Heir to the Dragon

by Robert N. Charrette

  Without warning, azure fire burned across his path. Theodore twisted the Victor to the left, and as he did so, the origin of the bolt was revealed: Trouneville's Vindicator. Theodore checked his wide scan and refocused the visual scanner on his rear quadrant. Tourneville's target, a Lyran Crusader, was visible there, still reeling from the damage it had taken from the Vindicator's PPC. Sputtering fires burned in the wounded 'Mech's left belly.

  Theodore ripped off a burst from his Pontiac 100 autocannon. The high-velocity shells clawed through the Crusader's torso, shredding ceramet armor. Secondary explosions sent shards of titanium-alloy internal braces rocketing from the wound. The Crusader doubled over and sat down heavily. A massive explosion stretched it out as the fusion reactor blew, spewing a fountain of liquid metal and hot gases into the air.

  The Marauder rounded the corner behind Theodore, who fired the Victor's jump jets, hoping to escape the enemy warrior's sights before he could get a weapons lock-on. The eighty-ton machine rose rapidly, as twin PPCs ionized the air beneath it.

  Looking for a safe landing place, Theodore watched Tourneville dodge away as a Lyran Warhammer cratered the tank behind which the Vindicator had sheltered. The Kurita medium 'Mech fled for cover, unable and unwilling to stand against the seventy-ton monster.

  Theodore searched for the fourth Steiner 'Mech, an Ostroc. He found it, the smooth shape of its egg-shaped body standing out plainly from the angular tangle of I-beams jutting from the rubble of a workshed. Angling his flight, he tried for a landing to the Ostroc's right, well out of the field of its shoulder-mounted missile launcher.

  The Lyran saw him coming, turning as Theodore recovered from the landing. The Ostroc unleashed a full fusillade of laser fire. One of the weapons missed the hulking Victor completely, but the other three savaged the 'Mech's duralex sheathing. Armor plates flowed, revealing further layers, shiny from partial melting.

  Theodore fired his jump jets again, trying to overlap his enemy and catch him from behind. The Lyran reacted, the stubby snouts of all four lasers tracking the flight of the Victor. Ruby pulses sought the Kurita 'Mech's vitals, but the heat build-up in the Lyran machine must have affected its targeting computers. The pilot missed what should have been an easy shot.

  The Victor grounded a scant ten meters behind the Ostroc. Theodore fired the Pontiac, then closed without waiting to see the results. Fragments pattered against the Victor as 100mm shells shattered the weak back armor of the Lyran 'Mech. Armor vanished, exposing the machine's internal superstructure. It, too, cratered and disappeared under the explosive fury of the shells. The Ostroc's chestplate and right arm leaped into the air as the 'Mech's rocket storage ignited in a violent chain of explosions. The Steiner machine toppled, a disjointed puppet bereft of guidance.

  Theodore aborted the kick he had intended to cripple the Ostroc's left leg.

  Victory was short-lived. Theodore's 'Mech rocked under renewed assault by the persistent Marauder. The Lyran's PPCs gobbled the Victor's back armor, exposing its inner workings. The Victor toppled under the violence of the attack, crashing to the ground before Theodore could compensate.

  The impact jarred him, costing him precious seconds as the alien shape of the Marauder stalked closer. The advancing 'Mech pulverized concrete blocks under its clawed feet as it scrambled over a wall of rubble. Its carapace swiveled to point in Theodore's direction, lining up under the dorsal autocannon, which spat explosive death at the downed Victor.

  Lyran shells crawled destructively across the breast of the Victor and crashed into the 'Mech's head. The cockpit rang under the pounding, pitching under the release of kinetic energy. Theodore was tossed violently about. When his neuro-helmet connections ripped free, Theodore was slammed back against the command couch, stunned.

  Lacking the neural feedback from Theodore's system, the Victor went limp, lying defenseless before the Marauder. Wary of a trick, the Lyran advanced cautiously. At thirty-five meters, it halted. One massive, blocky forearm rose and extended toward the fallen 'Mech's leg. Cyan energy howled out to caress the limb, flaying armor plates under its hellish energy. The Lyran pilot fired again, dissolving the rest of the Victor's protective covering. Exposed actuators and myomer pseudomuscles melted and flowed under a third blast. Coolant fluid from ruptured lines flash-boiled in an explosive burst of steam.

  Satisfied that the Victor was crippled, the Lyran paced his 'Mech forward to stand towering over his fallen enemy.

  Dazed, Theodore wondered if the Lyran intended to boil him within the 'Mech or to ask for a surrender. There was nothing more that he could do. He was trapped in his cockpit, the right side of his body pinned under a massive tangle that used to be his system function board. His right arm, limp and broken, rested on the comm board. Theodore had fought as well as he could against a superior foe; there was no shame in this defeat.

  The hiss of particle beams heralded another twist in the flow of the battle. One of the azure bolts creased the Marauder's right leg, furrowing globs of molten armor from it. Multiple missile impacts cratered the 'Mech's turbine-shaped air exchanger system high on the left-rear torso. The Marauder crouched down under the impact, then straightened, shrugging off the damage. It swiveled its carapace to the left, directing a blast from the Magna Hellstar PPC in the left forearm at an unseen target. An autocannon roared out its own response to the Marauder's right. The Lyran 'Mech held its ground.

  Did the Lyran know who lay at his mercy? Theodore wondered.

  Another flight of missiles screamed in to chip away at the thick plating on the Marauder's upper carapace. The Lyran, exhibiting admirable fire discipline, paced his shots by alternately firing the Hellstar PPC and 5cm laser in the left weapon arm, then those in the right. The autocannon howled constantly.

  Theodore, desperate to bring the Victor back into the battle, found that his neurohelmet was shattered beyond hope and that the autonomic feedback systems that allowed free play of the Victor's arms were gone. He steadied his breathing, reaching for his hara. The faint voice of Tetsuhara-sensei whispered in his head, Pain is a thing of the mind, and the mind is the servant of the spirit.

  Hai, sensei. I will control my pain. He reached out with his shattered arm, watching the bone ends slide past one another as he straightened the limb. Clinically, he observed the fresh blood flow as his fingers tapped out the code to elevate the Victor's right arm.

  Through the shattered viewport, he watched the wide muzzle of the Pontiac 100 cant toward the sky, surprised to see the machine respond. His karma was good, then. He reached for the grip and depressed the firing stud.

  Deep booming echoed through the cockpit as the Pontiac's cassette round emptied, sending 100mm shells tearing into the underbelly of the Marauder. The Lyran 'Mech jerked upward from the impact. Theodore fired again. One of the Marauder's legs stiffened spasmodically as its myomer pseudomuscles contracted under a faulty command. Trailing smoke and sparks, the 'Mech collapsed onto the Victor.

  Darkness filled the cockpit as seventy-five tons of incapacitated BattleMech crashed to the ground. Theodore sighed, releasing his control and letting the darkness fill his mind as well. Warm and welcoming, it caressed and took him far from the stink and heat of the battlefield.

  Well done, said Tetsuhara-sensei's ghostly voice.

  33

  South Nantuo, Vega

  Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine

  Late December 3028

  The soft susurrus of the military command center in the next room called Theodore from his foggy dreams. Awakening to the concerned faces of Ben Tourneville and Fuhito Tetsuhara, he tried to raise his right arm to wave them back. When his arm did not respond, he looked down to find it encased in a preserving sleeve. He also recognized the itch of peeling plastiflesh on his forehead. The memory of his last battle came back.

  "The physicians say that you should recover full use of the arm, Tai-sa," Fuhito assured him. "You will have a scar on your head, though."

  "You must have compl
ete rest," Tourneville insisted.

  Theodore shook his head. While Steiner forces infested Vega, he could not rest. A samurai would never be kept from his duty by personal injury.

  "There was some trouble with Heise and Nordica while you were unconscious," Fuhito said cautiously. "They did not understand your plan and wished to jeopardize it by running in different directions. Using her authority as your executive, Sho-sa Sakade has placed me in command."

  "It is most irregular," Tourneville observed sourly.

  "But has it worked?" Theodore asked, turning to Fuhito.

  "I've tried to see that the spirit of your plans was followed, Tai-sa," Fuhito answered with a shrug. "It's not for me to say if I have succeeded."

  Typical Tetsuhara modesty. If Fuhito had not handled the situation, things wouldn't be so calm. Tomoe had done well to appoint him as overseer. Heise would not have accepted her, and no one else had enough experience in command to execute his orders. "Where do we stand with the Lyrans?"

  "Your plan is a success, Tai-sa, despite this fellow's dabblings," Tourneville assured him. "We have split the Steiner forces, and our link-up with our forces from the west of the Trebason Mountains is complete. Our capture of Cochus will force them to rely on longer, overburdened supply lines. The Lyrans are in serious trouble.

  "Second Legion and twenty of our conventional regiments are pushing most of the Third Lyran Guard and six of their armored regiments north toward the edge of Great Desert of Tears. They will soon have a sea of sand at their backs.

  "Fourteenth Legion is leading another fourteen of our regiments against the remainder of the Third Guards under Leutnant-General Finnan. The Lyrans have four regiments of conventional forces with them. Their 'Mech force is fighting well, but even our non-'Mech forces are fighting excellently. The Lyrans are abandoning the Roccer-De Zerber line. We shall drive the invaders from Vega soon."

  Theodore nodded. "Do you concur, Tai-i Tetsuhara?"

  "We have had successes, Tai-sa, and many of Commonwealth's forward supply depots have fallen to us during the advance. The Lyrans are facing the severe shortages that once were our lot. They are in trouble, but they are far from beaten."

  "I see. Set up a full staff conference immediately. I want situation reports from all fronts for review. And send in Sho-sa Sakade."

  Fuhito and Tourneville exchanged glances. Theodore narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Tourneville cleared his throat.

  "Sho-sa Sakade encoded a message disk for you before she left."

  * * *

  "It's true, Leutnant-General Finnan. The Legion won't hit Roccer for another two weeks at least. The Fourteenth only has a skeleton force left along the Roccer-De Zerber line.

  There're just three burned-out armored regiments on the front and a couple more in reserve."

  The Steiner officers in the command hut exchanged skeptical glances. Kommandant Werner Jones stood to face the speaker. Leutnant-General Patrick Finnan had already reviewed what the Kuritan defector had brought with him. This session was for the command staff. Finnan let his security officer take the lead, approving of the hard stare Jones fixed on the Kurita Chu-i.

  "How can we trust you, Leutnant Tourneville?"

  The man he addressed rubbed his eyes, then ran his hand through his curly red hair. He was clearly tired from the interrogation session, but his manner remained composed, confident. He was still holding a card in the hole. "I don't expect you to take my word. You've seen the datadisks I brought. The Legion's in trouble. You people have got them on the ropes. I don't want to go down with them."

  "So you sell them out?"

  The Kuritan gave Jones a sour look and turned his attention from the security officer to the head of the table where Finnan sat. "Leutnant-General, I served the Combine like a good little soldier for ten years, but I opened my mouth at the wrong time to the wrong people and got sent to this hellhole of Vega. Five years here, watched all the time. I wanted out, but in case you ain't heard, nobody leaves the Legion on two feet. Your invasion was the first chance I had to run."

  "You took quite a risk, coming across the lines," Finnan-commented.

  "Sure it was a risk, but if I'd stayed with the Legion, I was a dead man when you attacked. They ain't got much longer, even if they can't see it. Well, I want to stay alive, so I've come to you."

  "And we welcome prisoners, Leutnant," Jones said.

  "I don't intend to be a prisoner," the Kuritan stated. "You haven't seen all the data yet."

  "What do you mean?" Finnan asked, sensing that the man was ready to reveal his secret.

  "Disk three, Leutnant-General. Put it in your computer and call up the 'Conference Gray' file."

  "There is no such file on the disk," Jones scoffed.

  The red-haired Kuritan smiled. "Don't be so sure, Kommandant. Call it up."

  Jones didn't move until Finnan nodded his assent, then he retrieved the file. After scanning its contents, he announced, "It's the minutes of a staff meeting, sir. Colonel Kurita was wounded in our counterthrust at Cochus. He is recovering, but currently immobilized at an unspecified location, which the staff feels is underguarded."

  "That," the Kuritan said triumphantly, "is my ticket off this hell-ball. You assure me of amnesty and a free ticket to the world of my choice, and I give you the location."

  "We could force it out of you," Jones warned.

  "What do you think you are? The ISF? By the time you break me, it will be too late to do you any good.

  "Right now, the Combine leadership is confused and divided. General Heise wants to throw all their strength at First and Third Battalions, to take them out while the Legion is still strong enough to do it. Nordica wants to dig in and wait for reinforcements and supplies."

  "They must have captured some of ours."

  "Some, but not enough. You hid them too good. Tell me, Leutnant-General, have any of the Combine 'Mechs you've been fighting used any missiles lately? No? Didn't think so. They're hurting and you know it, Leutnant-General."

  "Gentlemen and ladies, I think Leutnant Tourneville is on the level. All of our own data coincides with his story. It sounds as though the Legion of Vega is indeed on its last legs," Finnan announced with a predatory grin. "With the information that Leutnant Tourneville has brought us, and with Kincaid's forces distracting the Snakes' attention, we can launch a devastating attack at the Legion's rear.

  "Leutnant, where did you say Kurita is?"

  "We have a deal then?"

  "We have a deal."

  "Jalonjin. A mining camp about ten klicks outside of De Zerber."

  "Near enough for us to mount a surgical strike and do what Heany failed to do on Marfik. Nagelring over Sanglamore as always," Finnan gloated, savoring the opportunity to succeed where a graduate of a rival service academy had failed. He beamed at his assembled officers. "Theodore Kurita and his Legion of Vega are in our hands."

  Finnan stood and walked to the door to his office. Ignoring the assembled officers as they leaped to their feet and saluted, he spoke to the Kuritan.

  "Come along, Leutnant Tourneville, I have some questions about the Legion's dispositions that I would like answered before I plan our attack."

  * * *

  "Roger, LCAF-hire Starsled," CommTech Loris acknowledged. "Telemetry transfer complete. Prepare to receive gantry connections."

  "Roger, Roccer Control. Standing by."

  Loris directed his gaze out the Roccer control tower's main window. Twenty-five hundred meters away on the landing field the Lyran DropShip Starsled stood, still hot from atmospheric entry. Gantries rose from sheltered bays on the tarmac, skeletal fingers reaching for the spheroid shape. As he watched the tower probes enter the waiting recesses on the vehicle, the DropShip's pilot spoke again.

  "Roccer Control, this is Starsled. Gantries locked in. Permission to commence unloading."

  "Permission granted, Starsled. Welcome to Vega. We've been looking forward to your supplies."

  The pilot started to as
k for the latest groundside gossip, but Loris was distracted by a flashing priority signal.

  "Hold on, Starsled. I've got a situation here."

  Loris cut off the pilot and routed the priority signal to his station. His screen tagged the origin and flashed the alpha retransmission code that the Lyran command used to facilitate passage of messages from field units to the more powerful transmitter at the Roccer landing field. Roccer's communicators had the power to cut through enemy jamming and bounce signals off the planet's comm satellites. Loris listened to the message with increasing worry.

  "Sir."

  "What is it?"

  "I've got a relay here for Leutnant-Colonel Kincaid on the Desert of Tears front. Leutnant-General Finnan is ordering him to retreat the First and Third Battalions of the Guard to orbit and prepare for a combat drop behind the Fourteenth Vegan Legion's positions north of De Zerber.

  "What should I do?"

  "Acknowledge the order, CommTech Loris," Theodore said.

  "Sir, you don't want me to transmit Finnan's order.”

  “Of course not," Theodore chuckled. "Acknowledge receipt of the order by Kincaid's command. Leutnant-General Finnan does not need to know that his order has been received by us instead of the intended recipient. Besides, it will assist us in our own plans if that is what he believes.

  "Route any further transmissions through the Twelfth Legion's intelligence section. We will let the Lyrans believe they are still talking to each other."

  * * *

  "Take it easy, Leutnant. You've had a rough time."

  "Had to get here, sir. Had to tell ..."

  "You will," Brian Kincaid assured quietly. The leutnant's haggard, sunken eyes did not conceal the beauty of her Eurasian features. Kincaid submerged that thought. The leutnant was in rough shape from a run through the Kurita lines in a half-destroyed 'Mech. She needed a professional attitude from him, not a personal one. "Drink that coffee down. I've got time."