Anson Marik is at his wit's end. The Lyrans are pressing on his borders. His chief tactician has resigned. And his abilities as a leader are failing him. Now his enemies are on the move, taking the Commonwealth planet by planet, forcing Marik to pull his forces back in a bravely-fought running retreat. And if Marik cannot gather his strength to stop the invasion, his people will be doomed...
THE LAST CHARGE
Roderick broke into a run with the rest of his command lance flanking him. He was in the suburbs of New Edinburgh now, and the buildings were concentrated enough that he had to stick to roads for the most part. He pounded forward, closing on defenders that had been guarding the artillery emplacements until they were wiped off the planet. They were already retreating, but on the scanner their movement looked random and disorganized. Roderick edged west, cutting across a broad parking lot and zeroing in on a Ghost that was reeling away from the fire behind it. Roderick fired his autocannons and watched the rounds bore holes in the Ghost’s torso. The narrow body of the’” Mech looked unsteady, but its sturdy legs kept it upright.
Roderick charged forward, now relying on his laser as the Ghost tried to get off shots of its own. Its lasers fired, passing in front of Roderick, who had slowed down to draw a better bead on the Silver Hawk’” Mech. He hit the Ghost with his pulse laser, and the’” Mech stood still. He left it standing in the middle of the street, looking like a statue, a ready-made memorial to the battle raging around it.
Tanks surged forward in front of him, doing some of the street-level grunt work that urban fighting required. Roderick laid down autocannon fire to drive back some Silver Hawk vehicles and clear a path for his tanks.
The confusion of the Silver Hawk Irregulars was already dissipating. They were too well trained to stay disorganized for long, and Roderick saw on his scanner that their pullback was becoming faster and more cohesive. That was fine. He’d gotten what he wanted.
THE LAST CHARGE
A BATTLETECH NOVEL
Jason M. Hardy
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA brPenguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © WizKids, Inc., 2007 All rights reserved
ISBN: 9781101421246
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
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To Kathleen,
who deserves a book dedicated to only her.
That, and a whole lot more.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The following people played a role in shaping this book, whether they like it or not:
As always, Sharon Turner Mulvihill provided expert guidance with an ever-positive spin. It’s good to have someone who keeps pushing for the book to be better.
Randall Bills also provided advice, continuity help, guidance, and, of course, the dashing good looks for which he is known worldwide.
Kevin Killiany was fun to conspire with, despite his tendency to work the word “Niops” into every sentence. He’s fast, talented and responsive—like a sports car, only sleeker.
Thanks must go to the other writers who set up the characters and situations I played with in these books. In addition to already named people, Mike Stackpole and Blaine Pardoe deserve particular thanks.
This book and anything I do would not be possible without my parents.
And here’s a list of names: Iris, David, Lindy, Elissa, Megan, Gretchen, Katrina, Jenica, Steve, Cindy, Rob, Bill, Tamara, Geri, Bill, Ann, Dave, Beth, Joe, Hugh, Patti, Fritz, Meg and Lisa. These are various siblings, in-laws, and spouses of in-laws who in various ways have been excellent people and deserve to be acknowledged. So there they are. My brother, who shall remain nameless for my own purposes, is naturally not named here, but still deserves the same acknowledgment as the rest. Only without a name.
And my wife, Kathy, and son, Finn, are kind and supportive and let me type when I need to. They rock.
1
Mountain Retreat
Paltos, Atreus
Marik-Stewart Commonwealth
13 February 3138
The words were there. Anson Marik could feel them, hovering around his head like angry bees. But they were elusive, staying out of his reach, out of his thoughts. It should be easy. He should be able to just take a deep breath and have them come to him. Then he would let them free, and the fury that would follow—it would be beautiful.
“Who the hell…? Confounded…bloody…Of all the…arrogant, useless…Shove a tree branch up…blast!”
He exhaled. It still wasn’t coming as easily as it was supposed to. This shouldn’t be.
He stomped on the wooden floor; outside, snow fell from nearby branches. Someone, who knows which of his ancestors, had built this room to be cozy, like a cabin high in the mountains, right down to the knotted pine floors. A cabin built on the edge of the massive lump that was the rest of the retreat. All Anson could see, though, was a room that would be easy to tear apart if he set his mind to it. The floor would splinter if he just kept stomping hard enough. Then he could pick up a loose floorboard and smash the desk, the chair, the bookshelves, the electronic screens and their useless information. They would smash up nicely.
Then he’d shatter the picture window, leap outside and set about tearing down the whole thrice-damned mountain.
His fists clenched and unclenched. Then again. Then they stayed unclenched. His breathing slowed.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted. He shouldn’t be getting calm yet. He needed his anger. He trusted his anger. He wasn’t about to let it go.
Heat returned to his face, and he knew the skin beneath his brown beard was turning red. He was ready.
He didn’t bother to push the button on his intercom. “Tell Daggert to get the hell in here!” he bellowed.
He didn’t have to wait lon
g, but even in those few seconds, Anson felt his heart rate slow a touch. His back sagged, and he briefly thought about sitting down.
Then he straightened up and took five solid, heavy steps across the room. Damn it, what’s the matter with me?
The door to his office opened and Cole Daggert walked in. A dark man from head to toe—from the tight black curls of his hair (with gray at the temples) to the shiny black pointed tips of his shoes, he looked like an undertaker. An arrogant, stubborn undertaker.
“Daggert,” Anson bellowed. “What in the hell is the matter with you?” Then he grimaced—the words just weren’t echoing around the room like they should. They weren’t filling his chest properly.
Daggert waited a moment before he spoke. When he did, his tones were low and level. “Perhaps, my lord, this is a conversation we should have when you are calm.”
“When I’m calm?” Anson shouted. “You know what’s going on out there. You know, better than anyone but me, the shit we’re in. From every damned side. You tell me—when exactly do you think I’m going to be calm?”
Daggert’s eyes did not waver. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Anson slammed a hand on his desk. “You’re not getting insolent, are you, Daggert? I could throw your ass down the mountain for that remark. I’ve done worse for less.”
“Yes, my lord. You would be within your rights to dismiss me.”
“Don’t tell me what my rights are!” Anson thundered, and he enjoyed it. It felt natural. Maybe he’d just been out of practice, but the words were coming easier, the air rushing out of his lungs like the winds through a mountain pass. “I bloody well know what I can and can’t do! And I’ll tell you what I can and can’t do, just so you know.” He stepped forward until his nose almost touched Daggert’s. “I can do whatever the hell I want!” he bellowed.
Again, Daggert didn’t flinch. “Of course, my lord.”
Anson took a step back. Daggert wasn’t making this easy. Shouting matches were much easier to sustain when both sides were angry.
“Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to take your letter of resignation and shred it. Then I’m going to throw the shreds into the fireplace. Then I’m going to take the ashes and rub them in your thrice-damned face if you ever try anything like this again!”
“My lord, may I just say—”
“No! You can bloody well keep your mouth shut until I tell you to speak! We are in the worst emergency the Commonwealth has ever faced—frauds and pretenders, Lyrans and Wolves and Falcons and who knows what else closing on all sides—and it’s only going to get worse. What makes you think this is the time to get out? I can’t afford to lose any of my senior staff, especially my chief bloody tactical adviser! I don’t have to explain how bad the situation is—you’re the one who keeps explaining it to me every morning. My head, the head of the whole Commonwealth, is on the line here, and if my neck is in danger, then your neck better damn well be sticking out next to it!”
“When you put it that way, I can’t see why I’d want to step down,” Daggert said.
“This isn’t a time to be clever,” Anson said with a sneer. “This is what you signed up for! You don’t just step down when things are getting difficult. You gut it out! Win me this war, get all our enemies running away with their tails between their ass cheeks—then you can retire. Not now.”
“With all due respect, sir, I think it would be best if you accepted my resignation now. I think it would be best for you, for me and for the Commonwealth as a whole.”
Anson prepared to let loose another gale of anger, but his lungs didn’t respond. They didn’t fill up enough for a full roar. He had to say something, though.
“You think that would be best? Why?” That last word had an oddly plaintive note to Anson’s ears. He didn’t like the sound of it one bit.
“In a time of crisis such as the one the Commonwealth is facing, a nation needs leaders who are ready and willing to give their entire selves to the nation’s defense and to act in concert against the looming threats. At this time, I feel your office would be better served by an individual who could offer the complete dedication and effort this crisis demands. I believe I should step aside so you may find that individual.”
Anson glared at Daggert. The tactical adviser remained stiff and straight, eyes focused on something beyond Anson. He was ready for another torrent of words from the captain-general. So Anson decided to take him by surprise.
He smiled. Then he laughed. It wasn’t a merry sound—it was the laugh of a victor gloating over his vanquished rival—but still, it was clearly not what Daggert expected to hear. His eyes flickered, and it may have been that the dark skin on his cheeks grew a trifle redder. That, Anson knew, was as much as Daggert would ever let his composure slip.
“Damn it, Cole, how many times did you stand in front of a mirror rehearsing that little speech?” Anson said between guffaws. “You did the words okay, but did you ever think about moving your damn arms when you talk? You look like a mannequin.”
“My lord, whether my words were practiced or not—”
“Yeah, yeah, just because you practiced ’em doesn’t mean they’re not true. Fine.” Anson’s laughter trailed off. He couldn’t sustain it. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to make this decision based on your delivery or your pretty words. You can talk and talk and say everything just right and it doesn’t matter. I need you. So you’re staying.”
“I must ask you to consider—”
“You can ask me to consider whatever the hell you want, but at the end of the day I’ll decide you still work for me, so you might as well stuff it.”
“My lord, I feel the demands of my family—”
“Oh, screw all that! This ‘family’ nonsense. Every time a politico steps down, they talk about being with their family. It’s all bullshit. You got as far as you did because you like what you’re doing, because you like the power you have, and that’s not something you just stop doing. You never, ever, stop wanting power if you’ve made it this far. It’s like not wanting water. You may have your reasons—maybe you’re scared of this war, maybe you just don’t like me. Who the hell cares? There’s only two things I know about your reasons for resigning—first, it’s not about your family. Second, whatever your reasons are, they’re not good enough.”
“I have to say I don’t think you are being—”
“Of course I’m not being fair! Since when was it—”
“Would you have the courtesy of at least allowing me to finish a sentence!” thundered Daggert.
Then there was silence. Snow thudded softly outside as the two men stared at each other.
“Well,” Anson finally said, his voice gravelly. “This may be the first time you’ve ever come in my office and brought your balls with you.”
There was something in Daggert’s eyes, some fire behind the deep brown Anson had never seen before. And Daggert’s body, which usually seemed stiff, was now taut. Ready to jump, though Anson didn’t know which way he’d leap. He decided to find out.
“How long has that outburst been coming?” Anson said. “How many times have you yelled at me when you’re alone because you didn’t have the guts to do it to my face?”
“Never,” Daggert said, his voice still thundering, “confuse a respect for decorum with a lack of courage.”
Daggert moved, but he didn’t pounce. He turned toward the door, took two steps, then whirled back on Anson.
“I’m done with you,” he said, quieter but with no less fire. “I’ve had it. Fight your wars. Keep living life as an overgrown schoolyard bully. I’m done. I’m leaving. You may do as you wish.” He turned again and walked toward the door.
“What I wish,” Anson said, “is to throw you in a deep, dank dungeon if you try to walk out on me.”
Daggert froze in his tracks.
“Yeah, you should stop. You know it’s no bluff. I’ve got what I need right here. It
’s a benefit of being old nobility—everywhere you go, your ancestors seem to have built a dungeon. One of the perks of power.”
“Or one of the perils,” Daggert said without turning.
Anson waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not playing word games. This is your choice. Retire to the dungeon or keep working for me. Shouldn’t be a tough decision.”
Daggert still stared at the door. “Why?” he said. “Why not just use someone else?”
“Because you’re the best I have. And even if you weren’t, I don’t have time to bring anyone else up to speed. We have decisions to make, and we have to make them now, and I don’t have time for your weak stomach. Turn around and let’s get to work.”
Daggert remained where he was, just long enough to show a trace of defiance. Then he did the only thing he could and came back to Anson.
“You are a bastard,” said Daggert. His voice was empty.
“Right,” Anson said. “Look, this works out pretty good for you. You can call me names and know I won’t have your head. You know I need you too much. What more do you want?”
Daggert didn’t reply. The fire that had briefly flared was gone.
“Good,” Anson said. “So—work. There’s plenty you need to do for me. You should find Daniella Briggs—I don’t know what happened to her on Marik, but we need every level head we’ve got. The pony express is working well enough that we should have heard from her by now. So someone needs to find her and tell me where she is! We’ve got plenty of work for her here, what with almost every faction in the damn Inner Sphere coming to our borders, playing their damn games. We need to tell them to go back to their own sandboxes and leave ours the hell alone.”
He took a breath. “You need to look at Gannett. Some of them damn Clanners, the Wolves this time, are doing the Lyrans’ work for them. They’ve demanded surrender of our forces there. You need to come up with a way to tell them to shove it up their asses.”
The Last Charge Page 1
