A low, dry voice broke into the conversation. “To whom?”
“What?” Parsons said.
The new speaker was Mitch Coos, who was taking a ’Mech into battle for the first time—the Silver Hawks that had been left on Helm really were a skeleton crew.
“Which army are you going to surrender to?” Coos asked. “There’s three to choose from.”
“Not the damned Clanners. I don’t want anything to do with them.” Parsons paused. “The Lyran noble. He should have some sense of honor.”
Carleton rolled his eyes. “He’s a Lyran! A Skye noble! Since when have we been able to count on their honor?”
“There’s no time to argue!” Parsons said, an edge of hysteria on his voice. “They’re coming!”
“Then follow the plan!” Carleton said.
“I’m not…I’m not dying here!” Parsons said.
Anyone watching on a scanner might have seen a pattern to what looked like random movement as the last Silver Hawks on Helm pulled together to make a stand. Carleton could only hope that the stand would involve firing their weapons instead of laying them down.
* * *
“Sir, we’ve confirmed that the message is from one of the Silver Hawk Irregulars.”
Duke Vedet frowned. “Anyone with any sort of authority?”
There was a slight pause. “At the moment, it’s difficult to tell who has what authority over there.”
Vedet had to stop his Atlas in his tracks. He’d been thinking like a military commander, filling his mind with troop movements and lines of fire and the like. Now he had to think like a politician.
The transition didn’t take long.
“Set up a coded channel,” he said. “Me and him.”
“Yes, sir.”
The channel was ready in seconds. Vedet tuned his comm to the settings his people provided and spoke.
“Who am I talking to?”
“Lieutenant Fred Parsons, Your Honor. Your…Your Grace.”
“‘Sir’ will do for now,” he said. “I understand you want to surrender.”
“That is what I am offering, yes, sir.”
“Good,” Vedet said. “Here are the terms.”
* * *
“Alpha Trinary, head north. Beta, Striker stay in the middle. Command, with me to the south.” Alaric looked at his scanner. “Be ready. They will be making their move soon.”
It might be an explosive move, sending the Silver Hawk troops out in all directions, but he did not think they had the numbers or firepower for that. They were more likely planning to make one last charge, a concentrated effort to break through the enemy lines and make it to the mountains. He did not think they even had the firepower for that, but it seemed the more likely option. So that was what he focused on stopping.
Since he had the longest path to the Silver Hawks, his unit was moving the fastest of any Clan Wolf troops, curving around so he could cut off the southeast escape route and slam hard into the Silver Hawks when they made their move—or, if they delayed too long, before then.
Somewhere behind the clouds, the sun was getting lower in the sky. From where Alaric was sitting, though, it made no difference. The light had been the same all day and would be the same until it was dark. Nightfall would bring only a slight change.
“Star Colonel, this is Alpha One. The Silver Hawks are in position and firing. They are relatively stationary and launching heavy fire.”
“In what direction?”
“All of them. But they are directing their heaviest fire toward the northeast.”
It was as Alaric suspected. The Silver Hawks hoped the invaders had swung too far south to cut off their first line of escape, leaving troops thin behind them. Alpha Trinary would take care of that.
Alaric thought briefly about sending this information to Duke Vedet in case he wanted to shift some Lyran troops to the east to keep any Silver Hawks from getting away, but he rejected the idea. Vedet had access to the same information as Alaric, and Alaric was not going to do the Lyrans’ intelligence work for them. Besides, he did not need their help. Alpha Trinary would prevent the breakthrough on its own.
“Alpha Trinary, be ready. The charge is going to come to you. You will repel them.”
“Yes, Star Colonel,” was the only reply.
“You will have my support,” Alaric added, then moved his Mad Cat north to help finish off the battle.
* * *
“The Wolves are shifting north,” Carleton said. “If we’re going to go, we’ve got to go now!”
“We’re not leaving,” Parsons said. “We’ve worked out the terms.”
“I don’t care! We can’t surrender—that’s against the orders. We are moving north!”
“You can move north if you want,” Parsons said. “And you can be the first one killed.”
“We have orders!”
“Our orders said to hold them off as long as we could. We’ve done that—we’ve already lost. There’s nothing more to do here.”
“As long as we’re alive, there’s something to do!” Carleton said.
“There’s no point in dying for nothing,” Parsons said.
Carleton took a deep breath, mainly to keep himself from letting loose a stream of expletives over the comm. “I am making my advance to the northeast now. Those of you who are not giving up can come with me.”
He moved. He didn’t care about formations now, since he didn’t know how many troops would be with him. He was only concerned with inflicting as much pain on the Wolves as possible before he fell.
He checked his sensor as he moved. About half of the surviving Silver Hawk troops were coming with him. Some of the units staying behind didn’t have a choice, since they’d been too damaged to advance. The others—Carleton could only hope they would not be remembered as traitors. Or maybe he hoped they would.
He couldn’t look at what was behind him now. Ahead there were Wolves, already shifting over to cut off what little space might have been there. He could see a few of them in the fading light, turning to face him, beams shooting out to his position.
He let loose with his laser, stabbing his beam ahead, and he started running. Anyone who was going to take him down would pay.
* * *
Roderick looked up when the ground ahead of him stopped spitting up dirt. He looked to his left, to his right. He didn’t see any incoming fire. It had stopped.
He checked his sensor. The Silver Hawks had divided into two groups, one moving to the northeast, one stationary in front of him. The stationary group wasn’t firing.
What was going on? Was this another Silver Hawk trap? If so, it was a foolish one—the Silver Hawks could hardly benefit from dividing their small, lightly armed force. He didn’t see the strategic sense of it at all.
But he didn’t have to understand, he only had to react.
“Saber One, how’s your company?”
“A little battered, but mostly functional,” Kroff said. “I have a feeling that’s a loaded question.”
“Damn straight. There’s a small breakaway group northeast. Run around east, then north and help the Wolves contain them.”
“And you’ll take care of the rest of the Silver Hawks?”
“Since it looks like all they’re doing is sitting around? Yeah, we’ll handle it.”
* * *
Duke Vedet switched to a common channel, one that would hopefully reach every unit in the field. Or at least every functioning unit.
“Attention, all military units on Helm. This is Duke Vedet Brewster, commanding officer of the First Hesperus Guards. The remaining Silver Hawk Irregulars on the planet have surrendered to me, and I have accepted. We are moving forward to disarm them.”
“This is Star Colonel Alaric Wolf,” said a measured, slightly raspy voice. “You should wait for the battle to be over before dealing with the formalities of surrender.”
“The battle is over,” Vedet insisted. “I have accepted their surrender!”
&
nbsp; “Then it seems some of their troops did not get the message,” Alaric said with dry scorn. “They are attacking my right.”
Damn them to hell! Vedet thought. Another Silver Hawk trick!
He switched to the channel he had used to negotiate the surrender.
“Parsons!” he yelled. “Explain this.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but some of us thought the surrender wasn’t…appropriate. They refused to stop fighting.”
“Then order them to stop fighting!” Vedet said. Some people desperately needed to be schooled in the art of leadership.
“It’s not…it wouldn’t work that way,” Parsons said. “I’m not exactly their commanding officer.”
“Not exactly?”
“The chain of command is not intact. There is some question about who is in charge, and at the moment troops are taking order from more than one commander.”
Vedet swore to himself. “All right. You and whoever is with you should stand down until your other units are brought under control. Any sign of hostilities from any of you and we’ll wipe all of you off the planet.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve fired our last shot.” Parsons’ voice was heavy with fatigue.
“Good.” He checked the position of units on his scanner. “Tiger Company! Move east and help finish with the cleanup.”
These damn Silver Hawks, Vedet thought, are far too skilled at delaying the inevitable.
* * *
There was a Phoenix Hawk running ahead of Alaric. One of the most humanoid ’Mechs, the Phoenix Hawk could easily outrun Alaric’s Mad Cat if given a chance. But it would not have a chance.
The Phoenix Hawk had edged south to avoid heavy fire from the core of Alpha Trinary only to stumble into Alaric’s path. The pilot had turned quickly, knowing it had more speed, hoping to get away or at least find cover.
Alaric was outside of the path his bombers had cleared, but the buildings were sparse and low. He would not be able to run over them, but they would not interfere with his shots.
He started with the PPC, sending a blast deliberately in front of the Phoenix Hawk. The Silver Hawk ’Mech was forced to slow down and was rewarded by twin lasers melting off a good portion of its rear armor. The Phoenix Hawk ran forward again, and when Alaric fired his PPC again, it was ready. It did not slow down; instead, it angled right to avoid the beam, then turned forward again at top speed.
And it ran right into cross fire from a ’Mech that had been directed into position by Alaric.
The Phoenix Hawk powered its way through the intersection where it had been ambushed, smoke drifting out of the holes made by autocannon rounds. It would not be able to keep its top speed for long—heat or mechanical failure would catch up to it soon. Alaric sent out another PPC beam aimed right at the torso of the Phoenix Hawk. The distance threw him off a little, and he only caught its arm. The Silver Hawk ’Mech kept running, starting to slip out of Alaric’s grasp.
That was when his LRMs caught up to it. Explosions riddled the Phoenix Hawk’s left side, and something broke inside the machine. It looked like a giant with a numb leg—the left was dragging behind. Alaric ran a few steps, then slowed to line up one more PPC shot.
He held the trigger for a moment, waiting. Then he saw what he was waiting for. The top of the cockpit flew off, and the pilot ejected—he knew staying in that disabled machine meant a fairly rapid death.
Alaric turned away, leaving the disabled ’Mech and its grounded pilot where they stood. There were a few more Silver Hawks to whittle away.
* * *
There was no strategy to what Carleton was doing. Sweat ran into his eyes, down his sides and back, into his socks—any place that could perspire on his body was doing it. The cockpit was unbearably hot, but he couldn’t stop doing anything he was doing. Run, fire, run, fire, run. Those were his only thoughts. He had no shortage of targets. Turn this way, or that, Lyrans. Run ahead, Wolves. The crosshairs on his heads-up display turned green constantly, and Carleton tried to pull one trigger or another every time they did.
He didn’t know if he hit anything, and he was fairly certain some of his weapons were no longer working. Internal sensors flashed across the display, some yellow, some red. His displays were a riot of color on top of the gray that was Helmdown, and he squinted into the dark trying to find likely targets.
His machine shook and rounds poured into it. Where was this fire coming from? He wavered again before he came up with the answer—it was from two units, one behind, one to the right. He wanted to run away from them, but there was nowhere he could go. There was no safe place.
He turned, blasting his lasers, hoping to hit something. But he saw lasers coming the wrong direction, at him instead of from, and then the orange glow of flying hot metal raced toward him and battered his Ocelot one last time.
It felt like he fell forever. There was no direction but down, no choice but to fall. Down, down, down. He could see the sky now, the uneven gray soaking up all the noise and light from below and turning it into rain, rain that fell down, down, down, splattering on his cockpit as the back of his Ocelot hit the ground. The impact was hard, taking Carleton’s breath away, but he kept his eyes open so he could watch the rain.
* * *
“How many more of them are there?” Vedet asked.
“Not many,” Hans Lanz, leader of Stalker Company, reported back. “A handful.”
“A ‘handful’ is not a number!” the duke retorted. “How long before this is over?”
“Not long,” said Lanz. “We’re down to isolated skirmishes.”
“‘Not many’?” Vedet said with heavy scorn. “‘Not long’? Are you gathering information out there or are you just guessing?”
“I’m giving you estimates since war is imprecise, sir,” Lanz said. “I will be more precise as soon as I am able.”
Vedet did not bother to respond. The Stalker One position had caused him nothing but trouble. True, nothing Lanz had done had risen to the level of Nordhoff’s betrayal, but the man had already worn out his patience. He would have to find a smooth way to replace him when he had the chance.
He needed someone he could trust in this army—someone like Nordhoff had been before he finally showed his true colors. He needed advice he could trust, but he was having trouble finding someone who would tell him what he wanted to hear.
“Guard Company, this is Guard One. No more sense in waiting around. Let’s start taking surrenders.”
“With all due respect, sir, do you think that’s wise?” asked Mercy Billings, Vedet’s current Guard Two. “There is still fighting going on. This still could be a trap.”
“If it’s a trap, it’s a damn poor one,” Vedet said. “They’ve waited too long.”
“Still, there’s no need to rush. What do we lose if we officially take their surrender once everything’s calmed down?”
Damn soldiers, Vedet thought. They have trouble thinking of anything beyond the battlefield. Accepting the surrender meant he could declare victory, and being the one to declare victory would look great on the scream-sheets back home.
But the argument likely was not worth his effort. “All right. We’ll wait for the mop-up to finish.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his Atlas. He was not in the mood to sit and wait.
* * *
“Jamie, is it as confusing as it looks over there?” Roderick asked. He had found a position on a small rise that let him get some visual contact to go along with what he was seeing on his scanner.
“More,” Jamie Kroff said. “The few of them that are left are running like crazy, and neither us nor the Wolves have any sort of formation. I’ve seen more friendly shots come near me in the past half hour than hostile ones.”
“If you’re just adding to the confusion there, you might as well pull back. Let Alaric and his people finish it up.”
“Roger,” said Kroff, and Roderick could hear the gratitude in her voice. “I’ve had enough running around in circles after these people.”
“Drop back, then. Take a break,” Roderick said. “It’s over.”
* * *
“Command units, there is a Vulture standing next to a Stinger to the southwest,” Alaric said. “Make them the next target. I will support your advance.”
“Star Colonel, those are units that are surrendering, quiaff?”
“Neg,” Alaric said. “They were firing on us. They need to be decommissioned.”
There was a pause. Alaric could tell some in his unit were pondering asking him if he was sure. When none of them actually posed the question, he took it as a good sign. Unquestioned faith in a commander was a desirable trait.
“As long as they are content to imitate surrendering units, approach them slowly,” Alaric said. “The closer we get to them before opening fire, the less we have to chase them.”
“Yes, Star Colonel.”
Alaric’s Mad Cat stomped forward.
* * *
“All firing to the east has stopped, sir,” Billings reported. “The situation seems calm.”
For the first time in a month, a smile tugged at Vedet’s mouth. “Good. Let’s finish this. Guard units, form up behind me.” The surrender of Helm should be done with a sense of occasion.
“Parsons, we are advancing to accept your surrender. All your MechWarriors should exit your vehicles.”
“Yes, si—fire! Someone is firing!”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’re getting fired on from the east! Some of your troops—shit! Your troops just took out two ’Mechs! What the hell is going on?”
Vedet looked around. The sky was dark now. He could see distant flashes, but they told him nothing. “Hold on,” he said. “I’ll find out. Do not return fire.” Parsons didn’t respond. “Do you hear me? Do not return fire!”
“Your people are killing my troops!”
“It’s not my people! Hold your fire!”
Again, Parsons did not say anything.
* * *
“Looks like we got out just in time,” Kroff said. Roderick had fallen back with her, pulling his units together southwest of Helmdown’s center.
“What’s going on over there?” Roderick asked.
“I’m not sure. Looked like everything had calmed down, then someone unleashed a whole torrent of fire. Pretty sure it was the Wolves.”
The Last Charge Page 13
