By Temptations and By War mda-7

by Loren L. Coleman

  “Ijori-one, can you assist?”

  “Evan.” Hahn’s voice blared strong and with a squeal of feedback as he cut in on a private frequency to Evan. “Evan, do we go?”

  Damn. Damn Ruskoff for slipping forces through the Chang-an suburbs and Mai Uhn Wa for taking a sudden absence. Whatever the House Master dealt with in the Praetorian, it had better be worth Jenna’s life.

  “We don’t,” Evan said on a tight-comms transmission to Hahn. He pivoted his Ti Ts’ang south, ready to push-and-fade once again. He toggled for wideband. “We’re needed here, Wilco. Cannot assist.” He shoved his throttle forward to its stop.

  “Copy that.” Jen’s reply was short. “Any advice?”

  Evan clenched his teeth hard enough to grind an edge off one molar. Every muscle tense, he nearly wrenched his BattleMech back around. But he did not. He chose this path far too long ago. He either believed in it, or he did not.

  He did.

  “Stick and fade, Jen. Buy us time.” Not much in the way of advice. “You have your orders.” And Evan had his. For better or worse.

  30

  Blowing Taps

  Paladin Maya Avellar made planetfall on New Aragon today, taking charge of a small group of Knights already supporting Prefect Tao’s defense of Prefecture V. Paladin Avellar’s arrival came one day too late for Knight Jonathan Corrick, who fell in battle on Menkar on the last day of July.

  —Damon Darmon, New Aragon, 2 August 3134

  Yiling (Chang-an)

  Qinghai Province, Liao

  4 August 3134

  Viktor Ruskoff powered forward, his eighty-ton Zeus shoving over trees and crushing thick boles underfoot like twigs on a forest carpet. Sweat ran freely, soaking into his cooling vest. His arm muscles ached, and his neck twinged with dull throbs from holding up the bulky neurohelmet for so many hours. Too long sitting at a desk and not enough time at the gym or in the hot seat of a ’Mech.

  A light rain pattered down from Liao’s gray skies, streaking his ferroglass canopy with silvered fingers. On the other side of the transparent armor, he watched a new Bellona drive into a tangle of brush and deadwood ahead of him, flushing Fa Shih like a brace of quail.

  One of the armored infantrymen rose toward him on jet thrusters, and Ruskoff knocked him from the air with a swipe from the Zeus’s right arm. The broken trooper fell backward and down into a wild thicket. He did not come out again.

  “Zeta lead, this is Principes auxiliary.” Captain Danna Shelby, commanding the double-lance loaned to the Legate by Lady Kincaid. “We’re getting stragglers on the Grinder. I hope you aren’t too far behind.”

  A Conservatory Thunderbolt slashed across Ruskoff’s path a half kilometer ahead, smashed a light gauss slug into the Zeus’s side before ducking behind a large ’Mech hangar. Ruskoff keyed over to the channel shared between Triarii and Guard. “Two klicks,” he said, gaining one of the damp ferrocrete roadways that crisscrossed the military campus. “You’ll have us on sensors as we strike out from behind these buildings.”

  And once Ruskoff’s main task force stormed the campus grounds, leaving the defenders with no more options than to stand, fight and die, he’d have their surrender or he’d have their asses. Then the student uprising would be ended. Everything but the paperwork.

  In the last hour, the arrival of Governor Pohl’s forces had finally tipped the balance. The Legate worried at first, when a well-supported Ti Ts’ang moved into the gap he’d planned to push the late arrivals into, but then the Capellans fell back, refusing to exchange fire with Pohl’s “bodyguards.” He mixed Lieutentant Nguyen’s scout lance into their midst, cementing that position.

  Now the entire force rolled forward, and showed little mercy when Conservatory defenders staged brief and bloody rearguard actions.

  A hard choice. A hard path. The Planetary Legate had not wanted this, but Chang–an had to be secured and local support for McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and the Dynasty Guard disrupted. Without that, Ruskoff faced a divided government as Hidic and Pohl second-guessed his every order and challenged him for more military control.

  Without that, he could not hold Liao for The Republic.

  “Triarii four and six, on the left,” he commanded, stomping up on the hangar, sending a double set of armored vehicles racing around the western side of the magnificent building. “Two and three on the right.”

  The quick pincer would hold anything in place long enough for his arrival. Legate Ruskoff levered his shoulder forward into the massive hangar doors, shattering the tracks that held them, bursting them inward.

  Techs scrambled out of his way as the “enemy” machine barged inside, leaving their hasty repairs on a wounded ConstructionMech. Ruskoff spent lasers and PPC on the naked exoskeleton. It was all he had time for, as he crashed through the hangar’s rear wall and into a firefight.

  The Thunderbolt had gathered friends in the form of JES tactical carriers. Both hovercraft dumped flights of short-range missiles into one of Ruskoff’s Bellonas, staggering the heavy tank. The T-bolt spent its light Gauss and short, stabbing lasers into his Saxon APC, chewing apart Cavalier infantry who bailed from the thunderstruck vehicle. The BattleMech kicked out, crushing one trooper against the APC, caving in the vehicle’s side.

  Ruskoff pulled his crosshairs over the Thunderbolt, and was rewarded with an instant tone of full targeting lock. Too close for Gauss, he sprayed the ’Mech with a few short-range lasers and then smashed in at its left side with his particle cannon.

  Armor blew off in a mist and in thick globs of burning composite. The Thunderbolt staggered, and went down hard. Infantry swarmed forward, but Ruskoff waved them off as he used his PPC to hobble the other ’Mech, cutting into the backs of both knees.

  “Three-squad, take the prisoner. Everyone else, leave him and forward!”

  No time for the niceties. Not now. Legate Ruskoff had to finish this ill-advised resistance once and for all.

  Time was running out.

  Evan’s small unit was first to break through to the Conservatory Grinder, his sixty-ton ’Mech kicking through the wire-mesh fencing and breaking a hole large enough to drive an armored column through.

  From two kilometers out, he’d had good sensor readings on the battle being pressed across the main campus. He watched as Jenna fought for every meter, coordinating her ForestryMech and the wounded Locust, saving the armor for quick, violent counters and saving the infantry from a fiery death. The Principes Firestarter showed no hesitation in using its massive flamers on academy grounds. Gouts of incendiary gel sprayed out of both arms. Tank crews cooked alive inside their armored shells. A few buildings burned where the Mech Warrior had not been cautious enough to prevent collateral damage.

  Evan’s arrival threw the balance back into Capellan favor. The firefight was brief and dissatisfying as the fast BattleMech and the assault tanks immediately withdrew. The Ryoken II limped away slowly, all but daring the Conservatory units to follow.

  More units broke out onto the parade grounds, some of them chased after by Republic forces. Shiao Mai’s Praetorian command vehicle crawled out onto the rough-paved Grinder with a swarm of Infiltrators clinging to it, tearing into the control cab. Evan spent a few crucial moments scraping the sides of the mobile HQ.

  “Breakthrough on the sou’west grounds.”

  A militia Catapult and a Triarii Legionnaire led a host of Republic vehicles and APCs out onto the Grinder. The drive stalled as the Capellan line threw them back on their heels with a massive salvo of concentrated fire. The Catapult went down, its cockpit a blackened ruin, but the Legionnaire stepped over the corpse of its brother, rallying JES carriers and a Behemoth to quickly hit back and gut a pair of Regulator II’s.

  Evan nearly struck out to their aid, but too many threat icons popped up on his HUD to justify throwing himself awkwardly around the Grinder.

  “Zeus and company coming right at us.” Hahn was first to call it. He sounded excited. Eager.

  “Hoverbikes
swing around and tie up the battle armor,” another junior officer ordered, bleeding in on one of the sub-channels.

  Jenna. “Wilco team, form on my lead.” She was dragging one leg on her ForestryMech, but the autocannon looked primed and ready and the huge diamond-toothed saw screamed around on the massive blade.

  Evan stood guard over the mobile HQ, driving back any militia unit foolish enough to challenge his speed and the arcing swing of the Ti Ts’ang’s battle-ax. A trio of wheeled Demons converged on Jenna’s ForestryMech, thinking to find her an easy target and not thinking of the Ti Ts’ang’s faster speed as it grew hotter and hotter. Evan sprinted out, stopped one of the Demons with a foot placed strategically through the front canopy shield, and broke the vehicle’s spine with two heavy-falling chops. Jenna used her saw to carve a wheel off one other, and Hahn chased down the wounded tank to finish it with a deadly blast of autocannon fire. The third Demon escaped back to Republic lines, chased by Hahn.

  “Think twice before they do that again,” Hahn decided as the Destroyer skated back into the fold.

  Watching The Republic forces drawing up orderly lines at the southern and western edges of the Grinder, Evan wasn’t so certain. As the rain grew heavier they became shadowed outlines lit up only by the blue-white lightning flashes of PPC fire. He channeled his circuit to upper command, linking in privately with Mai Uhn Wa and Colonel Feldspar. “They are massing,” he warned. And Governor Pohl’s troops were taking a strong place near the center of that line. The Conservatory defense had gambled heavily on Anna Lu Pohl showing less backbone and more sympathy with the public outcry.

  Shiao Mai evidenced little concern. “We can retreat no further, Evan.”

  Evan traded long-range sniping shots with a Joust, losing armor along his left arm, but blowing a track from the tank. A recovery vehicle eased forward, fastened a cranelike towing arm to the tank, and dragged it back out of the way. “We could hit them first.”

  “We could pledge neutrality,” Mai countered. He sounded as if he seriously considered it. What would be tantamount to surrender.

  “It is too late for that,” Evan said. Legate Ruskoff could never allow the Conservatory to stand. Not with the Confederation’s return.

  Colonel Feldspar’s Behemoth pulled back along the Conservatory’s rear lines. “Does everyone think that?” he asked. “Our cadets? Their soldiers?”

  The Zeus strode forward, setting a strong center to come directly against Evan’s position. A solid cadre of armored vehicles and infantry swarmed around it. On its left flank the government auxiliaries mixed in with some light, fast ’Mechs and hovercraft. To Ruskoff’s right he brought up three assault-class Brutus tanks, the Ryoken II and the Firestarter.

  “Make the offer, Evan.”

  “Shiao Mai. I would not—”

  “It has to come from you.” He explained no further.

  Make this good. Evan toggled for broadband comms, and turned off his scrambling software. “Legate Ruskoff. This does not have to end this way.”

  As if to deny that, a pair of Pegasus scout craft ran a quick slant out from the Conservatory position, laying out missiles in small, short salvoes. A pair of Gauss rifles struck out from The Republic lines. One Pegasus jumped up from the rough pavement, came down missing half its air skirt, and slid along the ground trailing sparks and fresh gravel.

  “It has to end.” Ruskoff sounded tired, but his voice strengthened as he went on. “This time it has to end my way. Your choices are surrender or subjugation.”

  “A choice Liao has never recovered from.” Evan tried to put a touch of pleading in his voice, and was surprised that it came so easily. “Can’t you see that? The Republic has to address the problem at its core.”

  “End the violence and justify The Republic giving you a damn thing.” Fairly final. Ruskoff sounded angry, though not necessarily with Evan. He also had another channel open for passing orders. En masse, The Republic line pressed forward on two different fronts.

  Evan stood in front of the command vehicle, ax raised defiantly. He and Mai formed an island of strength around which a few ’Mechs and a healthy group of armor and infantry gathered. Another tight knot of Conservatory defenders formed around Jenna’s ForestryMech. The Armored Cavalry was their own entity, and their few scattered units did the best they could to make a coordinated effort to stand and deliver.

  There wasn’t much room to maneuver, so the cadets and soldiers mingled and mixed and fell back one reluctant pace at a time toward the burning buildings. Evan triggered laser blast after laser blast, cutting at the advancing line and waiting for the final order from Mai Uhn Wa, certain that it would come.

  Capellan to the bloody, bitter end, they would go down swinging as a Warrior House—even a nascent Warrior House—should.

  Evan chocked open his transmitter, still broadcasting on general frequencies. “You leave us little choice, Legate.” He refused to retreat any further, throttling back until he stood straddle-legged and still. He fired a full bank of lasers—even the ones that could not reach—driving his heat up with a heavy spike from the fusion engine, readying himself for the last stand.

  A VTOL spiraled down and crashed on the Grinder, burning, roiling greasy smoke into the sky.

  “Legate?”

  A Republic Shandra overturned with two wheels sheared off.

  The defenders had nothing to cheer about. The wounded Locust that Jenna had partnered up with took a PPC to the head, a stream of hellish energies flooding the cockpit and turning the control space into a crematorium.

  “Legate?”

  “Yóng yuăn …Liaoooo…”

  The battle cry, drawn out into a howl of pride, of determination, cheered the Capellan world as a Scimitar hovercraft speared out from one small cluster of besieged students. Gaining speed, it swerved out from under a missile barrage, and then accelerated right for a tight knot of Republic militia. A Targe managed to move fast enough, sidestepping the suicidal hovercraft. A Behemoth moving slowly up from the backfield was not so fortunate.

  The two came together in a shattering impact of metal, blades, missiles and fire. It shoved the Behemoth back a few dozen meters, caving in its right side. The Scimitar was lost, left mangled and burning and spread out over the Conservatory’s parade grounds.

  “Liao! Liao!”

  Two more vehicles: the Pegasus tank that had escaped death earlier and a wheeled VV1 Ranger. Both sped forward on charging attacks, braving missile fire and a sudden flurry of energy weapons as The Republic line reacted. The Pegasus disappeared under a wreath of smoke and fire, blasted out of its suicide run. The Ranger clipped the leg of a Legionnaire. The vehicle folded up like an accordion, spinning across the Grinder’s wet surface until its wheels caught again to flip it over in a death roll. It carried part of the Legionnaire’s leg with it. The ’Mech toppled in an awkward pirouette.

  In singles and pairs, armored vehicles drove out in final charges not once ordered by Shiao-zhang Mai Uhn Wa, but arranged by him just the same. Arranged by him, and put into motion by Evan. Each victory added another martyr to the cause. Each death added more weight to Evan’s soul.

  “It’s beautiful, Evan. It’s hùn dàn beautiful.” Hahn’s Destroyer swung out from the pack, autocannon burning off its munitions like it had been newly serviced and stocked. “Liao…!”

  “Hahn!”

  The Destroyer skimmed over the Grinder fast enough to leave a spray of shattered rain pulsing in its wake. Evan wasn’t going to catch the assault craft with its head start. Still, he raced forward, and the Ti Ts’ang’s charge triggered something primed and ready in the Capellan force. Most of the Conservatory line surged forward after him.

  Now Shiao Mai spoke up. Ordering any laggards forward. Calling on true citizens of Liao to make themselves known. To honor the sacrifice of those who had gone before them.

  Evan simply wanted to reach Hahn’s side, turn him from a suicide strike into a point-blank assault. But Hahn didn’t answer his call
, too busy shouting “Go, go, go!” into his voice-activated mic. The Destroyer hammered out hundreds of rounds as it sprinted across the Grinder toward Legate Ruskoff’s Zeus.

  Hahn’s crew might have brought down the Legate’s machine, too, except for the Principes Ryoken II that shoved its way forward and planted itself in the Destroyer’s path.

  Trading weapons fire with a seventy-five-ton BattleMech was hardly conducive to a long life. But at one hundred kilometers per hour, the energy wrapped up in the Destroyer’s momentum carried more force than any weapons exchange. Slamming into the Ryoken’s left leg, it careened around and side-slammed the right as well, folding over the awkward ’Mech and dropping it onto the Destroyer’s roof. In a tangle of limbs, cannon barrel, tangled armor and overturned earth the two tumbled together over fifty meters before separating into separate junk piles.

  There was hope that Hahn survived. Broken, maybe. Bloodied, certainly. But alive. Evan slackened back on his throttle, not so willing to dive headlong into the enemy line.

  He would never forgive himself that moment’s caution.

  The Firestarter had followed its larger brethren to Legate Ruskoff’s side. Trailing behind at first, it now planted itself between Evan and Ruskoff, close to the fallen BattleMech and wrecked hovertank. It turned, speared out both arms in the Destroyer’s direction, and out of nothing more than pure malicious intent sprayed out twin columns of fiery death to blanket the Destroyer.

  “No!” Slamming down on his pedals, Evan leapt his Ti Ts’ang into the air on plasma jets, thinking to land a crushing blow against the Firestarter. He would be too late again.

  A Triarii Phoenix Hawk, several hundred meters to Evan’s right, turned and stabbed its laser into the Firestarter’s back. A Regulator II tank in Governor Lu Pohl’s small force joined it, hammering a gauss slug in behind the ruby lance, shattering the last of the Firestarter’s armor and sending it crashing to the ground with the remains of its gyroscope spinning and spitting out of the gaping wound.