Minobu should have known that was coming. His karma would not allow him to escape easily.
“I will leave a small staff while I conclude the troop transfers. See that they are aware of your arrangements. The drop forces are to be informed of landing zones and expected opposition. You will, naturally, see to it that any opposition to the landings is minimal. My 'Mechs must land intact, able to bring their full fighting strength to bear.”
“I understand, Warlord.”
Samsonov looked at Minobu and almost smiled. It was as though the Warlord knew some secret joke, to which Minobu's words were the punchline. A moment later, he swaggered out of the room, leaving Minobu alone with his thoughts. No matter how many times he went over it, the answer always came out the same: he was bound to duty. But what had he done to deserve this karma?
Despite his words to Samsonov, Minobu could not believe in the guilt of the Dragoons. He had worked with them, fought at their side. He knew their nature. More important, he knew Jaime Wolf's nature. Wolf must have been as forced into his actions as Minobu would be from now on.
Ninjo.
He wanted to help Wolf and his Dragoons. For years, the mercenary had been his friend. All that they had shared flooded into Minobu's mind. An honorable man was honor-bound to come to the aid of a friend in trouble. Yet Minobu was being asked to kill his friend.
Giri.
Minobu was an officer in the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery. His superiors had ordered him to action. It was his duty as a soldier to obey. Minobu was also a samurai of House Kurita. A samurai's principal duty was obedience to his lord. The obligations of honor demanded that nothing come between him and his duty.
He was trapped, cornered by his duty. He had always been a good samurai, loyal, faithful ... dutiful. It was his nature. He could not be otherwise.
Minobu walked slowly to the door and opened it. Michi sat in the outer office, awaiting his lord's attention. He leaped to his feet as the panel swung wide. His eager questions were unspoken as he registered Minobu's emotional state.
“Fetch the maps and rosters,” Minobu ordered tonelessly. “We have a campaign to plan.”
50
Ryuken Field Headquarters, Misery
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
22 April 3028
Michi threaded his way through the maze of consoles, machinery, and hanging cables obstructing passage through the bunker. The heaters had been running for over a week, since the command staff had moved into the structure, but they seemed unable to banish the frigid cold that ruled Borealis, Misery's northern continent.
Michi turned into the alcove that held the planning center. The chamber was dominated by the holotank taken from Ryuken-ni’s MHQ. The tank displayed a detailed version of Borealis's eastern half. Tiny red images of BattleMechs clustered around the city of Farsund, marking the location of the gathering Dragoon forces. Similar blue symbols stood in a vague line from coast to coast across the continent's two thousand kilometers. There were concentrations near the city of Boras in the north and the city of Laerdal and the magma mines in the south. In the central region of the Trolfjel Highlands, azure bands indicated the passes held by the Ryuken.
All the Ryuken Chu-sa, including Charles Earnst, who had been promoted to fill Minobu's place as commander of Ryuken-ni, conferred around the tank. Minobu stood at one end, a Tai-sho's insignia shining at his collar. He was in conference with Sho-sa Saraguchi, now chief of staff at the command center.
Michi approached Minobu and waited for his attention before speaking.
“Report from the scouts, Tai-sho,” Michi announced, slipping a datacard into the holotank's input slot. Miniature red DropShips appeared, joining a cluster of similar shapes near a tiny representation of a city. “They have spotted new DropShip landings outside of Farsund.”
“That will be Alpha Regiment arriving from Delacruz,” Minobu theorized. “DropShip types?”
“Only 'Mech carriers and cargo ships, as before. No troop ships are reported. Preliminary reports indicate only 'Mechs and their standard support vehicles being disembarked. No fighting vehicles have been seen.”
“Huh,” Earnst grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. “What can Wolf be thinking? An unsupported 'Mech force is not the Dragoon style at all.”
“It seems that Wolf may intend this to be a combat of the lords of the battlefield,” Minobu pointed out.
“Your pardon, Tai-sho,” Michi said. “I would suggest that Colonel Wolf is only being reasonable. He's aware that there are over a hundred kilometers of difficult terrain between his chosen base at Farsund and the defensive positions occupied by our forces in the Trolfjel Highlands. There are no suitable approaches for vehicles. Wheeled or tracked machines would founder in the drift fields to the south. Of course, hovercraft could negotiate that terrain with ease, but the moraines would defeat them. Metal fan blades, frozen by the cold, would shatter as soon as a rock slipped the skirting. Even the most rugged craft would break down after four or five kilometers of that abuse, and they would have to cover at least twelve kilometers. 'Mechs are the only practical way to move through the valley.”
Minobu had been studying the holotank depictions of each type of terrain as Michi was describing its difficulties. He could see that Michi was right, and knew that Wolf would have reached the same conclusions. Terrain considerations would have been part of Wolf's decision, but only part. “Sometimes, Michi-san, you are too practical. What you say is true, but the Dragoons rarely let terrain stop them. Though the space between our two armies is daunting, vehicular forces inserted behind our position could present a threat. It is not a threat we should fear, though. Wolf has declined to bring such forces. He has his reasons.”
“I don't see why,” Earnst announced. He scowled for a moment before articulating his objection. “If, as you say, there's a way to employ non-'Mech forces, why didn't the Dragoons bring them? I thought the Dragoons wanted to shed as much Kurita blood as possible.”
“They do want blood, and they will get it,” Minobu confirmed sadly. “This will be a hard battle. I think, however, that Wolf is looking beyond this battle. 'Mech forces are the easiest and fastest to evacuate from a planet. It would mean that they could rejoin their dependents sooner.”
“You make it sound as if he's sure of victory,” Earnst scoffed.
“Do you doubt it?” Minobu asked in a deceptively mild voice. His eyes swept the row of officers, who had by now all turned toward the head of the holotank. Each shook his head in turn.
“Gentlemen, Lord Kurita expects that we will win. Expectations do not win battles. Planning, leadership, courage, and weaponry win battles. Please return yourselves to the first, that we may apply the others.”
The Chu-sa were quick to take the opportunity to escape the bright, sharp gaze of their Tai-sho. Michi turned and started to return to his post at the comm center, but Minobu reached out and took his arm.
“This landing brings the last of the Dragoons to Farsund. There will be no other bases. Recall the Sword of Light from Laerdal and the Regulars from Boras,” Minobu said. “I want all of our forces gathered here as soon as possible. Route the Sworders through Voss Gap. It will save them at least two hours.”
Michi looked at the holomap. It showed Voss Gap within twenty kilometers of Farsund, which was as he remembered it. “The Sword of Light would be strung out moving through the pass,” he objected. “They will make a tempting target for an ambush.”
“There will be no ambushes until the main fighting has begun,” Minobu said confidently.
“How can you be sure? The Dragoons have not made an offensive move since the announcement of the challenge, but Alpha is here now. How do we know that Wolf has not already positioned some forces? How do we know he is not ready to strike?”
“We do not. I do,” Minobu answered. “It is good that you think independently, Michi-san, but you are not yet ready to question my every decision. Pass the order.”
; Michi ignored the dismissal in his superior's tone. “At least let me put up a DropShip for a reconnaissance run,” he protested.
“No. The Dragoons have grounded all their ships. We will observe the same courtesies.”
“They have other DropShips further out. Their troops and vehicle ships are waiting in reserve out there.”
'Those are guards for their JumpShips. They are no threat to us on-planet. Remember, we have our own forces in space. Samsonov's reserves are waiting out there as well. His 'Mechs will be more than a match for any number of Dragoon footsoldiers that might be dispatched as an emergency reserve.”
Minobu leaned on the holotank, turning his attention to the hypothetical troop movements the Chu-sa were projecting. Michi still refused to leave.
“How can you be so sure Samsonov is there? We've had no word.”
Minobu sighed. “Nor should we have. To achieve surprise, the fleet must remain undetected. They are there.
“We are all under the Coordinator's orders. Even Samsonov must see that this battle is too important to take chances. The lure of the glory to be won by destroying the Dragoons will guarantee his participation. He will not leave us unsupported, as he did Yorioshi on Galtor.
“Now go. Your procrastination is delaying the arrival of the Sword of Light. We will need their experienced warriors when the Dragoons attack.”
Minobu watched Michi leave.
The young officer had valid concerns. Despite Minobu's words, he, too, was concerned over the lack of communication with Samsonov, but there was nothing to be done. The Draconis forces onworld had their orders. With careful strategy and a little luck, they could carry out those orders even without the Warlord's participation. Minobu rejoined the group around the holotank. Some of the officers' schemes must be critiqued.
The session lasted for hours. Minobu finally called a halt, and the other officers dispersed to their quarters. Minobu remained in the command center and ran more simulations of his own until he fell asleep at the console. He didn't know how long it was before a hand on his shoulder shook him awake.
“Reconnaissance reports BattleMechs departing the Dragoon base at Farsund.” Michi looked as tired as Minobu felt. The younger officer had probably not had any sleep at all.
“They are leaving their fortifications?” Even as he asked, Minobu realized that the question was redundant. His sleep had left him groggy, slow to respond.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Scouts report more than four hundred.”
That roused Minobu to full awareness. “All five regiments, then. It seems that Wolf is making a grand gesture.”
“When they've moved beyond the envelope of their anti-air, we can hit them with our fighters, cut their numbers before contact with our own 'Mechs,” Michi suggested. “They'll be an easy target if the fighters can get in before today's snow. I've ordered the pilots to stand by.”
“Are the Dragoons advancing under air cover?”
“No,” Michi replied reluctantly.
“Then have our pilots stand down,” Minobu ordered. “This will be an honorable battle. We will accept the combat under the terms.”
“Is that wise?” Michi was clearly upset. “Do not our orders require victory? The Dragoons are five regiments of BattleMechs piloted by elite troops. We may outnumber them, but few of our ‘MechWarriors can match their experience. We must do what we can to gain advantage. Think of your future, Minobu-iama,” Michi warned.
When Minobu shrugged, he noticed Michi's exasperation at the gesture. The young man tried to hide his emotion, but Minobu knew him too well. “The future has no meaning to a warrior. The way of the samurai is death. Shigata ga nai.”
Michi was silent for a moment. “Do you expect to die in this battle?”
“I expect nothing.” Minobu's voice was neutral. “If it is my karma, I will die.”
Again Michi went silent, apparently considering Minobu's words. “Will you let yourself be killed?”
The pleading note in Michi's voice told Minobu that his protege feared that he had given up all hope, that he would seek death in battle to escape the problems that beset him.
“A warrior must embrace death if he is a true samurai, but that does not mean that he will throw away his life. A samurai must fight on, as long as he can advance his lord's cause. Failure to do so is dishonorable.”
“Dishonorable,” Michi echoed. “What if you survive the battle, but we are defeated?”
“If we are defeated, the situation will be most difficult. Until then, I will do all I can to my fulfill my duty and to maintain my own honor. If I survive, it will be because I have fought as a warrior should. As commander, I will have dealt honorably with my opponent. The Dictum Honorium requires that we treat our enemies as though they are as honorable as well. I have no doubts about Jaime Wolf's honor, and so I must deal honorably with him.
“Even in the hour of battle, he maintains his own honor.”
Michi's brows drew together, signaling his confusion at his sensei's last comment.
“Michi-san, did you not note at what hour the Dragoon 'Mechs began to move?”
“It was midnight,” the young man said. “Wolf waited until it was finally dark before beginning his march. That's not unusual.”
“The cover of darkness had nothing to do with it, Michigan. At midnight, the Dragoon contract with House Kurita expired. Wolf and his Dragoons are now free agents.”
51
Hamar Valley, Misery
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
23 April 3028
“Cut right, West!” Dechan shouted over the taccomm.
The big Griffin shifted at his order, vacating the spot where the Kuritans were concentrating their fire. Explosions shredded the granitic extrusion, but melted snow and ice refroze almost instantly.
The Dracs had given a good account of themselves, considering that Fraser's lance had caught them by surprise. Their biggest machine, a Crusader, had been crippled in the first rush. That blow had gutted the Kuritans' firepower, and the Draconians were wavering now under the Dragons' relentless hammering.
“They're fading. Keep on the pressure. Wakeman, full spread on the leader.”
Dechan fired his own missiles, adding to the barrage from Wakeman's Trebuchet. High explosive rained down on the retreating Kurita lance. The Crusader and another already-damaged 'Mech went down in the raging fury of the explosions. The remaining two enemy machines vanished into the rills that eons of summer meltwater had cut into the ridges of the moraine.
“Got 'em,” Wakeman crowed.
“Watch yourself and hold cover. They've still got live ones out there.”
Dechan's Shadow Hawk followed West's Griffin, up to the crest of a ridge.
“What's holding you up, West? We've got Snakes to catch.”
“Take a look for yourself, Captain.” The massive right arm of West's 'Mech pointed with its hand-held Fusigon PPC.
Directing his attention that way, Dechan saw an assembly of Kurita BattleMechs about two kilometers away. The two survivors of the enemy lance were hightailing it straight to their buddies.
“So that's where the rest of their battalion is.”
“Too many for us without support, Captain.”
“We're not supposed to beat them, West. Just find them. We're on a good, old-fashioned recon mission.”
“Why? Why don't we just put some of the DropShips up? Make those flyboys earn their pay.”
“We're doing it this way because that's how the Colonel wants it.”
“Seems bassackward to me,” West groused. “The Colonel must have a good reason.”
“Well, he didn't tell me.”
“He didn't tell me, either, but that don't change anything. We still got a job to do.”
The two 'Mechs backed down the ridge, moving slowly to avoid attracting the enemy's attention. Once blocked from view, they picked up speed and headed for the fallen Kuritan BattleMechs
, where Gatlin's Ostscout was standing over the Crusader.
“What's the salvage?” Dechan asked.
“It's better than salvage, Boss,” Gatlin replied. “We've got a live one over here.”
“You can fix that with a stomp of your dainty little foot,” Wakeman suggested. “It'll be one less Snake to bother with.”
“Ease off, Calvin. According to the markings on the cockpit, this Jock's an officer,” Gatlin announced. “I don't exactly con the rank, but it's at least battalion level.”
“Then we've got ourselves a prize,” Dechan concluded.
“West, get over there and winkle that Draconian out. The Colonel will want to have a chat with him. Gatlin, watch your sensors. Target Wakeman on anything that gets too curious about us.”
BattleMechs moved to his command, but not fast enough. The Kurita battalion could be headed their way. Unity! He should have left somebody on watch at the ridge. But then, he hadn't known that they would be spending time acquiring a prisoner. “Come on, West. I want us on the road.”
“Keep your vest on, Captain. You don't want me to damage the Colonel's property, do you?”
“Just get on with it and save the smartass remarks for when we're out from under Kuritan guns.”
West had no more to say as he fell to work separating the Crusader's head, which held the pilot cockpit, from its body. It took the Griffin five minutes to wrench the head assembly free from its moorings. Each twist must have tumbled the Kurita ‘MechJock painfully within the cockpit. With the head tucked safely under one arm, the Dragoon 'Mech joined its lancemates for the high-speed trek back to the command post.
Fraser's lance passed the sentries and clomped down into the basin where Wolf's command complex stood. The camouflaged canvas was heaped with snow, both as insulation and for disguise in the stark landscape. To the left of the entrance, Selden's Wasp LAM and Vordel's Victor stood guard. To the right, Cameron's Cyclops towered over the tents. Beyond it, more 'Mechs could be seen. Among them, Dechan recognized the sinister black form of Natasha Kerensky's Warhammer. He hadn't realized that the Widows had made it to Misery, but he should have known that nothing would keep them from this fracas.
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