Trial by Chaos

by J. Steven York

  But Vega, of course, was not "most worlds."

  "Star Colonel, this is Captain Tupolov."

  As though he wouldn't instantly recognize her voice. Captain Karen Tupolov was the commander of the local FVR 'Mech forces and a Mech Warrior of exceptional talent for a freeborn. She was his good right hand, and he often considered her as something more than that. "Go ahead. Captain."

  "If the 'Mechs can't use the skyway, why not send your elementals?"

  Of course! In consideration of the needs of urban combat, the Raging Bears now deviated from the longstanding Clan practice of elemental infantry riding into combat perched on the backs of 'Mechs. Instead, special cargo trucks had been modified to accommodate a full Star of the genetically engineered giants in their powered armor. In many circumstances, the trucks could get to trouble spots in the city faster and with less difficulty than a 'Mech, or at least close enough that the elementals could then close in using their armor's built-in jump jets.

  "Star Captain Vong. Where are you? Can you divert your truck onto the skyway?"

  "Let me check the map." A pause. "We can backtrack up the

  Sixth Street

  off-ramp three blocks ahead. With"— the tone dripped sarcasm—"permission of City Control, of course."

  Again Conner switched channels. "City Control, we're diverting the truck with our elementals up the Sixth Street off-ramp and north onto the skyway."

  Fred was uncharacteristically slow to respond. Hall imagined him searching for some reason to object. "The vehicle is—barely—within the weight limits, but that ramp is just this side of the accident. They won't be able to get past."

  Conner couldn't help but grin. "City Control, this is a full Star of men in Rogue Bear battle armor, collectively as strong as a bulldozer and each equipped with missiles, machine guns and claws that can rip through 'Mech armor like it was wet paper. Your accident is about to be cleared in record time."

  It was small satisfaction that the elementals would arrive on scene in a timely fashion. "This is no way to fight a war," he muttered.

  "This is no war, Star Colonel," Tupolov's voice replied, and he realized to his embarrassment that he'd left the command circuit open. "Or," she continued, "so they tell us."

  "A discussion for later," he said firmly, stepping his 'Mech over a wire safety fence and leading his 'Mechs on a three-block shortcut across a construction site.

  "This is Vong. We have cleared the truck and we're en route."

  "Good hunting, Star Captain. We'll be there to back you up as soon as we can." His eye twitched as he caught himself using a contraction. It was all too common in the Raging Bear Galaxy these days, a by-product of decades of living among the non-Clan population of the Rasalhague Dominion, fighting alongside their forces. adopting their tactics and, in some cases, picking up their vulgar habits.

  He knew Vong would notice, and that he wouldn't approve, though he'd never say it to Conner's face.

  Common occurrence or not, as a Bloodnamed officer of the Ghost Bear Clan Conner had always tried to hold himself to higher standards. Maybe, he thought bitterly, that too is a losing battle.

  He shook his head, focusing on the flickering green and blue lights of his 'Mech's heads-up display, trying to drive the unwanted negative thoughts from his head. I am a warrior of the Ghost Bear Clan, Star Colonel of the Omega Galaxy, the Raging Bears. I am the product of three hundred years of genetic selection.

  We will prevail!

  But his optimism was hollow. He and his troops were indeed fierce warriors, the equals or betters, in his opinion, of any troops in the Inner Sphere. But this was no true war, no true test of their abilities. It was a holding action against an underground army that wore no uniform, respected no rules of combat or engagement.

  Compared to their OmniMechs and combat armor, the enemy's weapons were weak, but they made up for it by stealth, surprise and cleverness. He'd developed a grudging respect for the abilities of his unseen enemy, if not for their sense of honor.

  They diverted across another construction zone. Half the city was in some stage of construction or repair, and progress was slow. They passed a line of dump trucks and construction IndustrialMechs sitting idle for lack of pilots, drivers and construction workers.

  "This is Vong. We are within sight of the pumping station. I believe this is a false alarm. There is a small fire in one outbuilding, some minor blast damage. I pick up two unidentified hostiles in battle armor rapidly jumping away into the forested slopes above the station."

  "Any chance of catching them?"

  "Doubtful. They've got a good head start, and a million places up there to hide. It was only by using maximum magnification on my optics that I spotted them at all."

  Conner sighed. The insurgents liked to keep them running, but he had a sense that that was not all that was happening here. "Secure the area and search for planted explosives. Check for armor tracks and try to identify what equipment they were using, especially if it looks like Draconis Combine gear. I will expect a full report."

  "Aye, Star Colonel."

  He throttled back his 'Mech and prepared to turn back to the base.

  As he checked the rearview image in his HUD before turning, he saw Jorgen's 'Mech, following at the end of the formation, disappear as the ground gave way beneath it.

  The 'Mech dropped into a deep pit. until only the cockpit and superstructure could be seen aboveground. A large cloud of dust fountained up from the hole, momentarily clouding his visuals. As the dust cleared, Conner could see the 'Mech slumped unmoving against the side of the pit. Even with the 'Mech's suspension and a cockpit crash couch to cushion the fall, fifteen meters was still fifteen meters.

  "Jorgen! Can you hear me? Jorgen."

  There was no answer. If the man was still alive, he was unconscious.

  Conner's mind raced as he threw the safeties off all his weapons systems.

  It could be an accident. The city was centuries old and the veteran of many wars; it was riddled with unmarked tunnels, pipes and underground structures.

  It could be an accident, but he didn't think so. "Formation! Spread out! Be ready for—"

  There was a shout of alarm on the command circuit. Duncan Huntsig, third in the formation, yelled, "ConstructionMechs! They were playing possum!"

  He checked his rear camera in time to see the entire row of ConstructionMechs stir into motion. They headed directly for the FVR AgroMechs, placing themselves behind the friendly units so that Conner and Huntsig couldn't open fire. IndustrialMechs were fierce melee fighters, but a true OmniMech could take them apart easily with distance weapons.

  "Flank them," he ordered Huntsig, "so at least one of us will be able to get a clear shot."

  "Star Colonel," Tupolov called, "dump truck inbound."

  Though occupied holding off two of the ConstructionMechs, she'd caught movement from one of the trucks in the line parked to their west. It was now lumbering towards them, accelerating rapidly. It could not be ignored as a potential threat.

  The truck was a monster, probably weighing more than his 'Mech. But it wasn't as agile and it wasn't armored. and if he couldn't shoot at the IndustrialMechs, the truck was a satisfying alternative.

  He swung his extended-range lasers around and fired off a quick volley at the truck's huge radiator. Metal seemed to splash like water as the lasers hit, and greenish clouds of escaping coolant began to spew forth. There seemed to be little point in destroying the truck. He could easily dodge its charge and wait for the engine to seize up or stall, thus preserving an expensive and valuable piece of equipment. One for you, City Control.

  The truck began to slow, and he turned his attention back to the ConstructionMechs. Huntsig was now on the far side of the melee, and the hostiles were trying, unsuccessfully. to stay out of both their weapon arcs.

  Conner saw his opening as one of the 'Mechs attacking Tupolov gave him a clear shot at its back. He opened fire with his lasers. Armor glowed and melted like butter a
long one shoulder joint. He hit something critical and there was an explosion, the unit's excavator arm falling away to hang loosely, connected by only a few cables and strands of synthetic myomer muscle.

  Thrown off balance, the unit staggered in a turn, trying to slip behind Tupolov again. He targeted its wounded flank, now broadside to him. and opened fire with his autocannon. The shot narrowly missed the weapon arm on Tupolov's 'Mech and found its intended target.

  The damaged 'Mech lurched backward. There was a puff of smoke and a flash of the canopy spinning through the air as the pilot ejected. Then, to Conner's surprise, the other ConstructionMech pilots ejected from their relatively undamaged machines.

  They think they're getting away!

  But even as his brain demanded that he run down the nearest insurgent pilot, still descending on his parachute, his gut knew something was wrong. "Ignore the pilots," he shouted into the command circuit. "Scatter and watch for other threats!" He glanced at the damaged dump truck, nearly invisible in a cloud of its own smoke and steam, barely moving towards them. That wasn't the threat.

  Then mortars started exploding around them. "Scatter! Scatter! Scatter!"

  It was too late for one of the FVR IndustrialMechs, which took a critical hit on the power plant and slumped over, a sitting duck as more rounds exploded around it, preventing the pilot from ejecting.

  He swiveled his Mech's torso, looking for the source of the barrage, but there were dozens of potential hiding places around the site and among the surrounding buildings. They couldn't just start firing at random without risking hundreds of civilian casualties.

  Couldn't they? His finger twitched over his trigger, and he fought the impulse.

  Then the truck exploded.

  Later, they would estimate that several tons of high explosives had been packed inside the truck's endosteel frame, passed through a one-meter inspection hatch and painstakingly placed by hand deep inside the frame members. Jagged hunks of the hardened metal flew in all directions. Conner watched in horror as the truck's cab flew straight at him and disintegrated against his cockpit's ferroglass, just inches from his face.

  Red lights appeared all over his status display, but he was still moving. There was a lurch and a grinding noise with each movement of his 'Mech's right leg, but he could still maneuver, and he could still fight.

  Two of the FVR IndustrialMechs were crippled. Huntsig's 'Mech was immobilized as well, but still able to stand and fight. He saw that Karen was still on the move, circling the edge of the site, unhealthy blue smoke belching from her 'Mech's exhaust stacks. "I've already called in helicopters to extract our pilots," she reported. "Let's get these bastards!"

  His lasers and missiles were out, but he still had his autocannon. Careful to keep his shots inside the construction site, he started hammering anything that might conceal an insurgent. Then he spotted a ground car fleeing the construction site. It probably had come through and picked up the surviving insurgent pilots in the confusion.

  He slammed his 'Mech to a stop. It would make him an easy target, but he couldn't make an accurate shot at this distance with his damaged leg shaking things around. He locked the car in his crosshairs just as it crashed through a fence and careened into the street. He squeezed off a short burst, and the unarmored car exploded into a satisfying cloud of fragments.

  "Good shooting, Star Colonel!" Karen's voice quickly sobered. "We've got to stay on the bubble. Whoever pulled this off is devious as hell, and they pile the surprises on like layers in a cake. That might not be the last one." Conner agreed with Karen's advice, but the mortar fire had stopped. No more traps had sprung, and there was no sign of incoming hostiles.

  "Star Colonel." It was Star Captain Durant from the command center. "Star Colonel, Point Commander Davis at the MechWarrior barracks demands to speak with you. Should I patch him through?"

  Still scanning for threats, Conner answered almost without thinking. "Patch him through."

  "Star Colonel." Davis' voice sounded tense and angry. "There is something unusual going on here. I think—" There was a roar of static, and then the circuit went dead.

  Conner waited for the link to be restored. When nothing happened after several seconds, he rekeyed the command center link. "Durant! Report."

  "One moment."

  "Durant!"

  "One moment."

  He looked at the horizon in the direction of the base, and saw a rising ball of black smoke.

  Now fully focused on what was surely the third volley in the insurgents' attack, he opened another channel. "City Control, we are returning to base. Clear us a path. Clear us a path if you have to drive every car in the city through a storefront to do it! Get those cars out of the way or at least get them empty, because we will crush them if necessary to pass. Now!”

  Still nothing from the command center. He slammed his throttle to the stop, and with a lurching stagger, his 'Mech started running. Karen fell in with him.

  "Durant!"

  "Star Colonel." Durant's voice was like ice. "The barracks have been destroyed. Some kind of truck bomb, we think. It's still unclear—"

  They walked their wounded 'Mechs through the perimeter defenses surrounding their makeshift base, dodging modular blast walls, earth berms and gun emplacements, all useless against what had probably been an inside job.

  Conner could not tear his eyes away from the roaring flames. Already, an armada of fire trucks and spaceport crash trucks were swarming in, dousing the flames with water and foam. But it was obvious there was nothing to save.

  "Durant," he spoke into his comm. "How many?"

  "Sir?"

  "Losses! Report!"

  There was a long pause. "Fifteen we think. Maybe sixteen, including Davis."

  Fifteen warriors dead. Not with honor. Not in battle. No glory to their codex. Good men. Good women.

  Wasted.

  He tore his eyes away from the flames. Karen's 'Mech stood next to his, and he looked over at her cockpit. He could not see her past the dust and glare on the ferro-glass. but he could imagine her looking his way with something like pity. Though he was likely as invisible to her as she was to him, he couldn't bear the thought, and turned away.

  He found himself looking at the flat concrete wall of a nearby 'Mech hangar.

  There was something written in crude letters on the wall, in paint as red as blood. He realized he'd seen that splash of red a hundred times before. The graffiti had been there for months, probably created at great personal risk by some Clan laborer hanging from the roof above, the lettering carefully positioned so as to be at eye level for a 'Mech pilot.

  He'd seen it a hundred times, and seen graffiti like it all over the city. Seen it, but never really read it. Never parsed it. Never let it slip through the armored layers of pride and discipline that came with being a Bloodnamed Clan warrior.

  But he read it now: think the unthinkable.

  And he did.

  2

  From the Great Work of Galaxy Commander Isis Bekker

  So this was the Vega on which we found ourselves. To us, it was just "the battlefield." There was no time to think of history or politics. Our Clan had sent us to do a job—to restore order and stability to this tortured world—and to do that, the warlords must be destroyed. We were outmanned, if not outarmed, fighting on unfamiliar soil, with little logistic support.

  It did not matter. We were Clan, bred for three centuries to be the finest warriors in the universe. We were Ghost Bears, Omega Galaxy, the Raging Bears. We would not be stopped. I led my troops into battle again and again, each time driving back the warlords' forces, first establishing firm beachheads upon the planet, then taking control of key cities, and finally closing in on the stronghold of the devil himself.

  The last warlord, Jedra Kean—I still refuse to call him "Lord Kean"—put up a surprisingly fierce resistance. Even taking into account that he controlled nearly all of the planet's surviving military might, one still had to wonder at the source of al
l his firepower, especially the 'Mechs. We speculated at the time that Vega, like many worlds, had maintained hidden caches of 'Mechs, hidden rather than destroyed during the disarmament that was the watchword of Devlin Stone's rule. That may have been true. Certainly I suspect it was a factor.

  But now we know there was more to the story.

  Hall of the Provisional Planetary Congress

  Nasew, North Nanturo continent, Vega

  21 November 3136

  Galaxy Commander Isis Bekker stood at her podium in the congressional hall, formerly the corporate headquarters for MyoMaxx Corporation, her face purposefully calm, but her knuckles white where they gripped the smooth wooden edge of the lectern. At another podium, slightly smaller and lower than her own, Acting Provisional Governor Vincent Florala stared up at her defiantly, feet apart, one hand resting on the latest draft of the planetary Articles of Reunification, a determined frown on his handsome features.

  Rather than meet his eyes, she looked up and let her gaze sweep around the octagonal room. The raised stage on which she and the other senior members of the provisional government stood was surrounded by armored-glass walls. Beyond that, the floor sloped up, lined with rows of desks where the individual delegates sat, all seventy-eight of them. Many of them stared at her too, with expressions that ranged from polite interest to outright hostility.

  Other than the tunnel stairway behind her, there were only two doors into the chamber, each guarded by a contingent of a dozen heavily armed Clan paramilitary policemen, plus four more wearing "Constable" battle armor, a lighter and more agile, though vastly less capable, version of the feared Rogue Bear armor.

  She considered the situation. If not for the glass, and despite the metal detectors, someone would probably have tried to shoot her already. If not for the guards, somebody would probably be shooting at the glass anyway just out of frustration.