Impetus of War

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  The hydrogen tanks! Loren realized suddenly.

  During a crash the hydrogen fuel would almost all be jettisoned, leaving just enough for a landing. But the tanks would still be filled with liquid hydrogen and the inert gas that kept oxygen from mixing with the hydrogen and causing an explosion. Loren raised his right large laser and leveled it at the shape just beyond his foe. With an eerie calm he switched the laser to one of his target interlock circuits, then thumbed the trigger.

  The laser beam went past Kerndon by a full three meters, digging through the debris of the ship and into the ripped-open cargo bay, where it sliced into the fuel tank. The laser blast lasted three full seconds, and the already unbearable heat in Loren's cockpit seemed to double. He resisted the temptation to cease firing, and kept the beam blazing away.

  Kerndon started to laugh out loud, but the sound broke off as the DropShip's hydrogen tank exploded. The blast came from the bowels of the Retribution, blowing straight at Loren. The orange-white ball of flame seemed to pop like a balloon where the Clan OmniMech stood. Loren lost sight of it as the blast wave seemed to envelop it and reach out for his own Penetrator. His cockpit warning sensors started to scream as he lost control and his 'Mech began to topple.

  Suddenly there was an eerie silence all around him. Looking up, Loren saw that a quarter of the Combine DropShip had been ripped away by the explosion. Lying face down on the ground was the Masakari and another Clan 'Mech, knocked flat by the explosion from behind them. Its armor was in tatters, but from what Loren could see visually, the pilot was probably still alive. Approaching from his right was a Cauldron-Born very much on its feet.

  The last one standing wins... .

  13

  Fusiliers LZ, Bay of Kurita Prime

  Wayside V (Wildcat)

  Deep Periphery

  3 July 3058

  Loren Jaffray entered the large mobile van, the two sentries letting him pass without delay. He made his way directly to where the Colonel sat in the command control area. The command post was a highly modified mobile headquarters van that Stirling's Fusiliers carried into battle. The unit was part communications hub, part command information network. Cat Stirling usually liked to set up a portable field tent/dome, which put her closer to the troops and the fighting, but for this meeting it did not seem necessary. From this post Stirling could contact any 'Mech in her command, relay sensor data from all units in the field, and paint a macrolevel picture of what her foe was, where he was, and what he was doing.

  The center of the van was circular, with a ring of workstations surrounding the Colonel's. From her central seat, she could turn and view numerous screens showing tactical and strategic data for the planet. Weather data, satellite scans, and field sensor information fed to these monitors controlled by the officers on duty here. From one spot, she could coordinate any battle happening on Wayside V.

  As Loren moved to the Colonel's side it was obvious she was absorbed in whatever was showing on one of the screens in front of her. Standing next to her was Major Cullen Craig, silent and stern. He nodded in Loren's direction, and Loren responded in kind. After several moments, Cat Stirling looked over at him too, and Loren saluted immediately. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the figure of Sho-sa Parkensen fill the van's doorway, but the sentries did not let him pass, asking first to verify his identification.

  "Couldn't wait to take on the Jags, eh, Major?" the Colonel said.

  "Just doing my duty, sir," Loren said. "I was trying to link up with our PSL, and the Smoke Jaguars were unwilling to comply." Loren glanced over at Parkensen, who had joined the group by now and was scowling as usual.

  She nodded. "We've finally made contact with our other two wayward battalions. We should have a full regimental link-up in two hours' time. Ship status is bad. The Stonewall is a loss. One of the OmniFighters actually pulled some sort of suicide run. Captain Kirwan was just able to carry out a landing. From what we've been able to tell, the ship is damaged beyond repair."

  "The Bull Run is hurt but she can still fly," Major Craig put in. "The Claymore's navigable too, but I wouldn't count on it for any kind of prolonged action."

  Colonel Stirling leaned forward from her seat. "Corporal Kinross, pull up primary BDA on screen two," she ordered.

  The officer's fingers flew over the keyboard, and one of the monitors flickered to life. "Battle Damage Assessment shows that we took out all but two of their fighters. But we lost half of our aerofighters in the process."

  "Ground forces?" Loren asked.

  "Intact except for Sho-sa Parkensen's and your own. All the Clan 'Mechs detected prior to landing have been accounted for. It will take them at least two days to get close enough to strike at us in any significant numbers, maybe even four days," Stirling said, reviewing the BDA again. She turned toward Loren, not hiding her concern. "I'm not worried about those few days. The problem occurs after that."

  Major Kurt Blakadar walked into the room and saluted. "Sorry I'm late, sir." He cast a quick glance at Loren and the other officers. Captains Lovat and Fraser arrived shortly afterward and joined the circle of officers, sitting on the outer edges of the group.

  "This mission has gone sour, gentlemen," Cat Stirling said. "Several of our strategic premises have been compromised. We don't outnumber the enemy, but they outman and outgun us. We're also probably up against a full Galaxy of their forces. And it looks like these aren't the second-line troops we expected to find, but trueborn Clan warriors, the best they put in the field. And their equipment is almost as good as their skills."

  The entire mission plan had been based on the idea that the Fusiliers would hold the upper hand in the fight and lure the Jaguars into engaging them. Now that they were outgunned, the Fusiliers were going to have to come up with another plan just to survive at all.

  "They've also managed to cripple our ability to retreat off-world, and somewhere up there is a Clan WarShip waiting to take us out if we try and get away." Cat Stirling's voice had a ring of finality in it.

  Major Craig wasted no time expressing his opinion. "We're outnumbered, but we've got a few days before the Jaguars show up here. I say we move forward toward the Marion Sea. Those narrows give us an excellent defense zone, and make it even easier to entrench. We dig in, lay traps for the Jags, then whittle them down. If we can hold out long enough, Mulvaney's reinforcements will be here in thirty-six days. With her fresh forces added to our own, we can finish them off."

  Loren winced inwardly at the words. If he'd learned anything from studying the Clans it was that taking up supreme defenses against them simply forced them to bid higher to wield enough force to win. They approached such battles like a massive war machine, grinding up their foe, taking the acceptable losses to achieve victory. It was exactly the kind of defense the Smoke Jaguars would want them to take up.

  Major Blakadar shook his head. "No way. They outnumber us way beyond what we could hope to handle in a defensive posture. Another option would be to divide up the regiment and spread out—use some of the guerrilla tactics we've been studying up on lately. We can wear them down, make hit-and-run attacks, pincher their supplies, strike at their command and communications structure. We'll take losses, but over the long haul, we can hurt them enough that Mulvaney can get us off of this rock and back home."

  "I think we can hold out," Craig returned.

  "You're wrong. If they come in force, they'll wipe us out."

  "You underestimate us, Blackie. Ever hear of a place called Thermopylae? A mere three hundred Spartans held off ten thousand."

  "You've got to remember one thing about that battle, Cullen. Neither side was equipped with BattleMechs. Also, in your analogy the force of ten thousand would be equipped with better, stronger, and faster 'Mechs than the defenders. Remember, the Spartans did eventually fall at Thermopylae.

  "Hiding and playing hit and run games is fine, Cullen, but they're sitting on warehouses full of parts and munitions. There are no civilians to help us stay operational and k
eep our troops fed and hidden. We wouldn't last very long."

  "There've been guerrilla operations on some of the conquered worlds for years now," Craig insisted.

  "None regimental size," snapped Blakadar. "And none that have ever beaten the Clans in a guerrilla operation."

  Captain Colin Lovat, standing off to the side and working feverously with his hand-held computer, cleared his throat to call the attention of the others. "I've run both of your suggestions against the tactical simulation database for probable outcomes, given the known variables of Clan forces and known fighting tactics."

  "And?" Colonel Stirling asked.

  The Regimental Intelligence Officer shook his head. "Best-case scenario is that we can hold out for forty-five days, after which time both our force and our reinforcements are wiped out. That's if we keep the WarShip out of the equation and count on the fact that the Jaguars will bid low because we're mercenary and they're truebirths."

  Loren knew the question had to be asked. "What's the worst-case scenario outcome?"

  "Forty-eight hours, sir. That factors in orbital bombardment, the Clans releasing the reserve aerospace forces they probably kept out of their initial bid, and them mobilizing everything they've got against us. Don't forget, they may already be on the move. I've been using only our passive satellites for surveillance, and their accuracy is good, but limited. It's a distant possibility that they're coming for us right now and we just haven't detected it yet."

  Craig winced. "Figures and numbers. Give me the order, Colonel, and I'll have us in a defensible position that can weather anything even that WarShip can drop on us."

  Stirling shook her head as if she wished that everybody would just clear out of the HQ, and Loren thought he understood. Beating the Smoke Jaguars was going to take something so bold, so daring, that it would catch them off guard, destroy their advantage.

  Captain Mitchell Fraser spoke up. "I'm a tech, but if you ask me, what we need are reinforcements. Why not just take one of the DropShips and head back to the Inner Sphere? Hell, our brother and sister regiments would come in and mop up this Clan-trash."

  "We haven't got the time," replied Captain Lovat. "Getting home would take months. The most we can hope to do is hold out for a matter of weeks—which is plenty long enough."

  The Combine PSL spoke up next, only adding to the fray. "All this talk of running or entrenching does not fulfill either your contract objectives or obligations. We have to find a way to destroy the Smoke Jaguars, and do it without destroying ourselves in the process." He leveled an icy stare at Loren. "Your little death-duel with that Star Captain cost me the Retribution."

  Loren tried not to let the PSL's attitude get to him, but it was hard. The Jaguars would have killed Parkensen a few hours ago if Loren and his Kilsyth Guards hadn't arrived to save him—yet now the man was complaining about what it had taken to do that.

  "Have the Smoke Jaguars gone after any of our satellites yet, Captain Lovat?" Loren asked, knowing he mustn't get bogged down in petty grievances.

  "No, sir," returned the younger Captain. "We haven't activated the active sats yet, but thus far the Jags haven't paid much attention to the fact that we're watching them."

  "Any activity? Troop changes, movement toward us, that sort of thing?" Loren pressed.

  "Some," Captain Lovat replied. "They've got a number of fighters sitting at their aerodrome that never even went out after us. I've seen some activity indicating they're getting ready to pursue us, but thus far there's been no major undertaking. Mostly just fast-moving, light 'Mechs."

  Loren's mind shuffled through everything he knew about the Clans, especially the Smoke Jaguars. He thought about the star chart he'd seen showing the resupply points for the Nova Cats and the Smoke Jaguars. We can't leave, and staying means we 're dead. There has to be a solution .. .

  Then he had it. A plan, a bold plan, almost impossible. It was a simple concept, but if it could be pulled off, it might offer at least some hope of success.

  Colonel Stirling's voice brought him back to where he was. "Folks, we've laid our cards on the table and we're not holding a flush. Major Jaffray, you're my tactical expert when it comes to these Jags. What do you say?"

  Loren wasn't sure if he should speak up or not. The plan that was taking form in his mind was audacious, perhaps even mad. "I've got an idea, Colonel, but we've got to go to the field hospital before I can tell you about it."

  He hadn't studied the Clans and their ways for nothing. One of their traditions was that of the victors taking bondsmen as the spoils of war. When a warrior was claimed as a bondsman by another Clan, his allegiance to the new master must be total. Of course, only a small handful of Clan warriors had ever been made bondsmen by Inner Sphere units, and usually only those with ties to the Clans, units like Snord's Irregulars or Wolfs Dragoons.

  What Loren had been thinking about during this whole long discussion was that he had fought Star Captain Kerndon honorably from a Clan perspective. If the man is still alive, perhaps I can make him one of us. He was once a Smoke Jaguar, which could make him the key to how to tangle with the Jaguars—and win.

  "The hospital?" Major Craig asked in an irritated tone. "Yes. There's a bondsman there and I must speak to him. His name is Kerndon."

  14

  Fusiliers LZ, Bay of Kurita Prime

  Wayside V (Wildcat)

  Deep Periphery

  3 July 3058

  The guards stood nearby as Loren and the rest of the command staff moved toward the hospital bed. Loren's first impression of the Clansman lying there caught him off guard: Star Captain Kerndon was young, no more than in his early twenties. Where Inner Sphere MechWarriors fought on for decades, the Clans emphasized the vigor of youth in their troops. He's a boy, yet by Clan tradition and rite he's almost at my rank.

  "He's been sedated to help with the neural feedback he took when you downed him, sir," the Fusilier medic whispered to Loren. "He's bound to be groggy."

  "Thank you," Loren said. Good. The medication may help him see things my way, help him accept a role as my bondsman. Loren turned to the Clanner, raising his tone to one of authority and dominance. "Star Captain Kerndon, I presume."

  "Aff," Kerndon replied.

  "I am Major Loren Jaffray, the warrior who defeated you in combat."

  Kerndon's eyes flared for a moment, but that was all. Loren understood. The man was sizing him up, taking the measure of his enemy.

  "You should have killed me, yet I live," Kerndon said.

  "When I awoke they told me that you had named me a bondsman, but this is not an obligation you are required to undertake." It was obvious Kerndon hoped Loren would change his mind.

  Loren had studied the Clans enough to know that this warrior could not refuse to be his bondsman. "I understand some of your traditions," he said slowly. "Perhaps one day you might make a good member of my—regiment." Loren was tempted to say "clan," but he refrained. "This is Colonel Andrea Stirling, my commander and the leader of Stirling's Fusiliers. I'm afraid that the other warrior we rescued from the battle site died on the trip back."

  Star Captain Kerndon showed almost no emotion. "In death she escapes the dishonor of serving a freebirth as her master," he said slowly, then looked up at Loren. "Major Loren, I ask that you grant me the right of bonsref."

  Loren shook his head. "I'm not familiar with that custom."

  "Bonsref is when a bondsman's master agrees to slay him in one-on-one combat. Tradition dictates that the bondsman does not fight but accepts death at the hands of his would-be master. You would be granted the use of any weapon you desire."

  "You prefer death to serving as my bondsman?" Loren asked, though of course he knew the answer.

  "Aff. As a bondsman, I would be pitted against my former Clan should you ever ask me to fight in battle. And I could never return to the ranks of the Smoke Jaguars. They would see me as inferior for having fallen to you. I would have to live out my life as a bandit, or worse. The alternative is to f
ight for you and die, a death without honor. Either path results in a loss of honor I would not willingly suffer."

  There was a part of Loren Jaffray that wanted to grant this Kerndon's request. He understood the dictum of honor, especially the honor among MechWarriors. But he also knew what a prize the Clanner represented. This man Kerndon was a window of sorts for him, a way to see into the hearts and minds of his Jaguar foes. But his plan was a bold one, bold enough that perhaps the man might choose to live and take his chances. A chance to live and die with honor. "Kerndon, I refuse this ritual of yours, this bonsref. We're facing the Smoke Jaguars, but I like to think there are other possibilities, other hopes for warriors to prove themselves."

  The young warrior did not speak, just continued to stare at Loren.

  "We are no ordinary unit, Kerndon. The Northwind Highlanders trace their origins to service under General Aleksandr Kerensky and the Star League Defense Forces. Our background, despite what your Jaguar commanders might have thought and told you, is the same."

  "I have no desire to be your bondsman," was all that Kerndon could muster, the drugs still holding him at bay.

  "Perhaps that is true, Kerndon. But think on this. I am kin of Star League warriors. When I fought you, I did it on your own Clan terms—one on one. I defeated you fairly, and with honor. If I release you, your Clan will not take you back. You will be—what's the word?—dezgra? Stand at my side as bondsman, and there is a chance that one day you will fight again as a warrior. You will again have a chance to embrace honor in battle."

  Kerndon didn't answer immediately, but seemed to think it over long and hard. Loren was sure that being a warrior was everything to him. Perhaps he would accept that he had been bested in honorable combat and on terms no Clansman could argue.