with a big hate on for Kurita.” A new data window opened in the holo image. “As you can see, preliminary recon and intelligence reports give a 90 percent probability that th
ey have a battalion on Quentin III and another two here on Four. Prime base on planet is at Carson, with two companies detached to stiffen the garrison at Fasolht. The early reports indicate that it's only those two companies causing the ruckus. But that's enough to give us trouble.”

  “These are tough customers,” Wolf summarized. “They're vets and they know the planet.”

  “Colonel, interception of Davion transmissions indicates that the opposition at Fire Rift is acting without specific orders,” Cameron said. “It is an unauthorized advance.”

  “We may be able to take advantage of that.” Wolf ran his fingers through his hair and pondered for a moment. “Right now, they're sitting where we want to go. If they can make a fuss about it or call in company, we will have to revise our estimates of the costs on this operation. With our visitors on the way, I don't want an embarrassment. I think I'm going to have a look for myself.

  “William, scramble the lance.

  “Jason, keep an eye on things, but I don't want any extra recon missions. Can't have your opposite numbers noticing our interest.

  “Shos, you're back on the job. Hold the camp. You're on protocol duty if I don't get back in time to meet our guest.” Each officer nodded acknowledgment of his orders.

  Minobu watched Wolf's face as he gave out the orders and then headed for the landing field, where his BattleMech would be waiting. That face was free now of the nagging worries that had tightened his expression. The call to action seemed to have liberated the man's spirit. His energy was directed, focused. He was ready to act, decisive and in his element. Wolf pulled up short as he passed Minobu. “Chu-sa, you are here to observe how we operate. Want to come along with me?”

  Minobu did not answer immediately. Surely, Wolf knew that he had no BattleMech. The mercenary was calling on Minobu to confess his dishonor. Very well. “I am Dispossessed, Colonel Wolf. I would be a liability.”

  “Nonsense,” Wolf said, taking his arm. “We can fix you up. Come on.”