Torrents of heat swirled through the Wolfhound’s cockpit as if it were a blast furnace. The heat monitors spiked into the red zone, and the computer dropped 10 kph from the ’Mech’s operational speed because of the heat buildup. Dan, afraid the cabin’s heat might have overwhelmed Clovis, looked toward the dwarf just in time to see the small man mop his brow with his sleeve.
The Clint’s pilot hit his ’Mech’s jump jets to flee from his enemy, but the lifeless right arm whipped around as the ’Mech left the ground. The Clint pilot tried to compensate by boosting power to the jets on the right torso and leg, but the back-mounted ion jet ripped free of the ’Mech’s damaged skeleton. As it skyrocketed upward, the Clint tipped back to the right, and driven by its jets, slammed into the ground. The ’Mech’s head snapped off at the neck and bounced into a shallow gully.
Before the echoes of the Clint’s crash landing could die, another ’Mech stepped from the shelter of the hangar. Dan felt his mouth go dry as the humanoid war machine raised one of its double-barreled arms and pointed it toward him. “Allard here. I’ve got a Rifleman that wants my scalp!” he shouted into the radio.
Pivoting on his right foot, Dan jerked the Wolfhound around to protect the damage he’d already taken. He swung the large laser out toward the Rifleman, then cursed as the targeting crosshairs for his medium lasers lost their intensity. Damn! Evading him puts the ’Mech outside my firing arc for the mediums. Instead, Dan settled the large laser’s crosshairs on the Rifleman and pulled the trigger.
The Wolfhound’s heat monitors again spiked into the red as the heavy laser spat out its scarlet beam. The laser pared armor plates from the Rifleman’s left flank but failed to fully penetrate the ’Mech’s thick skin. Smoking armor plates littered the ground at its feet, but the damage did nothing to actually hurt the heavy ’Mech.
The Rifleman’s autocannon vomited out a salvo of shells amid a gout of flame, but the projectiles flew over the Wolfhound’s head. The large laser slung beneath the autocannon on that same arm drilled its infernal beam into the Wolfhound’s right leg. Armor boiled and evaporated beneath its hellish touch, but held and permitted no internal damage.
Despite the danger, Dan found himself smiling. They sure built this baby for survival. But I’m done for if that Rifleman brings the other heavy laser to bear.
Dan backed the Wolfhound farther to the Rifleman’s left, but the ’Mech bay itself prevented him from moving far enough. The Rifleman pivoted on its left leg to face the Wolfhound. Both of its arms locked forward, then swung toward the Wolfhound.
“Hang on, Clovis!” Dan pushed off against the ground with the Wolfhound’s powerful legs. His move drove the Wolfhound back into the ’Mech bay, crushing bricks and shattering windows on the three-story building. Sparks flew as the ’Mech’s flailing arms split electrical conduits on three levels, then fire geysered into the night sky as the transformer mounted on the roof exploded.
Dan rocked unsteadily in his command couch. His helmet ground down painfully onto his shoulders and he tasted blood from where he had bitten his lip. He glanced over at Clovis and saw his friend hanging half in and half out of the jump seat’s safety harness. Blood ran from his nose, but his eyes still shone brightly.
Clovis righted himself and waved off Dan’s concerned look. “Better than frying!”
Dan whipped Jeana’s sash from where it was knotted on his upper right arm and tossed it to Clovis. “Tie yourself in tighter. Don’t want you bouncing around in here.” It’s kept me safe. Hope it does the same for you…
Surprised by Dan’s unorthodox maneuver, the Rifleman’s pilot could not shift his aim to pin the Wolfhound to the building. The heavy lasers burned their way into the structure a bit beyond the Wolfhound’s left shoulder, drilling through the place where the lighter ’Mech had just been. Dan expected to see the slashing beams of the medium lasers mounted in the Rifleman’s chest, but he heard the heavy thunder of the Rifleman’s autocannons instead.
Dan’s fingers flashed over his command console keyboard, shifting his scanner from magscan to infrared. The Rifleman’s arms glowed bright yellow as the cooling coils labored furiously to dissipate the heat buildup caused by the large lasers. “Hey, Clovis! We have him now. He’s cooking himself. One shot!”
Morgan Kell’s voice filled Dan’s neurohelmet with an icy warning. “No, Dan. Stay where you are. This one is mine.”
Off to his left, at the edge of his ’Mech’s forward arc, Dan saw Morgan’s Archer march from behind a hillside. The IR image flickered and faded, but the faint visual picture beneath it did not. As Dan shifted his scanners over to starlight and brought the Archer into clearer view, he killed his external radio link. “Look, Clovis. Morgan is doing it again. His ’Mech doesn’t register on the scanners—only visual!”
The Rifleman’s pilot seemed not to have noticed the lack of targeting image as he centered his guns on the Archer. Realizing that this ’Mech was a tougher nut to crack than the Wolfhound, the Rifleman cut loose with everything. The twin heavy lasers stabbed ruby beams at the Archer and the smaller medium lasers shot pulsed bolts in their wake. Spent shells spattered from the autocannon ejection ports as a hail of projectiles shot at the Archer.
The Archer neither twisted nor dodged to evade the Rifleman’s onslaught. The large lasers flashed above the Archer’s hunched shoulders, burning parallel lines up the hillside behind him. The medium laser bolts ignited a host of small fires on either side of Morgan’s ’Mech, but none of the ruby light shafts struck the Archer. The Rifleman’s autocannon bursts churned two tracks toward the waiting war machine, but they ended before they slammed into the Archer.
Dan’s mouth went dry. Oh my God! It’s not just that a ’Mech can’t target Morgan. It can’t hit him! It’s like he’s a ghost. He’s untouchable. A shiver ran down Dan’s spine. He’s invincible.
The LRM launching pods on the Archer’s shoulders clicked open with the finality of a pistol hammer being drawn back. Riding brilliant tails of flame, two-score missiles arced into the night. They slammed into the Rifleman with the force of a titanic hammer. Explosions blasted and tore armor in great jagged chunks from the Rifleman’s chest, especially where the Wolfhound’s laser had already melted armor on its left flank. Detonations within its cavernous breast caused the Rifleman to shudder, and the ghostly tendril of a plasma jet licking from the gaping hole in the Rifleman’s chest hinted at the ruin of the ’Mech’s internal structure.
“Close your eyes, Clovis! His reactor’s been hit!” Dan raised a hand to shield his eyes, but he could not look away. Get out! Punch out now! You can’t save it!
Armor plates buckled from internal pressure, plumping and rounding the Rifleman’s angular torso as the runaway fusion reactor’s heat touched off the autocannon ammo stored in its chest. A series of detonations blew armor away in small spots, and savagely harsh light stabbed out through the holes like sunlight shining through gaps in a thunderhead. More plasma tongues flicked through these wounds, then the Rifleman ripped in half across its waist. The torso shot into the heavens like a dark comet, then hung there motionless as the boiling plasma jet beneath it imploded.
The Rifleman’s torso, its lower edges still glowing molten red, finally upended and tumbled to the ground. It landed on its right shoulder, but autocannon ammo exploding in the firing mechanism flipped it over one last time. Though the ’Mech rested on its back with the cockpit apparently undamaged and pointing skyward, no pilot ejected.
Dan stepped the Wolfhound through the ’Mech bay wall. “Obliged, Colonel.”
Morgan’s voice had not fully lost its icy edge, but Dan heard a trace of compassion. “It had to be done, Captain. Let’s move. We’ve lots more work if we’re going to win the battle of New Freedom.”
Chapter 15
LYONS
ISLE OF SKYE
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
17 MAY 3029
Daniel Allard closed his eyes and rolled his head in a slow circle. Pain stabbed like fi
ngers of lightning through his neck and shoulders. Even with the padding, the neurohelmet pounded my muscles into raw protoplasm. He arched his back and heard a series of pops run up his spine. I haven’t been so sore since—he swallowed sourly—since the battle on Styx that cost Patrick Kell his life.
Dan reopened his eyes and stared out the conference room’s window toward the ruins of New Freedom. With roofs torn off and walls destroyed, the buildings the Kell Hounds had labored to build looked like twisted, diseased, defoliated metal trees. Oily black smoke still rose from some of the rubble piles to hang heavily in the limp, moist air.
Scattered throughout the area were the remains of two dozen ’Mechs. Most of the battered hulks lay in heaps on the ground while techs, looking like ants in the distance, salvaged what they could from the carcasses. In some cases, like the Rifleman Morgan had killed, the ’Mech’s legs stood tall and strong, but supported nothing.
Dan looked around at those assembled at the conference table. Conn O’Bannon, the stocky commander of the Second ’Mech Battalion, looked as though he’d not slept since the Kell Hounds landed two days before. His unit had met the Third Dieron Regulars First Battalion outside St. Johns. They broke the Regulars, but could not prevent two companies from retreating in good order to DropShips and leaving the world.
Across from him sat Salome Ward. Her command, the First ’Mech Battalion, overran the Regulars’ command position near Montpelier. The enemy general, Tai-sho Sen Ti Ch’uan died in the assault, and his second in command, Tai-sa Hiro Akuta surrendered when he realized his DropShips had been cut off from his position. After being assured his men would not be mistreated, Akuta asked for and received permission to commit seppuku.
Major Seamus Fitzpatrick sat next to Salome and watched techs explore the melted wreckage of two Sholagars for anything of possible value. Exhaustion bent him forward like a hunchback, and there were bags under his usually bright green eyes.
Unconsciously toying with the green sash, Dan shifted his gaze to Major Richard O’Cieran. Damn. If the rest of us looked tired, Rick looks dead. The infantry leader cradled his gray-haired head in both hands and stared down at the table. Digging down to confirm the site we found as a mass grave has taken it out of him. It’s one thing to wage war on troops, but the wholesale slaughter of a town is unbelievable.
Dan looked up as Morgan Kell entered the room, followed by Clovis and Cat Wilson. As they took up places at the table, Morgan moved to its head and leaned wearily against it. “Thank you for waiting. Tim Murphy just died from wounds he suffered here two nights ago. That puts our dead at seven, total casualties at thirty.” Anger and frustration ran through his words. “Unacceptable, all of it.”
Salome looked over at Morgan. “We’ve secured the planet. The two DropShips that got off-world will link up with their JumpShip in three days, if they continue at their current velocity. We’ve really no fear of a return engagement. Popping in so close to Lyons and using the moon to cover our approach surprised them. Are we going to pack up and still try to reach Ryde in time?”
Morgan shook his head. “We can’t. On our original schedule, we had the Cucamulus waiting at Alphecca to transport us to Ryde. When we learned of the attack on Lyons and headed back, Janos Vandermeer brought the Cu in-system far enough to give us that tactical advantage. We’ve got ten days before the Cu can jump again, and then another ten days at Alphecca. We’ll not make it in time.”
Conn O’Bannon sank fingers back through his brown hair and frowned. “Perhaps Yorinaga Kurita will wait for us.”
“No, Conn. I don’t think so. He’ll come in-system, perhaps land, and then will get out of there.” Morgan lowered himself into a chair. “It doesn’t really matter. We have to clean up this mess.”
Dan sat up. “Am I missing something? I thought the world has been secured.”
Morgan nodded. “It has. However, the whole reason for the execution of everyone in New Freedom raises new questions that have to be dealt with.” Morgan looked toward Clovis. “Explain to them what you told me.”
The haggard dwarf sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. “Despite Dan’s valiant effort to destroy this building by backing his Wolfhound though it, he only managed to short out the entire electrical system and collapse the corridor leading to the computer center. This prevented the Combine staff from dumping the contents of their computers, as normal security procedure would dictate. With Cat’s help, I’ve managed to bring the system back up and I’ve learned why…” Clovis stopped abruptly, choked up with emotion.
Morgan continued the narrative for him. “The ISF learned of New Freedom through normal channels and linked it with the group of people who had inhabited the Styx base two years ago. The ISF had always considered them a threat. Apparently, the ISF obtained information from agents in the Isle of Skye that suggested the Styx settlers were planning to have the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine assassinated. The Third Dieron Regulars were ordered to obliterate New Freedom.”
Rick O’Cieran slammed his fist onto the table. “Jesus, Morgan! They bulldozed a trench and just shot people. Men, women…it didn’t make any difference…” He glanced toward Clovis. “If you’d not gotten those children down to the shelter, they’d have shot them as well.” He looked back toward the other officers. “Not everyone was dead when they filled the trench back in. Some people died trying to dig their way out…”
Silence filled the room. Dan swallowed hard as he remembered a young couple whose home he’d helped build. They never imagined any future but that of growing old together. As a MechWarrior, I accept the risks of war, but those kids never had a part in any of that.
Dan looked up. “We know that no one in New Freedom was plotting against the Combine’s Coordinator. Hell, everyone here was a member of Heimdall. With their anti-Commonwealth history, I would have thought the Combine would have welcomed them as allies.”
Morgan nodded. “That’s probably one of the reasons that the ISF tolerated their presence in the Styx system. Unfortunately, the whole Silver Eagle affair changed the ISF’s view. The Styx base cost them elite troops, ’Mechs, and ultimately, a chance to capture Melissa Steiner.” Morgan hesitated as everyone silently acknowledged the cost of that operation to the Kell Hounds: the loss of Patrick Kell and three other friends.
Dan shook his head. “What could make the ISF believe the Styx refugees had become assassins?”
Cat’s deep voice carried finality with it. “Not what, but who…”
Morgan nodded. “Who, indeed. No doubt Duke Aldo Lestrade himself planted that little rumor in the ear of an ISF agent. He probably even pointed to our connection with New Freedom to suggest we were training commandos.”
Salome shook her head, which spread her coppery locks over her shoulders. “I thought we decided before that Lestrade would not invite an assault on his own holding. It still makes no sense in my mind.”
“Think of it in these terms, Salome,” said Fitzpatrick. “Lestrade makes Lyons a nice target by planting this rumor. All he loses is a small settlement, whose destruction will hurt us, but costs him nothing. He knows the Combine can’t hold the world, and he suspects that the Kuritans will pull their forces out the second the Commonwealth sends troops in.”
Salome chewed her lower lip for a moment, then nodded. “Lestrade has an incursion into the Isle of Skye. He can complain all the more loudly about the Commonwealth’s betrayal of his people.” She paused as the logical extrapolation of this line of reasoning came to her. “Lestrade can even declare his holding neutral. This will keep Kurita out of it, allowing them to devote forces to other fronts.”
Dan’s mouth suddenly went dry. “The Isle of Skye going independent also cuts the Commonwealth off from the Federated Suns. Hanse will be forced to reopen the transit lanes, which means he’ll be at war with a portion of his ally.”
“It’s worse than that,” Cat said. “Civil wars are unpopular. Katrina loses and someone else steps in. Melissa is tainted b
y her marriage, so that leaves Frederick Steiner.”
Dan nodded. “Frederick is Lestrade’s puppet. Fred takes over, and Lestrade returns to the fold. Fred ends the war with Kurita, and everyone is happy. Aldo pulls Fred’s strings, and the Commonwealth goes to hell in a DropShip.”
Morgan smiled cruelly. “That’s what Lestrade must have planned, but we messed things up for him this time. He’ll try again…I know it. I want everyone ready to move out within the week. Lestrade should be in his ancestral home on Summer. I want to bring it down around his ears. It’s time to end his meddling for good.”
Only one voice dissented from the quick shouts of agreement that greeted Morgan’s proposition.
“No!” Clovis stood on his chair, raising his head above the others at the table. “No. You cannot.”
Morgan stiffened. “I appreciate your concern, Clovis, but I’m willing to risk any fallout from our strike against him.”
Clovis shook his head. “I do not doubt your ability to handle both the military operation and the political turmoil your action would stir up, Morgan Kell. But I say you cannot kill Aldo Lestrade because I claim that right.” Clovis held his head up high. “I demand to be the one who kills him.”
Clovis looked around at the stunned mercenaries. “Do not think I speak purely from anger and grief at what has happened here.” He swallowed past the thick lump in his throat. “It does play a part, of course. If you’ve ever had to tell a child his parents died for reasons he will never understand, you’ll know what that does to you inside. Each time I said the words, anger and outrage were like daggers ripping at my soul. Revenge seems like just the salve to put everything right again.”
Warrior: Coupé (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Three): BattleTech Legends, #59 Page 13
