by Andrew Keith
"Your Highness, I must speak with you," Carlyle began, bowing perfunctorily before taking the seat the Archon Prince offered him with a wave of a hand. "It's a matter of some urgency ..."
"You're here about the situation on Skye," Prince Victor said blandly. "In particular, the news from Glengarry that you received yesterday."
"Then you've already had word, sire?"
Victor nodded curtly. "My idiot cousins Ryan and Richard Steiner seem determined to play the demagogues. I assume the private message that came for you off the hyperpulse net concerned the situation?"
"Yes, sire ..." Carlyle hesitated, then went on. "My officers reported an invasion armada that fired on Gray Death ships. One of my JumpShips just barely escaped to bring out the news. Do you have anything more recent?"
"Yes, it seems that the previous Baron of Glengarry, General von Bulow, I believe is his name, objected to losing the fiefdom to you. With Ryan's blessing and Richard's clandestine help, von Bulow has gone to reclaim Glengarry. Current intelligence puts the opposition as the Tenth Skye Rangers and supporting troops."
"The Legion . . ."
"They're seriously outnumbered, Carlyle. But knowing your people . . . well, you tell me. What are the odds they're still holding out?"
'-'De Villar and McCall were in command. Neither one of them would give an inch. I'd say they're still fighting—if there's anything left to fight with." The mercenary leader leaned forward in his chair and locked eyes with the prince. "As you know, the rest of the Legion is with Major Khaled on Borghese. With your permission I can take my command lance there, assemble the battalion, and mount a relief expedition. Two weeks from now, three at the outside, we'll be back on Glengarry letting the bastards know who they're up against."
"I've already sent orders to Borghese to have your people mobilized, Carlyle. They have priority on all jump routes and should be in system in about twelve days. But I'd rather you didn't go with them."
"Sire?"
"The Tenth was the only regular Skye unit to mutiny. The others are watching and waiting. If I send regular Federated Commonwealth troops, the rest of the Skye military will go into full-scale rebellion. And regardless of your reputation, you and a single battalion won't be enough to defeat the Tenth Sky Ranges. So, in your name as Baron of Glengarry, I've contracted a few regiments of the Northwind Highlands. They'll be ready to move in three weeks and be in the Glengarry system in four. I want you to lead them back to Glengarry to crush this rebellion."
"Sire . . . surely I'd be better employed with my own people."
"That's not the way I see it, Carlyle. We don't even know if there'll be any force left to relieve on Glengarry. I can't waste one of the best officers in my service on a possibility and I cannot gamble with Federated Commonwealth control of Skye."
"Then you're . . . writing them off?" Carlyle looked away. "Sire, my son is on Glengarry."
"I know. And I'm sorry, but we're not abandoning any of them. Your Major Khaled is a good man. Provided someone is still putting up a fight on Glengarry, his troops—your troops—can make one hell of a difference. But when the rightful Baron of Glengarry returns, he must come with an overwhelming force. I need you to make sure this rebellion is crushed dead."
Grayson Carlyle didn't answer immediately. So this is the price for the title and the ceremony and the cheers of the crowd in court, he thought bitterly. If he refused Victor's orders now, he'd be breaking the oath of fealty he'd taken less than a week ago. And the Archon Prince was perfectly capable of denying him any help for the defenders on Glengarry.
"Very well, Your Highness," he said at last. "I'll do it."
Victor Steiner-Davion smiled. "Good. Good. With your people tying the bastards in knots on Glengarry and you coming in with the Highlanders on the counteroffensive, Skye will be saved."
Grayson Death Carlyle rose slowly and bowed once more. He hoped the Archon Prince of the Federated Commonwealth was right.
And he also hoped that somewhere, somehow, Alex Carlyle knew that his father's thoughts and prayers were with him.
34
Dunkeld, Glengarry
Skye March, Federated Commonwealth
11 April 3056
The status board on the Archer's cockpit display showed half a dozen red warning lights, and the shrilling of an alarm drowned out the voices of Alex Carlyle's men as they implored him to come to their aid. But he couldn't help them. Wave after wave of enemy attackers were on their way, and there were no more legionnaires to throw into the fray.
Alex Carlyle jerked awake, sitting upright in one violent motion with a cold sweat prickling his forehead. For a long moment he couldn't shake the dream, the same one that had plagued him every night since the battle at the port. It grew more real, more vivid, each time, and he always awoke expecting to find himself in the midst of the fighting with his friends and comrades screaming his name.
It took him several seconds to realize that the shrilling sound wasn't just an echo of the dream. No, he was safe in his quarters in the Residence on Castle Hill and it was only the intercom panel beside his bed warbling urgently. He reached out with an unsteady hand to tap Accept Call. "Carlyle," he croaked. He swallowed and tried to get a better grip on himself before repeating his name, more clearly and confidently this time. "Carlyle. Go ahead."
"Colonel, this is Longo in the command center. We've picked up changes in the delta-vees on four of the Drop-Ships in orbit. Looks like it's about to go down, sir."
The former DropShip captain's words brought Alex to full wakefulness. "On my way, Lieutenant," he said. "Alert
Major McCall and put out a general readiness alarm. Alpha Detachment to stand ready to move out."
"Yes, sir," Longo said. "Command center clear."
Alex rolled out of bed and crossed to his closet, dressing hurriedly. It was nearly four full days since the battle at the spaceport, and they'd been expecting some sort of enemy action long since. Now that the wait was finally over, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or afraid of what was about to come.
All the while he finished dressing and then headed for the command center far below the Residence building, Alex turned over and over in his mind the prospects for success. Now that the Gray Death had stood up to the Free Skye armada once, there was no hope of suckering them into another ambush, and that put the Legion right back where it had been after de Villar died and Governor DeVries had fled the capital.
There were still several good landing zones available to an enemy invasion fbrce, and too few of the Legion to cover them all. The abrupt appearance of Governor DeVries and two battalions of his Planetary Guard at Eastport in Teviot-dale had complicated the situation further, since there was always the possibility that von Bulow would opt to land where he already had local support and then mount a longer ground campaign. But the original prime target sites of Dunkeld, Coltbridge, Loch Sheol, and Halidon still remained the most likely places for an enemy strike. But which would it be? And how could the outnumbered Legion cover them all?
Alard King had come up with the best answer to the second question. Two days after the fighting in Dunkeld, the far-flung detachments of the Legion had returned to the capital, bringing with them every emelt train they could commandeer along the way. Now the entire Legion force on Glengarry, minus a few infantry and armor outfits left behind to watch the possible landing sites, was assembled in the heart of the city around the hub of the maglev transportation network. One batch of 'Mechs was already loaded up on emelt flatcars, ready to move out on short notice to any point on the emelt net. The others remained ready for battle around Dunkeld itself, but could be quickly loaded and shipped out at need.
The idea was to create a rapid response to any landing, wherever it might occur. In a matter of hours, Legion 'Mechs could be moving to battle at any of the towns von Bulow might choose as his next target, and with luck that would bring the Gray Death into action before an enemy DZ could be fully occupied and prepared.
Alex co
uld only hope it would work.
By the time the lift doors snapped open to let him into the command center, he had his features composed and his bearing as relaxed and confident as he could manage. Longo met him as he left the elevator.
"We've just had an update, sir," he said without preamble. "The computer's predicting a landing to the north, in the Strathtay or Glensheol regions. Of course, they could still modify their flight profiles ..."
"That's right," Alex said, cutting him off. After three days of studying the map and debating strategy with McCall and the others, he was all too familiar with the various ways the enemy could use to keep matters in doubt until the last possible moment.
They still had no clear notion where von Bulow was likely to strike. To all appearances the Free Skye general was snubbing Governor DeVries' efforts to arrange a truce and fresh negotiations, and that made Eastport look unlikely. But Free Skye fighters had been overflying Loch Sheol, Coltbridge, and Halidon every few hours for the last two days, while steering clear of Dunkeld itself. Was that a clue that von Bulow was trying to divert attention away from the capital before repeating the direct approach that had failed before? Alex doubted it, and McCall seemed certain that a second battle at Dunkeld was the last thing the invaders wanted now, but there was always that nagging doubt.
"What about the intruders last night?" Alex asked Longo as they crossed to the Snake Pit.
The DropShip captain shrugged. "Nothing more since the briefing at twenty-three hundred, sir. We had the one DropShip on the screens, tracing an arc that brought it over Loch Sheol, Coltbridge, and Halidon in succession. The ship had too many fighters escorting it, so Captain Vargas couldn't try an intercept. There was no landing, and the ship rejoined the rest of the armada after the flyby."
That had put them all on alert for a while, until it became clear that the incursion wasn't part of a full-scale landing effort. Alex sat down at a monitor position and studied
Longo thoughtfully. "Mac—Major McCall thought the ship might have been carrying pathfinders. Any indications of that from any of our people?"
"No, sir." Longo shook his head. "Of course, good pathfinders don't give themselves away, and I expect these troops are good."
Alex nodded. A full-scale landing on a hostile planet was usually preceded by the deployment of pathfinders, scouts and elite infantrymen who could study the situation on the ground up close, clear automated defenses and sensors, spot enemy units and generally smooth the way for the landing to follow. Von Bulow hadn't used pathfinders at Dunkeld because he'd believed there would be no resistance. He'd be crazy not to use them this time around, but there was no way of telling where they might have gone in. Using high-altitude/high-opening parachutes and personal jump belts for the descent, pathfinder troops could be inserted almost anywhere without being detected on the way down.
So von Bulow probably had troops on the ground already, and those four ships were now following them in. The trick was to be sure of where that landing would come. If the Gray Death waited until the Free Skye forces were already committed to one definite target, they'd lose the advantage of mobility that the maglev lines gave them.
Your call, Colonel Carlyle, he told himself, the thought mockingly. Your call, and a bloody mess if you're wrong.
Behind him, Alex heard the elevator doors open again. He turned in his chair to see McCall striding across the chamber, his unkempt hair and sleepy expression making the man look like a bear disturbed from hibernation. "Does yon computer hae a projected DZ yet?" the Caledonian asked as he came up, cocking one eyebrow at Alex.
"So far, it looks like Loch Sheol," Alex said. "If the projections hold up, that is."
McCall sat down next to Alex and studied one of the computer monitors intendy. "Hae you made a call yet, laddie?" he asked quietly.
Alex shrugged. "You know what we're up against. I keep wondering if I'd be better off throwing darts at a dartboard to figure out where the bastards'll set down."
"My gut says the projections are right," McCall told him. "Loch Sheol is well nigh pairfect for a landing, and I dinna think our esteemed opponent is the kind tae play at suddenly switching targets. He'll ken weil that we've drawn back tae the capital, but I dinna think he'll be counting on us using the maglev net to shift 'Mechs. So he had nae reason tae try tae sucker us that way. He'll be expecting us tae move after he's on the ground anyway."
"You might be right," Alex said slowly. "And that could give us the chance we need to smash those troops fast. He's only starting out with a small force to grab the DZ, just like he tried here. If we redeploy north fast enough, we might catch them with their pants down."
"Aye, maybe," the Caledonian said. "Maybe ... but I wonder what we're overlooking. Only four DropShips in the first wave. Hae y'seen any more starting down, Lieutenant?"
"No, Major," Longo replied. "They've got a fair-sized fighter screen, though. Twelve so far."
"I dinna like it," McCall said sourly. "If it was a full-scale attack, they'd be sending in more than four ships. I dinna think von Bulow would run the risk of anither bluidy nose like the last ain."
"Still, four DropShips with that kind of fighter cover . . . that could mean enough 'Mechs to take on everything we've got, with the rest of their force held in reserve." Alex frowned. "Or it could be a reconnaissance in force. There's no guarantee all those ships are full. We know of two that don't have any 'Mechs aboard anymore, and we don't know if all of them were carrying full loads in the first place."
"Aye," McCall agreed. "Could be 'tis a ploy tae lure us tae pounce on a token force while the real landing comes doon somewhere else."
"So, we can respond and leave the real DZ open. Or we can sit tight, and find out too late that this is the real DZ." Alex shook his head slowly. "Either way, we're done for."
"We canna risk losing the initiative, laddie," McCall told him. "We maun send troops tae support the lads we've got in place, and it's got tae be enough tae fight it oot. But I think we'll want tae hold back the second wave until we see what we're really up against."
"Dividing in the face of the enemy . . . don't like it much, Mac." Alex frowned again. "But I guess we don't have a hell of a lot choice." ,
"Who's on first wave?" McCall asked Longo.
"Captain Dumont, sir. With the battalion HQ lance and one full company."
The weapons master turned back toward Alex. "Dumont's a good man, laddie, but I think you'll be wanting someone who kens better what you want to tak command on the spot. I think we should divide the command lance. Send me ain of the others, say young Clay, with the response force while you stay here and keep an eye on things until we ken better if we need tae commit the rest of our lads."
Alex shook his head. "It's a good idea, Mac, but you've got it backward. You're the one with the judgment to decide how to handle the reserve. I'll go with Dumont."
"But—"
"I know, I know," the younger man said quickly, holding up a hand to forestall McCall's protest. "I have to learn to delegate. Well, that's exactly what I'm trying to do here. The best man to handle the reserves is you, Mac. You've got the experience to do the job, and I don't. But I can take command in the field. That's what you've been training me for."
McCall didn't answer right away. Alex held his eye with a steady gaze, and he could almost read the older man's mind in the sudden silence. McCall really was better suited to make the decisions that would send the reserves in motion as they were needed, but despite his experience in the port battle—maybe even because of that experience—Alex himself remained an unknown quantity when it came to exercising an independent command, away from McCall's guidance. The fact that Henri Dumont was one of the least enthusiastic supporters of Alex's advancement to the head of the Gray Death would only add to the possible problems. But McCall couldn't very well protest openly without publicly proclaiming that Alex wasn't fit for the job, undoing everything the weapons master had worked for.
Finally McCall gave a quick, shar
p nod. "Aye," he said. "Aye, 'twill hae tae do."
Alex mustered a thin smile. "Good. Then that's settled." He turned to Longo. "Pass the word to load up my Archer with the other first-wave 'Mechs. And . . . uh, make it the Centurion as well. Inform Mech Warrior DeVries to get to the assembly point ASAP."
"Caitlin?" McCall rumbled. "Are you sure it shouldn't be young Clay?"
He shook his head. "Last report from King was that Dave's Griffin would need another twenty hours of work to put that ankle joint right. But Caitlin's Centurion is back at a hundred percent, and since they had to scrap the Marauder, she's best for the job."
"Aye, I suppose you've got the right of it." McCall didn't sound convinced, though, and Carlyle could understand his reluctance. The governor's daughter had gone into the fight at the port moody and withdrawn, and having her BattleMech very nearly knocked to pieces around her couldn't have helped either her confidence or her competence much. But Clay's 'Mech was on the verge of a major failure unless it was repaired before it went into battle again. This would give Caitlin a chance to prove herself once more. Alex Carlyle knew only too well how one failure could destroy a MechWarrior's self-confidence, and he was afraid part of her problem stemmed from the doubts he'd voiced about her during the fight with her father's troops. He couldn't leave her out of this op without risking more bad feelings, more uncertainties, more doubts that would ruin her chances of ever being an effective Mech Warrior again.
Alex stood up suddenly, thrusting all his doubts and worries behind him. "I daresay it isn't perfect," he said. "But it's a plan, Major, you're in command here. I'm on my way to the assembly point. Mister Longo, pass the word for the ready force to saddle up and be ready to move out for Loch Sheol. And somebody get hold of the CO of the pickets up there and brief him on the situation."
He strode quickly toward the elevator before anyone had a chance to reply. It felt good to finally have the chance to take action, after the long wait.
