Caliph Rashier didn't hesitate, giving Marcus a firm nod and a grin. "Of course, Commander. Anything you need."
37
"The Nook" Oasis
Shaharazad Desert, Astrokaszy
The Periphery
10 July 3058
The Desert Wind camp was a beehive of activity. Some still worked to repair what damage they could to the more battered of the Angels' BattleMechs, a task the technicians Marcus had brought with him were trying to assist. The rest of the tribe swarmed about in nervous clusters, wary of the newcomers. Charlene doubted any of them had ever seen so many 'Mechs gathered together at once, and they probably felt more than a little threatened.
The Angels' BattleMaster and Archer loomed at the canyon entrance like two giant sentinels, standing a silent vigil as they faced out toward the open desert. Six more BattleMechs stood nearby along the canyon walls, towering above the camp and the clumps of palm trees. The last two 'Mechs were the ones under repair, which included a desperate attempt to reattach the left PPC-arm to Brian Phillips' Warhammer.
Charlene wiped sweat from her brow with the back of one hand. Even at ninety degrees in the shade of the canyon walls, she knew it wasn't all from the heat. She only hoped she didn't look as nervous as she felt. She planned to resign her post as exec, unless Marcus beat her to it by dismissing her. Her stomach churned at the thought. The Angels are my life. But I acted recklessly and with the same disregard for lives I accused Marcus of. Because of that, they were almost destroyed.
Before she could speak, Marcus had moved past her to where the rest of the Angels were gathered. She watched as he personally greeted each one and asked after their health. Though he did it casually, and always with an eye toward their battle readiness, she could sense the relief in his voice, and once she saw it in his slate-gray eyes when her gaze briefly met his. The others seemed to sense a slight change as well and responded to it. Marcus didn't shy away even when Paula planted a kiss on his cheek.
Then he turned back to Charlene and she snapped to attention, giving Marcus a salute straight out of the old Federated Commonwealth handbook. "Returning your command," she said.
Marcus gave her the sharp—almost curt—bow and click of his heels that she knew were a holdover from his upbringing as a member of the wealthy GioAvanti family. Then he looked around at the Angels, who were relaxing to more typical attitudes. "Five?" he asked, counting heads. "Your message said five plus one. I thought that meant one of Jericho's."
"It did. Chris Jenkins is helping out on Paula's Valkyrie." She nodded toward Connor Monroe. "Connor came in only this morning, minus his Rifleman unfortunately."
"My ransom," the young man said, clearly upset. "They tore it apart for salvage, which is pretty much all it was good for anymore. The nomads practically gutted her when they ambushed me. Still, it was ours."
"Damn paper-thin armor anyway," Marcus said. "The configuration of Faber's Marauder isn't too dissimilar. Think you could handle it?" He waited for Monroe's startled nod. "Who else is without a ride?"
Brandon Corbett shrugged uneasily. "That would be me, Marc. Almost the same deal. My Hunchback got chewed to pieces at long range by the desert warriors. Gave it up to win free passage for Tamara and her 'Mech."
"Which is in almost perfect condition," Charlene added. "The Grasshopper was the best of our lot until you showed up."
Marcus nodded. "I already have Jericho checked out on the BattleMaster," he told Corbett. "So you pilot her Griffin. It's closer to your old weight anyway. The Griffin and Marauder have already been blanked, so the two of you can go set up security programs and get used to the machines. Take 'em into the desert if you want, but no further out than a kilometer. Go."
Both men moved at once, trotting toward the line of BattleMechs. Charlene didn't miss the solemn looks on their faces, and knew they mirrored her own. She still didn't know for certain who'd made it out of the city. "Jase and Thomas?" she asked, just to be sure.
"Never made it out of Shervanis," Marcus told her, then briefly recounted the events of the last week. "What do we know of the others?" he asked when finished.
Charlene swallowed hard. "Geoff is dead. We're sure of that. So's one of Jericho's people. We think Kelsey Chase might have made it out of her Jenner, and we don't know what happened to the fourth Magistracy warrior, Shannon Christienson." She smiled tightly. "We do know that Vince Foley is alive. He and his Enforcer are being held for ransom by another tribe. No time to get him even if we had the equipment they want."
"And everyone else? How'd you get them here?"
"Well, we owe two tribes some time in our 'Mech bays if we make it through this. They were taking promissory notes so I did what I could."
Marcus shrugged at her concerned tone. "I can live with that." He nodded a dismissal to everyone else. "Let's take a walk."
Charlene had no idea what was on Marcus' mind, and every time she thought she might bring up her resignation, there was always another question to be answered. She showed him around the camp, introducing him to warriors she knew. Both Aidar Sildig and Sheik Carrington—she'd finally learned his name—were in consultation. Marcus didn't seem surprised at Aidar's status. "It seems to be a rule that competent men rise to the position of number two on this world. What I don't understand is why they won't help against Shervanis."
"Carrington has them all wrapped up in a religious quest for mythical treasure," Charlene said. "Aidar plans to shadow us in toward the city with a few of his warriors. But all they'll do is pick off any stragglers that wander too far out. They won't risk their people in an operation that benefits a caliph."
Marcus frowned. "Damn. We could've used them. Right now I'm predicting no better than a twenty-minute opportunity for Caliph Rashier to drive in from the flank, regardless of his optimistic estimate of an hour. Four more 'Mechs could've upped that time to thirty or even forty minutes."
The way these people fight, it could've meant we wouldn't need Rashier at all, Charlene thought. "I've looked over the basic plan you sent, and I think we can extend that time by ourselves. It depends on how you want to divide our forces." She paused a moment in thought. "How close do you plan to get to the city?"
"Rashier guarantees we can approach up to five klicks. I'm personally counting on only ten."
Charlene glanced over at the line of BattleMechs. "Anyone ever tell you that white and gray aren't desert camouflage colors?" she asked, unable to completely restrain a touch of humor in her voice. Four of the five 'Mechs Marcus had brought in were painted exactly that scheme.
Marcus smiled thinly. "We'll be skylining it anyway once we get that close. Paint won't matter. And I want them to know exactly who we are."
"I think you solved that problem easily enough." She looked over the fifth 'Mech, Marcus' Caesar. It had been given a shiny white base coat, then a special clear-coat that gave it an iridescence almost like mother-of-pearl. As if that wouldn't garner enough attention, dark reds and browns had been used to paint flames that licked up the outside of both legs. Across the Caesar's chest in an off-center crescent was the name "Archangel" painted in brilliant gold.
"Jericho did that after a"—he paused—"talk we had." The two stood there a moment, gazing at the 'Mech. Finally Charlene decided the time had come. The icy tightness twisted deeper as she first cleared her throat. "Permission to fulfill personal obligation?"
"Granted," Marcus said, sounding almost amused.
Her voice lowered, and she spoke as if he weren't there. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I was wrong to criticize you back on New Home, wrong to accuse you of unnecessarily risking the lives of the unit. And I'm ready to make recommendations for a new exec, Marc." She glanced toward her commander. Marcus pursed his lips as if considering the idea. She steeled herself against a show of emotion as he began to speak.
"There is someone I have in mind," he said, rubbing at the side of his face with one palm. "I hear she's piloting a Phoenix Hawk these days."
The tig
htness loosened as Charlene saw that he meant it. "I believe you can count on her," was all she said. That was enough. Maybe everything isn’t right between us, not yet. But I'll make it right.
38
Industrial Sector
City of Shervanis, Shervanis
Caliphate Astrokaszy
The Periphery
11 July 3058
With the late-morning sun already beating down outside, on the way to normal high temperatures, the interior of the adobe warehouse felt relatively cool. Inside, two companies of Word of Blake BattleMechs stood in close-quarter ranks. MechWarriors were in various stages of climbing up to their cockpits or already mounted and beginning their startup sequences.
Cameron St. Jamais paused, halfway through his cockpit hatch, to watch a Quickdraw near the large warehouse doors take its first few ponderous steps. In all his years of ComStar and then Word of Blake training, with all the plans and intrigue of the Toyama and the 6th of June movement, this was the one sight that never failed to impress.
BattleMechs on the move, preparing for battle.
He ducked through the hatch, closing and fastening it down behind him with a violent twist of the locking mechanism. The battle was about to be joined.
Already this morning, Rashier's warriors had carried out several attacks in the city. Sniper fire against palace guard-posts. A few commando teams had made it onto the palace grounds, and at least one team was still engaged in a firefight within the palace itself. Then came reports through Ji-Drohmien's intelligence network of increased DropShip activity in the Rashier Caliphate. St. Jamais still remembered his frustration with Ji-Drohmien at the lack of further details. DropShip activity could mean a lot of things, including the landing of Magistracy reinforcements. He'd been forced to send his remaining aerospace fighters to check it out.
Finally, Shervanis' desert watch stations reported signs of nearly a full company of Angel BattleMechs moving in from the desert far south of the city. So the mercenaries aren’t as finished as I thought. The reports about Drop-Ship activity could be a ruse. In fact, it felt like just the kind of ploy Marcus GioAvanti would use. Still, it was better to be sure that Canopian reinforcements hadn't somehow miraculously arrived weeks before they should have.
So, Commander GioAvanti. We get our time on the field after all.
St. Jamais slid into his command couch, fingers stabbing a series of buttons that would bring his Awesome's fusion reactor on line. A low rumble, like the growl of some caged beast, sounded from under his seat. Pulling the seat's harness over his head, he fastened all the straps into the quick-release buckle that pressed against his chest, and snugged them down. Next was the line to his cooling vest. It plugged into a snap-fit socket on his left side, and he shivered as, the first slug of coolant sped through the tubes woven into the ballistic cloth of the vest.
His neurohelmet rested on a shelf above his head. He drew it down and put it on, the padded shoulders of his vest helping to support its heavy weight. Four sensor leads hung from the helmet's chin, and these he attached to biomed patches. Stripping the backing off each patch, he stuck them to his upper arms and thighs, melding man and machine. St. Jamais felt an initial rush of adrenaline that set his muscles trembling with pent-up energy.
The Angels can't be in very good shape, he thought. I'll meet them at the edge of the badlands before they can disappear among the gullies and washouts, and I'll crush them for good. They were proving to be a persistent threat, and St. Jamais wanted to see them destroyed.
Apparently, so did Shervanis and Ji-Drohmien. Even with heavy Rashier activity within his own walls, the caliph had ordered four of his seven functional 'Mechs to accompany the Word of Blake forces. Ji-Drohmien had assured the caliph that three 'Mechs were sufficient to put down any Rashier infantry assault here in the city, especially since their intelligence net reported all of Rashier's machines still in the Rashier Caliphate.
St. Jamais was not so arrogant as to pass up the support, especially after underestimating the Angels twice already. Perhaps I will step on Rashier after this as a lesson to others about defiance to Blake's divine will. And as a favor to Shervanis. With two companies of his "raiders," augmented by a lance of Shervanis' 'Mechs, he should be able to overcome anything the Angels could throw at him.
Then a remark made days before by Shervanis returned to mind, and St. Jamais nodded grimly. Yes, that would work nicely. Just in case. A small measure of resistance to the idea gnawed at him. They're MechWarriors, it argued, but he quashed it. Hadn't he decided the other day that the principles of the 6th of June could be applied against anyone?
As the cockpit screens winked to life around him, feeding him information on the status of his weapons and other systems, a digitized voice spoke into his ear. "Identify," was all it said.
"Cameron St. Jamais." He waited a moment while the computer compared his voiceprint with the one buried deep within its security system. But because voice patterns could be faked by recordings, the 'Mech would not turn control over to anyone without the code phrase that was also programmed in and known only by the machine's authorized pilot.
"I am my brother's keeper," St. Jamais said, vowing silently that the Angels had caused him trouble for the last time.
* * *
Thomas Faber resisted the urge to power up the Clint.
The call ordering Shervanis' First Lance to report to someone named St. Jamais outside the southeast gate had just come over the radio. Thomas had no idea who this St. Jamais was, but bet on him being the Capellan commander in charge of the bogus Hegemony raiders. And the two forces were meeting up not two hundred meters from his position, which placed a lot of 'Mechs a lot closer to him than he liked.
Twelve days in hiding had taken their toll on the big Mech Warrior. The warehouse he'd crashed into sat on the edge of what Shervanis probably called his industrial area. Most of the nearby buildings stood abandoned except for the occasional patrol, which had made the job of foraging for food and water more difficult. Still, on the second night he'd managed to sneak Amali out and into one of the safer residential areas where she could hide. Then he'd sat out the days trying to adjust the stolen BattleMech's neuro-feedback without the proper tools.
Nights, though, were another matter. Nights were for scouting.
On the eighth night he'd located the three warehouses being used as the weapons distribution point out to the Marian Hegemony. They were deeper into the industrial area. It surprised him that security wasn't tighter, with only routine patrols on guard in the area. Apparently the Capellans had no fear of discovery. Two nights ago he'd finally managed to get inside one of the buildings, where he found crates stenciled with the Capellan Confederation's gauntlet-and-katana insignia. He wrote down parcel numbers, shipping routes, anything he could find that might later serve as evidence. Almost too easy, he'd thought, but put it down to the recent defeat of the Angels and the lax discipline that often accompanied assignment to backwater worlds.
Thomas had decided to give the Angels a few more days to make some kind of move. His position, in partial control of a stolen 'Mech, might have been worth some tactical advantage. Now it seemed as if the fight would take place outside the city. As soon as the raider 'Mechs were well on their way, he could wade out of here and try to catch up.
He snapped on a cockpit light, staring into it for a long moment to readjust his eyes from the gloom. It wouldn't be long now, and he'd better be ready for the harsh glare. Thirty seconds to work my lower half out front under the rubble, he calculated. Another minute to clear the city's edge and be free of Shervanis' enlightened rule once and for all Even if they detect me, I don't think Shervanis can get any of his 'Mechs out here fast enough to stop me.
"Raiders, this is St. Jamais." The words leaked out of the near-muted radio, and Thomas was quick to increase the volume. He caught the trace of an accent through the filtered sound, but couldn't place it. With the thousands of possible dialects in the Inner Sphere and Periphery, that
wasn't surprising. "Point lances continue forward and deploy five hundred meters into the hills ahead. Assault and striker lances deploy at the edge of the hills. Wait for my signal to advance. Raymond and Terrence, hold back with me a moment."
What were they waiting for? Thomas assumed they must be at the city gate if deployment orders were going out, but why the wait? His answer came a moment later as St. Jamais spoke again, and it sent chills racing through him.
"Bring the prisoners up now," the voice said. "The two women to Terrence and Raymond, but bring that Torgensson fellow to me."
Thomas' hand hovered over the switch that would power his 'Mech to life. "No," he whispered to himself inside the silent cockpit. "Not yet. Stick to the original plan or you'll die here."
It was only through great force of will that he managed to pull his hand back from the panel, but he promised himself he wouldn't wait long. Whatever he wants the prisoners for, it can't be anything good.
39
Badlands
Shaharazad Desert, Astrokaszy
The Periphery
11 July 3058
Marcus crested a low, rocky hill in his Caesar, then walked his war machine down into a large, dry basin. The red rock of this area of the badlands filled Marcus' windscreen and primary monitor, the stone all around him carved into insane patterns by wind and the occasional desert flash flood. Even the rare flat surfaces like those his 'Mech now traversed were streaked with treacherous narrow gullies and sinkholes that could snap a Battle-Mech's leg off if the pilot wasn't careful.
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