Binding Force

by Loren L. Coleman

  A chain ladder dangled down from the open cockpit hatch at the back of the Wraith’s head. Even as Aris grasped one of the lower rungs, airtight hatches were being slammed shut all around the ’Mech bay with resounding metallic clangs, protecting against loss of atmosphere in case of a breach of the DropShip’s hull. Aris scaled the ladder to the cockpit, climbed in and then immediately shut and dogged the hatch behind him.

  He settled into the command couch and pulled a wireless headset out from a small, tilt-open storage space beneath the Wraith’s communications system. He clipped the transceiver onto his belt, then donned the headset, which consisted of an earplug and thin-wire microphone.

  It was similar to the device built into a BattleMech neurohelmet, but there was no need to put the bulky helmet on until he was actually ready to pilot the ’Mech. With the belt transmitter, he could leave his ’Mech immediately if need be, but any use of the comm system still required some basic security checks. He switched his computer to battery-augmented power and brought it on-line.

  “Proceed with voiceprint identification,” the computer said emotionlessly.

  “Company Leader Aris Sung.”

  “Voiceprint match. Confirm authorization.”

  Because voiceprint identification could be faked, BattleMechs were also programmed with another special key. A code word or often a phrase known only to the Mech Warrior. Aris smiled. “I am right where I wanted to be, now I must survive it.” That thought, from eleven years ago, had never left him. It seemed an especially appropriate reminder whenever battle loomed before him.

  “Company Leader Aris Sung on-line,” he said, once the computer cleared him. “Requesting status report.”

  “One moment, sir,” a voice replied, sounding tinny and distant. There followed general fumbling sounds as the comm set was passed to someone else.

  The radio filtration couldn’t fully rob the rich, deep tones of the next speaker. It was the same man who had made the general quarters announcement. “Sir, Bridge Officer Kyle Lee. We have been engaged by a full company of aerospace fighters, mixed Lightnings and Sparrowhawks. They slid out from behind Nochen as we pulled inside its orbit.”

  Nochen was Kaifeng’s poor excuse for a moon. From his study of the system, Aris knew that the small planetoid was only barely bigger than a mere asteroid. But it could have hidden a company of aerospace fighters easily enough. Which means they knew we were coming.

  “One of the escorting Thrush fighters is down,” Bridge Officer Lee continued. “We were responsible for the alert-ready fighters and have already launched. We sustained minor damage to the number one landing gear on the enemy’s last pass.”

  Aris thought furiously, trying to sort out the mechanics of three-dimensional space combat in his head. “Send to Battalion Commander Non,” he ordered. “Recommend we pull to a tighter diamond formation. It will put their fighters at greater risk on any attack runs.”

  “Already done, sir. Two, no three, enemy craft disabled or destroyed. Damn. And another Thrush down.”

  Damned light aerospace fighters. As if in agreement, the Lao-tzu trembled again as she took more damage. Aris swallowed dryly and began to throw switches on his control panel, bringing the Wraith’s engine to life.

  “Bridge Officer Lee, I want all ’Mech pilots not already in their ’Mechs and powered up to do so at once. Rig the ship for a hard surface drop.” A hard surface drop meant steep atmospheric entry and heavy G-forces all the way to the ground. Not the best way to begin an assault, shaking up your warriors, but better than having your DropShip shot out from under you. “Technicians are to stand by with BattleMech jet packs. If the Lao-tzu takes too much damage I want the company ready for high-atmosphere deployment.”

  “Acknowledged, sir. Battalion Commander Non standing by on auxiliary channel bravo.”

  Jaw clenched in frustration, Aris spun a dial on the comm gear to select the private channel. “Standing by, Battalion Commander.”

  “Aris Sung, can you explain this attack?” Ty Wu Non’s voice was cold and demanding, losing little of its strength in transmission.

  “No, Battalion Commander. I would guess that our approach was detected, but I do not preclude the possibility that a covert message was somehow smuggled off the recharge station.”

  There was a slight pause, as if Ty Wu Non was deciding whether or not to take issue with Aris over the recharge station messages. “I want your opinion, Aris. How does this attack affect your assault plan?”

  Aris was ready for that one. “Short-term effect is negligible, providing we don’t take heavy losses from the fighter attack. Perhaps even beneficial. Kaifeng will worry most over Mahabohdi. Possibly they will pull in outpost forces, and they will certainly concentrate efforts on erecting extra defenses. This leaves the district cities and their food production vulnerable. Long-term, we will have to be concerned with the possibility that Sarna has received notification of our attack and will manage to get reinforcements to Kaifeng sooner than planned.”

  “Don’t worry about Sarna,” Ty said, surprising Aris. What did Ty Wu Non know of Sarna that Aris did not? There was a moment’s pause before Ty continued. “I’ve ordered our remaining fighter craft to concentrate on the heavier Lightnings, drawing them off. We will proceed on a hard drop.”

  A moment after Ty Wu Non gave the order, Terry Chan’s voice came on, startling Aris. He thought he’d been speaking privately with Ty Wu Non. “Company Leader Sung,” she said, addressing Aris formally. “With the new time constraints, I would recommend again that we split the company down into two-Mech elements for faster results.”

  A sudden burst of white-hot anger burned inside Aris, flushing his face with warmth. There was only one place Terry Chan could be in order to eavesdrop on this channel. “Lance Leader Chan,” he said, giving his tone an unmistakable hard edge, “you were ordered to mount your BattleMech. You will remove yourself from this channel, from the bridge of the Lao-tzu, and follow those orders. If I hear a single word out of you before your Cataphract is powered up and ready, I will remove you from the order of battle and promote Justin Loup to command your lance.”

  That said, Aris forced himself back into calm and waited for either Terry Chan to test him or Ty Wu Non to undermine his authority by overriding Aris’ right to discipline a member of his company.

  Neither happened, and it suddenly disturbed Aris that he would actually expect such behavior from two members of his House.

  After another pause, Ty Wu Non came back on the line. “Your bridge crew verifies that Terry Chan has left. Now, is her point valid, Company Leader Sung?”

  “The arguments haven’t changed, Battalion Commander. In my judgment, the time saved does not offset the increased risk of spreading ourselves so thin.”

  “Do you suggest any change to the plan at all then?”

  It was obviously the prelude to ending communication, and Aris was about to say no, but then he smiled and nodded inside his cockpit. “Yes, Battalion Commander Non. I would suggest one alteration. Right now we’re running under electronic blackout. I say we light up our DropShip IFF transponders, and let Kaifeng know exactly who we are. It should place them more on the defensive.”

  “I will order that done.” Was that amusement in the voice of Ty Wu Non? “It appears the Kaifeng fighters have had enough for now. They’re in retreat. We should have a clear run at the planet now.

  “I’ll see you on the ground, Aris Sung.”

  9

  Jinxiang River Port Terminal 12 North

  Tarrahause District, Kaifeng

  Sarna Supremacy, Chaos March

  20 July 3058

  Port Terminal Twelve North spread out along the west bank of the Jinxiang River in a large half-circle, a maze of buildings surrounding the extensive system of docks. The golden, lotus-like flowers from which the Jinxiang took its name clustered in the shallows, sending their perfume into the air. A light wind blew in from the west, helping to stir up dust in between buildings. And t
he harsh sounds of battle hung over the facility as BattleMechs clashed.

  “Mechs on the road,” someone shouted over the main battle frequency. “Heavies. Sixty to seventy tons each.”

  “We have doors opening on the northeast storage vaults and a maintenance depot,” said someone else, her voice calm. “A lance of medium ’Mechs. Damn. And Von Luckner heavy tanks. Two… six. No, eight total.”

  “Anyone see where that Rifleman went?”

  Port Terminal Twelve North was a trap. The thought took a few long seconds to register with House Warrior Justin Loup, the sudden burst of near-frantic comm traffic so startling the young warrior that he couldn’t act for a moment. No one had expected resistance. Not this soon.

  Not a hundred and twenty klicks outside Tarrahause and on the first day!

  The Hiritsu demi-company under Company Leader Sung’s command had moved into the port terminal just as they had the two previous terminals, occupying critical positions and keeping obvious threats such as the warehouses covered. Justin’s position had been the docks, the ferrocrete and timber constructions used to tie up and load the barges that transported rice and other crops down river to Tarrahause. The plan, which had worked well at the previous sites, called for ’Mechs to take control of the facility. Then Hiritsu infantrymen arrived in hovercraft to shut the place down. The easiest way was to wreck the machinery that brought the produce up from large underground storage vaults and then loaded up the large cargo holds of the barges. Without that, the food shipments could only be brought out and loaded in very small quantities.

  The first enemy BattleMechs had come up from those underground vaults—light ’Mechs hitting hard and fast, throwing the House Hiritsu force into a moment’s confusion while the heavier enemy units closed the trap. Now as the radio chatter continued—some worried, some calm—Justin Loup shook himself into action.

  He walked his Hatchetman around a corner of the small dock warehouse that hid him from the rest of the facility. The 45-ton Hatchetman was one of only five such ’Mechs Justin knew of in the entire Capellan Confederation, this one a leftover from back in the late 3020s when Richard’s Panzer Brigade came from the Lyran Commonwealth to serve House Liao. Justin’s grandfather had been part of that mercenary unit, and had come to appreciate, if not love, his adopted nation. When Virginia York accepted Justin into her House, the old man had been so proud that he’d left the ’Mech to Justin rather than his elder grandsons, Justin’s brothers, who both served in the Brigade.

  Sensors screamed immediate warnings as soon as he left the sensor shadow thrown by the two-story building. Turning his back on the docks and barges he’d been ordered to secure, Justin looked out over the main loading yard. Warehouses and administration buildings ringed the hundred-meter expanse of hard-packed earth, forming what looked like a small arena within the heart of the port terminal. And standing along the far side, turning now to fully face him, was the top-heavy design of a 35-ton Jenner.

  Justin caressed the main trigger on his right-hand control stick. His Hatchetman’s shoulder-mounted auto-cannon belched gray smoke and a tongue of fire, kicking its right shoulder back. Shells of depleted uranium sped across the open expanse of the loading yard to slam into the left side of the Jenner, rocking it sideways as they ripped through one of its stubby, wing-like arms. Justin quickly sidestepped back around the corner, hoping to draw the enemy ’Mech to him. He began a slow count to ten.

  A cool killer. That was how Justin Loup normally thought of his Hatchetman. Fairly humanoid in appearance except for the trademark elongated head that it shared with its big brother ’Mech, the Axman, it carried a large titanium hatchet in its right hand that built up no heat and made the ’Mech a devastating in-fighter. For ranged combat it relied on its LB-X autocannon, again trading off heat for weight. Only the trio of medium pulse lasers and the Hatchetman’s jumping ability generated any concern about heat, but the double-strength heat sinks House Hiritsu technicians had installed quickly bled away any buildup. At times, Justin wondered if he could do away altogether with the cooling vest that all Mech Warriors wore to survive the killing temperatures that could build up in their tiny cockpits.

  His count had barely started when Aris Sung finally broke in on communications. “I want a confirmation on those tanks,” he said. “Eight Von Luckners?” Justin could just make out the twinge of concern in his commander’s voice. Mounting one of the most destructive weapons available, a large-bore autocannon, Von Luckner tanks were a threat to be reckoned with.

  “Affirmative, Company Leader. And they’re mercenary. I saw the crest much closer than I’d have liked. Looks like Jacob’s Juggernauts. I’m pulling back out of range.”

  “I want everyone out of range,” Aris said then. “Someone find us an exit path from the port terminal, now.”

  Justin kept up his silent count. Six Hiritsu warriors against a company were bad odds, not even counting the tanks. Von Luckners were at home in tight confines like the port terminal. No one faced eight 12-centimeter auto-cannons at close range, not without a death wish. Eight… nine…

  On ten, Justin Loup raised his ’Mech’s hatchet weapon high overhead and stepped out from around the corner. The Jenner was bearing down on him, not thirty meters away. The Jenner pilot’s best course of attack would have been to continue his charge and try to slam into the Hatchetman, possibly pushing it completely off the docks and into the Jinxiang. The sight of the black and green-painted ’Mech, hatchet held high and ready to strike, was apparently too unnerving. The Jenner tried a last-minute change of course, firing off a barrage of six short-range missiles in an attempt to deter the Hatchetman.

  The missiles pitted the Hatchetman’s legs and lower torso, throwing it into a violent tremble, but Justin was too conditioned a warrior to miss the opportunity. He stabbed the thumb-trigger for all three medium pulse lasers, and then brought down the hatchet. The emerald darts stitched their way up the Jenner’s side, melting armor over its left and center torso areas. Then the hatchet fell, its titanium edge smashing down and through the Jenner’s cockpit, cutting deep into the center torso.

  The light ’Mech skidded first to its knees and then sprawled out full length as it tumbled past Justin and out onto the dock. Trailing sparks and gray dust over the ferrocrete surface, it shattered a wooden pylon and then slid head-first into the river, barely missing a low-lying barge. One leg remained draped up over the dock’s edge while the upper half of the ’Mech sank underwater.

  Justin opened a channel to Aris Sung. “Company Leader Sung, this is Mech Warrior Loup. The docks are clear, no enemy. We could simply ford the river here and escape down the eastern bank.”

  Aris came back at once. “How wide is the river?”

  Justin eyed the distance, not understanding why the question was important. It looked to be maybe a hundred fifty meters across, but he knew that the flat, slow-moving surface of the water would make him underestimate.

  “Wide,” he said. “Maybe two hundred meters. But I doubt it runs very deep. Barges are flat-bottomed, and I see no evidence of dredging.”

  Silence answered him. Justin stood at the corner of the warehouse, watching as BattleMechs further into the port terminal dodged among buildings and each other in a deadly game. Most were out of his range or appeared and disappeared too quickly for him to get weapons lock. He thought fleetingly about moving in toward the battle, but repressed the urge and forced himself to wait. I have not been released from my position. Aris Sung had assigned the docks to him, and right now they might be the only route to safety for the warriors of his House.

  Someone yelled for support fire, cursing the Von Luckners. The call for help seemed to make up Aris’ mind. “We’ll chance it,” he said finally. “All units converge on the docks. Set up defensive perimeter. Prepare to ford.”

  Nearly a quarter-kilometer distant, Justin saw the dark form of a ’Mech rise up above the warehouse rooftops on jets of plasma as it began to angle for his position. A quick glance
at his heads-up display indicated that it was Aris’ Wraith. With a grace that belied its 55 tons, the Wraith skimmed over rooftops and the loading yard to finally land with earth-shaking force sixty meters to Justin’s left, with the small dock warehouse between them. Justin wasn’t sure why Aris Sung was hesitant to ford the river. The Wraith’s jump radius would get him across easily, possibly even enough to clear the river without getting his ’Mech’s feet wet.

  Then Justin understood. Aris’ BattleMech was the only one that had even a chance of crossing in a single jump. Justin’s Hatchetman might clear a hundred meters, but then would hit the water and have to walk the rest of the way. And some BattleMechs couldn’t jump at all. Wading across, slowed by the water and mud along the bottom, they’d become great target practice for any enemy ’Mechs left on the docks.

  And Justin had suggested the route.

  The responsibility settled down firmly on his shoulders with the weight of an Atlas as two House Hiritsu BattleMechs ran into view, followed by three APC hovercraft full of infantrymen. His brothers and sisters, all. Justin stepped aside to let the Thunder and War Dog pass. The APCs drove right between the legs of Aris’ Wraith.

  “Into the river,” Aris ordered as the third APC flew past. The ’Mechs plunged in and began to walk. The first two APCs were already on the river, flying across the surface as easily as they would have solid ground.

  Justin didn’t have time to follow their progress. His Hatchetman’s sensors screamed for attention just an instant before his ’Mech was slammed sideways. He fought for control, the heavy neurohelmet he wore reading the signals from his own inner ear and feeding them to the Hatchetman’s large gyroscope, which sat just under the fusion engine. Working the control sticks, he used the ’Mech’s arms to help adjust his balance while checking his damage schematic and heads-up display.

  A Rifleman had broken cover far to the right, coming down the backside of a long, low warehouse. Its large lasers had cored into the Hatchetman’s right and center torso, sending armor to the ground in molten rivulets. Now the 60-ton ’Mech held its position and sniped at him, alternating between its two large lasers and its small auto-cannon. Even as Justin torso-twisted to bring his own autocannon in line, the Rifleman scored, shattering armor plates on his right torso and driving through to chip away at the ferrotitanium skeleton beneath. Several shots hit the physical shielding around his fusion reactor, opening a breach that sent his heat monitor soaring high into the yellow band.