by Andrew Keith
Alex only hoped that the action would be the right one.
* * *
Captain Giles Montclair braced his elbows against the rough sandbag-and-earth berm of his observation post outside Loch Sheol and raised his field imager to his eyes. It was set for a standard visual scan in the bright morning light, and the tiny glowing red indicators in the lower left-hand corner of the viewer showed that both the recording and transmitting functions were active. Montclair thumbed the touch pad on top of the imager to increase the magnification and adjust the focus. He centered the view on the nearest of the four DropShips that had grounded less than ten minutes earlier on the port tarmac in the valley southwest of the mining town of Loch Sheol, three kilometers below his position on a long ridge spur.
It was a Fury Class DropShip, designed to carry troops and light vehicles. Montclair tried to remember the exact capacity of the Fury, but he couldn't remember the stats because it wasn't a ship in use by the Gray Death. Probably about a hundred men and a platoon or two of light armored vehicles—about the size of his own force. The comparison might have been heartening if not for the other three DropShips looming beyond the first vessel, two Union Class 'Mech carriers and a battle-scarred Leopard. That meant a potential force of better than two full companies of BattleMechs—not to mention the fighters circling overhead.
Monitor situation and fall back on Benmor Pass, the orders from Dunkeld had said. Avoid combat unless absolutely necessary for the preservation of your command. Montclair smiled grimly. Combat against two companies of BattleMechs was not exactly likely to preserve his small command.
He scanned the port slowly, the imager catching a tableau of Free Skye soldiers clustered around one of the mines his men had left behind when the withdrawal orders first came through. It was one of the big anti-'Mech jobs, set to analyze seismic data and detonate when something as big as a medium-sized 'Mech moved into the device's effective blast radius. A few of the mines had gone off when the DropShips had first set down, but the hull damage had been minor. A 'Mech, though, would find those mines hard to handle. They could be nearly as effective as the Gray Death's patented knee-capping techniques.
For the moment, fear of those mines was keeping the bigger DropShips buttoned up. The Fury was unloading troops, and as Montclair watched, the big ramp doors in the bottom of the DropShip dropped to allow a Galleon light tank to roll ponderously down to the tarmac on clanking treads. Nearby, a party of sappers was manhandling some combat engineering gear—it looked like a mine-sweeping and bomb-disposal rig to Montclair—into position near another of the mines.
It would take the invaders an hour or more to track down all the explosives and render the port safe for anything larger than a Stinger or a Wasp . . . and in that hour, the reinforcements Major McCall had reported on the way from Dunkeld would reach Benmor and start unloading from their emelt cars.
Montclair lowered the field imager and switched it off. "So far, so good," he told Lieutenant Elphinstone, his senior platoon commander. "Now let's get our people set up to screen the pass. It's going to be a long morning."
35
Near Benmor Pass
Glengarry, Federated Commonwealth
11 April 3056
As the emelt approached Benmor Pass, Alex Carlyle checked the chrono function of his wrist computer for what seemed like the hundredth time. Despite the speed of the maglev train, the trip north seemed to be taking several eternities. As time continued to creep by, Alex was becoming more and more impatient—and more concerned at what the enemy might be doing in the meanwhile . . .
But it couldn't be helped. The trip from Dunkeld to Loch Sheol took just over two hours no matter how much he wanted it to go faster, and after that it would take another hour or more to get the Legion unloaded and ready for battle. That would have to be fast enough.
He considered contacting McCall on his commlink, but rejected the notion. Alex had already checked in three times in the past hour. Too blatant a show of anxiety by the Acting Colonel would only cause morale trouble, something he couldn't afford now. If there was any change in the current situation, McCall would let him know. For the moment it seemed that nothing else was going to happen for a while. There was no sign of further movement among the ships in orbit, and the troops at Loch Sheol were still reporting the enemy's deployment proceeding at an almost leisurely pace.
Alex plugged his wristcomp into the monitor screen in front of his seat and called up the Legion's detailed survey maps of the Glensheol region. Studying the terrain and the tactical situation might keep him from thinking about the battle as anything more than just another abstract problem like the ones McCall gave the cadets to work out in the classrooms of the Brander Wilderness Training Center. He might even come up with some useful stratagem at the same time.
Glensheol was a wide region of bleak highlands, roughly triangular in shape, which lay between the Grampian Mountains and the Braebuchan Range. The third side of the triangle, to the north and east, was bounded by ocean. Steep cliffs and rocky shallows gave the coastline a forbidding, barren aspect, and few colonists had settled there even in the heyday of Glengarry's colonial expansion.
The heart of the region was Loch Sheol, the big, ragged lake that nestled between the arms of the two mountain ranges. The original colonial surveyors had named it Loch Shiel, and the region Glenshiel, after famous landmarks in old Scotland on Terra. But the settlers had altered the names by associating them with Sheol, an archaic name for hell. The new names were far more appropriate.
Glensheol lay directly over a major fault line, and was one of the most geologically active areas on Glengarry. Frequent quakes shook the region, and five active volcanoes and plenty of older, burnt-out cones also dotted the area. The hot springs that fed Loch Sheol were well known on and off the planet. The highlands around the loch stank of sulfur and were usually swathed in a steamy, humid mist.
But the area had drawn colonists despite its unpleasant conditions. The Grampians were heavily laced with rich metal deposits from Invertay to the Monaghan Highlands, and Glensheol was one of the best mining areas of all. A sizable town had grown up on the southern shores of Loch Sheol during colonial times, and even now it was still home to a thane and his people, who often behaved as if the wealth and remoteness of their uplands gave them license to claim virtual independence from the rest of the planet. The Gray Death Companions had fought three short, sharp campaigns in the land between the mountains before they'd finally disabused the thane of that misguided idea. A report in Alex's file on the area noted that 'Mech campaigning around Glensheol, especially in the lower-lying areas close to the loch, could put an unexpected strain on a 'Mech's coolant capacity because of the high temperatures that frequently prevailed there.
The traffic in heavy metals had prompted the early colonists to construct an independent port facility near the town of Loch Sheol, and the maglev line had been pushed through high mountain passes to service the town in the years when the colony was still expanding. As the early strategy sessions in Dunkeld had brought out, the Loch Sheol port could be either a perfectly secure base of operations for an army, or—if the passes out of the uplands were held by an enemy—a perfect trap.
Alex studied a detail map of the area south of Loch Sheol and tried to put himself in von Bulow's place. The town and port were in a valley right along the lochshore. The town lay to the west of the Sheol River, with the port proper on the eastern side. Less than twenty kilometers south, under the towering volcanic peak of Benmor, the pass leading down to Buchan snaked through the mountains. A conventional road and the maglev line both led through Benmor Pass, spanning the river at the Bridge of Benmor and then turning straight north toward the town. The terrain between pass and town was a whole series of humpbacked ridges, nasty terrain for any kind of large-scale battle. The Sheol River cut a valley through the obstacle course, while the road itself passed over lower, more even ground.
It was terrain that favored the defense, and i
n an ideal war Alex would have opted for standing back near Benmor Pass and letting the invaders fight their way up to his lines, taking casualties all the way. But a defensive battle wasn't practical for the Gray Death, not in their present situation. Success depended on rapid action, before the enemy's superior numbers could become a deciding factor. And as long as better than two-thirds of the enemy armada remained uncommitted in orbit Alex could not afford to become bogged down facing any one enemy formation.
That meant the Gray Death would have to do the attacking, and it was up to Alex Carlyle to find a way to make that attack, in that terrain, feasible.
He checked his chrono function again. Numbers, terrain, even time itself seemed to be taking sides against the Gray Death . . .
* * *
Hauptmann Ann Ison-Price coughed, inwardly cursing at the noisome atmosphere of the Loch Sheol drop zone. Even in a Mech Warrior's shorts and cooling vest the heat made her uncomfortable. She didn't even want to think what the fully uniformed sapper officer in front of her must be suffering.
"As long as you keep to the areas we've marked out on the tarmac, you 'Mechs should be safe enough," Leutnant Samuel Rusk was saying, somehow blending the diffidence expected of a junior officer with the arrogance of a specialist the op commander couldn't do without. "The port itself was mined, but sparsely. We've found no traces of mines away from the tarmac area. I doubt they had many to spare."
Ison-Price nodded. "Good. I want you to concentrate on the route across the river and into town next. I know, I know, you don't think they had any mines to put down. But I want the route checked anyway, and if a mine so much as scratches the paint on one of my 'Mechs I'll give permission for the pilot to dance a flamenco with his BattleMech right through the sappers' barracks. You get my drift, Leutnant?"
"Yes, Hauptmann. I'll issue the orders right away."
Ison-Price smiled as he hurried away, then turned to the 'Mech bay officers from the Katerina who was hovering nearby. "Mister de la Pena, commence the unloading. I want the patrol lance deployed first, so don't let Leutnant Wills or Feldwebel Geraci talk you into giving them priority." She didn't wait for a response, but turned away and bent over the portable tactical computer terminal the infantry CO had set up here in the shadow of the Katerina, the Union Class command DropShip.
Before she could adjust the display, though, the commlink portion of the terminal buzzed insistently. Sighing, Ison-Price keyed the Accept key. "Incoming message from the Asgard, Hauptmann," the voice of the Katerina's communications tech announced.
A moment later the terminal monitor lit up with the heavy features of General von Bulow. "You are falling rapidly behind schedule, Hauptmann," he rumbled. "Did I make a mistake in assigning this mission to you?"
"Herr General, the sappers have finished clearing the mines and the 'Mech unloading has commenced," Ison-Price said hurriedly. "I will be throwing a screen of scout 'Mechs south along the road and maglev line within another quarter-hour, while we unload the rest of the company."
"Hmph," von Bulow grunted, "I suppose that will have to do. But be aware that we've detected the Gray Death Legion moving a force toward you. High-speed maglev trains carrying about a company of 'Mechs. Very creative, these legionnaires ... no one on my staff had considered the mobility of the maglev lines for anything except logistics. So you have no more than a few hours to deploy for a possible battle."
"Yes, Herr General," Ison-Price replied. The weltalloberst commanding the covering fighters had reported the maglev movement to her almost a half an hour earlier, but she didn't think it would be wise to point this out to von Bulow. Instead she wiped the sweat from her forehead and went on. "If the general could authorize the fighters to strike the maglev line just south of Benmor Pass, we could knock out most of their column in one stroke, and restore the original timetable at the same time."
The general shook his head. "No. The purpose of Operation Trident is to encourage the enemy to commit as many troops as possible as rapidly as possible. We may be forced to push up our deployment timetable, but this bit of ingenuity actually plays into our hands quite well. At any rate I do not wish to see the maglev infrastructure damaged. Our forces will need it to deal with the logistical problems of an advance on Dunkeld. Not to mention the later occupation."
"Yes, Herr General," Ison-Price repeated, but she was seething within. Ever since touchdown the entire landing force had been subject to von Bulow's micromanagement, and she was weary of being nothing more than a pawn on his larger strategic chessboard.
But she also knew such was the fate of the modern warrior. She would follow her orders, win or die, because that was the code of the MechWarrior.
36
Benmor Pass, Glengarry
Skye March, Federated Suns
11 April 3056
"Communications check," Alexander Carlyle said, his fingers entering the proper code sequence on the keypad for his Archer's comm console. "Channel one . . . channel two . . . channel three . . . channel four ..."
He finished the sequence and returned to the base frequency. His crew chief, Technical Sergeant Newkirk, started running through his part of the drill. "Channel one, check," the astech said. The Archer's computer switched channels to match the signals Newkirk was transmitting. "Channel two, check. Channel three . . . your transmission's a little ragged on three. Better take it off-line. Channel four, check ..."
Finally it was done, with no further communications problems, and they moved to the next part of the check list, running the Archer's targeting systems through a series of test problems to make sure it was ready for combat. Each step was absolutely necessary, and the process could be hurried only so much without risking a catastrophic oversight. Nevertheless, Alex begrudged every minute of the process.
The emelt train had stopped near the very top of Benmor Pass, high on the slopes to the east of Ben Mor, and for the past half-hour they'd been unloading and checking the 'Mechs as fast as men and machines could work. And all due speed was crucial. Though the narrow confines of the pass gave them some protection from the enemy fighter cover that periodically circled overhead, Captain Montclair's infantry pickets had been falling back for nearly an hour in the face of an advance by a lance of light recon 'Mechs that had crossed the Sheol River from the port into the town of Loch Sheol and then followed the road and maglev line south toward the pass. Alex's force was in danger of being caught by exactly the sort of preemptive attack the mobility of the maglev line was supposed to have given the Legion.
"Ah, Ghost Leader, Dingo One 'ere," came a voice over the commlink, interrupting Alex's ongoing exchange with Newkirk. Alex told the technician to wait, then switched to channel six to respond to the call.
"Go ahead, Dingo," he said.
"My boys are all up and runnin', mate," Lieutenant John "Dingo Jack" Murphy said. His accent, the product of his origins on Botany Bay far out in the Periphery, was as thick and colorful as McCall's, but usually easier to follow. Murphy commanded the recon lance of Dumont's Dreadnoughts, the 'Mech company that had drawn the Loch Sheol mission. He was independent, irreverent, and often irritating, but he was also a brilliant scout and light-'Mech tactician. Which made up for a great many sins. "Thought maybe you'd like us to go walkabout and see what we can turn up."
Alex smiled at the man's cocky tone and expressive turn of phrase. "Not just yet, Lieutenant," he replied, trying to keep from laughing over the open channel. "Move up to the head of the pass and take up defensive positions for now. You'll be the rallying point for Montclair's boys and girls if they have to fall back any further."
"Can't say as I agree with you, mate, but I guess you're the boss," Murphy told him. "But I'd rather be out there doing the hunting instead of crouching up in the rocks and waitin' to be caught like a 'roo in the billabong."
"You'll get all the freedom you need, Murphy," Alex said. "But it'll have to wait until more of the 'Mechs are ready to take over the line. Ghost Leader, clear."
He ret
urned to the check list, running through the remaining items rapidly. The astech had just pronounced his 'Mech combat-ready when another call diverted Alex once more.
"Ghost One, this is Chevalier One." The stiff, formal tones belonged to Captain Guillaume Henri Dumont, the elegant, aristocratic young officer who had taken command of First Battalion in place of de Villar. "Please respond."
"Ghost Leader," Alex answered shortly. Dumont had made it crystal clear that he was not happy to be taking orders from a jumped-up cadet, and the dislike was mutual. The captain wasn't well-liked among the rest of the Gray Death officers because of his prim manner and aristocratic airs and the way he looked after his own comfort even in difficult field conditions, but everyone agreed he was a top-notch Mech Warrior with a flair for the kind of tactics that had made the Legion famous.
"I just had a report that Lieutenant Murphy's lance has started moving forward. When I requested an explanation from Lieutenant Rammadutta, he indicated that Lieutenant Murphy claimed to be acting on orders from you."
Alex frowned. "That's right. I've ordered him to hold the mouth of the pass until the rest of the company is ready to relieve him."
"If you please, Colonel," Dumont said, his voice tight and clipped. "If you please, in future I would appreciate it if you would adhere to the chain of command. Perhaps your training has not yet encompassed the matter, but I assure you it is of the utmost importance, particularly when dealing with an officer like Lieutenant Murphy. He is all too eager to take advantage of any ambiguities in the command structure in order to indulge his own taste for glory."
"I . . . see," Alex said slowly. He should have realized that Dumont would be a stickler for the chain of command. Properly, the order for Murphy's lance to go forward should have gone from Carlyle to Dumont, then to Dumont's replacement as CO of the Dreadnoughts, Lieutenant Joshi Rammadutta.
