The Stealth cut uphill, engaged jump jets, and rocketed skyward in an attempt to flee Aris' Wraith. Aris throttled up into a run, not wishing to spike his heat levels again and knowing the other BattleMech could not hope to gain much on him in the way of distance. The enemy machine fired as it came down, lasers and a full spread of short-ranged missiles this time. One missile exploited a faulty seam in the Wraith's torso area, the explosion cracking the gyro casing and throwing that piece of critical equipment out of alignment.
Wrestling his controls, Aris fought to keep the Wraith upright, but then was forced to abandon himself to gravity. He sprawled forward, right shoulder digging down through snow and frozen ground and costing him more armor. He rode out the jostling, then propped himself up on his right arm. That was your one chance, he silently told his opponent. He cut loose with his medium pulse lasers, both of them tracking in on the Stealth's damaged left leg to slice through armor and myomer bundles and cut into the BattleMech's internal structure.
The Stealth dropped again, this time over a small ledge designed as a ski jump. The 'Mech gouged down through snow and earth, partially crushing in its left side, and then continued a slide down toward the base of the hill. A fireball blossomed in its chest, throwing out streamers of smoke and a few balls of fire that exploded within seconds, kicking the Stealth up from the ground and then adding to its momentum as it continued a downward slide.
Ammunition bin! Aris did not know a great deal about the Stealth's design, but he recognized the result well enough as missiles detonated in sympathetic explosions to create one huge destructive force. Then the fire tore back out through the left arm and into the center torso, cartwheeling the shattered BattleMech as it melted away engine shielding and joined with the raw fire of the fusion engine. It doesn't have cellular ammo storage? Aris couldn't believe such a new design lacked the saving construction procedure of CASE. The Stealth disintegrated right before his eyes, leaving large pieces of itself all over the slope.
Punch out, Aris thought, bringing his Wraith back to its feet. Though he knew that there would be no ejecting from such catastrophic destruction. The fall, the explosion, and the hard jostling of the continued slide would likely knock the opposing MechWarrior unconscious. And with the cartwheel roll of its slide, any ejection would likely send the pilot plowing directly into the ground anyway. Aris' white-knuckle grip on his control sticks left an ache in his finger joints as he watched the final few seconds of the Stealth's disintegration. "Scrap one Stealth," he said over his company's combat channel, though the elation he would normally have felt was missing.
"So I noticed," came Raven Clearwater's husky voice in his ear. "If the judges' stand was filled, I'd be reading nine point nines down here."
Aris tried to smile at her humor, but the grin seemed to freeze on his face. It should have been a glorious battle, with a triumphant ending. But, watching the violent death of his opponent, it felt hollow. He blamed the FedCom warrior for robbing him of a clean victory, then pushed the thought from his mind.
You had your chance to deal with a peaceful occupation. You were given a second chance to stand down. We owe you nothing.
And if Aris could keep that idea foremost in his mind, perhaps the Nashuar assignment would not plague him in the way Denbar and even Hustaing had. I am a warrior in service to the Confederation. This is my task. He turned his Wraith downhill, and rejoined the battle.
Yuling Territory, Denbar
Xin Sheng Commonality, Capellan Confederation
Standing on a small hill that overlooked Denbar's Toutle River Valley, Warner Doles raised his binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the scene below. Two vehicles lay smoking at the river's edge, a Manticore and a very old Ontos, both bearing the insignia of the Hustaing Warriors. They were no more than scrap now, but at least his men had pulled one scout 'Mech into their trap, and that one they could rebuild. It was a minor annoyance that it was a Blackwind Lancers BattleMech, but better that it was back in their hands now.
"Major Doles," a voice interrupted his observation. Doles glanced back to find one of his company commanders, also Dispossessed, waiting for him, radio in hand. "We have a report from the valley. The Raven is salvageable, but will need new lasers, which we do not have. The Mech Warrior and four members of the vehicle crews are alive and in custody."
The battalion is effectively dead, but still they hold to our old ways. Doles had tried to shrug off the field promotion his people had thrust on him, but in the end had accepted it as one more means of holding them together. He had led his Blackwind Lancers into the hills south of Pinedale soon after the various occupations began, realizing that Denbar would be on the list and that his people would again be confined as potential troublemakers. And right now, that is all we are. But hopefully not for long.
"Thank you, commander. We'll get lasers soon enough, but I'll take that Raven for her recon capabilities, if nothing else." It was a start. With the three militia 'Mechs Doles' warriors were able to bring in, they could field a lance now. He knew they needed to start concentrating on more support personnel and supplies. Then maybe they could start hitting back.
Specters of their past defeat, though, whispered up from the depths of his mind, reminding him of what haste had bought them previously. That would not happen again. We will take our time, and rebuild. We owe that to the Duchess and to the Compact.
"No mistakes," he said, raising the field glasses to his eyes once more. "Get those vehicles rendered down for any last useful piece of armor or equipment, and then we move further south. We're going to be getting some attention when that patrol turns up missing."
"Yes, sir," the commander said, then pulled back far enough to use the radio without disturbing his commanding officer.
Surveying the scene below again, Doles found his warriors falling in to help the technicians now, wielding cutting torches and tools. Yes, it was a start. One lance could be turned into two, and two into a company. There were certainly more pockets of resistance out there, including some Denbar Home Guard who might take to the back country if it meant slipping the Confederation's leash and striking back. And maybe, just maybe we can rebuild. If we are allowed the time.
But right now, time was not on the Compact's side.
26
Hei-se Foothills
Milos
St. Ives Compact
23 March 3061
A bright array of stars slashed across the clear midnight sky over Milos, providing plenty of light. Cassandra Allard-Liao stood on the ridge of a small hill, focusing a high-powered Starlight Scope on the horizon. She wore only a simple jumpsuit over her Mech Warrior gear, but it was more than the chill night air prickling the flesh of her arms and legs.
"Here they come," she said as the Starlight picked up distant motion. "Like we'd hoped."
Captain Julius Scavros, commanding officer of First Company, nodded. "They should pass right between these two hills. We'll be ready for them."
How the Third Canopian Fusiliers discovered so quickly the arrival of the Second St. Ives Lancers, Cassandra could only guess. Better scanning equipment than we gave them credit for, an infantry patrol that we didn't see—didn't matter. The increase in patrols over the area had allowed the Lancers to lay a trap. All three companies waited at different spots, and Cassandra had apparently picked the winning location. Which adds my command lance to the ambush. Two-to-one odds—even without the benefit of surprise we should clear the field. It bothered her, though, that she didn't believe they could keep the element of surprise. No reason to expect them to be especially alert; except for a few local farmers whose lands we crossed through no one should know that we're here. She rubbed at her arms as if trying to warm them. So why am I suddenly nervous?
"Let's button back up," Cassandra said, and the two officers began to half-walk half-slide down the backside of the rocky slope to where their 'Mechs waited. She searched for a source to her unease. "You sure we can keep them silent? I don't want reinforcement
s showing up before our DropShip. We need all the salvage we can lay our hands on."
"So long as we can contain them to within half a klick of Lieutenant Frakes' Spector. It's been modified to completely jam all frequencies but our own combat channels." Scavros broke away then, trotting to where his Mark Two Gallowglas stood thirty meters distant.
Cassandra scaled back up the chain-link ladder she'd rolled down from her cockpit, then pulled it in after her and locked down the Cestus' cockpit hatch. Her jumpsuit unzipped down both legs, allowing her to pull it off over her combat boots, and she quickly strapped herself into the command couch, with cooling vest plugged in and neurohelmet snug. All systems checked out, and she opened a secure channel to her command. "Everyone warm up and check your weapons. We'll have company in about two minutes." And with just a bit of luck the hills will shield us until it's too late for the Canopian troops. Show them that an alliance with the Confederation has hidden costs.
"We have company!" someone shouted over the channel. "Coming up from behind."
Cassandra's head's up display read the same thing. Three small circles that denoted vehicles, though her computer could not identify them. The coding kept changing, first suggesting that they were Savannah Masters and then APCs and then lightly armored cargo transports. Lights from one vehicle swept across the side of the hill behind which she hid, pinning the Cestus' shadow against it. Then a bullet spanged against the outside of her cockpit, confirming that the newcomers were hostile.
They were attacking with rifles? Irregular infantry? Something within told Cassandra that this new threat was what had been bothering her, even as she turned her Cestus to get a view of the vehicles. Another Lancer made it easy, firing a small laser at one that had apparently struck at him with small-arms fire. The ruby bolt sliced through the non-armored truck, which erupted in a fuel explosion that cast an orange glow over the other two vehicles. One was a pickup truck, two men with rifles in the bed firing wildly at the Lancers' BattleMechs. Another was a flatbed with a small tractor chained down to it. Which made sense now of her shifting tactical readout. The computers weren't programmed with civilian vehicles.
"Break off," she ordered. "Those are civilians!" And what they were doing out here, she really had no idea. Except they just blew our ambush. "Hit the Fusiliers! They know we're here now. Lieutenant Frakes, you'd better be jamming them." Firing her jump jets, Cassandra lifted the Cestus to the top of the hill, where it would have a commanding view of the other side. She came down among some fir trees, the massive weight of her BattleMech crushing them. The two lances of Fusiliers were breaking apart into defensive pairs. Older machines, almost every one.
Just like most of the Home Guard units the Confederation has been engaging. Well, now it's our turn. Hardly a fair fight, but then neither was the Confederation's forced occupation of the Compact.
Cassandra selected a Whitworth, close enough that she could target it by eye, and struck out with two large lasers and her Gauss rifle. The lasers flashed brightly in the darkness, cutting deeply into the armor along the Whitworth's right arm and left side. Her Gauss slug smashed into the right side, shattering armor plates and crushing the LRM missile launcher mounted there, robbing it of half its long-ranged firepower. The Whitworth never had the chance to return fire, her savage attack throwing it roughly to the ground.
A wave of heat washed through her cockpit, though the Cestus' double-strength heat sinks quickly shunted it away. Normally, Cassandra would have pressed forward to finish off the Whitworth, which was even now trying to rise, but of greater importance was keeping every Canopian 'Mech within jamming range. While she searched for a new target, a newer Marshal design out of the Magistracy made the decision easy for her by striking at the Cestus with its own laser and a flight of five missiles. Cassandra's 'Mech shook under the fire but held easily to its feet.
She glanced to the wireframe damage schematic of the Cestus, noticing that her left leg had lost a fourth of its protection to the laser but that the missiles had done little more than pock-mark her torso. She floated her targeting reticule over the Marshal's silhouette, but had trouble getting a lock as it ran through a stand of trees. She squeezed off the shot anyway, adding in her medium lasers this time in an attempt to work with the law of averages.
The law came down on the Marshal's side. The nickel-ferrous slug from her Gauss rifle shattered the bole of an old elm, and her two larger lasers burned through branches and brush to scorch earth. Only the twin mediums hit, each sloughing away barely a quarter-ton of armor from the Marshal's left arm and center torso. An embarrassing performance. Cassandra, you can do better!
"Commando, two-nine-five degrees. It's heading for the curtain."
Blinking sweat from her eyes and lining up her next shot, Cassandra almost ignored the warning that a Canopian 'Mech was heading for the effective range on Frakes' jamming capability. Then she realized that the bearing placed the 'Mech behind them, where most units could no longer reach but she could, perched atop the hill. She drove her targeting reticule into the right border of her screen, torso-twisting her 'Mech in an effort to establish a line of sight against the fleeing Commando. Figuring a rough range from her HUD readings, and realizing that she would hardly be able to see it, she selected thermal imaging and committed herself to targeting by sensors only.
She caught up to the Canopus 'Mech just before it could flee her weapons, the center of its outline glowing red from the fusion engine output and then fading the spectrum to a cool blue at the ends of its arms and legs. She sent a single long-range Gauss slug speeding after it. The slug took the Commando behind the left knee, smashing armor and snapping the foamed titanium bones of its leg at a point that would have been mid-femur on a human. Not today, little 'Mech. "Someone clean up that mess," she ordered, proud of the shot.
Then the world through her viewscreen blurred as the Cestus stumbled under intense weapons fire, including a laser shot to her 'Mech's head, which threw her against the restraining harness straps and nearly caused her to black out. The Marshal, taking advantage of her distraction, had closed on her to strike at the Cestus with everything it had. Fir trees burned around her from an errant flamer shot, but everything else had connected against her BattleMech's upper body for healthy damage.
Cassandra shook off the stunning effects of a head hit quickly, then began her fight with gravity. The neurohelmet she wore fed her own sense of balance into the Cestus' gyro, but that was not enough. She manipulated her arms for leveraging effect and moved one foot to a more stable position. It kept her upright, and she ascertained her damage while tracking back over to engage the Marshal. She had twice as many 'Mechs out here. Why didn't someone else pick up the Marshal?
The answer, when it came to her, was almost frightening in its simplicity. No one else fired on it, just like no one else had fired on the Whitworth. Because she had targeted it. She remembered the battle ROMs she'd studied from her brother's fights during the Clan invasion, and even some few older ones of her mother's MechWarrior days. How often had Cassandra noted other Mech Warriors refusing to assist either of them, believing that Kai and Candace could handle themselves or might even resent any interference. High praise, she had thought then.
The Marshal was circling up the small hill, trying for her back. Cassandra wheeled around, centering her torso as she sidestepped in an effort to catch the Marshal. The other 'Mech's having to fight the uphill slope worked in her favor, allowing her to gain a target lock just as the Marshal shouldered up to the small ridge on which she stood. Close enough that she could read the Fusiliers insignia, and the markings that identified the Marshal pilot as a company CO. One on one with the most experienced enemy on the field. You wanted to see how good you were, Cassandra. Here's another chance.
Emerald light flared from the Marshal's, right-arm laser and torso-mounted medium pulse laser. Both connected. The large laser evaporated the last of her right-side armor, while the medium chewed into her undamaged right arm. The Canop
us MechWarrior also swept the BattleMech's left arm in at the Cestus' legs, trying to use the uneven terrain to force a fall. But before it could connect, Cassandra struck back, hard.
Her Gauss rifle, suffering at the extreme close range, missed, but that was all. The Cestus' large lasers cored into both sides of the Marshal's upper chest, while its mediums drilled into the right arm and leg. The backwash of ruby light flared in the night as armor melted under the intense energy or was simply cut away from its supports. Bits of fiery metal dripped down to the ground. Did I get your attention?
Cassandra felt the impact tremor and could hear the crunch of crushing armor as the Marshal's arm smashed into her right leg. She easily kept her balance, and then kicked out in her own physical attack. Myomer muscles capable of supporting the weight of a sixty-five-ton 'Mech drove the kick forward with tremendous power. The Cestus' slender foot drove into the Marshal's right side, striking sparks as she crushed through the last of its armor and into internal structure.
Voices overlapped from the speaker built into her neurohelmet as the Lancers radioed in several enemy 'Mechs crippled or destroyed. Apparently the Lancers had only lost one of their own so far, a Blackjack OmniMech, to a severed leg. Easily fixed. Then, as the Marshal broke off and lowered its arms, she caught the static-broken words of a close transmission.". . . for-withdrawal-repatriation. . ."
The Fusiliers patrol commander was asking for terms of a surrender. There wouldn't be one, couldn't be one, and Cassandra almost opened fire on him while he continued to back away.
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