by Andrew Keith
AND THE REAL BATTLE BEGINS.
The burning fighter struck the BattleMech like an outsized missile, and in a roar of fire and thunder the 'Mech came apart. Secondary explosions ripped through the ruin, spreading burning wreckage over hundreds of meters and setting a nearby building aflame. Carlyle stared at the sight in horror and sick revulsion. It had all happened so fast. . . . And Christiano de Villar was gone, just like that. He hadn't even had time to punch out. Vargas shook Carlyle, hard. "Snap out of it!" he shouted. "You've got a job to do! Now move!" Alex Carlyle tore his gaze away from the smoldering hulk that had been Villar's Rifleman and forced himself to act. But as he led his squad up the steps to the Residence doors he felt like a robot, detached from the action, going through the motions. No simulation had ever prepared him for the reality of battle.
BATTLETECH
LE5259
BLOOD OF HEROES
Andrew Keith
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
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New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England
First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Printing, July, 1993 10987654321
Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover. Boris Vallejo Interior illustrations: Rick Harris Mechanical drawings: FASA art staff
Copyright © FASA, 1993 All rights reserved
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Prologue
It is the year 3056. Six years after the Clan invasion, Prince Victor Steiner-Davion of the Federated Commonwealth faces bloody revolution. Angry citizens of the war-torn star empire rise up against their lord, even as Clan raiders continue to attack portions of the mighty Successor State. Without a united realm, Prince Victor cannot hope to stand against the superhuman Clan warriors and their superior war machines. Nor can he hope to defend his realm against his rivals for power, those other leaders of the Great Houses of the Inner Sphere who have ever feared and envied his great star empire. Victor Davion must fight for his nation's survival at any cost, against ancient hatreds as well as the deadly Clan enemy.
If he fails? the Federated Commonwealth will fall—and a new Dark Age may engulf the Inner Sphere.
1
Glengarry, Skye March
Federated Commonwealth
31 March 3056
"I'm hit! I'm hit! Half my board's gone red!"
Listening to his frantic lance mate, Alexander Durant Carlyle cursed under his breath and keyed in his taccom link. "Ghost Three, this is Ghost Leader," he said, striving to keep his voice crisp and businesslike. Meanwhile he was calling up a sensor map on his main display screen. "Damage assessment."
Harrison Gates sounded calmer now, but his voice still betrayed an edge Alex didn't like. "M-malfunction in my left hip actuator. I think it's in the primary feedback coupling. The targeting computer's off-line, and my heat build-up's redlining. Blake himself couldn't get this bitch moving!"
"What about your jump jets, Three?" Alex asked sharply. He wished he knew Gates better. Was the man just blowing off steam or was he really in trouble? Gates was neither a regular member of Carlyle's four-man lance nor was he as experienced as the rest. "Can you jump clear?"
"Not with this hip, skipper," Gates replied. "Soon as the bitch comes down, the leg'll go for sure."
Alex cursed to himself again. The map showed four hostile BattleMechs closing in on Gates' fifty-five ton Shadow Hawk, while four more were sweeping around the flank to cut off the only line of retreat open to Alex's outnumbered lance. "Listen to me, Three. Reroute the circuits and get that piece of junk moving again! Hell, get out and push if you have to, but get going! We've got to get out of here before those bastards block the pass!" He swallowed and tried to get a grip on himself. It wouldn't help the rest of the lance if he lost it now.
"I—I can't! Pull out and leave me here, skipper!"
"That's not an option, damn it," Alex growled, thinking was just the kind of situation every MechWarrior dreaded. The BattleMech, standing as much as thirty meters tall and massing anywhere from twenty tons to more than a hundred, was the most potent fighting machine in all of humanity's bloody history. Machines notwithstanding, most 'Mechs looked roughly human, with two arms and two legs and an intricate neural hookup that allowed the pilot of the monstrous vehicle to move and fight almost as if the metal giant were his own body.
Though BattleMechs were far superior to any other type of armored fighting vehicle, high technology also brought high tech problems. A damaged hip actuator like the Shadow Hawk's was the equivalent of a broken leg. The 'Mech couldn't walk, couldn't even use its powerful Pitban LFT-50 jump jets to bound away out of danger. In short, the war machine was virtually immobilized until Gates could find a way to repair or bypass the electronics knocked out by the enemy attack.
That would take time, and time was the one thing they didn't have right now.
But abandoning Gates to the enemy wasn't an option either. The cardinal rule of the Gray Death Legion was and always had been firm: "The Legion takes care of its own."
Alex examined the map again. His lance had come down out of Brander Pass, eight kilometers to the north. If they could just make it back to that narrow gap in the mountains they'd be reasonably safe while their supply of ammo held out. At this point their main problem was to beat the enemy flanking force to the mouth of the pass.
The attackers were mostly light, fast 'Mechs, while Alex's lance was a mix of mediums and heavies that were more powerful but slower than most of their opponents. And at least one of the 'Mechs closing on Gates was an assault class, an eighty-five-ton BLR-3M BattleMaster. The BattleMaster was more than a match for any of the Gray Death 'Mechs, and would easily make up for the weakness of the lighter attackers if Alex's lance was cut off and forced to face the enemy in a slugging match.
Gates was furthest from the safety of the pass and virtually immobilized until he could reroute the hip actuator circuitry. Alex's seventy-ton Archer was the nearest support for the damaged Shadow Hawk, while the lance's other two 'Mechs, Clay's Griffin and DeVries' Centurion, had the least distance to cover to reach the safety of the pass. If simple geometry was the only concern, the answer would have been easy.
Alex bit his lip. Simple geometry wasn't the only thing he had to take into
account. According to standard combat doctrine Caitlin DeVries and her Centurion would have been the best choice for close-in defense of the damaged 'Mech. The Archer, with its batteries of long-range missiles, was designed for stand-off attacks. Under ideal circumstances Alex would have laid down a barrage of covering fire while DeVries gave close support and Gates got his Shadow Hawk moving again.
But that would only expose DeVries to the same danger Gates was already facing. The only sure way for her to get clear was to continue withdrawal.
Besides, Alex didn't like the idea of ordering a comrade into harm's way while he stayed comfortably clear of danger. One day he would take his father's place at the head of the Gray Death Legion, and he knew that no commander could hope to keep his people's loyalty if he wasn't willing to share in the risks. Grayson Death Carlyle had proved the truth of that on countless battlefields of the Inner Sphere over the years, and Alex Carlyle was determined to be the kind of leader—and the kind of son—who would carry on that legacy.
"Ghost Leader to all Ghosts," he said firmly over the general taccom channel, coming to his decision at last. "Two, Four, continue withdrawal as previously ordered. Three, hold on until I get there. We'll get out of this mess yet."
"Ah . . . Leader, don't you think I should—" Caitlin DeVries managed to sound angry and diffident at the same time.
"Negative on that, Four," he shot back harshly. "You have your orders. Execute them!" Alex turned the Archer back toward the clearing where
Gates had taken his hit, but had gone only three steps before the Archer's threat indicator lit up. With practiced ease he identified the potential target, a twenty-ton Commando working its way around the fringe of his effective combat range. Maneuvering the joystick until the targeting cross hairs locked on to the target, he triggered both his LRM launchers simultaneously.
The Archer staggered back a pace as the volley of forty missiles arced skyward, the 'Mech only keeping its balance because Alex's neurohelmet linked his nervous system with the onboard computer. The machine was back in motion even before the first missile reached its target.
His sensor readouts recorded the strike, and the BDA analysis scrolled across the top of his head's-up display. To a Commando, which relied on speed rather than massive armor for protection, the effects of such a heavy barrage could be devastating. The computer's best estimate showed that the target 'Mech had taken at least twelve direct hits in the upper torso, enough to tear through the armor and into the internal structure. Whether or not the attack had disabled the 'Mech, the machine was certainly hurting.
Alex smiled grimly. One less flanker to worry about.
The Archer forged on, covering the rugged terrain in long, ground-eating strides. As Alex manipulated the twin foot pedals with practiced ease, keeping one eye on the primary screen and the other on the sensor map, he couldn't quite suppress a small thrill of pride. Piloting a 'Mech was what he'd been born to do, what he was meant to do. Sometimes it seemed like his ability to get the most out of a Battle-Mech, even one as ponderous as the Archer, was almost instinctive. It was common among Alex's classmates in the Gray Death training cadre to joke admiringly that Carlyle maneuvered the seventy-tonner the way most Mech Warriors handled a scout 'Mech.
The Shadow Hawk was engaged again, holding off a trio of light 'Mechs that Alex's computer was tentatively tagging as twenty-ton Wasps. The mammoth BattleMaster hadn't entered the lists yet, but the 'Mech would be close enough to start pounding Gates by the time Alex got there. In a toe-to-toe match the two Gray Death BattleMechs should, theoretically, be able to stand off the BattleMaster, but Alex wasn't inclined to bank on theory. For one thing, the smaller enemy 'Mechs would continue to be a nuisance that couldn't be ignored. And Gates was still too much of an unknown quantity. Trying to repair his damaged 'Mech while also trying not to let down his guard might be too much pressure for the younger pilot.
Alex would have to play it as though he was fighting the battle on his own.
He locked on to one of the Wasps at long range and opened fire with his port-side LRM, waiting until his target was well clear of Gates before thumbing the launch control. Almost immediately he fired his starboard missiles at the same target.
This time the volley wasn't as effective. The Archer's Battle Damage Assessment sensors registered a pair of missile hits to the Wasp's left arm, but the rest had gone wide of the mark. Cursing silently, Alex quickly reestablished the target lock. But even as the red cross hairs glowed over the image of the enemy 'Mech, the Wasp had triggered its jump jets and bounded behind the cover of a nearby ridge. The cross hairs faded to white again before Alex had a chance to fire.
As he dropped his cross hairs over another Wasp, they went red again in a lock, but Alex held his fire until the target moved clear of the Shadow Hawk. Then he pressed the firing stud once more.
The missiles were right on target. At least ten found their mark, the BDA reporting a whole cluster of hits on and around the enemy 'Mech's poorly protected head. At the very least, a head shot would almost certainly cause multiple failures in sensors, controls, and other critical systems. Even if the pilot somehow managed to survive, he'd be badly shaken up.
The third light 'Mech followed the first, withdrawing out of harm's way behind the ridge. Alex shifted to a flat out run, a dangerous way to travel during combat conditions because of the problems of balance and uncertain footing. But he wasn't likely to get another respite like this one, with the enemy regrouping out of sight, and he hoped to get into position to defend Gates before the fighting resumed in earnest.
"Ghost Three, this is Leader. What's your situation?"
There was a long pause before Gates answered. "Rerouting to tertiary circuits," he reported. "The secondaries are out too."
"ERT?" Akx snapped.
"Computer says . . . four minutes."
Alex nodded to himself. That was about what he'd have expected for estimated repair time, though he'd been hoping for less. "All right, Three," he said slowly. "If the tertiaries fail too, lay down covering fire and then punch out."
"Acknowledged," Gates replied, his voice grim. It was the only possible order Alex could give if the damage proved too extensive for emergency repairs, but the younger pilot's reluctance to go through with it was understandable. Alex could rescue Gates if the other man was forced to abandon the Shadow Hawk, but no MechWarrior liked to contemplate the idea of leaving his 'Mech to the enemy. In the war-ravaged star empires of the Inner Sphere, BattleMechs were hard to come by, and once a pilot joined the ranks of the Dispossessed he might never get a second chance. Even a wealthy mercenary outfit like the Gray Death had only a limited number of spare machines on hand, and those extra 'Mechs weren't likely to go to a warrior who'd already lost one.
Nonetheless, if the 'Mech had to be abandoned, Alex would make sure Gates had a chance to eject, and he'd fight just as hard to rescue the man as he would to cover the retreat of the machine. Despite the old Inner Sphere maxim that life was cheap, but BattleMechs weren't, technology took a back seat to human life in the Gray Death Legion. That was something Grayson Carlyle had preached since the earliest days. With or without the Shadow Hawk, Alex would do everything in his power to bring Gates off the battlefield ... or go down fighting as well.
He slowed as he approached the damaged 'Mech, which Gates had maneuvered behind the partial cover of a tumble of jagged rocks. It was a good tactical position, shielded from the best enemy line of approach and commanding an excellent field of fire across a broad clearing. Seeing this, Alex's regard for the rookie MechWarrior went up a few notches. Gates had apparently moved the BattleMech into the rocks after the hip actuator was knocked out, and that couldn't have been an easy job.
A hint of movement at the far side of the clearing caught Alex's attention, and he focused the Archer's visual sensors there. The image that suddenly sprang to life on his primary screen brought a savage curse to his lips.
It was the enemy BattleMaster, its squat shape an
d high-domed cockpit distinctive. The massive assault 'Mech mounted a mix of lasers, short-range missiles, and antipersonnel machine guns, but the machine's most lethal weapon was the Donal particle projection cannon in its left hand. Because of the PPC's range and awesome destructive power, MechWarriors feared it above all other weapons in the 'Mech arsenal. Like the Archer's missiles, the PPC was a long-range weapon, largely ineffective for fighting at close quarters.
Unfortunately for Alex, however, the BattleMaster was also well equipped with medium lasers designed specifically for fighting at shorter ranges. The larger machine outclassed both Gray Death 'Mechs when it came to close-in fighting, and the enemy 'Mech's heavier armor only increased its advantage.
The BattleMaster moved slowly behind the same ridge line the smaller 'Mechs had used for cover, disappearing from view. The blocking terrain would screen its approach for a minute or more, but after that the machine would be right on top of its opponents. They had to be ready with some kind of defense before that happened.
Alex bit his lip, trying to force himself to remember everything he'd ever learned about the BattleMaster. He also remembered how often the Gray Death's weapons master, Major Davis McCall, would admonish the cadets with his favorite saying: You can always find an equalizer. All Alex had to do now was identify that equalizer and act on it. Quickly, before it was too late.
Then he had it. His fingers were already preprogramming the Archer's targeting computer as he keyed in his taccom system to pass orders to Gates.
"Three, we're going to need that ace-gun of yours," he said quickly. The Shadow Hawk mounted an Armstrong III autocannon, a rapid-fire projectile weapon that combined superior accuracy with striking power. There might be bigger autocannons available in the Inner Sphere, but few systems were better overall. And right now Alex was counting on accuracy rather than brute force to take this trick.
"Drop your repairs and get ready to engage the big guy on my mark." He paused, punching in a final sequence on his fire-control computer. Because a preprogrammed barrage could be completely invalidated by some unexpected development in the chaos of battle, it was a risky proposition at best. But as long as the target's behavior conformed to the parameters punched in, the subsequent attack would be much more accurate overall. It would also be easier to coordinate the actions of the two defending 'Mechs more closely when the firing data was worked out in advance. "Transmitting targeting data now."
