The dwarf cracked the external accessway's wooden doors and smiled. Hot damn! Time didn't make any difference down in that hole, but here. . . Outside night had fallen, and for the first time, Clovis dared hope he might make good his escape.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open enough for him to slip out. He pressed it down noiselessly, then hunkered down in the building's shadow. He scoured the surrounding landscape for any sign of movement, but saw nothing. I wish they'd shut that damned alarm off. I'd prefer to trust my ears to my eyes in this darkness.
Clovis set off toward the hills ringing New Freedom's north side. He moved a short distance, then dropped into a crouch and waited. When confident he had not been seen or heard, he moved again a short distance. His back pressed to the rough bark on an evergreen tree, Clovis allowed himself a smile. Keep this up, and I'll hit the first hillside in no time.
Swirling out of the blackness, an ISF commando dropped from above him. The warrior slapped the Foxfire from Clovis's hand, then drew his katana in a single deft motion. He pressed the sword's point against Clovis's throat. "Congratulations. By getting this far, you have eluded many who are your betters. I knew I would find you out here."
ISF. They're as bad as Loki. They killed so many people at our Styx base. Clovis glanced over toward the Foxfire.
The commando's low, mocking laugh stopped him. "You are mine now, little man. I'll take you back to our headquarters and we'll see what sort of treasures you hide in that dull package." He slid the sword back into its scabbard, but his harsh cackle sliced at Clovis's spirit.
Clovis shivered as his self-image collapsed in on itself. I am done. They will break me and I will give up all I know. I have failed everyone . . . The commando's ridicule cored through the last of the dwarf's self-respect. I fooled myself into believing I was a man, but I should have known better. Blood will out. . . Clovis nodded in submission to his captor.
Suddenly, the Combine guard's laughter died. Lit by the scarlet beam of a 'Mech's medium laser, he burst into flame.
14
Lyons
Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
15 May 3029
Dan Allard growled a harsh message into his radio as he watched the ISF commando become a torch. "Better move in, Colonel. I just tipped our hand." Dan dropped his Wolfhound to one knee and used the 'Mech's steel left hand to scoop up Clovis. "I've got Clovis, but I've attracted some notice."
The flickering muzzle flashes from the heavy machine gun emplacement on the hangar's roof pinpointed the most obvious of the enemy oppositions. Dan's auxiliary monitor noted the impacts of heavy slugs against the Wolfhound's hand, but he knew nothing would get through to hurt Clovis. As long as I don't clench my fist, friend, you’re safe as a babe in his mother's arms.
Dan swung the Wolfhound's right arm around and extended it toward the gunners. The arm had no hand, and from the speed of their reaction, the Combine soldiers did not take long to realize why that was. Dan guided the large laser's targeting crosshairs onto their position, then sent a bloody stream of coherent light pulsing into the machine gun nest.
Kilojoules of energy fused sandbags into glass with a gentle caress and liquefied the machine gun in an instant. The heat touched off a series of explosions as machine gun ammo cooked off. The gunners, who had jumped clear of their position, avoided the laser's fury, but could not escape the chaotic hail of bullets shooting from the gun emplacement.
A new element joined the wailing alarm that Clovis had caused to be sounded. A sharp keening that built to an ear-shattering crescendo, then dropped to an inaudible level, wove through the sirens. Dan narrowed his eyes and reopened his radio channel. " 'Mech-raid siren just clicked on, Morgan. They know I'm here and they're scrambling." Dan looked up at the darkened airstrip beyond the 'Mech bay. "Looks like they're getting air cover up."
Two Sholagar light fighters moved down the runway. The disc-winged aircraft began to pick up speed when something burned its way onto Dan's holographic display from above. White lines stabbed down into the lead Sholagar's right wing and sliced through it like a tablesaw. Half the wing dropped off to slide along the runway on a bed of red and orange sparks.
The damaged aerofighter, still getting full thrust from the engine mounted in its left wing, spun around and into the flight path of the second fighter. Without sufficient speed, the second pilot could not take off. He did get the nose of his ship up as he tried to pull away from his crippled wingman, but the tail of his Sholagar slammed into the deck and disintegrated. The second fighter came down on top of the first, and both exploded with the brilliance of a supernova.
Dan heard the voice of Major Seamus Fitzpatrick, commander of the regiment's air battalion, crackle through the static generated by the explosion. "Good shooting, Lieutenant Kirk. We'll keep them grounded, Colonel."
Morgan Kell's reply came back edged with anger and vibrating with emotion. "Seamus, nothing leaves here. Dan, is Clovis on line?"
Dan frowned, reacting to the sound of Morgan's voice. "No. I've not gotten him inside yet."
"Good." Morgan hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Final orders, people. O'Cieran and his ground troops confirmed what we all feared. That dug-up spot we passed is a mass grave. No compromise—no 'Mech from this company leaves New Freedom operational."
Dan let Morgan's orders echo through his mind as he raised the Wolfhound's left hand to its left shoulder. He punched a couple of buttons on the command console near his right hand, and a hatch on the Wolfhound's neck opened. Dan glanced over at it as Clovis stepped through and pulled the hatch shut behind him.
Dan jerked a thumb at the area behind his command couch. "Get yourself a cooling vest from in there and a headset. You can jack into the comm-network." Clovis, pale and sweating, nodded wordlessly. He seemed so unlike himself. Does he know about the others already? Dan wondered.
Clovis pulled the oversized cooling vest on as tightly as he could and snapped the power cord into a jack on the right side of the Wolfhound's command couch. He settled the communications headset into place and plugged the jack into a socket beneath the command console. Adjusting the microphone, he smiled weakly. "Thanks for saving my worthless hide."
The traces of self-pity in Clovis's voice made Dan uneasy. Hiding for two days in an overrun base must have done something to him. Dan forced some levity into his own voice. "Hey, what are friends for? I'm just glad you lured him out of the tree." Dan's gaze flicked toward an area back to the right of the command couch. "We have company. Strap into that jumpseat, Clovis. The ride will get bumpy from here on."
A Kurita Clint stalked out from behind the 'Mech bay. It raised the pistol-like autocannon in its right hand, but before the pilot could pull the trigger, Dan hit two switches on the Wolfhound command console. Two spotlights mounted slightly below the Wolfhound's head flashed to life, giving the Kurita pilot a good look at the 'Mech he faced.
Humanoid in body configuration, the Wolfhound scanned just like all other light 'Mechs on magscan or IR. Visually, however, the Wolfhound was a fearsome sight. The head had been designed to look like a wolf's, from jutting muzzle to high, pointed ears. Standing tall and lean, the fierce 'Mech might have been the avatar of some ancient war god.
Dan swung the Wolfhound's large laser around and triggered it at the same moment the Clint pilot fired his autocannon. Shocked by the Wolfhound's appearance, or by the fact that he'd never seen a 'Mech of that design before, the Kurita pilot's shot blasted wide to Dan's left, tearing great divots from the hillside behind him. The Wolfhound's large laser burned through the armor over the Clint's left breast. In a flash of incandescent fire, the laser's beam consumed one of the Clint's medium lasers.
The Clint pilot corrected his aim and fired the autocannon a second time. Depleted uranium projectiles blasted armor from the Wolfhound's left breast. The Wolfhound rocked back slightly as the slugs slammed into its chest, but none of them breached its armored skin. The Clint's remaining medium laser, mounte
d in the center of its chest, slashed its ruby beam across the Wolfhound's left thigh. Armor dropped away in molten ropes, but only revealed more armor plating beneath what the beam had destroyed.
Dan laughed aloud. "That's right, you bastard. This 'Mech is more than you can handle." Dropping the targeting crosshairs for all his weapons onto the Clint's outline, he glanced at Clovis. "It's gonna get hot!" He hit the triggers for everything.
One of the three medium lasers mounted on the Wolfhound's torso carved a jagged scar along the armor on the Clint's right flank, but that damage went virtually unnoticed by either shooter or target. The Wolfhound's large laser vaporized the armor on the Clint's right arm and melted the autocannon's muzzle. The medium laser in the center of the Wolfhound's chest sliced like a scalpel up through the myomer muscles controlling the arm, leaving their flayed ends dangling from the 'Mech's useless limb. The Wolfhound's third torso-mounted medium laser cored in through the Clint's armpit and melted more of the 'Mech's internal structure. Warped by the right arm's dead weight, the 'Mech's skeleton twisted toward the ground, pulling the Clint off balance.
Torrents of heat swirled through the Wolfhound's cockpit as if it were a blast furnace. The heat monitors spiked into the red zone, and the computer dropped 10 kph from the 'Mech's operational speed because of the heat buildup. Dan, afraid the cabin's heat might have overwhelmed Clovis, looked toward the dwarf just in time to see the small man mop his brow with his sleeve.
The Clint's pilot hit his 'Mech's jump jets to flee from his enemy, but the lifeless right arm whipped around as the 'Mech left the ground. The Clint pilot tried to compensate by boosting power to the jets on the right torso and leg, but the back-mounted ion jet ripped free of the 'Mech's damaged skeleton. As it skyrocketed upward, the Clint tipped back to the right, and driven by its jets, slammed into the ground. The 'Mech's head snapped off at the neck and bounced into a shallow gully.
Before the echoes of the Clint's crash-landing could die, another 'Mech stepped from the shelter of the hangar. Dan felt his mouth go dry as the humanoid war machine raised one of its double-barreled arms and pointed it toward him. "Allard here. I've got a Rifleman that wants my scalp!" he shouted into the radio.
Pivoting on his right foot, Dan jerked the Wolfhound around to protect the damage he'd already taken. He swung the large laser out toward the Rifleman, then cursed as the targeting crosshairs for his medium lasers lost their intensity. Damn! Evading him puts the 'Mech outside my firing arc for the mediums. Instead, Dan settled the large laser's crosshairs on the Rifleman and pulled the trigger.
The Wolfhound's heat monitors again spiked into the red as the heavy laser spat out its scarlet beam. The laser pared armor plates from the Rifleman's left flank but failed to fully penetrate the 'Mech's thick skin. Smoking armor plates littered the ground at its feet, but the damage did nothing to actually hurt the heavy 'Mech.
The Rifleman's autocannon vomited out a salvo of shells amid a gout of flame, but the projectiles flew over the Wolfhound's head. The large laser slung beneath the autocannon on that same arm drilled its infernal beam into the Wolfhound's right leg. Armor boiled and evaporated beneath its hellish touch, but held and permitted no internal damage.
Despite the danger, Dan found himself smiling. They sure built this baby for survival. But I'm done for if that Rifleman brings the other heavy laser to bear.
Dan backed the Wolfhound further to the Rifleman's left, but the 'Mech bay itself prevented him from moving far enough. The Rifleman pivoted on its left leg to face the Wolfhound. Both of its arms locked forward, then swung toward the Wolfhound.
"Hang on, Clovis!" Dan pushed off against the ground with the Wolfhound's powerful legs. His move drove the Wolfhound back into the 'Mech bay, crushing bricks and shattering windows on the three-story building. Sparks flew as the 'Mech's flailing arms split electrical conduits on three levels, then fire geysered into the night sky as the transformer mounted on the roof exploded.
Dan rocked unsteadily in his command couch. His helmet ground down painfully onto his shoulders and he tasted blood from where he had bitten his lip. He glanced over at Clovis and saw his friend hanging half in and half out of the jump seat's safety harness. Blood ran from his nose, but his eyes still shone brightly.
Clovis righted himself and waved off Dan's concerned look. "Better than frying!"
Dan whipped Jeana's sash from where it was knotted on his upper right arm and tossed it to Clovis. "Tie yourself in tighter. Don't want you bouncing around in here." It's kept me safe. Hope it does the same for you . . .
Surprised by Dan's unorthodox maneuver, the Rifleman's pilot could not shift his aim to pin the Wolfhound to the building. The heavy lasers burned their way into the structure a bit beyond the Wolfhound's left shoulder, drilling through the place where the lighter 'Mech had just been. Dan expected to see the slashing beams of the medium lasers mounted in the Rifleman's chest, but he heard the heavy thunder of the Rifleman's autocannons instead.
Dan's fingers flashed over his command console keyboard, shifting his scanner from magscan to infrared. The Rifleman's arms glowed bright yellow as the cooling coils labored furiously to dissipate the heat buildup caused by the large lasers. "Hey, Clovis! We have him now. He's cooking himself. One shot!"
Morgan Kell's voice filled Dan's neurohelmet with an icy warning. "No, Dan. Stay where you are. This one is mine."
Off to his left, at the edge of his 'Mech's forward arc, Dan saw Morgan's Archer march from behind a hillside. The IR image flickered and faded, but the faint visual picture beneath it did not. As Dan shifted his scanners over to starlight and brought the Archer into clearer view, he killed his external radio link. "Look, Clovis. Morgan is doing it again. His 'Mech doesn't register on the scanners—only visual!"
The Rifleman's pilot seemed not to have noticed the lack of targeting image as he centered his guns on the Archer. Realizing that this 'Mech was a tougher nut to crack than the Wolfhound, the Rifleman cut loose with everything. The twin heavy lasers stabbed ruby beams at the Archer and the smaller medium lasers shot pulsed bolts in their wake. Spent shells spattered from the autocannon ejection ports as a hail of projectiles shot at the Archer.
The Archer neither twisted nor dodged to evade the Rifleman's onslaught. The large lasers flashed above the Archer's hunched shoulders, burning parallel lines up the hillside behind him. The medium laser bolts ignited a host of small fires on either side of Morgan's 'Mech, but none of the ruby light shafts struck the Archer. The Rifleman's autocannon bursts churned two tracks toward the waiting war machine, but they ended before they slammed into the Archer.
Dan's mouth went dry. Oh my God.' It's not just that a 'Mech can't target Morgan. It can't hit him! It's like he's a ghost. He's untouchable. A shiver ran down Dan's spine. He's invincible.
The LRM launching pods on the Archer's shoulders clicked open with the finality of a pistol hammer being drawn back. Riding brilliant tails of flame, two-score missiles arced into the night. They slammed into the Rifleman with the force of a titanic hammer. Explosions blasted and tore armor in great jagged chunks from the Rifleman's chest, especially where the Wolfhound's laser had already melted armor on its left flank. Detonations within its cavernous breast caused the Rifleman to shudder, and the ghostly tendril of a plasma jet licking from the gaping hole in the Rifleman's chest hinted at the ruin of the 'Mech's internal structure.
"Close your eyes, Clovis! His reactor's been hit!" Dan raised a hand to shield his eyes, but he could not look away. Get out! Punch out now! You can't save it!
Armor plates buckled from internal pressure, plumping and rounding the Rifleman's angular torso as the runaway fusion reactor's heat touched off the autocannon ammo stored in its chest. A series of detonations blew armor away in small spots, and savagely harsh light stabbed out through the holes like sunlight shining through gaps in a thunderhead. More plasma tongues flicked through these wounds, then the Rifleman ripped in half across its waist. The torso shot into the heav
ens like a dark comet, then hung there motionless as the boiling plasma jet beneath it imploded.
The Rifleman's torso, its lower edges still glowing molten red, finally upended and tumbled to the ground. It landed on its right shoulder, but autocannon ammo exploding in the firing mechanism flipped it over one last time. Though the 'Mech rested on its back with the cockpit apparently undamaged and pointing skyward, no pilot ejected.
Dan stepped the Wolfhound through the 'Mech bay wall. "Obliged, Colonel."
Morgan's voice had not fully lost its icy edge, but Dan heard a trace of compassion. "It had to be done, Captain. Let's move. We've lots more work if we're going to win the battle of New Freedom."
15
Lyons
Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
17 May 3029
Daniel Allard closed his eyes and rolled his head in a slow circle. Pain stabbed like fingers of lightning through his neck and shoulders. Even with the padding, the neurohelmet pounded my muscles into raw protoplasm. He arched his back and heard a series of pops run up his spine. I haven't been so sore since—he swallowed sourly—since the battle on Styx that cost Patrick Kell his life.
Dan reopened his eyes and stared out the conference room's window toward the ruins of New Freedom. With roofs torn off and walls destroyed, the buildings the Kell Hounds had labored to build looked like twisted, diseased, defoliated metal trees. Oily black smoke still rose from some of the rubble piles to hang heavily in the limp, moist air.
Scattered throughout the area were the remains of two dozen 'Mechs. Most of the battered hulks lay in heaps on the ground while Techs, looking like ants in the distance, salvaged what they could from the carcasses. In some cases, like the Rifleman Morgan had killed, the 'Mech's legs stood tall and strong, but supported nothing.
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