The hatch on Cameron's Cyclops was open, and the cockpit heaters threw waves of distortion around him as he stood there, bundled heavily against the cold. He waved in acknowledgement to Dechan's radio call.
Dechan requested a security detachment to meet him. Cameron made the arrangements, then passed on the coordinates of a repair park so that the lance could resupply. Before the other 'Mechs turned off the track, Dechan relieved West of his burden.
The Shadow Hawk continued forward onto the flat space before the command center. Halting before the assembled security troopers, Dechan lowered the captured head to the ground.
“Here,” he announced over the external speakers. “See if you can crack this open while I get down.”
By the time he had struggled into his cold-weather gear and popped the Hawk's hatch, the security team had convinced the captured pilot to open his own hatch. As Dechan scrambled down the ladder, two troopers were helping the prisoner out of his cockpit. The man was battered and bleeding from several wounds. Despite his shivering, no one offered to get him something warmer than the light uniform he wore.
Dechan led the way into the tent, followed by Major Kormenski and two troopers with the prisoner in tow. The guards had to drag the Kuritan when one leg collapsed under him.
The air temperature was noticeably higher inside the heatlock. After passing through to the greater warmth of the inner tent, Dechan still felt chilled from his short stay outside and was reluctant to remove his coat. He compromised by letting it flop open. In the short walk through the corridor to the main tent, he noticed that he could smell things again; sweaty bodies, old food.
“Colonel, we caught something that might interest you,” he announced on arrival.
The Dragoons around the holotank were expecting him, and no one seemed surprised at his announcement. That professional detachment vanished when Dechan turned to the prisoner, who hung slumped in the grip of the security troopers. He pulled the man's head up by his hair.
“Singh,” hissed Major Blake.
The prisoner shrugged off the hands that held him, but his barely suppressed grunt of pain told what the effort cost him. He coughed and spit out blood and tooth chips before turning his face toward the Colonel.
“Hello, Wolf.”
Fadre Singh squared his shoulders, which made his rank bars of a Kurita Tai-sa glint in the light. He took a halting step toward the mercenary leader. The guards moved to restrain him, but Wolf waved them back. Singh continued until he was face to face with Wolf.
“Surprised to see me, O great master of the Wolf Dragoons?”
“In this condition ... yes.”
“When have you ever been concerned over my condition? I spit on your concern, fossil. You are nothing and your command is even less. The Draconians have you where they want you. Your days are numbered.
“I'm glad that I'm free of you. My eyes have been opened to what you and your cronies are doing. It was clear from the way you all treated me after Hoff. My skill and my achievements meant nothing to you. You cast me away, though you had to know I was in the right. You sided with senile and cowardly old Parella. You must be senile yourself, old man.”
“Watch your mouth,” Blake interjected.
“Why should I?” Singh snapped at him.
“I've got no respect for him,” he said, waving his arm to encompass all the people present. “Or for any of you. You've all fallen from whatever you once were. You can't see ability when it's under your collective noses. If I could have gone back, I would have, but you cut me off there as well. You cut me adrift.
“What did you expect me to do? Roll over and beg for favor from your gray-haired tyrant? Plead to be restored to the clan? I've been making my own way.”
Singh's laugh was ragged. He swung his head back to Wolf.
“I owe nothing to you and your puppet Dragoons, Wolf. I don't need any of you. I fooled you all and found somebody who can appreciate my abilities. Warlord Samsonov knew a commander when he saw one. He gave me the command I deserved.” Singh paused and locked eyes with Wolf. A cruel grin split the prisoner's face. “All it cost was the name of your bolthole.”
The sound of indrawn breaths was loud in the shocked silence. Jaime raised his hand to strike Singh, but the man's body spun away before he could connect, driven by the impact of several heavy slugs. Wolf pivoted, looking for the gunman.
Natasha Kerensky stood calmly, no hint of remorse on her face. Smoke rose from the barrel of her Marakov.
“Those who break faith with the unity shall go down into darkness,” she quoted.
52
Opdal Glacial Fields, Misery
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
25 April 3028
Minobu stood in the open hatch of his Dragon. The cold wind whipped in eddies between the 'Mech's bulky shoulders, chilling him through the cold-weather gear he wore. He was careful to avoid contact between his exposed skin, already chafed from this brief exposure, and the cold metal of the Binox forty-powers. Through the device, he studied the serried ranks of the Dragoon BattleMechs drawn up across the principal arm of the Opdal Glacier. They stood tall among the naked fangs of dark rock jutting above the ice surface.
Motion caught his eye and he focused on it. Black 'Mechs, stark against the snow, were moving into place on the Dragoon left flank. Through the Binox, he could easily distinguish the red spider insignia, which told him that the Black Widows had arrived to join the Assault 'Mechs of Zeta Battalion. A powerful anchor for the Dragoons line.
The days of preliminary skirmishing were over. Here amid the peaks and glacial surfaces, the armies had come together, reaching an unspoken agreement on the battle site. It was not the site that either general would have chosen, but each found it acceptable. Barring static defense of an important point, Minobu knew that a commander could rarely expect to fight on terrain of his own choosing.
Minobu slid back into his 'Mech and dogged down the hatch. Out of the wind and back in the heat of the Dragon's interior, he found his clothes suddenly too warm. He squirmed out of the jacket and clambered into the pilot seat.
“All commands report status. Code twenty-three,” he ordered. Slipping the neurohelmet onto his shoulders and connecting his cooling system, he watched ready lights flash green on the command board his Tech had rigged over the comm board, crowding the cramped cockpit even more. Minobu bore the loss of space easily. Although the jury-rigged system offered nothing like the capabilities of a Tacticon computer, it did increase his ability to communicate with his command. That capacity more than compensated for the personal discomfort. By the time he had finished hooking up, only one light remained unilluminated. Minobu keyed open the channel to the commander of Ryuken-go.
“Tai-sa Sullivan, I have a no-show from Sword of Light. Explain.”
“No explanation, Tai-sho.” The reply came at once, but Sullivan sounded nervous. That was understandable, though. The Sword of Light Regiment was supposed to be in position on his flank. “My scouts have not sighted them. I will try to set up a relay.”
While Minobu waited for word, the Dragoon BattleMechs began to move, advancing en masse.
“Steady,” Minobu advised his commanders. “Hold fire till we are reasonably assured of good hits. No sniping.” He listened to the order being passed, pleased by the response of his troops. Only a few pilots in Seventeenth Galedon broke discipline by firing without permission, and their officers swiftly restored order.
Just as Minobu was about to give the command for harassing fire with energy weapons, the Dragoons stopped their advance. He watched in puzzlement as a single BattleMech continued forward from the center of the Dragoon line. The lone machine registered on his identification program as a Victor, an eighty-ton Assault 'Mech. After half a kilometer, it too stopped. The taccomm crackled as a Dragoon voice came over the open channel.
“I am Hans Vordel, Lieutenant in Wolf's Dragoons. I am a fourth-generation ‘MechWarrior. I have seen twenty-four-cy
cles and have fought on more worlds than I have years. Who among you has the courage to face me in single combat?”
His challenge was awkward and his Japanese abominable, but the intent was clear. Silence greeted it. No one in the Kurita force spoke, on either the open channel or any of the protected frequencies. The challenge was unexpected. A teki acting like an ancient samurai? It shocked them into immobility.
Suddenly a Thunderbolt broke from the Kurita ranks, pounding out to within a kilometer of the Dragoon Victory. The comm channel reverberated with the pilot's response to the Dragoon.
“Villain. I am Tadashi Bolivar, a mere Chu-i in the grand forces of the Draconis Combine. I am not so old and decrepit as you, but I am a fifth-generation samurai of House Kurita and have slain three Davion ‘MechWarriors single-handedly. I accept your challenge. Pray to any gods you hold dear, teki, and prepare to die by my hand.”
A ragged cheer came from his comrades of Ryuken-san. Some of them keyed on their external speakers, and their cheers reverberated from the surrounding peaks.
Encouraged, Bolivar drove forward at his opponent. Vordel's 'Mech fairly leaped from its standing pose and accelerated rapidly. Minobu saw the flaw in Bolivar's approach vector that was sending him directly toward a zone of broken ice. Vordel must have seen it, too, because he shifted the Victor to take advantage. Bolivar reacted to his opponent's shift and headed his 'Mech further into the dangerous terrain.
When the Thunderbolt stumbled, the Dragoon Victor opened fire. Its paired lasers raked the Kurita 'Mech, catching the pilot by surprise. Reacting like a novice, Bolivar decelerated to pull his 'Mech around. The moment his opponent's speed slackened, Vordel triggered a burst from the massive Pontiac 100 autocannon that was the Victor's right arm. Shells cratered the armor across the Thunderbolt's upper surface and smashed into the cockpit area. The Kurita 'Mech shuddered and collapsed.
Dragoon cheers rang off the mountains.
The Victor raised its left arm and fired twin ruby flares into the sky before heading back toward its lines. Before it had reached them, a second Dragoon 'Mech left the line and advanced toward the center of the field.
Another challenge boomed out, as awkward as the first. In response, another Kurita 'Mech went forward to meet the Dragoon. Minobu recognized it instantly as Michi Noketsuna's Ostroc. Shouting, “I accept!” Michi roared down on the Dragoon without stopping. This fight was longer, but when it was over, the Dragoon Catapult lay broken on the field.
This time it was the Kuritans cheering the victor, rocking the mountains.
Minobu wondered what Wolf was thinking, to allow such dueling. The mercenary had probably decided that it would appeal to Minobu. Perhaps he thought that this was how one conducted a battle of honor. At one time, it had been.
Today, though, it was a luxury Minobu's forces could not afford. The Kurita forces outnumbered the Dragoons, but not overwhelmingly. Man for man and 'Mech for 'Mech, the Ryuken were no match for the mercenaries. The Galedon Regulars were even worse off. A series of duels would only deplete the Draconian resources.
There was another consideration. Sullivan reported that the Sword of Light had not yet appeared. During the duels, they should have time to break through the Dragoon delaying force and reach the battlefield. Then the Kuritans could attack with a better chance of success. In the meantime, Minobu would let the single combats continue. He hoped he would not lose too many good pilots before the Sworders put in their appearance.
The battles became a blur, one after another. Dragoon as well as Kurita 'Mechs failed to return, but far more of the latter lay shattered on the field. Few of the duels were as short as the first, but all were brutal. Minobu was gratified to see that none of the other victorious Dragoons returned unscathed.
The finale of a battle between a Dragoon Spider and a Kurita Panther finally ended Minobu's waiting game. The Spider was on its back and the Panther closing in for the kill when blue lightning lanced from the Dragoon line. The beam struck the Kurita 'Mech full in the chest. Weakened armor collapsed under the hellish energies. The electric discharge from the PPC overloaded the Panther's circuits and caused the autoloader to cycle a reload for the SRM launcher into the path of molten metal. The Panther's upper torso vanished in a fireball.
This breach of combat etiquette was too much for the Kuritans. All across the field, their BattleMechs surged forward and howls of outrage echoed from the peaks. There would be no more duels.
Like a startled flock of birds, the Dragoons turned and fled before the onrushing horde. Despite the apparent failure of morale, their fire was well-coordinated and surprisingly effective. Firing wildly, the Draconians streamed after them across the glacier's surface. From what Minobu could see the huge barrage of missiles, shells, and beams seemed to have little effect.
Uneasiness seized Minobu as he moved his 'Mech forward. If his force was advancing, he had best advance with them if he hoped to maintain even the slightest control. He was still puzzled by the Dragoon actions, which had been uncharacteristic from the first. Offering formal duels and then violating the code made no sense. The enemy's sudden flight made even less. It had to be a trap.
Almost at the moment he reached that conclusion, Minobu noticed the Dragoon left flank slowing and turning. They had reached the rocky hummocks of lesser mountains projecting through the ice and were taking cover there.
“Hold! Hold!” he screamed as he pulled his own Dragon to a halt. “Hold the advance!”
His orders went unheeded. The first Kurita 'Mechs rushed on past the original position the Dragoons had held. When the medium 'Mechs and the faster of the heavy machines hit the former enemy position, the mercenaries sprang their trap.
In a sudden burst, the ice beneath the Draconian machines lit up with blue fire, glowing like some crazy New Year's decorations. Cracks appeared in the ice, spreading across the field. In places, the ice shattered as easily as a frozen puddle. Yawning pits opened and swallowed Kurita BattleMechs.
The Draconian rush turned into chaos as two dozen 'Mechs immediately plummeted from view. Others scrambled from the crumbling surface. A few gained the safety of ice that had not been undermined, but most crashed down, along with the multi-ton blocks they gripped. Several more 'Mechs were forced over the edge by eagerly advancing fellows who were unaware of the danger. Devastated by their losses, the Kurita units were in total disarray.
A kilometer away, the Dragoons halted their feigned retreat. Weapons blazing, they turned on the Draconians. Their furious charge struck with ruinous effect.
Minobu saw now that Wolf had had his own reasons to delay the battle. While the duels were taking place, his engineers had been tunneling under the glacier's surface, preparing the pits and carefully placing the explosive triggers. In one clever maneuver, the Dragoons had cancelled out most of the Ryuken's numerical advantage.
Knots of Kurita 'Mechs were scattered across the glacier, and the Dragoons set out in pursuit over stretches of intact ice. The battle spread across the Opdal Glacial Fields. Instead of a head-on, multi-regimental battle, the fighting dissolved into a series of unconnected struggles by units of company or battalion size. Swept forward with the advance, Minobu's Dragon was being dragged along by the ebb and flow of the Ryuken-ni’s retreat down Hamar Valley.
Pressed and harried, the Kuritans fought fiercely, but the Dragoons allowed them no quarter. In the smaller battles, most of the advantage went to the mercenaries, who had far more experience in such combat.
Disrupted by the surrounding mountains, Minobu's comm channels were filled with static, cutting him off from most of his command. When he finally managed to break free from his own pursuers, there was little he could do to reunify his forces. Minobu knew it was only a matter of time until the Dragoons reduced his troops to a point beyond effective opposition.
Suddenly, the pressure on the Draconians let up. Everywhere across the now extensive battlefield, Dragoons pulled back. Praying over the open channel, someone thanked Buddha for the
miracle. From his own vantage point, however, Minobu was able to discern the true reason for Dragoons' unexpected withdrawal. The reprieve to his troops was not of supernatural origin.
The Eighth Sword of Light had finally arrived.
Faced with the arrival of fresh enemy troops, the Dragoons contented themselves with the havoc they had caused. Scattered as they had become in pursuit of the Ryuken and the Galedon Regulars, they were in danger of being defeated in detail. Rather than face the concentrated troops of the Sworders, the Dragoons retreated.
Their withdrawal was orderly. They knew, as did Minobu, that there would be other battles.
53
Trolfjel Highlands, Misery
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
20 May 3028
A pale glow on the horizon marked the coming dawn, and colors began to appear to Minobu's night-sensitive eyes. Another morning on Misery, another day of battle with Wolf's Dragoons. It was almost a month since that awful battle on the Opdal Glacier. The Kuritans had recovered somewhat from the bad beginning, but the fighting had continued week after week, with neither side gaining a clear advantage.
As the light grew, he watched men and women scurrying about the camp, stocky in their cold-weather gear. Through the speaker set into the transplex window, he could hear the faint sounds of the Techs powering up BattleMechs, getting them ready for their pilots. Reloads from the dwindling stocks of ammunition were being distributed to the machines.
He turned to the man who had stood by his side in silence for the last half-hour.
“It is time for you to rejoin your troops, Michi-san.”
“Hai, Minobu-sensei.”
Wolves on the Border Page 36