Tactics of Duty

by William H. Keith

  "Strikers! Full frontal deployment!" he called. "Warriors on the left. Raiders on the right! Spread out!"

  The names were those of his two companies, Warfield's Warriors and the Gray Raiders.

  A missile shrieked out of the darkness to the south, trailing orange sparks. A shoulder-launched missile, it looked like ... and a miss. An explosion flashed among the trees, backlighting trunks and interlacing branches.

  The edge of the forest ought to be up here somewhere, pretty close. . . .

  * * *

  Sunset. The western sky was a blazing glory of red and orange and green, and still there'd been no flares, green or red, and no indication at all that Alex had completed his circuit through the woods to attack the rear of Zellner's right flank.

  Grayson considered his options. It would be dark within thirty minutes or so, and while the Gray Death had engaged in night battles, a large-scale engagement like this could easily become a confused free-for-all, with friends firing on friends as often as they fired at enemies. With no clear idea of the enemy's disposition, it would be suicide to risk an advance as far north as Cemetery Ridge.

  "Command One-one," a voice said over his tactical net. "This is Firestorm. I'm coming in from your right."

  Pivoting the torso of his Victor to the right, Grayson saw Major Frye's Pegasus approaching through the trees, the hurricane of its hoverjets whirling branches and saplings aside. Close behind came one of the Marauders of Frye's battalion.

  "Hello, Major," Grayson called. "I see you. Come ahead."

  He felt a familiar pang at the sight of the hulking, fat-armed MAD-3R trailing the small scout hovercraft. Until the Battle of Sudeten in 3050, Grayson Carlyle's trademark BattleMech had been an old Marauder that had carried him through more battles than he really cared to think about. That machine had been savaged in the fighting against the Clans and been abandoned on Sudeten. He'd rebuilt the Legion after that, with extensive use of Star League memory core data and captured Clan technology; he'd acquired the VTR-9K Victor and used it ever since.

  Perhaps it was simply the habit of thirty-plus years of combat, but after seven years he still preferred the Marauder, even when the old design was clearly outclassed by the new, uprated models.

  As Frye's Pegasus came up alongside, artillery continued to crash and bang in the distance, further to the west. Zellner's people had lost contact with the Gray Death 'Mechs and were shelling an innocent stretch of forest.

  "I'm glad you're back," Grayson told him, though Frye's return only reinforced his concern for Alex. "What do you see?"

  "We've got a large concentration of 'Mechs moving around north of Big Round Top," Frye told him. "I'd estimate two to three companies, with pickets and patrols out in the woods to the east. Looks to me like Zellner's center of mass has been drawn pretty far out of line."

  "You were seen?"

  "Oh, yeah. There's no way they would have missed us. I'm pretty sure they have a fair-sized force on top of both Round Tops, and they have a clear line of sight for a good, oh, fifteen or twenty kilometers in all directions. We kept showing ourselves at various points east and even northeast of the Mils. Zellner ought to be pretty well convinced we're coming from that direction."

  Laser light flared, igniting tree limbs overhead. Grayson spun back to the left, scanning toward the north. There were Davion Guard 'Mechs there, coming down from the ridge. Strung out in a long line, they numbered twelve—a full company—and they were heading straight toward the Gray Death's line. They moved slowly, coming step by step, almost as though bracing themselves for an expected fusillade of fire from the treeline to their front.

  For a moment, Grayson was vividly reminded of Jaime Wolf's charge from Cemetery Ridge, during their sim. Pickett's Charge, in reverse.

  But this time, the flanking movement had failed to materialize, and that company-strength probe would quickly as certain that only a company occupied the woods in front of them. Options?

  Grayson Carlyle was rapidly running out of those.

  27

  Meadow Grove

  Caledonia, Skye March

  Federated Commonwealth

  2048 hours, 16 April 3057

  Marshal Felix Zellner was climbing down out of his 'Mech, a recently refurbished Atlas that had been outfitted as his personal command 'Mech. After his survey of the battlefield from the church tower earlier, he'd come down to the base camp set up along the New Edinburgh road south of Falkirk. There, he'd climbed into the 'Mech, sitting there for the next hour while trying to monitor the evolving battle.

  And with every passing minute he was growing less sure of himself. His Expeditionary Force was becoming increasingly strung out. Its right flank was anchored by the woods and the 'Mech reserve, but fully half of their 'Mechs were some three kilometers away, off on the left, and too far to immediately support the right if there was trouble. Seymour was gone, off in his Stalker to check on that battalion.

  The battle along the ridgeline to the south, meanwhile, had been gradually dying away, as gunners reported fewer and fewer hostiles to fire at across the clearing beyond. Zellner had sent a company forward to probe the woods to the south, but so far there'd been no report back, and he expected none for some minutes yet. There was no sign of the expected attack around the left flank, either; the 'Mechs Malishnikov had reported an hour ago had failed to materialize. Were they still there, encamping for the night for an attack at dawn? Or had it been a feint? And now ... this....

  The soldier was muddy and dishevelled, his face filthy, his eyes wide and bright in the deepening twilight. He was also breathing hard, as though he'd been running hard and fast. One of Zellner's staff officers had brought him over just a moment before.

  "Just how many enemy 'Mechs did you see, anyway?" Zellner demanded.

  "I ... I ain't sure, sir. Lots, though. More than a company. And they was heading this way at a full run!"

  "Fool. If they were running, how did you get here ahead of them?"

  The man turned and pointed west. The sunset sky was a brilliant red and orange beyond the blue-black shadows of the Tanglewood. "I came straight through there. They was coming up the road, to the north. I dunno. Maybe they stopped to form up. Maybe they're movin' through the woods now, slow like. But they're there, and they're comin', Marshal. Damn me if they ain't!"

  A crackle of gunfire sounded to the west and the insistent yammer of a machine gun. Zellner kept staring into the forest, as though willing himself to see through the impenetrable wall of trees. What was going on out there? The man had seen something, that was certain. His was the fifth report in the last ten minutes, reports by infantry scouts and his communications staff and by one Mercury still on picket duty on the Tanglewood Road. The Mercury's report had ended in midtransmission, with no clear warning of anything but something moving on the road, and Zellner had assumed a radio failure. Now, though, it was clear that enemy units were moving out there.

  But a company or more? It didn't seem possible, not given what was known about the Gray Death's numbers on Caledonia. And at night?

  Ridiculous!

  The likeliest explanation, especially in light of the reports of large numbers of 'Mechs moving to the east, was that a few 'Mechs, possibly a recon lance of Stingers and Locusts, had been deployed through the Tanglewood either to act as fire observers for the main attack, or to serve as decoys, a diversion to pull Zellner's main strength back to Meadow Grove.

  Something broke from cover, skittering across the open ground. Now what?

  There was another. And another. In a moment, there were hundreds of the things, small, brown or black furred animals of some kind, leaping and bounding swiftly as they dashed out of the woods and across the open ground toward the east.

  Zellner turned slowly, surveying the area. He was in the main encampment, where dozens of BattleMechs had been drawn together for servicing, arming, and preparation for the battle everyone expected in the morning. The infantry camp lay to the west, tucked in next to
the woods, and he could see against the shadows of the trees dozens of campfires lit by men preparing evening meals. Further north was the supply dump, and row upon row of parked vehicles, supply trucks, ammo carriers ... and suddenly it all seemed terribly, terribly vulnerable.

  More of the furred animals crashed out of the underbrush, running frantically. Something sure had scared them, back in the woods....

  The first Gray Death BattleMech emerged from the forest less than a hundred meters from Zellner's position, striding out from among the trees and into the middle of the infantry encampment. Soldiers bolted and ran, a few in armor, some wearing fatigues or even underwear. The 'Mech, a Locust, strode through the camp with the look of some ugly, demonic insect eight meters tall, balanced on two slender legs that stilted across campfires and tents and scattering men. Zellner could see the black and gray skull emblem painted on its upper works. The 'Mech's twin laser mounts opened fire, and men began to fall.

  To his own surprise, the appearance of the Locust steadied Zellner. A twenty-ton scout machine? Was that all? His Atlas could kick it to the next continent. Swiftly he climbed back up the access ladder, struggling to reach the safety of his cockpit before the Locust came closer.

  Along the line of the woods, now, other 'Mechs were emerging....

  * * *

  Alex saw the trees thinning ahead and urged his Archer along faster, crashing through the smaller trees and saplings, squeezing once between two larger trees, partly uprooting both as his seventy-ton machine forced them apart. An explosion erupted ahead and to the left; machine gun fire chattered. Shifting briefly to IR imagery, Alex saw dozens of small, bright blobs of life scurrying ahead of his footsteps— small Caledonian animals of some kind startled by the onslaught of 'Mechs, and sent fleeing ahead of the attack and out of the woods.

  "I'd run too," Alex silently told the fugitives, "if I had this bunch on my tail!" His primary monitor showed two 'Mech formations to the north and south of the Tanglewood Road, arrayed six and six each. Alex was with Third Batt's Third Company, the Gray Raiders. The unit's CO, Captain Gallery, was maneuvering his Shadow Hawk through the woods to Alex's left; Sergei Golovanov in his Marauder was crashing ahead to his right. Alex shifted course slightly, moving a bit closer to Shooter Gallery, putting a bit more distance between himself and the Marauder's PPCs, as well as providing additional fire support for the lighter Shadow Hawk.

  Then he was through the final line of trees and bursting into the open.

  It was twilight, with the sky still a pale and radiant green-blue and both of Caledonia's moons hanging in the southern sky. He'd emerged two hundred meters south of the road, and almost squarely in the center of a camp. Tents were strewn about everywhere, some still standing, many knocked down either by 'Mechs or by fleeing troops. Bruce Lazenby's Locust was moving ahead, dragging the white canvas of a tent that had snagged on his 'Mech's left foot. A few hundred meters ahead, the gantry rigging and portable cranes of a small 'Mech maintenance area showed where the Third Davion Guard had positioned its reserves. Several artillery field pieces were drawn up behind sandbag parapets, aimed at a point well above the ridge to the south.

  Several nearby Third Guard 'Mechs turned to face the sudden strike from their right and rear. A JagerMech was caught in a crossfire by Sergeant Hank Corby's Victor and Golovanov's Marauder, twisting back and forth in a horrible parody of a dance as laser and particle beams stabbed and slashed through its armor. Then Corby cut loose with his Gauss rifle, and the crack of the ferrous-encased depleted uranium breaking the sound barrier echoed across the landscape. The round struck the JagerMech in the left side, peeling back a wad of armor as big as the 'Mech's arm, and exposing the sparking, flashing leads and circuitry of its internal wiring. As another fusillade of laser fire struck home, the domed top of the JagerMech's squat torso popped open in a cloud of smoke, and an instant later the pilot rocketed clear, his ejection seat propelled skyward by a battery of powerful jets.

  Alex noted the 'Mech's destruction but had no time for more than a glance as the JagerMech exploded into orange flame. He was already tagging targets for his LRMs. The artillery park first ... followed by the field maintenance area. The more Third Guard 'Mechs he could put holes in while they were standing there helpless, without their Mech-Warriors, the better.

  Pivoting right, the protective cowlings on both of the Archer's LRM batteries folding back, Alex planted both of his 'Mech's feet solidly in the ground, then loosed a shrieking school of deadly Doombud LRMs. Their contrails arched away through the sky, descending on and around the long-range artillery pieces, which until that moment had been continuing to hurl high explosives over the ridge to the south.

  Explosions blossomed among the artillery pieces; the tree trunk-sized barrel of a 155mm cannon spun end over end as it flew straight up in the air, hesitated a moment, then plunged earthward into the expanding smoke cloud of its carriage's destruction. The blasts continued after the last of Alex's rockets struck; secondary explosions were touched off among stored munitions behind the sandbag revetments. Abruptly, the store of artillery bombardment rockets detonated, and an acre of Caledonian earth heaved up into the sky, overturning guns, smashing munitions tractors and transport crawlers, and mowing down the gunners as they sought frantically to escape.

  Pivoting his torso left, Alex zeroed in next on the massed BattleMechs at the maintenance area, loosing another LRM salvo ... then a third and a fourth as his tubes loaded automatically. As explosions ripped through the facility, shredding the lightweight structures of the gantry towers and the heavier traveling crane mounts, one Stinger toppled slowly forward, crashing full-length onto the ground as the magnetic grapples holding it in place gave way. A moment later, a Hatchetman, with its rather ludicrous and clumsy hand weapon, was torn open from throat to hip by a succession of internal explosions, and then part of the gantry support behind it came toppling down, smashing the vacant 'Mech to the ground beneath a pile of twisted, smoking wreckage. A fuel tank nearby erupted with crimson and orange savagery, lighting up the darkening plain as the fireball climbed into the evening sky.

  By this time, the other 'Mechs of Task Force Skriker had moved well past Alex's position, smashing headlong into the Davion 'Mechs—both manned and unmanned—scattered about the rear area. To Alex's practiced eye, it appeared that Striker had emerged from the Tanglewood squarely behind the Davion right flank, with few of the enemy 'Mechs even facing the woods or otherwise prepared for an attack from that direction. Turning to face the ridge to the south, he triggered the two flare guns mounted outside his Archer's head. With a dull pop-pop, two brilliant green stars clawed their way into the sky, a signal to his father that the attack had succeeded as a complete surprise....

  * * *

  The Third Davion Guard 'Mechs were still advancing slowly down the slope from Cemetery Ridge, occasionally stopping to probe the woods in front of them with fire. Receiving no fire in return, they kept moving. Hidden in the woods less than a kilometer away now, Grayson, Major Frye, and the rest of the Third Bait's First Company waited, weapons ready, cross hairs and targeting cursors already laid on their chosen prey.

  Abruptly, two greens flares crawled up from behind the ridge, arcing toward the zenith in emerald glory, brilliant against the darkening twilight. "There he is!" Grayson cried over the general tactical chanel. "That's Alex!"

  "He did it!" Davis added. "Th' lad did it!"

  "Thank God," Caitlin DeVries added with heartfelt intensity.

  Someone in the waiting fire team cheered. "Stow it!" Grayson warned. "Stand by! No one fires until I give the word!"

  Third Batt's First BattleMech Company, the Firestormers as they called themselves, normally consisted of twelve 'Mechs divided among Command, Fire, and Combat Lances, but losses in their recent campaign on the old Commonwealth border with the Draconis Combine and on the edge of Clan space had not been completely made up, and they now numbered just eight. To reinforce the company, Grayson had added his own supern
umerary Command One-one lance, consisting of himself in his Victor, Davis McCall's Highlander, and Caitlin DeVries's Griffin. Also present as supernumerary was Captain Walter Dupré, the warrior who still didn't have a unit to fit his rank but who'd been attached to Grayson's personal staff until a slot opened up. Dupré's ponderous, eighty-ton Zeus had taken up position among the trees to Grayson's rear. Irritated, Grayson opened a private channel. "Captain Dupré! What the hell are you doing back there? Move up! I want those people to feel our steel!"

  "Uh ... yes, sir."

  "We fight as a lance. No one hangs back!"

  "I wasn't hanging back!"

  "Just get in line, take your position, and don't move! It'll go down pretty quick, now."

  The eight 'Mechs of the Firestormers were mostly on the heavy side, including Lang's Shadow Hawk, a Marauder, a JagerMech, two Catapults, a Guillotine, a Vindicator, and a Hunchback. The addition of Command One-one made the unit a motley and mismatched gang ranging from the forty-five-ton Vindie to McCall's ninety-ton monster of a Highlander. The twelve 'Mechs they were facing were lighter for the most part. The leader appeared to be another Victor, but the others included two Locusts and a Mercury in an advance recon position, three Centurions, two Wolfhounds, and three Assassins. Grayson's combat computer had long since tallied the raw numbers: the twelve Gray Death 'Mechs added up to 790 tons, while the approaching company-strength patrol totalled just 480 tons.

  It wasn't at all wise to predict the outcome of a battle solely on the respective total weights of the two sides, but the fact that the hidden Gray Death company so significantly outmassed the other, and that they were attacking from ambush virtually guaranteed an immediate victory. The problem was that when the Legion 'Mechs attacked, they would reveal just how few of them were in place in the woods opposite Cemetery Ridge, a vital bit of combat intelligence that would be immediately relayed back to the Guard headquarters. There was no way Grayson knew of to simultaneously silence all twelve enemy 'Mechs. Some were bound to escape; any could broadcast the critical data in the minutes it would take to destroy them.