Just then the hovercraft pulled up in front of the mobile HQ, interrupting Loren's gloomy thoughts. Climbing out of it were the men who would either dramatically help this operation, or permanently table it. Captains Spillman, McCray, and Kirwan—commanders of the Claymore, the Bull Run, and the Stonewall, respectively—were now walking straight toward Loren and the van. Of the three spacers, Spillman was the last to salute, and looked like he was proud of it. Loren knew that Spillman was a hard case. He hated authority, but Loren was sure the Claymore's captain would put his shoulder to the wheel when the time came. He might complain like all hell, but in the end, he'd do his duty.
Loren saluted back and then followed the three men into the HQ, where the rest of the command staff was huddled around the van's holographic table display. Loren knew what they were looking at: a planetary map of Wayside V. The time had come to bring the DropShip captains in on the planning of this mission that was fraught with pitfalls that could scuttle the operation at any moment. It was the kind of op that was going to require everyone to think on their feet and be ready to respond in an instant.
In other words, it was exactly the kind of mission Loren lived for.
The three captains all saluted Colonel Stirling as they approached the table. She returned the salute, but it was obvious she was less interested in the formalities than in the reason they were there. Notably absent was the Combine PSL.
"Gentlemen, I've called you here for a reason," Stirling said, her voice quiet but firm. "Our ground-based commanders have already considered our situation and how we might deal with it. Now I need to get up you up to speed."
She leaned forward over the holographic display, her face illuminated by the green light of the image of Wayside V under her. After briefly summarizing their status, she cut quickly to the chase. "Our tentative plan is for one of you to take a DropShip filled with captured Smoke Jaguar Omni-Mechs up to the jump point. From there you will jump out and perform a series of strikes against the Nova Cats, provoking them to mount a reprisal strike against this world. Our hope is that they will take out the Smoke Jaguars for us so that all we've got to do is mop up whatever's left."
There was dead silence in the van as she spoke, the expressions of the three DropShip Captains ranging from disquiet to disbelief.
"So, there you have it," Stirling said finally when it was obvious no one intended to speak. "Now's your chance to tell me what you think."
"Colonel, sir, ye can't be serious," Captain Spillman said. "In case you've fergotten, there's a bloody Essex Class War-Ship up there waitin' for us. It will move to intercept the instant we take off. Even if we pass it, she's got more thrust in her power plants than any of our ships. It would only be a matter of time."
"And what about the damage we've taken?" asked the shorter and more portly Captain Kirwan of the Stonewall. "The Stonewall is in no condition for such an operation and neither is the Claymore."
The Bull Run's captain, the older and gray-bearded Rory McCray, spoke up next. "The Bull Run is in pretty good shape, but we'd be no match for that destroyer. She'd shred us to ribbons before we got anywhere near the jump point."
Colonel Stirling put her hands on her hips and looked at each of the men standing around her. "Let me rephrase this, gentlemen. This is our only chance. I didn't bring you here to tell me we can't do it. I asked you to come because you've all pulled my butt out of some tight spots over the years. You know me pretty damn well and I know you. There's always a way to beat the odds. If anyone can find it here, it's you. I know one thing fer sure, lads, if we stay, we die."
Kirwan stared at the map, which showed the current position of the DropShips and the nearby Fusilier deployment to the east. Hovering over the table by nearly a meter was the projected image of the Smoke Jaguar WarShip in its approximate position.
It was McCray who broke the silence. "Even if you could spare us the fighters, Colonel, that WarShip would eat them alive. No matter what we've got, we couldn't hope to touch her before she closed enough to use her big guns. A Drop-Ship isn't much compared to a vessel like that. I—I just don't see a way."
Spillman rubbed the stubble of his beard reflectively. "Maybe that's the problem, Rory," he said to McCray. "We're lookin' at this all wrong. We don't have to knock that WarShip out. All we've gotta do is keep her off our tail long enough to jump out of system."
"We can't get close enough to even mar her paint job, Colvin," McCray returned. "How in the hell do you distract something like that warbird?"
"The same way you do anyone else," Spillman replied, reaching down to the holographic table, enabling the plotting mode. "It's all sleight of hand." He touched the icon that represented the Claymore, and the image seemed to stick to the tip of his finger. He lifted it up just over the table, then moved it toward the icon representing the Jaguar base, slowly, almost calculating.
"Watch this closely, lads and lasses. This is the Claymore. I move her straight at the enemy position." Every eye in the room was fixed on Spillman as he leaned further across the table, propping himself up with his other hand as he edged the icon further out, closer to the Jaguars. The holographic table didn't let his hand move fast, but moved the icon at a relative speed to simulate the actual flight of the DropShip. It began slowly, then sped up as the ship moved into the "air" over the table.
"Rory, you play the destroyer," Spillman said. "Show me how you deal with this attempt on my part, eh?"
Rory McCray reached down and pressed several of the table's control buttons as well, enabling him to perform the same action. He reached up and pushed the WarShip image with his fingertip, moving it in the air over the holotable to meet the icon of the Claymore held by Spillman. "Like I said, Colvin, you don't stand a chance."
"Think again," Spillman replied. Suddenly everyone's eyes shifted from the hand holding the Claymore to the other one, which suddenly moved the Bull Run up and into the air.
Colonel Stirling smiled. They'd all been diverted by watching the hand with the Claymore, while Spillman's other hand did something else. "It'd have to be the Bull Run," she said. "It's in the best shape."
"The WarShip could still get her," Kirwan said.
"I've got an idea for that too," Spillman returned. "All our ships are equipped with life boats arid escape pods. The pods are non-directional, non-controlled-thrust, but they could become perfect little torpedeos once that WarShip is closing. Fill them with petrocycline and blast them directly into the path of the ship as it comes in on an intercept vector. And don't forget the life boats. We can load them with explosives and program them for flight. Speed-wise they're as fast as that destroyer too, so even if she tries to evade we've got her."
"Who's up for the piloting part of this?" Stirling said.
The three men looked at each other and finally Spillman laughed. "You got me if you want me, Colonel."
"Yer mad as a hatter," Kirwan told him.
Spillman shrugged and laughed again. "So's she," he said, jerking a thumb at Cat Stirling.
17
Bay of Kurita Prime
Wayside V (Wildcat)
Deep Periphery
4 July 3058
Loren Jaffray reached the cockpit of his 'Mech and noticed that the Penetrator's repair job had been rushed at best, armor plates patched and not fitted perfectly in place. He didn't care, as long as it worked. She's battle-ready, and right now that's what counts. He skipped the safety start-ups and checklist, hot-firing the fusion reactor to get started as quickly as possible. "Black Adder Leader, this is XO. Status report."
"Bad news is that our 'company' is arriving a little early. Unknown numbers, but we're fairly sure they're running some sort of ECM. Casualties unknown."
"Run Case Snipe," he replied.
Headhunters. They would search out the leadership of the Fusiliers and systematically wipe them out. Roberta's key to success was to hit unaware, but thanks to Kerndon, the Fusiliers knew she was coming. And knowing made it possible to mislead her.
The Fusilier plan was simple. The regiment would pull back to line-of-sight range and switch to laser transmissions for orders. Unlike the radio signals the Jaguars would be seeking, encapsulated and fragmentation-scrambled laser bursts were nearly impossible to read in the middle of a fire-fight. The key to the plan was to lure the headhunters into a location where the Fusiliers could wipe them out with little risk.
Loren reached down and pressed several of the controls on his command panel, then inserted a small optical diskette into a slot. As he switched on his laser communications system, the radio began to broadcast a wave of senseless "noise"—all preceded by a four-bit security protocol. Colonel Stirling had personally selected the music, the wailing sound of bagpipes playing The Braes of Tullymett—a march Loren found particularly motivating. Going out on wide beam, it would act as a beacon to anything within thirty kilometers of his BattleMech.
He was the bait.
The communications would be sent to all the 'Mechs of the regiment and would be cross-relayed back to him, repeating over and over. To the Jaguars, it would appear like a spider web of transmissions, all leading to the wide gully where Loren and his 75-ton Penetrator stood. To get to where Loren was, the Smoke Jaguars would have to enter the trench, where his Penetrator was all but hidden from the surface and the risk of long-range shots. Once they moved in, the Kilsyth Guards would do the rest.
Loren had been on dozens of ambush missions in his career, and each time was the same. There was the bizarre silence, the odd rush of his own excitement, The Sensation, the marble block of his own patience being slowly and methodically worn away in his mind. He had learned that the key was to simply wait. Sooner or later, the enemy came to you. What they had on their side was the location, which they controlled. He had chosen this one carefully, a deep but long, dry ravine that wound and twisted in all directions not far from the shores of the Marion Sea. From here, he and about a company of his 'Mechs were visually concealed, allowing his prey to walk into his trap.
From a kilometer away on top of a hill, a laser pulse was relayed to his 'Mech from a platoon of Highlander infantry. The Guards had spotted the Jaguars: two Stars of light Omni-Mechs closing on his position. He switched to short-range sensors but still did not see them. It was only a matter of time...
Then his secondary display suddenly showed him what he was looking for. The Jaguar 'Mechs closed rapidly with the gully where he waited, then bounded into it. Loren reached over to shut off the baiting communications signal. Though he was not in line-of-sight of the enemy, it was only a matter of seconds before he was under their guns. The time had come to let them know they'd blundered into a trap.
Almost instantly the movement of the dots on his sensors stopped. He mentally pictured what must be happening with the enemy commanders. They were probably rechecking their communications gear, wondering how unit communications could have gone off line when they were so close to their target. They too now understood the complexity of the-hunt, and that the tables might have been turned on them.
Their sensors must have been painting the same thing his own were now doing, showing the approach of an entire battalion's worth of BattleMechs, closing in on all sides of them, boxing them into the gully. Firing out was possible, but not a good option, and the trench made movement difficult at best. The difference between them and other warriors Loren had faced was that they were Clan. Even three-to-one odds wouldn't strike them with fear.
Loren moved his Penetrator in a slow, methodical walk down the twisting gully. As he rounded the first bend, he saw them, two abreast, ten pale gray OmniMechs. He opened a wide-beam communications channel to them before any could lock onto him with their weapons.
"I am Major Loren Jaffray of Stirling's Fusiliers of the Northwind Highlanders. In the name of the Draconis Combine, I ask that you surrender. You are surrounded and outnumbered." His fingers were poised over all three of his trigger switches as he drifted his cross hairs over the lead Koshi. Clan tradition won't let them give up, not without a fight. I had to try. . .
There was no initial response. Again Loren knew what they were doing, what they were thinking. A recheck of their short-range sensors would tell them how many BattleMechs awaited them in the trench—Fuller's Company. And there was also the wall of 'Mechs surrounding the trench, all prepared to rain fire and death down on them.
A voice finally shattered his thoughts, from the lead Koshi. "I am Star Captain Marilen of Clan Smoke Jaguar. The odds you threaten us with are unbefitting a true warrior, but you are only a freebirth and such weakness is no surprise." Even surrounded and outnumbered, this Marilen spoke with arrogance and contempt. It was either the act of a brave person, or an insane one. Equally dangerous, to Loren's mind.
"You used dishonorable trickery to lure us here. But I offer you the chance to redeem this shame—I will grant you the honor of one-on-one combat against me. We fight for the right of free passage from this place and the chance for you to regain honor by facing us again on a warrior's field of battle.
"What do you say, Major Loren?"
He stared at her Koshi on his primary display and winced. The fangs and white eyes of a Jaguar had been painted around the head/cockpit, adding to the menace the Omni represented.
"Star Captain, your call for one-on-one battle is refused. You yourself are here on a mission of questionable integrity and honor—coming to kill our officers only. Headhunter missions are no less unbefitting a true warrior." He still hoped to reason with them, but it would have to be through their own version of logic. "There is no loss of dignity in admitting that you made a tactical mistake. Surrender and you will have a chance to fight again, another day, and perhaps regain your lost honor."
"You do not fully understand the ways of our Clan," Marilen said, even as her Koshi opened up with a laser blast from its left arm. Several hot streams ate away at the Penetrator's replacement armor, digging deeply into the 'Mech's center torso as the big machine reeled under the hits, bending at the waist.
"Engage!" he ordered.
He brought the Penetrator back upright, intending to return the blast with his large lasers. As he righted himself he felt a massive impact, not from weapons but from a charging OmniMech colliding headlong with him. The collision hurt both 'Mechs, grinding the impact regions to the point that armor plating contorted and ripped away from the superstructures of the deadly war machines. His viewscreen filled with the fearsome Jaguar image, the face of Marilen's own Koshi cockpit, only a meter away.
Even more appalling was what was happening all around them. Rather than surrender, the Jaguar warriors had rushed into near-suicidal attacks against the ring of Fusiliers around them. From the high ground over the gully, a wall of missiles and laser fire rained down on them as they charged. Smoke and the bright red and green bursts of laser light filled the air as the Jaguars charged forward, hoping to take as many Fusiliers as possible down with them.
Loren's Kilsyth Guards maintained their calm and did not buckle, though they must have been shocked by the Jaguar response. Instead they concentrated their fire, two or three 'Mechs opening up on a single Clan OmniMech at once. The Clan Dashers reached the crest of the gully first, firing at point-blank range into the ranks of the Guards. They punched, kicked, and rammed the Fusiliers with a fury that Loren had never imagined could possess a fellow Mech-Warrior.
And he was having his own problems. His Penetrator took two steps back as he adjusted the weight and stance to compensate for the impact of Marilen's Koshi. Falling over would be the end of it. She 'd kill me before I could even think of standing up.
The lasers stitched across the Koshi's legs and lower torso, flailing armor plating as they dotted burn holes and scars. Marilen was unrelenting. She fired her jump jets, and for a moment Loren thought she might be attempting to flee the gully. He would have. The odds were against the Jaguar warriors. In the distance he saw a Dasher explode in a ball of flame under a hail of autocannon rounds. The other Jaguar 'Mechs were near death as well; it was only a matter of time. She must be trying to escape, it's her only hope at surviving.
Instead, a second later Loren saw that she was coming straight at him. Death from above! She was going to try to crush him by dropping her Koshi on top of his Penetrator from the air. Despite the differences in their speeds, Loren was more than capable of making her work for the attack. He turned the Penetrator and began to move backward into the gully, passing two of Fuller's 'Mechs as they attempted to fire at her in mid-flight. One hit her with a spray of missiles, eating away at more of her leg armor. The other fired wildly, the laser fire bright red against the green sky. Knowing that the next shot would spike his heat, Loren braced for it, and locked his crosshairs onto Marilen's suicidal Koshi.
His second volley of pulse lasers hit her three seconds before her drop. Three of the deadly weapons hit her lower torso, one working its way into her already damaged upper right thigh. Another seemed to seek out her hip joint, drilling deep into the armor and internal structure until Loren saw a swirl of blue smoke, indicating that the joint's lubricant was burning away. His other shots missed, but a pair of lasers from one of Fuller's 'Mechs found their marks on her left arm, mangling the long-range missile rack there.
Impetus of War Page 13