The simple logic of Anastasia’s plan was lost on no one. Once the Wolves had attacked a world the defenders would have a wealth of information about them. The frontline troops would likely be lifted off the planet to attack another world, while garrison troops would replace them. A successful counterattack would require the frontline troops to return and take the planet again. Depending on how the defenders maneuvered, worlds would change hands constantly, or the Wolves would be forced to tie up far too many troops holding their worlds.
And once outsiders see how we have bottled them up, they will come help us. Victory has many fathers, but defeat is an orphan. If we succeed, when we succeed, all sorts of possibilities open up.
Verena shivered. The plan was simple, incredibly simple. It was just an extrapolation of Bingham’s plan. If delaying them on one planet would work, delaying them multiple times on that planet would work better. The Wolves would expect everyone to fall back before them, to be brushed aside by that tidal wave of men and ’Mechs, but this would be striking back. It made perfect sense, obvious sense.
And yet I missed it. She frowned. Why is that?
General Bingham swiped a hand over his jaw. “There’s a great deal of logic to your plan. I doubt the Wolves would expect us to be stripping planets of their defenses to strike back and contest conquered worlds.”
Anastasia opened her arms. “Once you make the enemy dance to the tune you call, you are one step closer to victory. But do not misunderstand me. The Wolves initially will be taken by surprise, but they will adapt. The fighting will be fierce. Every unit represented here will have its mettle severely tested. I dare-say that whether we are successful or not, half of us here may not be alive this time next year. Most of the dead will never get the chance to be buried on worlds they call home. That is not a problem for me, but it may well be for your troops.
“I would make one other point, and it is one that must be taken most seriously by every commander here. Our units will have to be divided into two groups. For better or worse, some will be hammers, the others will be anvils. Anvils will defend worlds and suffer a furious beating. Their job, at the very least, is to slow the Wolves, test them, learn their weaknesses and report that information to the hammers.”
The mercenary leaned forward on the back of the chair in front of her. “Units with no planetary assault skills will be anvils. This is not going to be a venue where assault skills can be learned on the fly. No leader can be offended or feel slighted because his unit is not nominated for liberating a world. If we let ego dictate our actions, we will die one and all.”
Bingham’s white brows arrowed together. “And who will make the determinations of capabilities?”
Even though Anastasia could only be seen in silhouette, Verena could feel her smiling. “I will take that responsibility. In fact, I demand that job. I know the Wolves. I know their ways. I know we can frustrate them.”
“Frustrating is not defeating, Colonel Kerensky.”
“You are correct, General. If anyone stands here and tells you they can guarantee defeat for our enemies, you know you are listening to an idiot—one who will likely get himself and his troops killed quickly.” She folded her arms. “I offer the opportunity to win. Collectively we will have to make the most of it.”
* * *
“Do you actually hate her, Captain, or deceive yourself into thinking that your desire to be her is really hatred?”
Verena’s head snapped around. “Oh, I hate her, Kennerly, hate her with a passion.”
“If that’s true, you’re more of a fool than I thought.” Kennerly drew up a chair at Verena’s table at the rear of the Officers’ Club.
“I do not recall inviting you to sit.”
“You didn’t, but you don’t want to be alone.” He sipped the lager he’d brought with him. “Has she even noticed you?”
“It is not my place to distract the commanding officers.” Verena stared across the room to where Anastasia sat with Colonel Bradone and General Bingham. Part of her wanted to wander over as casually as possible to say hello, but the knot in her gut wouldn’t let her get to her feet.
“You’re disappointing me, Captain. Don’t you think it would be better for you to renew acquaintances now, rather than risk her failing to acknowledge you tomorrow when the Badgers pass for review? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing, to have her not recognize you as you stand before your troops?”
“You actually think she would not recognize me?”
Kennerly’s eyes slitted. “No. You are absolutely correct, Captain. She would recognize you. She knows you’re here. She’s studied all the unit rosters, their skills and capabilities. You’re not alone in being a castoff from her Steel Wolves. She does know you’re here, but the question is, will she let others know she knows you?”
Verena felt her shoulders knot up. “Why wouldn’t she?”
“Ah, you used a contraction. Your Clan sangfroid melts. You would have to tell me why she’d not want to be associated with you. Did you embarrass her that much when you served under her?”
“No, no, I did not.” Verena turned and glared at her subordinate. “That is all history, old history. It does not matter.”
“But of course it does, Captain.” Kennerly smiled. “Until you know why she let you go, and until you prove to yourself that she was wrong, you’ll never rest. While we’re fighting the Clans, you’ll be fighting yourself. And the thing of it is, we can win. But you? Pfft.”
“You better hope I can win, Kennerly.” Verena gave him a hard stare. “When I fight my battle, you will be in the thick of things with me. If I do not win, it will be bad for all of us, and none of us will survive.”
10
DropShip Romulus
Inbound, Yed Posterior
Former Prefecture IX, Republic of the Sphere
10 January 3137
Alaric checked the restraining straps on his command couch, then snugged them tight. He double-checked the Mad Cat’s weaponry and ran some diagnostics. He’d changed the ’Mech’s weaponry configuration for the assault on Yed Posterior, removing the long-range missiles and adding heat sinks so the trouble he’d had on Koniz wouldn’t be repeated. Moreover, shifting to energy weapons cut supply problems, though he didn’t anticipate being on the world very long.
He’d been gratified that Khan Ward chose his plan as the organizational document for the exodus. Donovan’s meticulous planning was put into place to deal with logistical organization. Very quickly the invasion took shape and Alaric had looked forward to bidding against his rivals for the honor of picking which worlds they would invade. Since they had come up with the plans, the khan made it clear they would receive primacy of placement.
I should have expected a trap. He knew that trap was perhaps harsh, but he certainly felt trapped. The first three worlds to be hit were Yed Posterior, Corridan IV and Baxter. Baxter was prime among them because it had been settled the longest, had plenty of light industry, a thriving agricultural system and enough political turmoil to fracture defending forces. When he’d begun his planning, Baxter was the target he’d studied and earmarked as his goal.
Khan Ward had other ideas. Instead of allowing the three of them to bid for their targets, the khan assigned them. Alaric had taken great delight in Donovan’s being handed Corridan IV, since the planet’s chemistry made it a poisoned pit that was highly dependent on trade with other worlds. While the concentrations of heavy metals and rare earths did make it very useful in the manufacture of electronics components, the supplies it could provide would be of only tangential use to the invasion.
Bjorn’s being awarded the Baxter assignment had surprised Alaric. The Baxter operation would require planning well beyond Bjorn’s abilities. There was no doubt that any unit Bjorn chose to lead would fight well and hard, but Baxter wasn’t going to be lightly defended. The person invading it had to think in terms of campaign, not battle.
The same had to be said of Yed Posterior, a cloud-shrouded water wor
ld whose meager landmass consisted of archipelagoes. The world was self-sufficient and produced a lot of exportable protein through aquaculture. Between that and water, the world would be useful, but the hideous storms for which the planet was famous and having the population spread throughout chains of islands ensured that it would be difficult to maintain control of the world.
To exacerbate matters, Khan Ward then bid for Clan Wolf against each of the commanders. If their bid on the number of troops they would use was not what the khan thought was appropriately efficient, he would assign the operation to another Star colonel. Alaric hated bidding against the khan because he had no advantage. Another of his peers he could have read and bluffed, but the khan did not fall prey to such psychological maneuvering.
It is because he knows I would bid going all by myself with a spoon if that was what it took. My bluff has been called even before it was offered.
Yed Posterior boasted a militia that was supposed to consist of two infantry companies, one company of mobile artillery and two lances of light and medium ’Mechs—all industrial refits. Alaric was confident of defeating them—even without a spoon. He ended up bidding two ’Mech Stars and two elemental Stars, but chose to employ only one of the ’Mech Stars. He had no intention of calling down reinforcements, but instinct told him that having them available would be useful.
The distant echoes of an explosion rumbled in his ’Mech’s cockpit. He keyed his radio. “What was that?”
The Romulus’ captain replied, “We are coming down in a storm and just got hit by lightning. A short-range missile launched and exploded close by. Nothing to be worried about.”
“Keep me informed.”
“As ordered.”
A lightning strike and an explosion—two ill omens, though Alaric had no desire to believe in such things. They fit, however, with the rather jaunty attitude of the militia commander when Alaric had declared his Trial of Possession for the world. The man had cheerfully told him what they would be defending with. “All we have, and reinforcements if we can find them.”
Alaric countered with his force description and got, “Bring ’em all. Enjoy your stay. Happy hunting.” That was not the response he’d expected, and as his DropShip burned in toward Henderton on the big island of Belleisle, it preyed on his mind. Granted the defender had an advantage in that he knew the terrain better and had trained on it, but the Wolves were superior warriors and they piloted superior equipment.
It was the “happy hunting” comment that rankled the most. Alaric’s plans hinged on his bringing the militia to combat quickly, hammering them hard and winning the trial. Once he had done that, garrison troops could come in, the world could be raided, and he’d move on to Marfik or La Blon. Hunting down the militia would take time he didn’t have and didn’t want to spend.
The radio crackled. “Ten minutes to touchdown, Star Colonel. Scanners are negative for enemy contact in your landing zones. Storm interference is causing problems, so I do not know how accurate those scans really are.”
“Understood. Thank you.” Alaric punched a button that relayed the arrival data to the rest of his troops, and then he switched his radio to the tactical frequency.
“We may not see them now, but they are waiting for us. They believe they have a chance against us, but we know they do not. Remember your operational directives. Innovation and initiative tempered by discipline is what this fight demands.” He reached up and snapped his neurohelmet’s mirrored faceplate in place. “We are Wolves. We will hunt. We will win.”
* * *
Rain slashed in sheets over his cockpit canopy. Alaric had kicked his holographic display over to infrared, but all it showed was water drenching a landscape of palm trees and giant ferns. Oversized fungus abounded, spotting the landscape and clinging to buildings as ivy might on other worlds. Though he’d entered the industrial outskirts of Henderton, the planet’s abundant plant life all but hid factories deep in a rain forest.
Lightning exploded, splitting the night with argent fire. For a half second the flash illuminated the blade of a forestry ’Mech ducking behind a warehouse. Alaric swung his crosshairs onto it and hit the triggers on his joysticks.
The particle projection cannons in his ’Mech’s claws spat artificial lightning. Jagged blue-white beams sizzled through the night. The beams’ hellish power would be enough to melt the militia ’Mech’s arm clean off, or decapitate it. But to do that, the beams had to hit, and they didn’t.
On any other world they’d have blown through the warehouse’s wall, but not here. Yed Posterior’s climate forced engineers to plan against natural lightning strikes—and on this planet, they made a PPC’s beam seem like a static spark. The PPCs did melt some stone, but energy played through a lattice in the mortar, draining into the planet.
Alaric ground his teeth. This was not how his invasion was supposed to be going. He’d landed unopposed and marched directly on Henderton. The city had been built in the crater of an extinct volcano, where a collapsed wall to the west gave the city an excellent port facility. The volcano’s walls had been holed and tunnels built that would accommodate a ’Mech’s passage, but there was no way Alaric would let his troops get trapped there. Instead he’d taken the ’Mechs along the coast and into the industrial district. Once through that he could secure the ports and their warehouses. When his elementals captured the nearby spaceport, DropShips could begin the looting.
The militia was using unconventional means for defense. As the Wolves approached by the coastal route, the defenders detonated charges high up on the crater’s walls, triggering landslides. The cascade of rocks did score some armor and killed two elementals, but primarily served to slow the invaders’ advance. A point of elementals scaled the heights and eliminated some of the defenders, but reported that the crater walls were honeycombed with tunnels.
As if to confirm the full import of that report, shoulder-launched short-range missiles would periodically spiral down. Again, more of an annoyance than a real threat, they simply forced the Wolves to keep their eyes open. Attack could come from any quarter.
And it did, most unexpectedly. Two ’Mechs that had been fitted out for marine salvage work rose from the ocean depths while his ’Mech Star was strung out on a causeway. They launched flights of LRMs that hammered a Puma and all but tore off one leg. It still limped along, and his ’Mechs had blazed away in response with their PPCs, but the militia ’Mechs had melted away in a froth of bubbles.
And then had commenced the hunting game in the industrial district. Alaric glanced at his secondary monitor. His ’Mechs had established a cordon and were moving point to point to clear the area. The elementals infiltrated the factories and reported sporadic fighting. The most annoying part of those battles was that the people they fought appeared to be private security forces and untrained civilians, not the militia.
And yet there is one ’Mech in here somewhere. He shook his head. The forestry ’Mech didn’t have much by way of weaponry—just a big chain saw and a jury-rigged medium pulse laser. The hybrid ’Mech could grind away on his Mad Cat with both for a long time before doing any serious damage. The problem was that it was able to elude the cordon, and yet allowed itself to be seen. It was drawing him on, but into what he had no idea.
Off to the east lightning flashed and something exploded.
“I’m hit. I’m hi—” The frantic radio call died abruptly.
Alaric’s monitor showed the Puma had gone red. “Star Commander Zuzanna, report on the Puma. What happened?”
The staccato sound of machine-gun fire prefaced her report. “Partisans used a cable to ground a lightning rod on the Puma. When that last bolt hit, the surge must have shut down his engines. Derek is moving in the cockpit.”
“Cover the Puma. All units, make certain you are clear of entanglements. Star Commander Raynald, I need your Point with me.”
Without waiting for the elementals to join him, Alaric pivoted right and fired both PPCs at a scrolling metal door
in the side of a warehouse. A wave of heat washed up through the cockpit as the door flashed from red to white and evaporated. Alaric sent the Mad Cat into the warehouse, ducking low on the bird legs to keep his profile small.
“What have we here?”
He swept his crosshairs over the forestry ’Mech’s torso and hit the firing triggers. A volley of red energy darts scattered themselves over the militia ’Mech’s arms, head and chest. Armor dripped and the wounds glowed hotly around the edges.
Then the ’Mech disappeared.
“Stravag dogs.” Alaric pounded a fist against the arm of his command couch. “I should have seen it.”
He marched his ’Mech forward cautiously, shifting around to the right, while keeping his crosshairs focused on the square opening where the forestry ’Mech had vanished. He crept closer and closer, finally rising up to the ’Mech’s full height. He thrust both claws toward the hole, but saw nothing save a ferrocrete slab rising flush with the warehouse floor.
It all made perfect sense. The storms on Yed Posterior were a nuisance, and the residents had taken the logical precautions. They could easily have built roads up the side of the volcano and down through natural passes, but tunnels were storm-proof. Within the industrial district it only made sense for there to be a series of tunnels that would allow ’Mechs and other vehicles like forklifts to move from one place to another without having to worry about the weather.
They will make us enter their tunnels to root them out. Happy hunting, indeed. It was a mark against him that he had not anticipated this. There had to be lifts in every warehouse and factory, with the elevators operated through a coded transmission. That meant he needed to find the codes—a fruitless effort because the militia would just have them changed—or had to tunnel his way in. That would be the most effective way to approach things, but would pin down his forces and give the enemy the ability to hit them.
And while it might be the most effective way to deal with things, it would also take the most time. It was time he did not want to spend, but he really had no choice.
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