Spotting the opening, the Blackjack went for it rather than attempt a jump. Unfortunately for the Compact pilot, the Vindicator also noticed the hole and, timing it just right, moved into the Blackjack's path. The 'Mechs collided, the Vindicator stumbling to its knees and then falling prone in what could only be an exaggerated and purposeful fall.
Dho's Victor cut loose first, the Gauss rifle that made up the assault machine's right arm ejecting a large slug that crushed armor plates over the back of the Blackjack. Two Rangers fired next, lasers and small autocannon gouging more armor from the hapless Blackjack, which was knocked off its feet under the intense fire. Then the Cicada made its mistake, firing on one of the smaller Ranger machines as it attempted to race past. The remaining Ranger 'Mech and three more in the command lance opened fire, two PPCs gouging into the Cicada's left leg and cutting it away at the hip joint.
Aris grimaced at the brute-force tactics as eight BattleMechs kept the two Compact machines pinned to the earth under a barrage of energy weapons. The Cicada gave up quickly, powering down, though the Blackjack attempted to regain its feet once before another Gauss slug tunneled through its back to crush its stabilizing gyro.
"By the book," Zhong-shao Dho broadcast, not bothering to explain what he meant.
Turning his Wraith away from the scene, Aris exhaled heavily, almost a sigh. "Raven, let's get back to the Lao-tzu and rejoin our House. We've seen enough." Sloppy, yes. Inefficient, certainly. But the Hustaing Warriors have performed their duty here, and soon it will be time for House Hiritsu to perform ours.
Aris only wished he could find a bit of his earlier enthusiasm for the entire mission.
Salt River Canyon, Nashuar
St. Ives Compact
Thin patches of snow, melting down under an unusually warm January sun, blanketed the winter-brown field of grass in Nashuar's Salt River Canyon. 'Mechs moved across the canyon—really a wide valley flanked by steep mountains— trading pulses of brightly colored coherent light and missiles that trailed streamers of smoke. A lance of armored hovercraft wove about the field, sliding around the small stands of trees and avoiding when possible the enemy 'Mechs.
Lance Sergeant Maurice Fitzgerald threw his hovercraft into a hard turn, spilling some of the air from its skirt but managing to avoid dipping down far enough to plow up snow or earth. A Lyran Battle Hawk spitted itself on the old-fashioned cross hairs that served as the J. Edgar's targeting reticule, more by accident than design, but a quick finger on the trigger sent two pairs of short-ranged missiles into its back. Fitz recovered full control of his vehicle in time to snake around a thick stand of ponderosa pine, before the Battle Hawk could turn and take issue with him.
How did this get started? Even in the midst of battle, Fitzgerald could not help wondering who had fired the first shot. So far as he knew, Prowler Recon and a lance from the Home Guard 'Mech company had been ordered out to flank a company of the Seventh FedCom RCT just in case there was trouble with the Lyran force acting as occupation troops. Like Nashuar's militia, the Federated Commonwealth unit had ignored the declaration of martial law and the orders to stand down. Part of the forces on loan to Duchess Liao, they were required to act under her orders. But I don't think anyone thought Lyran troops would fire on the FedCommers. Especially with Katrina Steiner-Davion sitting on the throne on New Avalon these days. Just one more sign of the chaos that seems to reign lately.
The fight had started before Fitzgerald's arrival, and the first he knew of it was orders to draw off any Lyran troops he could to protect the Seventh's withdrawal from the area. Nothing like playing tag with war machines that mass two to four times as much as I do.
"All units, escape and evade contact. The Seventh is clear." The voice was that of Subcommander Danielle Singh, now commanding a lance in the Home Guard company.
Fitzgerald opened a channel to his lance. "Prowler Recon, break off and regroup half a klick north." He sideswiped a few smaller trees as he skimmed in too close to the edge of a forest, then slowed down now that the immediate danger was past.
"Prowler One, this is Four. Mayday, mayday. I'm grounded, repeat. I'm grounded."
So much for being out of danger. Fitz powered into a hard turn one hundred-eighty degrees away from the path toward safety. "Prowler One, out for pickup. Where away, Four?"
"Half a klick south, with a BattleMech looking for me. I slid into some trees and lost my fans to a stump." A pause, then more worried. "It doesn't look good, Sergeant. Abort pickup."
Danielle had been monitoring the emergency channel, and broke in before Fitzgerald could reply. "Lance Sergeant Fitzgerald, abort pick up. We can't afford to lose another vehicle today. Recon Four is POW. We'll get him back later."
He shook his head, as if Danielle could see him. "Negative. That is my man, Subcommander." My responsibility. Fitzgerald ran his speed up to a safe sixty kph, fast enough without courting the same disaster that had befallen his lancemate. "Two and Three, proceed to rendezvous. Prowler One, out for pick-up."
"Prowler Three, dropping out for pick-up."
"Prowler Two, dropping out for pick-up."
All right, we'll face insubordination charges together. Fitzgerald caught sight of Recon Three's Harasser, skimming in from the left. Recon Two was already ahead of them, having been further back to start with.
"Fitz, you get back up here. You've got no 'Mech support. I can't cover you."
"Familiar ground, Subcommander. You could probably talk me out of this, except we're already there." Fitzgerald slid his hovertank through a series of serpentine curves as an enemy Gallowglas took a few long-ranged shots with its particle projection cannon. "Recon Four, hey, David! Next time, warn me that it's a heavy beating the brush for you and not the light 'Mech I'm expecting."
"I'm sixty meters up and to the monster's left," Recon Four came back. "Abandoning vehicle. Will meet you at the treeline."
Fitzgerald swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "Two, you make pickup. Three, you're with me. Get in back of that thing and chew on it. I'll keep it busy."
Barreling straight in at the Gallowglas, Fitzgerald was sure the 'Mech pilot would be worried he would get rammed. The seventy-ton BattleMech jumped right ninety meters, almost coming down on top of the Recon Three's Harasser. The J. Edgar tagged it with missiles and medium laser, hardly making a dent in the heavy machine's armor. In turn, the Gallowglas exacted a healthy measure of revenge; its pair of large lasers carving away more than half the armor that fronted Fitz' hovercraft. The Harasser made up for it somewhat, slipping behind the BattleMech and using its twin SRM launchers to blast away large chunks of the weaker rear armor.
Caught in between two decently armored vehicles, the Gallowglas pilot tried to twist around and prevent a second back-shot. Fitz used that to his advantage, throwing the J. Edgar into a series of unpredictable turns and almost losing control before slipping around to join the Harasser in the enemy's rear quarter. The Gallowglas managed to torso-twist far enough to tag Fitzgerald with its PPC, the manmade lightning almost coring through the weaker side armor of the J. Edgar, but Fitz rode out the damage. The combined return fire worked at the armor of the Gallowglas' left leg and right arm, and savaged the armor all across the rear torso. Two of Fitz' missiles flew into the breaches, chewing away at internal structure and cracking wide the fusion engine's shielding.
Its back mostly devoid of any protection, the Gallowglas lit off jump jets and moved quickly for tree cover, where the hovercraft could not follow.
"Break off," Fitzgerald ordered, swinging around to make a fast run to the north. "Prowler Two, you got David?"
"I have him, One. He says thanks."
Fitzgerald smiled, the simple acknowledgment of a job well-done warming him. "He's welcome. But make sure he knows how much trouble he's caused today."
"If you boys are done playing back in the woods," Danielle cut into their conversation, not concealing her irritation, "we would greatly appreciate your company at the rendezvous."
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"On our way," Lance Sergeant Fitzgerald replied, with more cheer than he should be showing. If Nevarr didn't come down on him for abandoning Danielle's flank and ignoring her order, his own company CO surely would. But I got the job done, and didn't lose a single man. And if that doesn't make a difference with them, I don't care.
It makes a big difference to me.
21
Ceres Metals Factory Xin
Singapore Province, Indicass
St. Ives Compact
27 January 3061
Parked just off the official property of Ceres Metals' Indicass facility, Tamas Rubinsky sat easy in his Enforcer's command couch. He'd long since turned off coolant flow to his vest, when it became clear that action was not soon forthcoming, and his neurohelmet rested on the shelf above the viewscreen. The fusion plant of the fifty-ton 'Mech stood on hot standby, waste heat easily shunted to its dozen heat sinks. The sun had long since drunk up the morning dew, and now it beamed down from a sapphire sky to wash the Ceres Metals factory complex and four companies' worth of BattleMechs in its late morning warmth.
The standoff was entering its second hour, and the warriors of Tamas' company were merely spectators.
Tamas sipped a tepid orange sports drink that many MechWarriors swore by for replacing the fluid loss so common in the high-heat environment of a BattleMech cockpit, but for now he drank just for the sake of doing something. One company of the St. Ives Cheveux Legers' third battalion fronted the main factory building for Ceres Metals, their 'Mechs formed up in a single line facing outward to the north and their backs nearly scraping the building's wall. Four hundred meters out and facing them stood two companies of the Second Oriente Hussars. The Crazy Second grouped together in three double-lance forces, but made no move to flank the defenders or press them. Neither unit, it seems, is willing to start the fight.
Tamas' orders were quite clear, spelled out in insulting detail by his father, who had yet to forgive Tamas for his small part in the initial landing skirmish. What does he expect? I was assigned to Major Allard-Liao and she gave the order to attack. A poor excuse, though, and he knew it. Just following orders was the fallback position of any officer caught in a questionable engagement. And truth be known, Tamas believed Cassandra right in ordering the attack. The Crazy Second had obviously come in spoiling for trouble, a belief borne out afterward by the Second's heavy-handed treatment of Compact units showing peaceful non-compliance. So far Rubinsky's Light Horse had managed to avoid trading shots again with the Second, but in Tamas' mind that could not hold for much longer.
But we will not be the first either, and so everyone waits.
The Light Horse company under Tamas' command waited four hundred meters off to the west for now, positioned so they faced roughly the midway point between the two opposing units. They were not even allowed to turn on their targeting scanners today unless the fight started on its own, and only if the Crazy Second fired the first shot. Marko Rubinsky had also defined a shot as a weapon discharge aimed in hostile intent and damaging an opponent. Thank you, Father, for that piece of wisdom.
An auxiliary monitor, selected to the Enforcer's tactical computer, suddenly lit up four new symbols. Tamas quickly read the coded tags, deciphered them as Thunder, Cataphract, Snake, and Huron Warrior, and quickly set about putting his neurohelmet back on and restarting his coolant flow. Capellan 'Mechs, every one.
"Everyone up and ready," he ordered. To verify his suspicions, he twisted the Enforcer enough to get a visual on the new machines and punched up increased magnification on a monitor. No Star League colors, just the usual gauntlet-and-katana insignia of the Capellan Confederation.
"Bring fusion plants fully on-line and run weapon checks.
No targeting computers, but be ready to go weapons-hot any time." He watched the new lance draw in closer, no doubt heading straight for the stalemated confrontation before him.
Father said nothing about Capellans.
* * *
Sang-wei Jerry Gossett, lately of the Second Confederation Reserve Cavalry stationed on Purvo, marched his brand new Thunder to what he knew could very well be his death. His seventy-ton BattleMech boasted a trio of medium pulse lasers, a small long-ranged missile rack, and a Kali Yama big bore autocannon that replaced its right arm. And he was under orders not to use any of his weapons, until and unless it could be demonstrated quite clearly that the Compact troops had left him with little choice.
Of course, firing first often means firing last. So, by the time I am allowed to use them it could be too late. But if the Chancellor required his death for the greater good of Xin Sheng, he would have it.
The Second Oriente Hussars parted to allow his lance into their midst, and he throttled back to a full stop. He'd been given a secure frequency to the Crazy Second, but dialed up a general channel instead and opened communications. "You were to secure this facility," he said without preamble. "Why has this not been done?"
"Orders," the reply came back brusquely. "First Lord Liao has hamstrung us. We are instructed to use force only when all else has failed or if defending ourselves."
The answer I was told to expect, to the very letter. But at least form has been served and recorded by anyone monitoring. Now he switched to the secure channel. "Wait here," he ordered, and started his Thunder walking forward again. His lancemates joined him.
"Where are you going?"
Gossett smile thinly, bent on enjoying what could be his last moments. "I'm going to pick a fight," he answered calmly. The Chancellor's will be done.
He almost thought he could hear the other MechWarrior's grin in his response. "We'll be there."
The Cheveux Legers did not move at all as Gossett's lance marched up to directly face the middle four of their line. The four 'Mechs stopped less than ten meters from the Legers. Facing a War Dog, Gossett dialed back up the general frequency. "You are ordered to stand down. If you do not, I am authorized to remove you."
"Think you can do it?" came an immediate reply. "I don't notice any Star League markings for you to hide behind."
Gossett did not bother with further conversation. He tried to step through the right-hand gap between the War Dog and the neighboring Cestus. The Dog moved to block him then, and again when he tried to pass along the left. Pulling in on the control sticks, Gossett tucked the Thunder's arms down and tried to shoulder past. The War Dog shoved back, hard, almost knocking the Thunder to the ground. Gossett wrestled with the control sticks, adding some judicious balancing to the feedback from his own inner ear that the neurohelmet translated to the 'Mech's gyro. The 'Mech barely kept its feet.
That should look convincing enough on any gun-cams. Gossett came in again, only this time with both arms thrust out to shove the War Dog out of his way. The large-bore autocannon made for a very ineffective arm, but he managed to connect anyway. The larger 'Mech stumbled back, bounced off the heavily reinforced wall of the factory, and then thrust itself forward to punch at the Thunder. Powered by myomer musculature, the War Dog's left fist smashed into the Thunder's right side, crushing armor plates, which rained fragments to the ground below.
Gossett rode out the impact. Thank you, he offered in silent salutation. He maneuvered forward, then lashed out with a kick that caught the War Dog in the left leg. At almost the same instant, he knew that his lancemates would also be engaging, under orders to shove their own opponents aside in the hopes of starting a chain reaction that could throw the entire Legers line into disarray. Of course, they could always argue later that they were merely coming to their commander's rescue, by nonviolent means. How well it worked Gossett had no way of telling right away, since his entire attention span was taken up in a BattleMech-scale fistfight with the War Dog.
Both heavy 'Mechs traded punches and kicks, the War Dog surrendering some advantage due to its reliance on punching while Gossett constantly threatened to topple the larger 'Mech with a well-placed kick. An eerie fight, with no radio chatter to distract and no rising heat scale t
o turn the cockpit into a sauna. The odds will catch up eventually, he thought, already tensing for it.
Finally, the blow he'd been waiting for arrived, smashing into the Thunder's head. His right, eye-like viewport shattered inward, spraying the cockpit with shards of ferroglass. Shaking off the stunning effect—what could easily have been a killing blow—Gossett floated his targeting reticule over the War Dog's frame. At point-blank range the commander picked up an easy target lock, pulling back on the main triggers on each control stick. The left trigger fired all three of the Thunder's medium pulse lasers, their ruby darts stitching into the already-damaged armor on the War Dog's right leg and body, laying the leg open to the skeleton beneath. The right activated the Kali Yama autocannon, its twelve-centimeter armor-piercing slugs ripping out of the barrel and slamming into the War Dog's right arm. The slugs tore open armor, pierced myomer flesh, and ate into the skeleton beneath.
Shaken and unbalanced by the loss of over two tons of armor, the War Dog lost its footing and toppled backward, slamming into the ground flat on its back. Gossett lashed out with another kick, a destructive attack that caught the War Dog in its severely damaged right leg and wrenching it off at the hip. You won't be getting up again.
But Gossett was given no time to enjoy his victory. Even as he turned to lend help to one of his lancemates, the Thunder rocked forward with a forceful hit from behind.
The Light Horse company! He knew it was a laser hit, just by the way it felt. Then he knew nothing but the mental pain of neural feedback and the violent throes of a 'Mech dying around him as the energy penetrated his rear armor and touched off the ammunition magazine for his LRMs. His vision swam as the neural feedback increased in intensity, and his last coherent thought before the darkness claimed him was of Sun-Tzu Liao, and the knowledge that he had served his Chancellor well today.
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