BattleTech : Mechwarrior - Dark Age 02 - A Call to Arms (2003)

by Loren L. Coleman

  "It will take more than a knight's BattleMech to back such a call to arms. Allow me to demonstrate." And from extreme range, Torrent let fly with every long-range missile at his disposal.

  The XX-rack dumped a full score of warheads into the air. His Advanced Tactical Missile System automatically selected for extended range and chased the first flight with another nine missiles.

  Before these had arced over, Torrent was already in range for his laser and timed it so that the spear of bloodred energy carved into the Jupiter at the same time as his missiles pummeled the enemy 'Mech.

  "Steel Wolves," he said calmly, waiting for his weapons to cycle, "engage at will."

  River's End

  Achernar

  If Erik Sandoval had not demanded quarters befitting his new station, River's End might have been lost.

  Ducking his Hatchetman into an alleyway, its shovel-blade feet kicking a dumpster along in front of him as Erik might a tin can, the young lord escaped the crossfire that had been set up at the nearby intersections. The Demon's lasers angled up and past him, slicing free only a small ridge of armor from his left shoulder before he made his full escape. Safe for the moment, Erik throttled back, planted one wide foot through the alley's thinner ferrocrete and then shoved himself back the way he had come, ax poised in the air overhead and sensing more by instinct than any sensor shadow that one of the Demons, at least, would chase him into the narrow side street.

  One did. Saving his autocannon ammo, Erik smashed down his titanium hatchet once, twice.

  His first cut crushed both laser barrels into mangled ruin. His second caved in the tank's cockpit, bursting ferroglass shields into a rain of splinters and jagged shards that littered the street and sparkled dully in the yellow glow of a streetlamp. Erik kicked the end of the Demon around, letting him gaze down through his own shield at the telltale insignia.

  Achernar militia.

  Backstabbing sons-of-a-Liao.

  Michael Eus had been able to tell him very little, rousing Erik from the president's apartments at Steyger Railways' city offices. Erik was not one to dwell on creature comforts, not usually, but the office complex also had the good fortune of being located only a dozen blocks over from the Achernar HPG station. From his new living room window he could see the massive dish suspended over the compound by geared towers. An impressive underground vault, left over from pre-Republic days, was large enough to house his BattleMech as well as two Condors.

  Most of the Swordsworn had mobilized for the city's edge by the time Erik fired up his Hatchetman and set it on a similar course. He still could not say for certain why he had spread the Condors out in a flanking search except his inherent distrust-now-of Michael Eus. Erik's care had tumbled the militia's plans several minutes sooner than would have happened otherwise, as first a dark-running VTOL and then a hostile VV1 Ranger was sighted.

  Erik's small unit claimed the Ranger, but then lost one Condor to a prowling Legionnaire and an AgroMech conversion. Since then, the nobleman had traded block by crucial block, summoning up both MiningMech conversions from the HPG station and calling in VTOL support and fast tanks from Eus.

  The second Demon was missing, likely trying to head him off further down the avenue. Instead, Erik turned again for the station, intent on regrouping his forces as close to the HPG as possible. He chose the larger city streets-those which had been reinforced to allow 'Mech movement without collapsing. Then, rounding a corner, he stepped into the middle of an infantry firefight with Hauberks routing a rooftop emplacement of his Purifiers. A Saxon APC waited in nearby shadows while a converted AgroMech disappeared around the next corner.

  Erik dealt with the APC first, again slamming down with his handheld ax. Better than against wheeled or tracked tanks, however, the impact was enough to ground out the hovercraft and hold it in place while its lift fans tore themselves to pieces against the concrete walk. A few Hauberks turned on him with their missile-firing backpacks. He easily shrugged aside these detonations while the Purifiers leapt down for hand-to-hand combat. Erik lent a hand-and a foot-as he could. One Hauberk moved too slowly, and ended up a smear of mangled metal and flesh.

  "Back to the station," Erik ordered. "All free units, converge." He set off again, this time giving a ride to a few of the Purifiers while more ran and leapt along in his wake.

  The militia plans became clear enough as pieces fell into place. A heavy push at the Steel Wolves, to draw everyone's attention, while a covert strike force penetrated River's End from another direction and tried to reclaim the HPG. Except that now he had the small raiding force nearly surrounded, cut off from the spaceport battle by the same soldiers he would have sent to aid against the Steel Wolves. Aid in a limited and self-supporting manner, perhaps, but the militia could have expected some relief.

  Now, instead, he would hunt down the raiding force and deal with them personally, leaving the rest to Torrent. And when the Steel Wolves tried limping back to their DropShips, bloodied and weak, then Erik would be waiting.

  But first, the Legionnaire and its supporting force.

  Ortega. No matter that Eus claimed to have intercepted a transmission, placing the militia warrior at the spaceport. Erik bet family money on the Legionnaire being piloted by Raul Ortega, who had made a point to defy the noble at every turn since the two of them met. Even before the customs officer turned MechWarrior, he had shown a penchant for disregarding Erik's authority. Like a mosquito, biting and biting at him, always just out of reach and believing that he could not be smashed. Well, he would learn.

  All of them would learn before this day was finished.

  Some faster than others, he decided as his sensors painted a Warrior H9 attack helicopter cruising over a shopping mall and parking itself over the top of a bank. Its missile system reached for a lock on the Hatchetman. Erik pulled his crosshairs over the fragile craft, held the shot for a solid tone, and then pulled into the trigger with a gentle caress. Eighty-millimeter slugs roared out of his left-arm autocannon, tracking in over the VTOL's thermal silhouette.

  The pilot tried to sideslip, banking his craft over the main avenue, but Erik corrected his aim faster and the armor-piercing metal chopped into and through the H8's light armor. Walking the stream of hot metal up into the rotor blades, he chopped away one, long vane and chipped up another. The unbalanced craft slewed through the air, losing altitude and finally dashing itself into the middle of the wide avenue where it erupted into a ball of orange fire and spreading pool of greasy flames.

  Erik watched the fall, the fire. He rocked his throttles forward, kicking up into a walk, before he saw the Legionnaire standing on the far side of the wreckage.

  A gout of yellow flash-fire erupted from the Legionnaire's overhead rotary, and fifty-mil slugs buried themselves in the Hatchetman's chest and upper right leg. The hammering impacts shoved Erik back, but could not knock him completely off his feet. The young noble brought his left arm up again, drew a bead over the Legionnaire and chased it into a side street with a long pull from his Imperator Class-10 autocannon. He chipped more stone off the bank's facing than he did armor from the fifty-ton BattleMech. Before he could lower his aim, a pair of militia Jousts burst from the opposite side of the same street, crossed the main avenue, and chased off after the Legionnaire.

  "Legionnaire spotted," Erik broadcast, walking in pursuit of the militia machines. "Madison and Ninth, heading south on Ninth. Disregard previous orders. Station guard, protect the HPG. All other units converge on my position."

  A JES tactical and his Condor had already homed in on the light of the burning VTOL. Two other ground units radioed in confirmation while a pair of Swordsworn VTOLs raced up from the south to take spotter positions overhead.

  Michael Eus called in with other contacts. "Lord Sandoval, we have heavy infantry contact across the southwest edge of the city and as many as half a dozen vehicles reported. They hit and run.

  Our forces are being pulled southeast and northwest at this time. My beari
ng on you, one hundred ninety relative, distance point-eight kilometers."

  Erik felt his upper lip twitch toward a snarl, worked to keep his voice level and authoritative.

  "They are opening up a hole for the Legionnaire to escape through. Close it!" He pivoted into the corner, ordering his tanks forward and checking that the other two vehicles racing up behind were also his own.

  The Purifiers leapt onto the bank roof, skipped over to the shopping mall . . . and disappeared inside a conflagration of missile impacts and converging lasers.

  Forewarned, Erik was not about to walk into an ambush. "Five second delay," he ordered his armored lance, then slammed down on the jump jet controls with both feet. His Hatchetman leapt skyward on jets of superheated plasma, rocketing in a short arc up and over one corner of the deserted mall while Erik counted, "Five . . . four . . ." At three he began the sharp, short fall into the wide parking lot on the building's other side. Two found him raising back his five-ton hatchet, ready to decapitate the Legionnaire.

  One Landing on bent knees into a ready crouch, Erik stepped forward and delivered a shoulder-level swipe at the nearby Legionnaire. The blade bit in just below the BattleMech's armored mantle, crushing through protective plating and some myomer musculature but failing to sever anything critical.

  His blow staggered the Legionnaire, shoving it forward into a tall lamppost, which could not bear the weight of a fifty-ton 'Mech. Sparks flew as the lamp heads shattered against the street. Erik's VTOLs dipped down long enough to spray some lasers into the Legionnaire's face. He would have wanted his armored vehicles to take further bites out of the resilient design, except that as they raced around the corner they fell into a point-blank firefight with the Jousts and one of the Agro conversions.

  From down the local boulevard, a hoverbike squad raced up to support Erik's assault. He left the smaller forces to them, concentrating on the Legionnaire. Thumbing the firing stud on his autocannon, he smashed several hundred rounds of hot metal into the BattleMech's back. Armor rained down over the parking lot and street in a fury of shards and splinters.

  Then the Legionnaire regained its balance, spun back at him and bit into his side armor with lasers and a furious stream of autocannon fire. Erik felt his control slipping-his Hatchetman falling backward under the terrible onslaught. Fighting against gravity, he managed one stumbling step backward, then another. Enough to slam up against the shopping mall's three-story facing, protecting him from a bone-jarring fall.

  Also enough to rob him of several crucial seconds. Erik rocked forward, putting his BattleMech back on stable footing. He traded one last burst of autocannon fire, and that much more armor, with the retreating Legionnaire. Then it squeezed in between a corner building and a burning Condor, and was gone again.

  The fire-gutted Condor was Erik's, as was a crippled but safely landed VTOL. He counted a militia Demon and the smashed ruin which had once been a Joust also among the victims of the short, violent firefight.

  Raul Ortega had stung at him again, but not without losing blood of his own. Erik would make it cost him again.

  "Legionnaire and Agro-two Agros-heading east on Carrington." Erik's remaining VTOL pilot, back on observation. "Count three . . . four . . .five vehicles now. They're spreading out over two streets, on parallel tracks."

  Giving up on their attempt and heading for the spaceport, Erik throttled up to his best walking speed, just over forty kilometers per hour, and struck a parallel course to the fleeing raiders. This street had not been reinforced, not even in the old days, before the Succession Wars, when Achernar IndustrialMechs was one of the region's largest producers. His feet punched down through brittle-thin ferrocrete, like a man walking over hard-crusted snow, and forced the Hatchetman to slog forward at less than optimum speed. It slowed him down too much. Not that he doubted it would matter.

  Erik had only a basic idea of where all his units were, but he had to imagine that three 'Mechs working together would find a hole and crush whatever light resistance he might toss at their feet. City streets were too confining-too favorable for the smaller, mobile force. They had a slight advantage.

  Until he could pin them in the open, inside the industrial sector which lay in between the San Marino and River's End proper. That was where he would hit them with everything he could muster.

  That was where he would kill them all.

  26 - The Gemini Gambit

  River's End/San Marino Spaceport

  Achernar

  18 March 3133

  Raul Ortega shook his head furiously as if trying to clear it of the noise. Comm channels bled over each other as reports, orders, and shouted warnings were passed up and down the militia line.

  Static crackled in between words and sometimes through an entire order. A moment of clear reception was rare, rare. And when it happened, too often it was the lull before a storm of new, concentrated fire savaged the militia and drowned out transmissions with thunderous explosions.

  Fire and shrapnel raged constantly in the no-man's-land that separated the Steel Wolves and Achernar's determined militia. Bright lances of light speared back and forth, reflecting against ground haze built up from the smoky discharges of missile exhaust and burnt autocannon propellant. As the night gave way to sunrise, the only signs of battle falling off were the vehicles left broken and burning in the firefight's wake. Raul counted a militia Fox armored car and two hoverbikes among their early casualties, lost back on the southwest side of the spaceport landing field where the firefight had begun.

  At least four APCs had been crushed and mangled over the tarmac since then in trying to deploy screens of battlesuit infantry, marking each gruesome shift north and east.

  Two of the APCs had managed to disgorge their cargo of armored soldiers. Two had not.

  Despite the cost in lives and material, Raul knew that the militia so far had staved off heavy casualties. Their advantage, so far, was their combat VTOLs, the low-altitude craft giving the militia air superiority for the first time since the initial Steel Wolf assault against Achernar. A Yellow Jacket, in fact, a flying version of the Marksman or SM1 Destroyer, could worry even Star Colonel Torrent with its nose-mounted gauss rifle. The militia would not keep that advantage much longer now that daybreak was upon them, but it had been enough to help move their ragged line to the spaceport's northwest border, past the Steel Wolf DropShips and about even with the main tower and various administration buildings.

  Nearly at the back of Tassa Kay's retreating picket force.

  It took some effort, mentally untangling the cluttered HUD, but so far everything held more or less in accordance with the militia's rough planning. Raul's late positioning was the less. Tassa's early arrival, the more. Tassa had led most of her people from the capital just as dawn broke, turning back on the pursuing Swordsworn and holding them at the city's edge, making feints as if trying to regain the industrial sector.

  "Sandoval is getting edgy, Raul. Make this happen soon." Tassa fell back a few more paces, limping on a ruined left knee actuator.

  Using his twin PPCs and light autocannon to drive back the Steel Wolves' one remaining M1 Marksman, Raul bracketed it with lances of azure energy and then blasted deep, angry wounds into its armored flank. It pulled back and Raul let it go, wary of the next head-to-head push by Star Colonel Torrent and still fighting toward Tassa's position.

  Torrent's attention had been diverted again as a Giggins APC successfully delivered a squad of Gnome battle armor into his line. As Steel Wolf Elementals worked to keep those Gnomes clear of the Tundra Wolf, Raul threw two Jessies down the enemy line, strafing the seventy-five-ton BattleMech and the wounded Marksman with flight upon flight of short-range missiles.

  It bought him a handful of seconds. A moment, perhaps.

  Raul pivoted the Jupiter toward the admin buildings, claiming another two hundred meters in long, five-meter strides. With white-knuckle grips on his control sticks, Raul shied away from one of the open DropShip landing pads, saving
himself from a three-story fall to the underground service area. He still felt unsteady at the controls of such a large assault 'Mech, but the natural touch which had originally recommended him to the militia reserves held strong for him now.

  Backed by two Schmitts and flanked by VV1 Rangers, Raul reanchored the militia line another dozen steps-two dozen . . . three . .

  Where he stepped into a barrage of missiles, drawing fire from a Steel Wolf Behemoth and paired JES strategic carriers.

  Weathering the storm of hammer blows, shedding some of the Jupiter's armor reserves, Raul wrestled with his control sticks and then turned in to back off the Behemoth. "Blocked again!" Two icons on his HUD flashed dangerously close to the militia line. "Shandra scout vehicles at nine-five relative. Pick them up!"

  He wasted no time on the fast but lethal scout-runners, trusting the Rangers and some forward Cavalier infantry to handle them, and the Schmitts had already leapt forward to hammer long-range fifty-mils at a Big Jess.

  Raul pulled his crosshairs over the Behemoth's large outline, pounding away double-flights of long-ranged missiles as soon as he struck good tone and chasing them with blue-white arcs of lightning from the Jupiter's chest-mounted PPCs.

  Unfortunately, the one-hundred-ton tank could stand up to that kind of abuse, though after forty minutes of sparring the tank crew had to be worried about their armor. The tank rolled back on its massive treads, ceding a few scant meters. As if they needed further encouragement, a Yellow Jacket VTOL slid over the north side of the field and skipped a gauss slug off the ferrocrete tarmac next to them.

  Sensing opportunity, Raul shifted his own aim over to one of the forward JES carriers.

  Combining PPCs with his two light autocannon this time, he worried through the missile-boat's armor.