Now he was second-guessing Terrence McCarron himself, and paying dearly each time he underestimated his opponent.
Dropping his crosshairs over the Po’s blocky profile, Viktor reached out with large laser and missiles in an attempt to smash the cocky bastard before he dodged back into the orchard. McCarron hammered into a reverse-right tanker’s turn, taking the laser against his stronger front armor and letting the flight of missiles chew up nothing worse than the soft, black earth.
Staying into the turn through an entire one-eighty, the Po finally backed itself into the orchard and out of sight.
Rather than chase along the open road after McCarron, Viktor crossed the shoulder to wade once more into the sleeping orchard. Like flushing pheasant, a pocket of Achileus and Infiltrators popped up on jets, scattering in three different directions. The Legate ignored them, turned his Zeus eastward, chasing after the Po II and the leader of McCarron’s Second.
“Alpha, Bravo,” Ruskoff barked into his mic. “Report.”
“Alpha, NOC.”
No official change. Which meant the 122nd Pathfinders were still down one transport and three men, and had yet to claim an enemy kill.
“Bravo. Lose one Harraser.” Both VTOLs down now. “Cripple one Demon and score a squad of Infiltrators on the belly flop.”
So the VTOL had spoil-sported and crashed itself into a McCarron’s armored infantry squad. A waste of damn fine infantry, in Viktor’s opinion, but better a waste of their infantry than his.
“Alpha,” he checked his HUD in a practiced glance, backed it up with a scan through his ferroglass shield. He picked up only one hundred twenty degrees of the horizon, but sometimes it helped him keep the pieces straight in his mind. Like playing chess and looking at only half the board, playing the rest from memory.
“Alpha, start drawing them nor’ nor’west. If you can’t scratch their paint, at least leave your trail of bodies to lead them toward Reggat’s Canyon.”
Reggat’s Canyon might let Alpha eventually circle back toward the convoy. If not—if McCarron’s forces proved too bullheaded to let them run—he could save lives as his men worked their way into the Reggat’s Canyon caves. By the position of their VTOLs, dipping and hovering over trees to the far north, they had at least ten rough minutes ahead of them.
Bravo had lost both of its attack choppers, but there was no mistaking the swarming attacks of McCarron’s VTOL formation just a few kilometers to the east. The other side of Terrence McCarron’s position.
“Bravo, I want you to hold. You’ll see armored infantry and maybe some assault tanks pushing back your way, but stand fast.”
They could do it. They still had antiaircraft Partisans to worry the VTOLs.
One unit in flight, one to hold fast as a wall against which he pushed the enemy. That was never an easy call, deciding who lived and who risked death. The difference this time was that he was in a position to work with only one of the demi-companies, and if he had to leave one unsupported, he’d at least give them the chance to extend and escape.
Military talk for run like hell.
McCarron wasn’t through throwing little twists into the Legate’s plans, though. Threat alarms wailed for his attention as Infiltrators and Achileus battle armor took turns popping up above the trees on their small jets to snipe at the assault ’Mech. The Zeus did not have great antiinfantry weapons, but Viktor managed to swat one Infiltrator from the sky with a pulse laser. Then a JES II tactical carrier broke cover, slalomed between trees and traded flight after flight of short-range missiles for nothing worse than a few red-tinged scars from Viktor’s laser.
He wished again for his particle projector cannon, lost with his left arm in earlier exchanges of firepower. Standing a full story higher than the trees around him, the Legate had a commanding view. If he’d wanted, he could have pointed out each heavy encounter, places where oily smoke seeped up above the canopy, or where fires burned in the local orchards.
Ten kilometers back, for example, when the Armored Cavalry had struck with such numbing force that his small vanguard had shattered.
Five klicks: a full-fledged forest fire marked where Sergeant Ho gave his life for two infantry carriers and a Regulator. A Confederation head-hunter team broke the seal on his cockpit and smeared him over the inside of the cockpit shield. Hardly equitable, trading away an experienced veteran and his Phoenix Hawk. The Zeus was too heavily armored. Too slow. Ruskoff had been unable to rendezvous in time.
Three klicks, then one: Places where units lay dead or crippled or where the Zeus had been delayed by McCarron’s wheel-and-flank tactics.
“Contact!” Bravo’s commander, Sergeant Jason Lee, let worry tell in his volume. “Four… five! Five armored vehicles closing. Battle armor everywhere.”
Ahead Viktor saw an explosion in the tree canopy where a Gauss rifle punched through from below. Enemy VTOLs swarmed down toward the break, searching for prey. Spot fires began to show in the branches, and smoke rose in a haze as ground support vehicles battled unseen.
“We’re in thick soup here, Commander.”
The Jessie swerved into a new row, tracked by his sensors, but lost from his immediate sight as it tempted him into chasing. Not this time. Viktor pushed ahead, slowed by the orchard’s grasp, but always with one eye on his HUD for distance against the hovering VTOLs. Sixty seconds, he guessed.
He got only six before a new problem opened up.
“Vanguard, vanguard. Convoy has hit a minefield on the Paragon Thruway. We’re seeing Fa Shih infantry. ’Mechs! Two of them! Forestry… Ti Ts’ang! Tanks. Two… four, five…” The count disappeared in a wave of static as local jamming overrode the transmission.
“Convoy.” Ruskoff toggled for his secure line. “Major Demmens!” A few nonsensical syllables crackled through. Nothing the Legate’s communications gear could latch onto. A quick mental tabulation—the convoy was protected by two more BattleMechs and a small collection of support vehicles. They had a slim chance, if Demmens held up.
The Legate glanced out over the orchard’s canopy, knowing the destructive firepower already lurking below. Where was McCarron drawing up extra forces now?
At extreme range, he levered his right arm forward, gained a partial lock on one of the VTOLs and spent two missile flights against the darting craft. His first salvo fell short, hammering down into the branches, starting a new fire. His second swarm arced in on one of McCarron’s Balac Strike VTOLs, pummeling the fragile craft with blossoms of orange fire. Smoke belched out of a crippled engine. The helicopter attempted to bank away, but it was too low and falling fast. Landing skids snagged the top of one naranji tree, tipping the craft over until its rotors caught into the branches as well.
It disappeared in a shatter of tree limbs and finely balanced blades. To Ruskoff, it looked as if the orchard’s stark limbs had reached out to swallow the wounded craft, belching up a small burst of fire and smoke afterward.
The other VTOLs spun around and broke for three different points on the compass. Ruskoff’s laser slashed a ruby lance at one of them, scoring the body. Another dozen paces, the Zeus powered its way forward into a haze of smoke and burning trees and a close-quarter battle between heavy armor and infantry.
Partisan antiaircraft tanks and a double handful of Cavalier battlesuit infantry would not normally be a good match against Regulators and Jessies and a trio of Demons, especially those supported by superior battle armor assets. Sergeant Lee had set his line well. Overlapping the Partisans’ fields of fire, he had created a killing zone that shaved armor from the tanks as easily as the multiple autocannon shredded bark and leaves from orchard trees. Any battlesuit infantry braving the storm of flechettes now lay dead or dying on the soft ground. Jason Lee had held his own infantry back to harass the tanks, pin them in place, and hold them for Ruskoff’s arrival.
He was a bear suddenly loosed among savage dogs. Missiles fell in a hard rain of destructive power as the Legate dumped flight after flight over the killing
ground, hammering into McCarron’s armor. His laser stabbed out in short, powerful lances, slashing away armor and boring into the crew compartment of one Demon, which ran full force into the thick bole of a large tree. He stove in the side of a Regulator with a hard-swinging kick, and then chased after it with emerald darts from his pulse laser. All the while he searched in vain for McCarron’s tank.
Infantry tried twice to swarm his legs, but Bravo’s sergeant sent Cavalier troopers forward to grapple hand-to-hand against the lighter-armored Achileus infantry. Viktor heard metallic scratching outside of his access hatch, ignored it as he finished off the Regulator with a flurry of missiles. They erupted inside the lift fans. The hovercraft flipped over onto its side, coming to a tilting halt against a nearby tree. Still alive and in control of his BattleMech a moment later, he assumed that some of his own infantry had dealt with the problem.
“They’re through our line,” Lee called out a few seconds later. “They’re running.”
Not all of them. A wounded Demon parked itself between a Cavalier squad and the fleeing Confederation force. The remaining Regulator II led the Capellan retreat, with Achileus and Infiltrators attempting to pile onto the JES tactical carriers or simply fleeing deeper into the orchard. The Demon lasted only as long as it took a Cavalier infantryman to rip open one of the hatches and shove a laser into the crew compartment. Then it fell deadly still as well.
“Sir, do we pursue?”
Viktor turned his Zeus in place, shuffle stepping around the ruined Regulator and leaning out of the worst of the smoke. He tasted the acrid bite of burning fuel, and knew then that his own cockpit had been breached. The swarming Achileus troopers had come closer than he’d thought. A trigger’s pull away from losing his life.
“Sir, do we—”
“We do not,” Ruskoff said, cutting off his sergeant. Not today.
Farther south, McCarron’s remaining VTOLs swarmed back together, giving Ruskoff an idea about where the Armored Cavalry commander had slipped away. The Capellan officer would quickly rendezvous with his remaining forces, and might arrange a counterthrust. The very real fact was that McCarron had somehow summoned superior firepower both here and, from the sounds of it, back at the convoy, too.
“No. We’ve made the Cavalry earn their pay today, and that’s good enough. We need to pull back to the west and try to hit the convoy’s trail.” He toggled for a secure line to Major Demmens, then switched back away from the wash of static. “See what pieces are left to pick up.” But he knew, he knew.
Not many.
Not for the first time Legate Viktor Ruskoff wondered if anyone—Prefect Shun Tao and himself included—truly appreciated the local threat to Liao.
21
Light of Ijori
In a bold move this week, Prefect Tao threw elements of the Fifth Triarii and the Eridani Light Horse at entrenched Confederation positions on Gan Singh. The Voranish DropPort was retaken, and families of the local nobility escaped on MedCross vessels originally sent to aid in humanitarian efforts. World Governor Littlefield defended this decision, worried that such important families might be taken hostage by Confederation forces.
—Cassandra Clarke, New Aragon, 8 July 3134
Paragon Thruway
Paragon Province, Liao
10 July 3134
With its vanguard under attack by McCarron’s Armored Cavalry, the convoy ran full speed for Qinghai Province. Right into the ambush set by Evan Kurst and Mai Uhn Wa. Ten minutes turned the Paragon Thruway into a haze-shrouded battlefield. Missiles arced and fell along the six-lane highway. Lasers splashed back and forth, jewel-toned darts and spears that flashed briefly and were gone. Armor fractured, splintered, melted and dripped smoking, black-husked coals onto the road and the hillsides of the Methow Narrows.
Sweat tickled Evan’s brow as he ducked over his controls. Bending his Ti Ts’ang at the waist, he hunched under a militia Legionnaire’s long stream of autocannon fire. Tail-end bullets scored and pitted his armor. He backpedaled onto the highway’s cinder-strewn shoulder, firing all the way, then turned his weapons against a nearby Giggins APC. A blistering salvo of lasers silenced the APC’s machine guns. His hatchet rose and fell, rose and fell, sheering through the forward wheelbase.
Two APCs down. The first had fishtailed through a minefield laid out by David Parks and his Fa Shih comrades. Both had dumped full loads of Cavalier battle armor, and the remaining infantry pressed forward in the Legionnaire’s shadow.
Regrouping. Not what Evan wanted to see.
“We need backup,” he demanded. They needed something.
The pro-Capellan force had been thrown together at the last minute, mixing Conservatory cadets among Ijori Dè Guāng irregulars and resources begged from the Armored Cavalry. Barely enough to get the job done. Two JES II strategic carriers and a modified ForestryMech held the Narrow’s gap, stalling the long column, while Evan pressed in from the front. Ijori Dè Guāng irregulars, armed with nothing more than rifles and a great deal of courage, converged on the convoy from both wooded slopes. They mixed among Fa Shih troopers and a few Saxon APCs. A mixed unit of hoverbikes and minigun cycles attacked from behind.
Two Jousts lay overturned and burning, victims of The Republic forces that jealously guarded the convoy.
Most of The Republic troops were militia forces: the Legionnaire, Cavalier infantry, and a squad of Pegasus hovercraft. A Thunderbolt added supporting fire, painted the same colors as the SM1 Destroyer and Elemental infantry making up the convoy’s rear guard.
White and gold.
Fifth Principes Guards.
Evan pushed forward across the blacktop. The BattleMech’s feet crushed through the thin surface, leaving behind cracked footprints. He swerved around a small pileup of civilian vehicles. The Legionnaire advanced a few more steps, trading another long burst of autocannon fire against Evan’s lasers. The Ti Ts’ang shook under hammering blows.
“Help is on the way,” Mai Wa finally promised.
Evan checked his rearward monitor. The ForestryMech slowly dismantled a militia Pegasus, using its diamond-toothed saw to hack off large chunks of engine cowling. A hundred meters behind it, the JES II carriers disappeared behind a curtain of gray exhaust as they spread scores of missiles into the air.
A firestorm erupted around the Legionnaire as the missiles rained overhead. Still, the fifty-ton machine trudged forward, shrugging off the damage. The Thunderbolt turned toward the rear of the stalled convoy, lending its own missiles and a deadly laser to the Destroyer’s aid.
“They’re splitting!” Evan could hardly believe it, even though Mai Wa had assured him. Militia and Republic regulars weren’t prepared to fight as a unit.
Then again, neither were the various pro-Capellan factions.
“I’m on him,” David Parks called, voice trembling as he leapt his Fa Shih battlesuit into a short arc. He dropped nearer the Thunderbolt than anyone should get.
Another student followed, as did a ragged squad of Ijori Dè Guāng infantry.
“Get out of there, David. Infantry fall back. We want them to separate.”
Too late. The Principes Guardsman raised a massive foot and brought it down on one of the Fa Shih. Missiles slammed around the remaining infantry, geysered scorched dirt and asphalt into the air, along with whole bodies and parts.
Evan never had time to see if his friend had been the one pulverized under the Thunderbolt’s foot or, if he hadn’t, then escaped death by missile fire. Smoke curled around the entire area, his HUD was a tangled mess of icons and threats, and that was when the Legionnaire opened up into his back.
Nearly as fast as a Pack Hunter, the fifty-two-ton ’Mech sprinted forward to slip into Evan’s rear quarter. A long pull of autocannon fire walked over Evan’s left hip and pounded into the thin armor protecting his back, chewing through, pitting supports and clawing at the massive gyroscope. His cockpit shook violently and the Ti Ts’ang pitched forward. It sprawled into the blacktop, plowing up a s
mall pile of debris.
Another hail of hot metal spanged into his armor, but failed to do more than chip away fresh composite. Evan shook his head clear, fought the sixty-ton BattleMech back to its feet.
“Sa-bing Presci,” Mai Wa ordered very cordially, “at your convenience. Minus seventy meters.”
Mai Wa was early! Evan punched a hot button, transferring to a general frequency. His parched throat ached as he dry swallowed life back into his voice. “Hoverbikes and infantry, break and run now, now, now!”
The pro-Capellan force turned and ran for the wooded slopes. Only a pair of hoverbikes remained, crowding the Destroyer to push it into a tangle of convoy trucks. The Destroyer’s autocannon spit fire and metal into one hoverbike’s engine. It erupted into a fireball that threw the entire machine over the Thruway’s wide shoulder and into the base of the valley slope.
Then, as if in retribution, a convoy truck at the end of the stalled column jumped into the air as the ground around it erupted in a violent geyser of fire and shrapnel. The artillery blast also caught a full squad of Elementals, tossing them aside like rag dolls. One crushed infantryman slammed into the side of the nearby Thunderbolt.
Farther along the Thruway, a single Danai support vehicle was reloading, adjusting its trajectory by a fraction. Evan had to push now! He throttled into a flat-out run at the Legionnaire, braving its screen of Cavalier and a flanking pass by one Pegasus. He fired his lasers again and again. His heat scale climbed quickly through the yellow band, edging into the red. Right where Evan wanted it.
Ti Ts’angs used a type of myomer different from most BattleMechs. Its special properties made it work better under high heat conditions rather than worse. Muscles stretched a bit farther, allowing longer strides, and retracted a bit faster, increasing overall speed up toward one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour.
It also leant power to the arms. As Evan swung up his right arm and slashed back down, he gathered twice as much raw kinetic force behind the edge of his titanium hatchet.
By Temptations and By War mda-7 Page 17