The Legate was less sanguine. “You might,” he said. “You might. It’s a long road back.” But if his doubts included any serious thoughts of rescinding the offer, Ruskoff hid it well. He shrugged, offered a tight smile and an encouraging nod. “But I don’t believe it will be for lack of trying.”
“No.” The fallen Paladin tried on a weak smile, and felt it strain at the corners. “Never that.” He already knew that he wouldn’t wait until morning. If Ruskoff was extending this very last attempt at redemption, there was one more thing he could do. Something he could not even tell the Legate he intended to try.
Yiling (Chang-an)
Qinghai Province, Liao
Evan Kurst had let Jenna alone as they both worked through their grief. They were there for each other, certainly, but with Hahn’s death and David Parks’s loss to the Conservatory, they escaped into solitude rather than each other’s arms. Just as well. As House Ijori rose from the ashes, there was much to think about.
Now Evan was thinking about rekindling their start at a serious relationship.
Standing in the commons that separated his dormitory from hers, he leaned against the low bend of elm, watching moths dance around the overhead lamps. The bark rubbed rough against his bared forearms, and his feet were cold from standing in the wet, unmowed grass. He walked himself through what he might say. If she gave him the chance. Jen was a strong woman who also knew what she wanted, and might not give him much time to say anything one way or another. Evan had to admit, such forcefulness had its charms as well. He smiled, laughing at himself, joking up the courage for that last step forward.
He never made it. Footfalls padded to an uneasy stop behind him. The quiet was expectant. Evan couldn’t help but turn.
Daniel Peterson nodded. “Hello, Evan.”
Evan reached for his pistol, forgetting in the sudden burst of adrenaline that he’d traded his cadet corps fatigues for civilian dress. Jeans and a casual shirt. Canvas sneakers. He shoved himself away from the tree, glancing about to see if Peterson had led back an entire Republic team. Nothing. They had the commons to themselves except for one cadet walking on the other side of the lawn. Too far away.
Should he yell for backup? Take a swing at the betrayer? Evan had imagined a dozen different ways this meeting could take place, and right now he was stumped for one of them.
The other man backed up a wary step, ready.
“Easy, Evan. I didn’t come here to fight.”
Evan took one threatening step away from the elm, hands balled into tight fists. Peterson made no move to defend himself, even though he had several centimeters and twenty kilos on Evan, easily. What was he waiting for? Charge the man. Wrap him around that tree. Do something! Call an alarm—Peterson would never get off the grounds alive.
So if Evan couldn’t make himself judge and executioner, he’d leave it to others?
Standing there, shaking, Evan forced himself to relax. Slowly, he unclenched each fist. He had grown beyond blindly striking out, apparently. He had a greater need to understand.
“So,” he said, remembering their last conversation, how it ended. “This isn’t 3128. But you are Ezekiel Crow.”
“My name is Daniel Peterson. I think you know that.”
“Why are you here?” Evan asked, spitting out each word as if it had a bad taste.
Peterson held a steady gaze. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our last conversation. I thought there was still something left to say. Something that might make a difference.” He looked around the deserted, darkened campus. “I felt I owed you that.”
“You have no idea what you owe me. I’ve hated you my entire life for what you did. And you had the nerve to stand there and lecture me on the consequences of my actions? All that empty talk about the road to hell being paved by the best of intentions?”
“I did that. I couldn’t stand there and watch it all happen again without trying to stop it.”
Evan advanced a step on Peterson. “Let it go, you said. Talk this out, you said. You!” The anger was there, white hot and burning at the edge of Evan’s control.
Peterson looked ready to turn and walk away. Evan swore that he’d bring the man down and kill him if he tried. But the Betrayer simply checked the horizon, saw that they were still alone and folded his arms over his chest.
“You’re not going to listen, Evan, but I’m going to try one last time. I’ve spent most of my life trying to make good on what I did, but I’ve never made excuses. And I’m not about to start with you.”
“Why not me? What’s wrong with me?” Evan felt a cold hollow beginning to eat away at his anger now. He’d let it go for too long. “My parents died after the Night of Screams when a ’Mech—a Republic’Mech!—smashed through our apartment building. That was in the second wave of assaults. Why should I care how many years you lived a lie, trying to make it up to The Republic? What have you done to make it up to me?”
“I tried to help you not make the same mistake I did.”
“It’s not a mistake unless you never had the conviction to begin with. That’s your problem, not mine.” His rage was spent, and Evan shook with cold and adrenaline fatigue now. He waited, but Peterson had nothing else to say, apparently. The two men stood looking at each other. “What did you expect, Daniel? Why did you come here? Forgiveness?”
“It’s not important anymore, Evan, why I came here. The person I wanted to help is gone.”
“No.” Evan shook his head. “The person you thought you could help never was. My decisions may not be easy ones, but I can live with them.” It was he who turned away now. Toward his own dormitory. Not Jenna’s. He glanced back once, and saw Peterson still standing there. “Can you say the same?” he asked.
No answer followed after him.
34
A Time For Change
Today, Lord Governor Harri Golan of Prefecture VI stressed that only through peaceful relations with neighboring realms can The Republic hope to survive and thrive in this time of chaos and doubt. The Lord Governor mentioned specifically his latest attempts to broker a new peace with the Oriente Protectorate, and to stop any similar threats from the Capellan Confederation.
—ComStar Interstellar Associated, New Canton, 3 August 3134
Suriwong Floods
Sarrin Province, Liao
15 August 3134
The mobile HQ rocked back and forth as it lumbered up the clay riverbank. Mai Uhn Wa tightened down the simple lap belt that strapped him into the crawler’s seat. Gray, pre-dawn light brightened his monitors, and on them he watched as half a dozen ’Mechs and a rump battalion of tanks and APCs waded ashore, skimmed across the latest in a series of shallow rivers, or plowed through one of a dozen fords.
The Suriwong Floods drained out of Beilù’s Northern Ranges every year as heavy spring melt washed through the flatlands. The runoff spread into a system of marshes and bogs, cutting through in a shifting pattern. As the runoff slackened and one particular cut deepened, the Floods would eventually form the Suriwong River. But not yet.
“Shiao Mai. I have Sang-shao Rieves on video transmission.”
Michael Yung-Te glowered down at him. “Now you will see.” The agent had refused a secure seat on the observation pad, not wanting to leave Mai’s side on the control deck. He stood near one wall, holding on to a hand strap, looking vaguely sick as the crawler continued to roll and pitch as a large vessel sliding over ocean waves. “The Sang-shao will not be in a forgiving mood.”
Mai nodded, and slid his chair back to an empty station. A nearby tech patched through the transmission, and a darkly unhappy face glared at him from only a few dozen kilometers away.
“You tread on dangerous ground, Mai Uhn Wa.”
“That is so. Footing on the Suriwong Floods is tricky at best.”
The Dynasty Guard’s commander was not amused. “My scouts have reported a large military force converging on our position. Other than yours,” the man clarified, preempting Mai’s next remark.
“That would be Legate Ruskoff. I would expect a mix of militia, Triarii Protectors, and Principes Guards.”
“The Republic is striking at us here? Now? How very convenient.”
Mai chose to ignore the sarcasm. “We think so, since we have come here to assist, Sang-shao Rieves. If you will deploy from the north, we can link up before Legate Ruskoff hits your valley hideaway.”
“A location they should know nothing about! We cannot remove . . . the artifact in time.” Meaning the stasis chamber containing Sun-Tzu Liao. “It is a technology we are unfamiliar with. But of course, your faithful dog would know that.”
Mai shrugged. “However The Republic militia has come here, we are on hand to assist. Shall we pool our efforts, Carson Rieves, or shall we divide our efforts in front of a larger enemy force?”
“Very soon, Mai Uhn Wa, we will determine, you and I, who is in charge on Liao.”
“And if we discuss this much longer, The Republic will settle that for us. I estimate fifteen minutes before my forces engage. Without you, we fail.” And without the Second McCarron’s and the Conservatory cadre, Rieves could not be assured of victory on Liao either. Mai let the officer chew on that a moment. “Or would you rather risk the artifact and have to explain its loss to Chancellor Daoshen?”
The idea did not sit well with Rieves no matter which way he looked at it. “You are playing for stakes far above your position,” was all Reives said. And then his transmission winked out of existence.
Mai Uhn Wa looked to the Maskirovka agent. “Now we shall see,” he agreed.
Evan already had too much to keep straight in his mind. The hastily studied lay of the land—mostly a marshy river basin followed by the soft rolling hills that were Sun-Tzu Liao’s final resting place. He juggled Mai’s orders for battle, the various level of skill of the men and women under his command, his position on the far right wing of the Capellan line and what would be expected of him. Jenna in her ForestryMech. Mark Lo, who had joined one of the new Fa Shih squads.
The very real fact that the assembled Republic army was twice their size.
Mai’s Praetorian command vehicle fed strategic information onto one of his screens. With the Principes Guards and most every militia Warrior that Nánlù could spare fielded in this final strike at the Confederation position, Ruskoff assembled nearly two mixed-force battalions. The Legate’s Zeus was their heaviest ’Mech, and one of a dozen large machines. The Capellan irregulars could not compete. Even with McCarron’s Armored Cavalry and Governor Lu Pohl’s commandeered forces. They needed the Dynasty Guard, and Shiao Mai could not promise they would deploy.
“Contact,” a voice crackled in his ear as forward scouts began skirmishing with Republic outriders. Threat icons burned to life on his heads-up display. “Falling back under heavy fire.”
Evan’s orders were clear. Draw a large force off The Republic’s main body and pull them in toward the Dynasty Guard’s position. “Bring them to us,” he reminded his small picket force. “Company. Forward at them.”
The ground was soft. Too soft for speedy travel unless Evan wanted to strain a leg actuator or hyperextend a joint. Muddy clay oozed around the Ti Ts’ang’s feet, sucked at each footstep and clung to the lower legs in large clumps of reddish gold muck. He moved in lurches and bowlegged steps, hoping they would clear the Floods quickly and find some good open room for maneuvers.
Not quick enough. The scouts in Pegasus hovercraft and Demons arrived first, pulling a pair of VTOL strike craft behind them as well as a mixed lance of Destroyers and Bellona.
The wheeled Demons stuck to more solid ground, bouncing and skidding and throwing out long rooster tails of earth. The Destroyers had every advantage, and pounced on the wheeled vehicles just short of safety, turning one into a burning wreck before Evan could throw enough forces forward to aid them.
Long-range missiles and a few light autocannon sniped at the patrol, but the Destroyers weren’t foolish enough to close with a combined-arms company. A pair of McCarron’s Balacs chased off the strike ’copters, and Evan’s force shook out into a ragged line to pursue.
“Don’t wait for us,” Jenna said, bringing up the rear in her ForestryMech accompanied by a few slower assault tanks. “Sixth squad, on my lead. We’re pulling for the headlands.” She veered off.
If Jenna could clear two shallow rivers and a small swamp, she could shortcut over some drier land and act as a safety force toward which Evan and his abbreviated company could run.
“Watch your back,” Evan told her, but his mind already looked toward his flanking strike against Ruskoff’s column.
He barely heard her say, “You do the same.”
Jenna’s force broke away, following a ridge of mostly dry high ground. Evan let her go with a small twinge of concern that he quickly buried. There was still plenty left for him to worry about, after all. Including what they could do if the Dynasty Guard did not show. There had to be something. He just didn’t see it yet.
35
Both Sides of the Line
Gan Singh’s provisional government, advised by Sang-shao Xavier McCarron, has asked for Senator Jiu Soon Lah to return to the world and accept a post as the new planetary governor under Confederation rule. Governor Jean Littlefield resigned after Gan Singh’s final surrender, and was allowed to leave the system.
—ComStar Interstellar Associated, Gan Singh, 7 August 3134
Suriwong Floods
Sarrin Province, Liao
15 August 3134
Artillery fire tore up the Floods around Evan Kurst, geysering up water and fire, muck and smoke. An oily haze churned across the low-lying hummocks. A downed Balac Strike VTOL burned on an island of cottonwood and willows—black soot and gray ash swirled together in the air. Missiles rose and fell in their sharp, violent arcs, and the hard light of laserfire slashed back and forth between BattleMechs, armored vehicles and infantry.
Evan’s forward probe hadn’t split The Republic force, they’d turned it. Legate Ruskoff wheeled around to throw everything at them, and Evan’s small company was forced far back from the main Capellan line. The Legate first thought they were the Dynasty Guard. Mai’s command vehicle unscrambled a few intercepts to that effect, including one broken transmission that the House Master played for Evan.
“Legate, I . . . these vehicles. That Tian-zong. Conservatory forces! Ijori . . . come out of Chang-an.”
Evan recognized the voice instantly. He’d never forget it. Daniel Peterson was fighting on the field!
The only ’Mech engaged near House Ijori’s Tian-zong was a Triarii-painted Tundra Wolf. Evan circled around on its position, weathering a storm of missiles and laserfire to challenge the Betrayer. His Ti Ts’ang’s heat-accelerated myomer allowed him to close, hacking large chunks of armor away from Peterson’s chest and side.
But the disgraced veteran was not without some support. A Principes armor company led forward by the on-planet Knight—Lady Eve Kincaid—came to Peterson’s rescue and drove back the Ijori forces. Her Mad Cat III savaged two of Evan’s Condors. A pack of hoverbikes peppered his Ti Ts’ang with laserfire, chasing Evan back toward safety.
Triarii and militia squads piled up to the west. The Knight and fallen Paladin held the north. Eva’s position looked desperate. Then fate intervened in the voice of an Armored Cavalry scout patrolling far to the northeast.
“The Dynasty Guard! They’re deploying out of the hills!”
More welcome words Evan had not heard. The Republic force got the news at nearly the same time, apparently, with Lady Kincaid splitting away for a hard run northwest. She drew several hovercraft with her.
Evan pulled his crosshairs over the Tundra Wolf, preparing another charge. He sparred against the Tundra Wolf’s heavier weapons, trying to hold Peterson’s attention as the Ijori Tian-zong slogged forward with a squad of Regulator II heavy tanks.
“All nearby units, this is Ijori-five.” Jenna! “Praetorian is under assault. We need backup. Home in
on transponder three-eight-one.”
Tori Yngstrom moved up on his position. Her Tian-zong belted out Gauss slugs from each arm. “We can hold here, push them back toward the Dynasty Guard. Get to Shiao Mai!”
Evan was the logical choice, his Ti Ts’ang was the faster ’Mech. He had walked away from Peterson in Chang-an, and that had been one of the hardest decisions of his life. This time, there was no choice to make. His House Master needed him.
Evan pulled back, grabbing a Destroyer and two nearby Condors, as well as a loaded Maxim APC arriving from the south. “Three-eight-one,” he ordered his new ad hoc unit. On the command frequency, he broadcast, “Ijori-one, en route.”
Six kilometers struggling through marshes and muddy rivers cost Evan nearly ten minutes as he homed in on the mobile HQ’s directional beacon. He learned on the way that it was Ruskoff’s Zeus pushing forward to trap Mai Uhn Wa in an encirclement. Jenna opened a door, her ForestryMech dicing up a pair of Joust crawlers. The Praetorian escaped with armor and infantry assets to make rendezvous with Evan’s force.
Not soon enough. The Zeus followed and caught up with the fleeing command unit, called in artillery fire to pin it down. Evan listened in on the battlefield chatter coming from just ahead. He ran his Ti Ts’ang up a steep rise that thrust out of the swampy flatlands, cleared its summit and then leapt far out over the Suriwong Floods.
Jenna’s ForestryMech was nowhere to be seen. Mai Wa’s Praetorian struggled along a spine of rock and clay, protected by a Locust, some Armored Cavalry, and two wheeled APCs dumping out Purifier troopers and Ijori irregulars.
Still airborne, Evan identified a Zeus and a Pack Hunter leading forward a mixed bag of Republic armor and infantry. More threat icons gathered on his HUD’s horizon.
He came down into a shallow river, splashing up great sheets of water and sinking the BattleMech’s feet meters into soft, grabbing clay. Stuck. His arrival threw back the Zeus, which turned away reluctantly like a snarling beast deprived of its prey. One PPC snaked manmade lightning across the stirred Floods, ripping a long, jagged gash up the side of Evan’s Ti Ts’ang. Gray-green heat sink coolant spurted out of the wound like arterial blood.
By Temptations and by War Page 28