De Mesnil laughed. “…But you need the money for your grandmother’s operation.”
Craon shook his head. “No, Sar… Walter. That’s where his poker winnings go. This money is for his sister’s brood of halfwit children.”
Redburn joined in the laughter. “Well, gentlemen—and you, too Drew—we’re being posted to the Davion Light Guards.”
Redburn smiled as his subordinates stared at him in disbelief. Yes, men, we’ve been assigned to one of the premier units in the Federated Suns. “We apparently attracted some attention during Galahad ’27.”
Craon frowned. “We’re a Capellan March unit, sir. Why would the Prince want us to move into one of the Davion House units?”
Redburn shrugged. It was a question he’d already asked himself many times. The boys in the Light Guards would have trouble accepting a training battalion, and their being from the Capellan March would just compound the difficulty. “I don’t know, Robert.”
Drew drained his beer and set the glass down on the table. Foam slid down the inside of the glass to pool at the bottom. Redburn watched it with a shiver. Everything’s being drawn together. Something big is up. I can feel it. Yorinaga Kurita has a unit that no intelligence sources knew anything about until last summer. Morgan Kell has returned from his self-imposed exile, and the Prince has publicly announced his marriage to Melissa Arthur Steiner.
Drew belched lightly. “Chances are the Prince’s brains have been addled by his upcoming wedding!”
Montdidier shook his head. “You buffoon.” He shot a glance at Redburn. “The Prince probably remembered the captain from when they met last summer. Saw his name on the lists and decided to honor him with this assignment.”
De Mesnil, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, concurred. “Remember, my friends, the First Kittery did escape a Liao ambush and inflicted some heavy damage only halfway through their training period. That makes the lot of you impressive. I’m sure the captain’s part in the Silver Eagle rescue helped, but the First has seen more action than the NAIS cadres.”
St. Omer slowly poured more beer into his glass. “Walter’s right. The Davion Light Guards specialize in fast strikes with light ’Mechs. Most of the academies turn out pilots who want to jockey the heavier machines.”
Archie nervously twisted his mustache. “I smell politics in this. Face it. Duke Michael and the Prince haven’t exactly been getting along lately, and Major Allard’s trial last year didn’t help matters. Now the Prince has chosen Morgan Hasek-Davion as his best man, and he moves a Capellan March unit into one of the Davion Guard Regiments? I’d say he’s trying to smooth some ruffled feathers.”
Craon smiled. “What’s the problem with that, Archie? One of the problems with relations between folks from the Capellan March and the Crucis March is that those from Crucis think we’re savages with a frontier mentality. You’ve seen some of the rivalries between the Davion Assault Guards and the Fifth Syrtis Fusiliers since they both got posted here to Kittery. The Guards treat the Fusiliers like poor relations.”
Drew smiled bravely. “No one says the normalization process won’t be hard, but I’m confident you’ll shepherd our people through it.”
Redburn nodded. And I hope I can guide all of you through it as well. Perhaps posting us to service with the Second Sword of Light would have been easier. “I seem to recall that’s how they treated the First Kittery until we drove off those Capellan Cicadas. Leftenant Craon has a good point. We’ll normalize relations when we get to know each other and earn each other’s respect.”
The waiter’s arrival forestalled any further commentary. The oriental man smiled nervously and placed the bill beside Redburn, then withdrew silently. Redburn glanced over at the bill, then looked up at his friends. “So, Geoff, did you win the pool? Are you buying?”
St. Omer hung his head and Payen Montdidier—in contrast to his usual nature—smiled. Archie, Drew, and Hugh de Payens all smiled and suppressed laughter. Craon stared innocently at Redburn, so the captain turned to de Mesnil. “Did you win, Walter? Because I won’t let you pay. Not just before you ship out.”
The one-eyed sergeant smiled. “Nope.”
Redburn raised an eyebrow. “Confess, gentlemen…”
Drew cleared his voice. “Well, sir, you’ll recall I said we’d covered you?”
Redburn nodded. “And you chose a unit to which you knew we’d never be assigned just to keep me in the pool, right?”
The NCOs nodded solemnly. Redburn held out his hand, and Archie handed him a fat sheaf of Davion pound notes. “How much did I win?”
Geoff smiled sheepishly. “One hundred and forty pounds. I bought two chances…”
Redburn smiled and flipped the bill over. “I think that should cover…” What in hell? He tossed the bill over to de Mesnil. “Walter, the chop on that. Is it who I think it is?”
De Mesnil studied the red waxen seal for a second, then nodded. “Shang Dao.”
Craon stared at both men. “The leader of the Yizhi tong? What’s going on?”
Redburn shook his head. “No time. Are any of you carrying a gun?”
Everyone but Montdidier shook their heads. The small, slender corporal grinned again and reached into his olive-green uniform coat. When his bony hands returned to view, they held two automatic pistols. He passed one to Redburn and quickly followed it with two clips of spare ammo. Then, reaching down below the table, he produced a small laser pistol and a knife.
The others stared at him, but he just shrugged. “You don’t catch me strolling naked into Shaoshan.”
Horrified, Hugh de Payens swallowed hard. “I’m glad this wasn’t a formal occasion.”
Montdidier winked. “Damn right. My chrome-plated magnums are damned heavy.”
“Enough!” Redburn commanded harshly, though his voice rose barely above a whisper. “Shang Dao, for reasons I don’t understand, expresses his pleasure at being able to buy our meal. His little note also says there is a Liao Maskirovka strike team out front just waiting to get us. He suggests we withdraw through the rear.”
Drew narrowed his eyes. “Can we trust him?”
Redburn hesitated. “Justin did. That’s good enough for me.” Redburn stood and cocked the pistol. “Payen, give Robert the laser. Move.”
With smiles nervously pasted on their faces, the eight MechWarriors wove their way through the main dining room. Craon glanced through a window in the kitchen door, then dove to the floor. “Down!”
An uneven line of holes exploded across the kitchen door and sprayed splinters into the room. A second line cutting up at a sharp angle to the first ripped half a dozen holes into the hand-woven carpet and shattered the door’s round window. Patrons hit by the two bursts reeled from their chairs and collapsed dying to the floor. Screams filled the restaurant, almost drowning out the cacophony of falling tables and breaking china as others dove for cover.
Montdidier levered himself on one knee and pumped two bullets back through the intersection of both bullet lines. A scream and the clatter of a fallen gun rewarded his effort as the ejected shells bounced soundlessly on the carpet. Craon spun himself around, and while lying on his back and aiming the laser down toward his feet, he kicked open the door.
Redburn caught a glimpse of a dying gunman slumped against a gore-spattered tile wall, but then movement in the restaurant’s vestibule attracted his full attention. A Maskirovka gunman boldly burst into the room. He framed himself in a doorway between two huge golden dragons, but before the beaded curtain’s amber strands could roll off him, Redburn had fired twice.
The first bullet smashed into the gunman’s shoulder and half-twisted him back into the alcove. The second bullet lanced sparks from the assassin’s assault rifle. The malformed bullet ricocheted up and snapped the gunman’s head back. A red wound appeared on his temple as he stumbled back into the darkened vestibule.
Holding the kitchen door open, Craon shouted, “All clear!”
Redburn waved the others towar
d Craon. “Go! Go!” The unarmed MechWarriors crawled forward, but Montdidier spun and directed his fire toward the restaurant doorway. One Maskirovka assassin poked his gun out from between a dragon’s undulating coils. Montdidier snapped off two quick shots, and the man’s face disappeared.
How does he do that? Redburn saw the man Montdidier had shot fall to the ground and then heard shouts explode from those gathered near him. Montdidier smiled and ducked toward the kitchen. Redburn, still stunned, followed, then hunkered down beside the hot stove with de Mesnil.
The sergeant nodded toward the first man Montdidier had shot. “Archie’s got his assault rifle, and Geoff’s packing the pistol he had in his holster. They’re checking the back alley.”
“What about the others?”
De Mesnil grinned. “Drew and Hugh found a couple of butcher knives to their liking and are waiting by the door.”
Redburn frowned. “What about you?”
De Mesnil jerked a thumb at Montdidier. “I’m just waiting for him to shoot someone else, then I’ll take the victim’s weapon.”
As if summoned by de Mesnil’s statement, a Maskirovka agent burst through the kitchen door in a headlong charge. As he turned to face the crouched MechWarriors and rake them with a burst from his submachine gun, his right foot slipped on a greasy spot on the floor. He started to fall, but a pair of shots by Montdidier lifted him up and knocked him back toward the freezer door.
De Mesnil reached out and snagged the submachine gun’s shoulder strap. Pulling the gun to himself, he smiled. “Payen, next time have him drop the gun closer, eh?”
Montdidier snorted derisively in reply and led the other two MechWarriors through the kitchen and out to the night shrouded alley. There, with Drew and de Payens standing as sentinels at the door, Craon reported to Redburn. “Alley’s secure. Archie and Geoff have the front covered. The street’s pretty clear out there.”
Redburn nodded. Shang Dao is keeping his people out of it. This must be some rogue Maskirovka operation. “Payen, send Geoff back here to cover this door and you cover the front with Archie. Walter, you and Robert and I will try to swing wide and line up across the street. When we’re clear, we can cover the front so the others can evacuate the area.”
The alley’s deep shadows hid his men’s expressions, but their heads bobbed acquiescence with Redburn’s plan. Geoff returned to the doorway and took a covered position behind a pile of broken cobblestones and bricks that gave him a clear view of the restaurant’s rear exit. Even with the light streaming through the restaurant’s back door, neither of the MechWarriors waiting with butcher knives on either side of the door were visible.
I hope I can get these men out of this. I hate fighting outside a ’Mech! Redburn used the back of his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. Last June, I fought on foot against Kurita ISF ninjas and now I’m in a gun battle with Maskirovka assassins. Hell, I might as well be in the jump infantry.
Redburn eased himself forward enough at the alley mouth to study the narrow cobblestoned street. Buildings of traditional Capellan design lined both sides of the street and turned it into a dark canyon. Dimly lit paper lanterns hung from eaves and lintels danced in the dry night breezes, but did little to dispel the night’s gloom. The buildings, some of which rose up as much as three stories above their squat, drab neighbors, stared with wood and glass eyes at the foreign MechWarriors trapped deep within their district. Even though conquered and made part of the Federated Suns a generation ago, Shaoshan was still enemy territory and seethed with danger.
“They’re making a break!” Archie stepped into the street and swept a hail of fire through the second man out the door. The Maskirovka agent jerked and twitched backward as the bullets blasted into him. His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun and mercilessly sprayed the street with a full clip of ammo. His lifeless body finally pirouetted into the gutter with a splash.
Two hot red laser bolts leaped from Craon’s pistol after the other fleeing Liao operative. The first missed and exploded a wooden post into a storm of flaming splinters. The second stabbed through the running man’s left shoulder, and the shock of the hit knocked the man down. He rolled to a stop behind a bench, then scrambled to his feet and ducked off into an alley, but minus the rifle he’d been carrying.
“Walter, Robert, with me. Payen, clean up!” Redburn sprinted into the street. Craon and de Mesnil followed like hounds on the heels of a fox. Behind them, Archie triggered another burst and kept the remaining Maskirovka agents down long enough for the trio of pursuers to dart into the alley.
Why did they wait till after dinner? Redburn watched the shadowman running ahead of him. You better not run very far or I’ll throw up. Grimacing, Redburn put his head down and lengthened his stride.
When his quarry suddenly ducked into a building on the left, Redburn slowed up and raised his left hand to bring his two subordinates to a halt. “Easy now. If he’s gone inside, he’s probably got friends.” Looks more like a warehouse than a residence. Could the rat have been so foolish as to duck into his own hole?
Wordlessly, Redburn signaled his men to spread out. He positioned de Mesnil on his right and indicated that he should watch the shadow-strewn warehouse’s upper floor and roof. He moved Craon ahead and in next to the buildings on the left. Redburn advanced cautiously and kept his pistol cupped in two hands.
Suddenly, a silhouette appeared on the building’s roof. A long, flickering spear of flame stabbed into the darkness, and the accompanying staccato explosions echoed through the alley. Redburn dove forward and rolled toward the building. Bullets slashed through where he had just been standing and peppered him with fragments of hot lead and sharp stone.
De Mesnil dropped to one knee and triggered a short burst. The shadowed assassin screamed and dropped his rifle. His lifeless body pitched forward and landed in the alley bare moments after his gun clattered to the street.
Craon moved forward and crouched by the body. “Laser burn on the shoulder. He’s the one I shot.”
De Mesnil helped Redburn to his feet. “Are you OK?”
Redburn nodded. “Yes. But what are the chances of him having found that assault rifle in just any building?”
Craon grinned. “Slim and none?”
Redburn nodded. “Let’s be careful, gentlemen, because unless I miss my guess, we’ve just located a Maskirovka safehouse. Heaven alone knows what little goodies are stored in here. Let’s go find out.”
Chapter 10
SIAN
SIAN COMMONALITY
CAPELLAN CONFEDERATION
20 DECEMBER 3027
Justin Xiang looked up from a desk crenellated with stacks of leather-bound books and haphazardly stacked computer reports. He smiled wearily at his visitor, yawned, and moved his keyboard from his lap onto the desk. “Glad to see someone else is playing fast and loose with the photon budget this late at night.”
Tsen Shang nodded and closed the door behind him. Lowering himself into a massive, brown leather chair, he shut his eyes for a second. In a low voice hoarse with fatigue, he asked, “If we have as much staff as we want for this crisis team, why are we doing all the work?”
Justin chuckled. “I can assure you that some of our staff, like Alexi, for instance, are asking themselves the same question.”
Justin bowed his back until he felt his spine crack in a series of ascending pops. “Even though we skimmed the cream of the Maskirovka for our staff, everyone else is covering themselves. We’re certainly getting data faster than ever before, but nowhere near as quickly as we need it. And so it falls to geniuses like you and me to make the leaps of logic needed to get any use out of what we do know.”
Shang opened one brown eye and stared at Justin. “I like the part about us being geniuses, but this late at night, the rest went right by me.” The diamond chips imbedded in his long fingernails caught and amplified the room’s muted light as Shang covered a yawn with his right hand. “Are you still playing with the Davion budget figu
res?”
Justin nodded and glanced over at the computer screen. “Yeah. What do you need?”
Shang glanced at the memo-computer in his left hand. “Disbursements to the Lyran Commonwealth Monopole Company.”
Justin punched the request into the computer, then watched information scroll past. Bars of green light drifted up over his face, then stabilized. “Fiscal 3027, which ended in July past. I’ve got thirty million C-bills, give or take. Are you still working on the Silver Eagle thing?”
“No. Shipping costs for the Hatchetmans being moved from the Commonwealth to the Federated Suns. Monopole’s second- and third-quarter earnings are grossly out of line with what our people project for their business. They had a couple of ships refitted in the Federated Suns, at the shipyards on Kathil. I thought that perhaps they stuffed Hatchetmans into their ships due for renovations, and then dumped them at Kathil.”
Justin nodded. “Good thought.”
Shang shrugged. “That’s all it was. The payments tally with supposed payments when Hanse commandeered some Monopole vessels for Galahad ’26.” Shang leaned forward and cradled the memo-computer in both hands. “Any luck with your pet project?”
Justin sank back into his high-backed chair. Yes. I’ve had luck, but all of it’s been wretched… He sighed heavily and shrugged as he held up his hands. “Yes and no. There’s enough vagueness in the NAIS budgets over the last two years to cover the funds needed to maintain a secret BattleMech development facility. I know it’s there. I heard enough rumors during my years in the Federated Suns military to believe that it truly exists.”
Shang nodded solemnly. “You and I both accept its existence. Ever since ’Mechs first appeared on the battlefield six hundred years ago, they’ve dominated warfare and decided the fate of humanity. Unfortunately, the first of the Succession Wars did so much damage to ’Mech factories and research facilities that no one has produced anything new in almost two centuries.”
Warrior: Riposte (The Warrior Trilogy, Book Two): BattleTech Legends, #58 Page 8
