Warrior: riposte

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Salome turned back to face him. "What are you saying?"

  Dan sighed. "Morgan left to spare us his pain and to save our lives. He believes it, and I guess I do, too." Dan opened his hands. "Perhaps, if you give him a chance, he can prove that to you. Maybe, just maybe, the part of you that still loves him realizes that. I know he could use your support."

  The hint of a smile brightened Salome's face. "There's a lot of sense in what you say, Dan." She shrugged. "I know I'll be giving it all a lot of thought."

  Dan smiled. "Look, Salome, we've been through a lot together, and you've helped me through tough times like when I heard about Justin's injury and all. If you ever want someone to talk to ..."

  Salome reached out and gave Dan a firm hug. "I appreciate it, Dan. I really do."

  Just then, the meeting room door opened, painting a yellow rectangle of light across the ferrocrete. Salome released Dan and they both turned toward the 'Mech hangar. Clovis waved at them, his shadow shooting up to hugh proportions. "Captain, the Colonel would like to see you."

  Dan glanced over at Salome but got only a big smile in response to the unspoken question on his face. She gave him a gentle shove, then followed him back into the staff party. Dan shivered. I don't like the feel of this. First, Cat and Clovis act like conspirators, and now Salome lock-steps me into the party.

  Dan became more uneasy as the other Kell Hound officers in the meeting room watched him with bemused expressions on their faces. Morgan Kell extended his hand and enfolded Dan's hand in a strong, firm grip. Dan's heart sank as a wolfish grin spread over Morgan's face. No escape now.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Morgan began. "I present to you Captain Daniel Allard. When last many of you saw Dan, he was but a newly recruited Lieutenant. Prince Hanse Davion entrusted Lieutenant Allard and a brand new Valkyrie to our care straight out of the New Avalon Military Academy, and we were more than glad to accept him into our company."

  Morgan winked at Dan and draped his right arm over his shoulders. "I understand, from a series of reports given to me by the Lyran Intelligence Corps as well as Kell Hound documents I reviewed while traveling planetside, that the Kell Hounds were very fortunate to get Dan. His leadership and hard work guided the unit through some difficult times. His tactical skill helped them through some tricky assignments, and his courage helped the unit to wrest victory from defeat in some desperate battles."

  Morgan's voice fell low as his arm fell from Dan's shoulders. "In the battle for Styx, Dan sacrificed his Valkyrie in an attempt to save my brother's life. That brave act has enlisted Captain Daniel Allard into the ranks of the Dispossessed."

  Dan shot a hard glance at Morgan. Dispossessed? Fear gnawed at his stomach. For a MechWarrior, the thought of life without a 'Mech was a nightmare. Referring to a MechWarrior as Dispossessed was not a joke to be made lightly. It was a curse, a vile curse. To be Dispossessed is death itself.

  Mischief flashed in Morgan's brown eyes. "Our Techs could have cobbled together enough of some Kurita Panthers to give you a 'Mech that might work, Dan, but I will not have a Company Commander in the Kell Hound regiment piloting Frankenstein's 'Mech. It would be unseemly."

  Morgan shrugged. "On the other hand, you are a gifted light 'Mech pilot, and the spare 'Mechs assigned to the regiment are all medium or heavy. What can we do?"

  Is he kidding or not? Speechless, Dan looked around the room at the other MechWarriors. Their earlier looks of amusement had melted into dour frowns. Dan looked back at Morgan. "Are you serious, Colonel? If so, you might as well take out a gun and shoot me." Dan shook his head, then his face brightened with an idea. "Look, demote me. I won't be a Company Commander, and then you can give me the damned Panther. But don't do this to me!"

  Morgan shook his head ruefully. "I couldn't demote you, Dan— not after all your service to the unit. I'm sure we can find something for you. You'll just have to pilot a desk for a while . . ."

  Dan shook his head vehemently. "No! No way." Dan jabbed his thumb into his chest. "I'm a MechWarrior, dammit. Give me an AgroMech if you must, but I don't pilot anything that doesn't have moving parts. Period."

  Morgan half-closed his eyes. "Very well. Perhaps we can accommodate you." Kell headed toward the door in the back of the room that led to the floor of the 'Mech bay. "Follow me."

  His face burning with embarrassment, Dan cut through the other officers, forcing himself to ignore the titters of laughter behind him. What's going on? What sort of nightmare beast are they going to saddle me with? In his confusion and anger, Dan slammed the 'Mech bay door into the wall and marched stiffly into the hangar.

  Ten-meter tall machines stood like silent sentinels all around the tall building's interior. Mostly humanoid in shape, the 'Mechs ranged in weight from 20 to 75 tons. Resplendent in the red and black color scheme favored by the Kell Hounds, the huge battle machines might have been toy soldiers arranged by some giant child for a mock battle.

  Dan stopped short, his breath taken away by what he saw. Standing across the wide ferrocrete aisle stood a BattleMech. It was as tall as its fellows, but the ferocious leanness of the 'Mech immediately suggested capability for great speed. Its left hand was fully articulated, but the muzzle of a heavy laser replaced its right. Painted in the black and crimson colors of the Kell Hounds, it looked like a nightmare beast. From a Kurita nightmare . . .

  Three medium laser ports dotted the 'Mech's chest left, right, and center to form three corners of a triangle pointing up toward the 'Mech's head. Dan's smile seemed to match the lupine grin on the 'Mech's head. Reminiscent of ancient Terran-Egyptian portrayals of gods, the 'Mech's wolf's-head design gave it an aggressive, fearsome aspect. Dan saw immediately that its ears served as sensor and communications pick-ups, and he mentally congratulated the designer for the way he had perfectly melded form and function.

  Dan turned toward Morgan. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Morgan smiled openly. "It's a brand new design, Dan. It's a Wolfhound. It's yours."

  Dan shook his head. "Mine?"

  Morgan nodded solemnly. "For what you did for Patrick." Morgan looked at the Wolfhound, then pointed toward the hangar doors behind. "Go on. Try it out. Your lance is waiting for you out there. They're in four Panthers . . . See what you can do."

  Dan saluted smartly. "Yes, sir, Colonel!" He grinned. "With pleasure."

  22

  Arc-Royal

  District of Donegal, Lyran Commonwealth

  3 March 3028

  Dan eased the lever bar down across the hatch and felt his ears pop as the Wolfhound's cockpit became pressurized. He knelt beside the hatch and smiled to see the dim outline of the control couch by the light of the hangar leaking in through the 'Mech's polarized eyes. He reached over the door and flipped a switch that fired up the 'Mech's fusion engine.

  A sturdy thrumming began under him in the Wolfhound's heart, and the energy lit bank after bank of switches, buttons, and monitors throughout the small cabin. Reaching out, he punched a glowing green button on the 'Mech's command console. The radio crackled to life.

  "Clovis, do you read me?"

  "Roger, Dan." The smile Dan visualized on the dwarf's face came through over the radio. "Impressive, isn't it?”

  “Affirmative."

  Clovis coughed lightly. "O.K. The first thing you're going to want to do is change into a cooling vest and other appropriate garb. You'll find a small locker built into the back of the command couch. It should have all you need."

  Dan swung around and opened the narrow locker. From inside, he drew out a quilted vest made of a lightweight goretex designed to pull sweat away from the body. Threaded through the garment were flexible tubes of coolant that would protect the pilot somewhat against the tremendous amounts of heat a 'Mech can produce in battle. The tubes ran beneath the layer of ballistic cloth body-armor that formed the vest's outer covering. A power cord meant to be plugged into the command couch dangled from the vest's left flank.

  Dan frowned as he stripped o
ff his jacket and shirt. "Clovis, it occurs to me that this locker occupies the same space normally used for the ejection rockets." He peered deeper into the locker and winced. "I like having all this survival gear in here, as well as a change of clothes, but I think I'd like to be able to blast out of my 'Mech so I could use it."

  Clovis's laughter echoed through the cockpit. "Cat bet me twenty ComStar bills you'd ask that question right off the bat. Dr. Banzai incorporated the Hatchetman's unique ejection system into the Wolfhound design. The whole cockpit assembly comes away. No canopies to blow only half-away or cockpit walls to knock the command couch off course."

  Dan winced as a twinge of pain lanced through his left shoulder. Remembering the collarbone broken when he bailed out at Styx, Dan laughed. "I think I like this design."

  "Roger. Let me know when you've plugged in, and I'll run you through the ignition sequence."

  "Roger." Dan slipped into the vest and tightened it down. Finding two adhesive sensor pads in a small drawer of the locker, he stuck them onto his bare upper arms. Then he quickly removed his dress trousers and boots and replaced them with shorts and a pair of plasteel boots that covered his legs to the knees. He pasted two more sensor pads on his body—one on the outside of each thigh—shut his clothes up in the locker, and slipped around into the command couch.

  Dan used switches on the couch's right arm to raise the back and lower the feet until he felt comfortable. After plugging the cooling vest cord into the socket on the side of the couch, he popped open a panel on the couch's left arm and pulled out four cables. He snapped he clip-ends of the wires to the electrodes centered in the sensor pads, then threaded the wires up through the loops on the cooling vest. Letting the plugs hang down at his throat, he then belted himself into the chair.

  Dan reached up behind his head and pulled the neurohelmet down from its perch. After settling the heavy metal and plastic headgear onto the cooling vest's padded shoulders, he plugged each of the sensor wires into the sockets at the helmet's throat. Dan adjusted the helmet until he felt the neurosensors press against the correct spots on his head, then centered the wedge-shaped faceplate so that he could see all the command console's sensor monitors without any difficulty.

  Dan punched a button and toggled the radio receiver, then adjusted the volume to eliminate the static hiss. After keying his mike, he said, "All strapped in, Clovis. Give me the rundown."

  There was pride in Clovis's deep voice. "It would normally take about two days to have you matched to that monster, but we pulled some readouts from the salvaged Panther you used on Northwind. I've also added a program with a feedback loop in it to your computer."

  Dan punched the radio's visual feed on to the auxiliary monitor. Clovis smiled at him. "The program monitors your performance and checks it against what's considered your normal mode of operation and your best and worst past performances. It reallocates power and processing time to assist your weak points, and augments your abilities if you're dead on during a particular battle."

  "In other words, your program will fine-tune the Wolfhound into me?"

  "Right," said Clovis. "The double-checking also allows the computer to shut down the 'Mech if the performance profiles vary too wildly from the norm. That way some hotshot using a chip-base EEG filter can't come in and steal your 'Mech."

  Dan's chuckle echoed through his helmet. "Beautiful, but let's get this monster on the road. What's my check code?"

  Clovis' voice became somber. "No greater love ..."

  Clovis's words recalled to Dan the sacrifice Patrick Kell had made on Styx. No greater love hath one man for another than to lay his life down for his fellow man. Dan swallowed against the lump rising in his throat. Such old words, yet with so much truth to them . . . "Thank you, Clovis. Well-chosen."

  Dan hit a button on the console. "Pattern check: Captain Daniel W. Allard."

  A low hum rose in Dan's helmet, then formed itself into computer-synthesized speech. "Voiceprint pattern match obtained. Proceed with initiation sequence."

  Dan spoke around the thickness in his throat. "Code check: No greater love."

  The computer spoke again. "Authorization confirmed. Welcome aboard, Captain. Full control is now yours."

  Dan smiled as the computer shunted power to all the weapon systems. The 'Mech's primary monitor flickered to life, and the computer quickly filled it with a schematic of the Wolfhound. Then on the secondary monitor there came a computer-generated image of the surrounding landscape on the scale of two-and-a-half centimeters to a kilometer.

  Whoa. This is some new stuff, Dan gloated to himself. "Hey Clovis! Do you want to explain how I got this map?"

  "Well, Dan, right now, you're getting a feed from the Arc-Royal Meteorological Society satellites. The mapping program works from freely available data like that, or from any survey maps you want to download into the system."

  Dan thought for a moment. "If I were to get a line from a military satellite, would it include enemy units on the images?"

  "That would depend on what they were sending out to their units. I don't know if my interpreter program can handle all the different data a military unit might send out. If we can sample their signals and crack their scrambler, we can modify the program. Right now, it will receive military data from the Commonwealth and the Fed Suns."

  Dan leaned forward. "According to this I have three—no— four medium lasers. I saw three ports on the chest." Dan squinted. "The fourth fires into my rear arc."

  "Keep them off your back. The large laser in your 'Mech's right forearm will keep your enemies worried at long ranges."

  "Roger that, Clovis."

  Clovis hit some switches and started the hangar bay door opening. While Dan turned the Wolfhound to face it, he brought up the 'Mech's full holographic combat display. It surrounded him with 360 degrees of vision. By manipulating the joysticks capping the arms of the command couch, Dan maneuvered twin golden crosshair sights over the display. The crosshairs dropped to half-intensity as he sighted something outside the fire arcs for his weapons.

  Clovis's voice buzzed into his head. "The three thumb buttons on the left joystick trigger the chest-mounted lasers. Be careful, because they don't have a safety override. If you cross your 'Mech's arms over its chest and then shoot, you'll wound yourself."

  Dan laughed. As though fighting the enemy isn't dangerous enough. "Thanks for the warning. The buttons on the right stick fire the larger laser and the after laser, right?"

  "Roger." Clovis held up a hand and Dan saw he'd crossed his fingers. "Luck, Captain."

  "Thanks, Clovis." Dan stepped the Wolfhound out into the night. Well, Rover, let's go out and see if either one of us has what it takes to destroy a Panther lance all by ourselves.

  The computer painted the Panthers' heat silhouettes on the display in shades of glowing green. Easing the Wolfhound's right arm up, Dan worked the targeting crosshairs onto the further of the paired humanoid 'Mechs. He brushed his thumb against the firing button, and the crosshair blinked on and off, confirming a sensor lock.

  Dan punched the button. The large laser's bloody beam skewered the Panther's spine, blasting chunks of ceramic armor from the back of the sleek 'Mech's back. First the Panther began to spin, then stumbled and crashed to the ground.

  Radio chatter filled the Wolfhound's cockpit as his computer locked onto his foes' frequency and cracked their scrambling routine. Dan recognized Meg Lang's voice instantly. "I'm hit. Gyros are out. This baby is down for the count."

  A strong male voice broke in. "Dammit, Eddie! He's behind us. Swing around with Gwyn. Dan's probably got this frequency. Shift to pattern two."

  "Roger, Lieutenant."

  You're smart, Austin Brand. I'll give you that. Still, you won't catch me between two forces. As the radio hiss died, Dan glanced at terrain map. Pulling the Wolfhound back and around to the right, he marched it between two low hills, then up a narrow ravine. This brought him out in front of where the two Panthers had stood when he ambush
ed them.

  He raised the Wolfhound above the ravine rim just enough to give his chest-mounted lasers a clear shot. Through scrubby underbrush and between slender tree trunks, he saw the Panther he'd downed earlier. Meg had managed to gather the 'Mech arms under it and had raised the machine to a sitting position.

  Dan shook his head in wonder. Without gyros, that's a major accomplishment. I really hate to do this to you, Meg. Smiling, he opened a tightbeam channel to the Panther. Just as he was about to speak, a chill ran down his spine.

  First rule as a MechWarrior—trust your instincts more than your instruments. Dan flipped the scanner display from infrared to Magnetic Anomaly Detection. Two magscan images replaced the single heat silhouette on his holographic imaging system. It showed him Meg Lang's wounded Panther, lying in the brush beyond the seated Panther. She had crawled it there and shut down its generator.

  Even as Dan dropped the crosshairs onto the seated 'Mech's profile, Brand pivoted the Panther on its left hand. Its right fist, which was wrapped around the grip of a particle projection cannon, swept up. The PPC's glowing coils pulsed once, spitting out a jagged bolt of man-made electricity.

  Dan twisted the Wolfhound to the right, but the computer recorded a hit. As the primary monitor showed most of the armor on his left arm evaporating, Dan felt both anger and relief coursing through him. Dammit! This baby can take a lot of damage!

  That shot would have crippled my Valkyrie and might well have torn the arm clean off!

  Dan keyed the radio as Brand valiantly tried to raise his Panther. "Nice ambush, Austin . . . Almost." He aligned the crosshairs with the Panther and then punched his firing buttons.

  Two of the medium lasers ripped parallel scars through armor on the Panther's, left flank. Fragments of computer-projected armor spun away from the scanner image in a whirling explosion. The third medium laser sliced into the armor covering the PPC, but failed to cripple the weapon. The large laser slammed heavily into the Panther's chest, half-dissolving the armor over the short-range missile launch tubes located on the 'Mech's heart.