Lethal heritage

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Victor resumed his briefing. "Despite the apparent superiority of their weapons and forces, we were able to come up with some strategies. Leftenant Allard produced these ideas through analysis of the available data. I'll leave it to him to explain the information."

  Kai shot Victor a surprised look. His mouth going dry, he stood up slowly. Please, God, don't let me screw up.

  "I, ah, didn't realize I would be doing more than answering questions today, so I haven't prepared a briefing document in advance. Remember, please, that all of this is really preliminary work. I mean, it's been checked over, but I've not had a chance to review it in light of the new data that may have come in over the last three hours, so I ..."

  Morgan Hasek-Davion raised his right hand. "At ease, Leftenant. We'd just like to hear some of your observations. God grant us enough time that we won't have to fall back on strategies still in the gestation stage."

  "Thank you, Marshal." Morgan's words reassured him, but Kai's heart continued to pound and his voice trembled slightly. His glance flew toward his Uncle Dan, who smiled encouragment. After typing a request for information into his noteputer, he took the keyboard from in front of Victor and called up a chart that replaced the Toad image over the center of the table.

  "This is a chart of the apparent range advantage the invader's weapons have over us. As you can see, the ratio is roughly three to one—what we can hit at 100 meters, they hit at 300 meters. Their weapons are probably not more powerful than ours, but they can do damage at longer ranges because of better targeting systems."

  Kai hit another button on the keyboard and two new columns sprang up next to the ones indicating effective range. The new columns stood roughly the same height. "These columns indicate the mean number of targets any one pilot shoots at in an exchange of fire. Y0u can see that our pilots average 1.312 targets per salvo, while the invaders average 1.097 targets per salvo. That may not seem like a significant variation, but it is. Looking at the modal data for our troops, based on figures from as far back as Galahad 3026, our pilots seem more comfortable with selecting more than one target in an engagement. Though this might be attributed to the closer range of battles typical of the Succession Wars, the invaders may prefer to concentrate on one foe to the exclusion of others. We must bear in mind, of course, that our universe of data for the invaders is limited, at best."

  Chris Kell looked over at Kai. "Do you mean they prefer to fight one-on-one like the Kurita warriors—issuing challenges and the like?"

  "No reports indicate challenges offered or accepted by the invaders during a battle," Kai replied, his anxiety beginning to fade. "It's my guess that the invaders have a highly coordinated method of attack. More likely, the unit commander allots targets, and the warrior considers it a matter of pride to finish off his own foe. We've seen them allowing a lancemate to personally finish a target even though it might be quicker for the whole unit to kill off the enemy."

  The young MechWarrior typed another order into the computer. The chart reorganized itself into holograms of several items. "Because of this tendency to fight against only one foe at a time, and because of their increased range potential, it struck us in the Junior Officers' Group that decoys and sensor overloads could be effective against the invaders. It would mean modifying some anti-personnel type weapons and their distribution over fields of engagement.

  "The first item here is the standard M-1423 pop-up mine. When stepped on, the mine shoots its charge into the air and then explodes. Normally, we include a shrapnel device and set it to explode a meter above the ground to kill infantry, but that would be ineffective against the Toads or 'Mechs. But if we use a white phosphorus explosive that would detonate ten to twelve meters above the ground, the explosion should burn out infrared scanner cells. Other charges filled with magnetized chaff and even paint could block magscan and vislight scanning devices."

  A hastily typed command magnified the second item. "This is a standard training-course decoy. Back on Skondia, these are used to project the images of tanks and 'Mechs on the live-fire range. Seeding a battlefield with these, especially if they're modified to cycle on and off from within a 'Mech, would give the illusion that our forces are much larger. It would also give the invaders a legion of targets, only a few of which are legitimate. If nothing else, it would distract them and create difficulties in selecting targets. At best, a phantom army could soak off Toads or even a lance or two of 'Mechs long enough for us to withdraw or even lure the invaders into ambushes."

  General Winston frowned. "Given their improved technology in a number of areas, how can we know these decoys would fool their 'Mechs?"

  "Good question, General." Victor smiled easily. "A report from Barcelona described the Jade Falcons ripping the local militia training course to pieces. Someone had left it up and running as they evacuated the base—more by mistake than because of any plan."

  Chris Kell smiled wolfishly. "How'd they do?"

  Victor sobered immediately. "Good enough that I'd prefer they shoot at decoys than at me."

  Morgan leaned back in his chair. "Interesting. By equipping our own 'Mechs with override programs, the decoys wouldn't distract us. Also, by having some decoys functioning only on IR or magscan levels, we could create even more confusion." He grasped the arms of his chair and leaned back with a satisfied expression. "Thank you for your analysis, Leftenant. It gives us good material to work with. It would definitely require some preparation, though, which brings us to the biggest problem identified by the Senior Officers' Group. We have to know where the invaders will strike before we can go into action against them."

  Kai, halfway into his seat, straightened up again. "Forgive me, sir, but that is not wholly true."

  Morgan hesitated, then nodded quickly. "I see your point. All of these things could be deployed by air before we actually meet their forces. I stand corrected. Still, finding the enemy and learning where they will strike is a major problem."

  Kai opened his mouth, then looked back at Victor. "Go ahead, Kai," Victor encouraged him. "It's your idea and one I support fully."

  Kai swallowed hard. Why you believe in me I'll never know, but it means more than you can imagine. "Forgive me again, Marshal, for speaking out of turn."

  "No, go ahead, Leftenant. This is why we have these meetings. Perhaps our ossified brains missed something."

  "Well, sir, we identified the same problem—that is, of having no way to anticipate when and where the invaders will strike. The action in the rimward area of the Commonwealth has provided us no pattern for attacks. The first wave hit twelve planets, then the next reduced itself to four. It's hard to say what the logic of that is, so we decided not to try to anticipate."

  That admission brought startled looks from all the senior officers and mercenaries, but Kai plunged on. "We all know that the concept of a 'front' in interstellar war is really a myth. Supply lines do trace themselves through various systems, but because of the vast number of stars never deemed worthy of colonization, there are countless other recharging stations for Kearny-Fuchida drives all over."

  Kai looked to his uncle. "Colonel Allard will recall, I believe, that the Kell Hounds used an uncolonized star as a recharge point twenty-three years ago in the rescue of the Silver Eagle. Marshal, you and General Redburn will also recall using uncolonized stars during the First Kathil Uhlans' invasion of the Capellan homeworld. Because of the threat of a drive failure, most transit routes are planned through inhabited systems so help can be obtained in emergencies, but we all know that's not the only way to get around."

  "This has already been stated, Leftenant," General Winston broke in impatiently. "It's because of such systems that we have no way of knowing where the invaders will strike."

  Kai nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed. The invaders hit us on inhabited worlds because they know that's where they'll find us. Conversely, the only places we know to find the invaders are on the worlds they've already taken. Because there is no front, we can ignore the worlds they'
ve targeted in their current push, and hit the worlds they took most recently. We have to hit them where they are, and if we start to cut them off from wherever their supply bases are, their offensive will have to turn back on itself because they'll be losing ground every time they take a new world."

  "It stands to reason that they'd use their best troops as their vanguard," Victor chimed in. "Their elite troops are conquering worlds, not garrisoning worlds already taken. We have to assume that their garrison troops are not as good as the conquerors. If we pit our elite units against their chaff, and avoid getting our good units ripped up by their elites, we can slow down their juggernaut."

  Dan Allard winced. "What if their garrison troops are as good as their elite troops?"

  "Then all the planning we do is for nothing." Kai shrugged helplessly. "They'll just rip us up, no matter what."

  Morgan steepled his fingers and watched the two junior officers at the end of the table. "Your analysis and strategy are interesting, and at the very least, unusual. Not bad for just over a month of study and work. By the end of our time here, I expect a working proposal concerning this strategy, including likely units to be used and a suitable target."

  Before he could issue any more instructions, a knock at the door interrupted him. A staff aide entered the room and handed the flame-haired Marshal a small yellow slip of paper. Morgan read it, then dismissed the aide with a brusque nod. He waited for the door to close before speaking. "Our time to plan has been cut down, my friends."

  Kai felt a cold set of talons rake up through his middle. What has happened? What have the invaders done now?

  Morgan pressed the paper flat against the tabletop. "I need your final reports in fourteen days. No less. The invaders have just hit Rasalhague."

  28

  1st Rasalhague Drakøns Briefing Room,

  Reykjavik North Rasalhague, Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic

  12 July 3050

  Tyra Miraborg shook her head. I couldn't have heard him right. Raising her hand, she stood as Overste Siggurson acknowledged her. "I'm not sure I understand what you just said, Overste."

  The hawk-nosed leader of the Drakøns moved from the glare of the overhead projector at the center of the amphitheatre. "What don't you understand, Kapten? I thought I explained it all quite clearly." The irritation in his voice ridiculed his question.

  Tyra lifted her head proudly, and glared down at him. "I fully understand the desperate situation of our forces, Overste. I understand how devastating is this attack on the Republic's capital. What I do not understand is why you're ordering the aerowing to stay out of the battle." She looked at the other aeropilots in the room. "You've already given your Mech Warriors their assignments and sent them out. But then you call us in to say that we're to stay out of the fight! That, sir, makes no sense!"

  Siggurson laughed coldly. "Spoken just like the daughter of the Iron Jarl. Don't worry, Kapten. You'll get plenty of opportunities to win yourself medals in the future."

  Fury shook Tyra. "Sir, that is not my concern at all." She spread her arms to take in all of the pilots in the room. "We're warriors, dammit, and it's our right and our duty to be attacking this enemy. We deserve the right to make sure that our comrades, earth-bound though they might be, do not fight alone."

  Siggurson let the other pilots murmur their agreement with Tyra's sentiments, then cut off all discussion by slapping his wooden pointer against a front-row chair. The pointer splintered with a sharp crack that produced immediate silence. "Let me answer your unspoken question, Kapten: Did I send out my troops with the mistaken impression that they would get air support? The answer is that those troops know you will not be there to cover them. In short, the other half of the Drakøns know I'm sending them out to die. It wasn't any easier telling them that than it is to tell you that I need you alive."

  The Overste waved his left hand back at the image still projected on the wall. A map of Rasalhague's northern continent, it showed where the invaders had landed and gave approximations of their strengths. "You can see everything as well as I can. The invaders have erroneously selected Asgard City, instead of the true capital of Reykjavik , as their target. We can now deploy our ground troops to intercept their troops as they return to the capital, but they will have to pay very dearly if they hope to take it. And the reason our people will fight so hard is because the enemy's error gives you the opportunity to evacuate the Silver Fox from Rasalhague.

  "If he lives, the Republic lives. If the Republic lives, then our sacrifice is not in vain."

  Tyra heard both the bitterness and the plea for obedience in Siggurson's voice, but she could not leave it alone. "Overste, it will not take a whole aero regiment to fly cover for the Elected Prince. Give him a company. Let the rest of us help you."

  Siggurson shook his head. "No, and that is final. We might not need a regiment to get Prince Haakon off the planet, but we might well need that regiment to ensure his safety in the systems through which he'll have to travel. The hopes and dreams of billions will be in your hands. May the gods speed you on your way and safeguard each and every one of you."

  ***

  "Tighten it up, Val Four." Tyra glanced at the tactical readout on her auxiliary monitor. "Stay with us, Marnie, or you'll be left behind."

  "Roger, Kapten."

  I hope you meant that, Lbjtnant Ingstad, because this is no time for solo missions. The Wolves might not be after us on this outward run, but we're the folks who have to make sure it's clear for the Silver Fox to escape. I don't like the mission, but I'll be damned if I'll let it fail. Tyra flipped the radio over to the frequency she shared with Anika Janssen. "Clear to you, Nik?"

  "Roger, Kapten. I'm clear on a vector to the Fox's bolt hole." Frustration tinged Janssen's words. "I know what Ingstad is thinking, and I bet you and Karl are thinking it along with her. We're supposed to safeguard the Prince so he can get away, but I don't like the idea of leaving the rest of the Drakøns behind, no matter what Siggurson said. Dammit, they may be ground-pounders and mud-marchers but ..."

  "... They're our ground-pounders," Tyra completed the sentence. "I know. I don't like it either. Let me see if I can do something about it." Tyra switched the radio to the taccom frequency. "Valkyrie Flight reporting in. Rakblad vector is clear."

  "Roger," a distant voice crackled back through the speakers in her neurohelmet. "We have Viking Flight five minutes behind you, then Fox Flight will appear. Rendezvous in fifteen minutes, Vector Ressjuka for outbound travel."

  "Affirmative, Taccom. Valkyrie Flight transferring from eight thousand meters to the deck to continue sweep." Tyra crossed her fingers and tried to keep anxiety from her voice. "Can you authorize mission status transfer, Taccom?"

  Weariness filled the radio operator's voice. "You and every other pilot in this aeroforce ... No can do, Valkyrie Leader, but you'll do it even if clearance isn't given, won't you? I am ordered to forbid you to change heading to twoseven-one and drop to Nape. I am further ordered not to tell you that twenty-five kilometers out we have a reported contact. Be careful and be back in fifteen."

  "Thanks, Taccom. You can set your chronometer by us." Tyra opened a frequency to the three other members of her flight. "Heads up. Change to course two-seven-one and glide on down till the trees tickle your undercarriage. We want to go in at 800 kph, which makes contact just over two minutes off. Stay close. We'll have time for a couple of passes. You get hit and come back here. We're out on Ressjuka vector in fifteen minutes, and I don't want to leave anyone behind. Got it?"

  Tyra got three positive responses, then stood her Shilone on its left wing and pointed its nose at the ground. She watched her air-speed indicator as the wing dropped like a rock toward the planet below. Feathering her thrust vectors, she trimmed the craft's tendency to shift pitch in atmosphere, then pulled its nose up to transform the steep dive into a glide that sent her streaking across the face of the planet.

  Once down on the deck, Tyra engaged the Nape guidance s
ystem. Under computer control, the Shilone raced 500 meters above the landscape that spread out beneath her like a rumpled blanket. The forests became an evergreen blur that seemed to stretch on forever except when the computer bounced her up and over a gray granite ridge. Even within the close confines of her cockpit and neurohelmet, the roar of wind rushing past reached her and set her heart beating faster.

  As her flight came over the last mountain barrier and moved down into the Asgard Valley, Tyra switched off the Nape computer and engaged the tactical computer. Once again, a holographic composite representing the battlefield below filled the space between her and her instruments. The targeting light appeared on her faceplate and the armrests rotated until they filled her hands with triggers. All her weapons systems came on-line and reported 100 percent operational.

  "Nik, you and I go in first. Val Three and Four, hang back, then follow us." Tyra kept her hands steady on 'the triggers as the Shilone glided in like a hawk over a meadow. She took the fighter down to twenty-five meters above the ground, flying more by feel than conscious process. The neurohelmet enabled her craft to use her own kinesthetic sense to keep it skimming the valley's golden, grassy carpet. Then, suddenly, targets appeared on the holographic display at more than three thousand meters out.

  At 800 kph, extreme range passed to close range in the blink of an eye, but that hardly mattered. Tyra hit the firing buttons for her three lasers. The ruby beams raked the 'Mechs massed below, vaporizing armor and setting the grass ablaze. Over the invaders, Tyra boosted the Shilone's nose into the air and punched out a flight of the aft-arc short range missiles. As they exploded among the 'Mechs, she rolled the fighter, then swooped up and out of her enemy's range.

  Excitement filled Anika's voice. "Beautiful, Tyra. They didn't expect us, and they didn't have time to track us. We left some armor hanging, but they're still heading toward Asgard City."

  Tyra leveled out at a kilometer and turned to watch Karl Niemi and Mamie Ingstad make their passes. Both Slayers flew over the terrain like vultures racing to a carcass. Laser bolts stabbed through the cloud of ashen smoke surrounding the invaders. Because of the smoke, Tyra could not make out any actual damage done, but a roiling ball of golden fire erupting out of the smoke told her that at least one invader's fusion engines had exploded.