BattleTech : MechWarrior - Dark Age 03 - The Ruins of Power - Robert E.Vardeman (2003)

by Robert E. Vardeman

  "Barnaby, Barnaby," she chided. "You are so conscientious. Don't worry. The day will be yours. The action is out there, not here." She glanced at the knot of politicians watching soldiers running computer simulations on their command computer screens. Elora knew it was better if she remained here, where her duties might be explained, but she couldn't help herself. She had to be in the middle of the action.

  "Get me a car. I want to watch the rest of the exercise with the Legate and his staff." Barnaby grunted, spent a few seconds relaying the request, then pointed as a camera truck rolled up.

  "That'll take you to the Legate's command bunker." His relief at getting rid of her was so obvious Elora had to laugh. She chuckled the entire way to Calvilena Tortorelli's post. When things worked well, it meant her careful planning had paid off. The truck slewed to a halt a dozen meters from a guard point and Elora piled out.

  Walking with just a small thrust to her hip, she showed her ID to the guard and hurried to the bunker in time to peer over the Legate's shoulder as he moved 3-D computer-generated miniatures of the actual units across a glowing topographic map. Neither Sergio nor Parsons took notice of her. Elora stepped to one side to better watch the Baron.

  "You're not directing your troops personally, are you, Legate?" asked Sergio. "You have a complete layout of both sides." "In an actual fight, this would be what we'd strive for, Baron," Tortorelli said. "This time, the field units are independent. We only monitor the overall progress here, not direct it. Otherwise, the Envoy might miss some of the action."

  "Why, yes, wouldn't want to do that," Parsons said. His attention drifted away from the computer display, but Elora couldn't tell what the man sought-or what he was thinking. "It's always good to get the big picture."

  "The exercise will begin in a few minutes," Tortorelli said. "Here are the basics. My Home Guard unit is comprised of four Behemoth II Tanks, four Condors, four JES Tactical Missile Carriers, and infantry in APCs. The company of Hauberk battle armor is arrayed at the edges, while the real firepower is massed in the center of my line. The tank initial barrage will flush out opposition, allowing all the battle-armored soldiers to get a fix on opposition locations and numbers. After the intel is gathered, the battle armor advances under covering missile fire and wipes out the FCL."

  "What of the infantry? Do they simply sit and send postcards home to their loved ones?" asked Parsons. Elora looked at the man. The comment carried more than a hint of criticism with it. She had tried to find out something of the Envoy's background and had failed. He might or might not be of noble birth, but what was his training? He knew something of tactics-or did he just guess that Tortorelli didn't?

  "Support. If the battle armor finds the going too hard, the tanks move in and support an all-out infantry assault. We attack rather than defend the field HQ." Tortorelli looked pleased with himself.

  "And the First Cossack Lancers?" asked Parsons. The Envoy leaned forward, craned his neck, and studied how Captain Leclerc positioned his forces.

  "They lack tanks, but have a higher percentage of soldiers in battle armor." "This is a Mobile Tactical HQ?" asked Parsons, pointing to a glowing white star on the top of a small vehicle.

  "Manfred Leclerc demanded that he purchase it," Sergio said. "It's a white elephant, if you ask me. Whenever I travel, it has to be loaded onto a transport. Leclerc insists that it arrive before me, so a protective screen can be in place."

  "It's a powerful coordinating center in the field," admitted Tortorelli, "but it cannot compare with my dispersed command. Every unit commander is free to act on his or her own to acquire targets and achieve goals set by my field commandant." "So you require less coordination once the fight starts?" asked Parsons. "An interesting, no, might I say, novel approach. This is not unlike having a dozen vigilante groups thrown onto the field."

  "I-" Tortorelli wasn't sure how to answer because of the way Parsons phrased his comment. He swallowed, then said loudly to cover his confusion, "Give the signal for Operation Kaiser to begin!" Elora stepped forward, a smile on her lips. Her own offensive had begun much earlier.

  "This is ridiculous, Dale," Manfred Leclerc said angrily. "You don't belong here. Take off. I'll send the truce signal and-" "What would you want me to do, Captain? I'm not going to miss the unit's last official mobilization. After today, the FCL is a footnote in history books." "I know how you feel about the unit," Manfred said, "but you haven't given yourself time enough to come to grips with Hanna's death." He lowered his voice a little as he looked at Austin.

  "Austin tells me you're not convinced it was an accident." "They haven't caught the driver yet, and it was a stolen car. Hanna died because-" Dale bit off his words. "I can do my job, Captain Leclerc," Dale said stiffly. "I don't care what you or my brother say." "Please, Dale," begged Austin, but he saw his brother wasn't going to budge. He certainly didn't blame him. Their father had given the order for the FCL transfer immediately after this exercise.

  "It's not that you're incapable, Lieutenant Ortega," Manfred said. He heaved a sigh of resignation. "Get into the TacCom mobile. We'll need to know where they are, since they outnumber us more than two to one in battle armor." "I'll keep after their tanks, too," Dale said, a slight smile coming to his lips. "I know my job. In fact, no one's better at it."

  "Get out of here," Manfred said gruffly. "As to you," he said to Austin, "get into your battle armor!" "Right away, Captain!" Austin said, snapping a quick salute. He had scant time to get into his Purifier armor. Already dressed in the tight-fitting bodysuit that was slick on the outside and lined with cooling tubes inside, he felt like he was ready to settle into a BattleMech cockpit. But it was only battle armor.

  Only.

  Austin knew how effective the armor could be when used by expert fighters. He felt confident in his armor but still wished he had a 'Mech around him.

  "You ready, Lieutenant?" asked Jurgen, his technician. The man had brought up the mobile loading unit holding the opened battle armor.

  "Ready," Austin said, scrambling up, slipping around, and thrusting his legs down into the armor. It fit like a comfortable pair of pants until Jurgen cranked down the fitting mechanism and it collapsed around him from the waist down. Then he worked his way into the torso unit, letting Jurgen guide the breastplate into place.

  "Getting feedback on your bodysuit sensors, sir," reported Jurgen, checking his readouts. "All circuits go." Austin kept adding segments and Jurgen called out approval each time. They didn't rush, but they maintained a steady pace that soon brought Austin to the point of checking his weapons.

  Calibration went well, but he chafed at not having real weapons. The rules of engagement today were to shoot blanks, missiles with paint spatter warheads. No energy weapons. Autocannon with paint bullets. All playacting.

  "Want to rip off a salvo to make sure your SRMs work, Lieutenant? It's jury-rigged, since I had to disconnect your lasers for this exercise." Austin stretched, used his HUD to be sure the targeting matched where the missiles would go, then gave Jurgen the thumbs-up.

  "Jumppacks good to go, too, sir," Jurgen said.

  Myomer muscles straining, Austin moved about, turning, twisting the one-ton battle armor about, and found movement only slightly more restricted than without. "A perfect fit," he told Jurgen.

  "Thanks, sir. Go paint those bastards good, for the glory of the First Cossack Lancers!" Austin smiled, then walked briskly to take his position. The FCL had limited personnel, but he was pleased to see that Master Sergeant Borodin already had the company assembled and psyched for the mock fight.

  "Good to see I drew you, Lieutenant," Borodin said. "I hate these so-called exercises. No real missiles, just marker-equipped projectiles. No lasers or PPC, no Gauss rifles. We just throw dye markers at each other and pretend it matters." "Those are the rules, Master Sergeant," Austin said. Everyone shared this contempt for the rules Legate Tortorelli had posted. And everyone in the FCL knew this was the last time they were likely to work as a unit. No one thoug
ht Tortorelli would keep them together after their transfer to his command.

  "Captain Leclerc," Austin reported on a command circuit. "Alpha Company ready!" "Follow the battle plan and we will win!" came Manfred's encouragement. Then the captain keyed into Austin's private channel. "Don't worry about Dale," Manfred said. "He can keep things humming along in the TacCom. I'm taking a Shandra out and will relay back what I can see. From what I've seen so far, Tortorelli's so-called tactics make me think he fielded the wrong units." "What have you spotted, Captain?" Austin heard the private circuit click to the officer command channel again. What Manfred said now went to all four of the company commanders.

  "No energy weapons," said Manfred, "means their Condor tanks with SRMs are going to give us the most trouble. The Condors are fast. The Behemoths would be better used against defensive positions, and we are staying mobile." "The Behemoths might stand off and saturate an area with missiles," suggested Lieutenant Newell, commanding Beta Company.

  "Get in close enough and they're scrap metal," Manfred said.

  "He'll oppose us with his Condors. They have speed on us, but I doubt he can mount a unified attack. And Tortorelli favors putting his Hauberk battle armor company out with his regular infantry.

  Aim for the support vehicles as we move. Alpha will go straight up the center and draw fire. Beta supports. Delta and Gamma go in from left and right flanks respectively. Updated field maps will be sent to you through the TacCom as we learn Tortorelli's deployment." "Advance as fast as possible," Austin relayed to Borodin. "Count off. By alternate numbers move forward. No retreat."

  "Got it, sir. We're the cannon fodder." "Where better to be than in the middle of the battle, Master Sergeant? I expect Alpha Company to take out the enemy command and end the fight before Tortorelli's computer screen can refresh!"

  Austin heard a cheer go up from Alpha Company. They were psyched; they were ready. He had one last question to ask of Manfred. He keyed his open channel.

  "Who's in command of the opposition, sir?" asked Austin. "I tried to pick up some scuttlebutt, but nobody knew." "I couldn't find out, either, so he might put each unit commander in charge of a specific attack zone. That means he's not going to coordinate well. We'll find out quick enough." "Crazy command structure," Austin said.

  "TacCom, do you read?" asked Manfred. "Close that rear hatch!" "Loud and clear, Captain," came Dale's voice. "Getting everything squared away. Wait, there it is. We got the word to begin. I'm picking up four Behemoths. Don't know if they'll start a barrage, but if we advance fast, we'll reach them before they can get their Condors into position. Located their HQ immediately behind the Behemoths!" Austin's HUD blazed with a tiny white star showing their target. Smaller green dots moved about as Dale relayed current tactical information.

  "I'm off in the Shandra. Give me an IFF code. Good, TacCom. To victory!" cried Manfred Leclerc.

  "All right, you apes," Austin barked on the Alpha channel. "Light those Jumppacks and let's move. We bypass enemy heavies and engage only targets light enough to take out without much fight.

  We create confusion and diversion, but we go for their HQ! Got it?" Austin got the response he wanted from his company. They were veterans and had more time in service than he did, but every last soldier knew he was good in the simulator, BattleMech or battle armor, and had practiced enough personally with the entire company in full battle gear to weld them into a single fighting unit. Even better, he had Borodin as company sergeant.

  The Jumppack kicked him forward. Austin took to the air, skimming along only a meter above the greasy, spiny grass, his feet kicking hard every time he alighted. Behind came four squads, arrayed in a line, advancing alternately so those behind could cover those in front.

  "Double-check weapons as we advance," he ordered. He worried that there might be equipment failure since the Purifier armor had been refitted with the missiles. SRMs were good for much of the First Cossack Lancers' mission. They warded off civilian vehicles, should anyone be foolish enough to try to take out the Governor with a truck or car bomb. But Austin preferred the lasers usually mounted on Purifier battle armor.

  The FCL had their plastic warheads loaded with neon-pink dye. A splash on a tank meant little; on a battle-armored soldier a full salvo from an entire squad signified death.

  All he had to do was avoid the bright orange dye fired by the Legate's soldiers. Which proved easy as Alpha advanced at a steady ten kilometers per hour.

  Already, his unit's furious advance had bypassed the lead units of Hauberk-battle-armor-clad enemy. The Legate's soldiers milled around, confused about what to do as their enemy flashed past them, firing jets at max and not engaging, only shooting on the fly.

  "Left, Lieutenant," came Borodin's warning. Austin twisted slightly, keeping his thrust vector on the target, and saw a Hoverbike.

  "How many of them are there?" "Six. I see six of 'em all clumped together." Austin confirmed it on his map display glowing in front of him.

  "Fire!" Even as Austin barked the order, he centered his sights and loosed a barrage of two missiles from his own launcher. The rockets snaked away, leaving behind faint dark exhaust trails.

  Dozens more joined his as his company followed the order.

  Bright pink paint splatted all over the six Hoverbikes, signifying kills. Why Tortorelli's commander had sent them out in a tight formation was beyond Austin's imagining. The Hoverbikes were best used to report on enemy movement. These were worthless now to even radio back a warning about the quickstep advance of a battle-armored company.

  "Good shooting," Austin congratulated. He cycled in another rack of SRMs as he hunted for new targets. All the while he pushed forward, one eye on the terrain and the other on his display. A constant flood of intel from scouts reached him, but Austin knew his company was supplying a good deal of it. They met less resistance than anticipated and pushed farther, faster, than the other companies. Even Beta Company following in his wake had a hard time keeping up, and all Lieutenant Newell had to do was to mop up as he came.

  "Sir, we're gettin' mighty close to the big tanks," said Borodin.

  Austin did a quick range check and relayed it to TacCom.

  "All weapons ready," Austin ordered. He couldn't believe they were going to cripple the entire opposing force so easily. A simple, single knife thrust through the center and Tortorelli's battle group would fold.

  "Heavy fighting on the perimeter," came Dale's calm voice. "Captain Leclerc's been taken out by a lance of battle armor." "Hardly any resistance in the belly," Austin reported.

  "Rip 'er open," Dale said, eagerness tingeing his words now.

  They might have lost their commander, but the battle would be theirs.

  "Scouts, check our six," Austin ordered. "I don't want to jet into a trap." This was too easy. Far too easy. "Report!" "Picking up phantom returns on radar," came the hindmost trooper's report. "Might be a Condor going for the TacCom." "Anything else?" Austin watched as his screen filled with indications of the Hauberk escorts on slower moving infantry clustered near APCs.

  "We're in range in three, in two, in one-fire, fire, fire!" Austin hit the ground, braced himself, and revectored so he would sail higher into the air. He saw two Behemoth tanks ahead. His SRMs lashed out, spewing their harmless pink dye over heavy armor, cannon barrels, LRM launchers, and even incautious crews poking heads from turrets.

  "Got mine!" came the first report. "Mine, too," came a second.

  Austin cut his Jumppack, landed at a run, got his balance, then launched again. The second Behemoth was less than a hundred meters off. Two rockets pounded it. Two more followed and his launcher ran dry of reloads.

  As he came down on the far side of the jump parabola, he twisted about and saw a Condor tank jacked into high gear coming back fast. Austin got off a single barrage and missed as he dropped down.

  "Condor on the way. Missed it. Someone else in position take it out? Lieutenant Newell?" "Sorry, Lieutenant," said Borodin. "I think Newell's entire
company got caught. One of the Behemoths we didn't target fired into Beta." "Dale," he called. "Feed me battle assessment update. We're close." He got a faint reply with a considerable amount of dropout.

  "We're taking it to them, Austin," he heard. Dale chuckled. "We sustained losses along our perimeters, but your attack crippled them good. After their first assault, even our perimeter's holding, but most of Beta is gone, survivors trying to regroup. I'll send a demand for surrender. We've lost a quarter of our force, most of them in Beta." Austin's company had taken out three of the enemy's heavy tanks. As far as he could tell, the Behemoths had lobbed only a few rounds, but they had been devastating.

  "Dale, I'm still getting reports of a Condor bearing down on TacCom." "I'm picking it up. Barkhausen's Delta Company is sweeping across to intercept." Dale's voice faded for a moment and then Austin heard his brother yell, "Get this thing into gear and get us out of range! The tank's going to fire! It-"

  Austin staggered as a tremendous explosion filled his earphones and then an instant later rocked the battlefield. Four more detonations followed in rapid succession, as if a tank barrage had gone off-shells with high-explosive warheads.

  12

  Sardanaplus Highlands,

  1255 kilometers east of Cingulum Mirach

  17 April 3133

  Austin blinked, and for a moment he thought he saw his brother. Before he could force his lips to call out Dale's name, the apparition spoke in an emotion-choked voice.

  "Austin, you're all right!" "Father!" To Austin's ears his cry came out a dull, distant croak, but it was enough for the Governor to understand him.

  "Don't exert yourself," Sergio Ortega said.

  Austin forced himself to reconstruct what had occurred. He had been leading his company to a quick victory. The enemy HQ was exposed, open after they had taken out the defending Behemoth tanks. He remembered the report of a Condor tank racing for the TacCom where Dale had been. Then an explosion. Austin blinked.