"I appreciate the compliment, General, and also that you invited me to this meeting. It's not often a member of the command staff spends time with a junior officer like me." Hawkes felt almost guilty for his earlier comment, but did not retract it. He'd known Leftenant-General Mel Aleixandre as long as he could remember, and thought it might be good for this old friend of the family to hear how decisions from on high affected the troopers.
Aleixandre shook his head. "You're very welcome. I only had to place a call to your CO to get you off duty today."
"Well, like I said, I appreciate it, sir. I haven't had any liberty in a month, with all the moving around the Lancers have been doing." Garth Hawkes didn't give himself much slack. Though a young man, he was obsessed with working hard and performing well. A day's leave was a luxury many in his own company couldn't enjoy.
But these few minutes were all he was going to get, because the next thing Hawkes heard was an ominous rumble in the distance, a sound most civilians would have said was thunder rolling across the foothills of the mountains to the north of town. To someone whose profession was war, the noise was not any voice of nature but the unmistakable sound of destruction. Hawkes and Aleixandre looked at each other, then toward the door as the General's wrist-comp began to beep insistently. Hawkes felt a chill run up his spine. That was an explosion. Maybe an accident...
The General's wrist-comp beeped again, almost like an echo of Hawkes' thoughts. Aleixandre punched in his access code, then spoke into the device. "This is Iron Maiden. Status report." His voice was grim now, the banter and chitchat of moments before suddenly forgotten. It was the voice of command, confident and sure, reminding Hawkes of his father.
Coming over the wrist-comp, a tinny voice answered immediately. "Lancer command is under attack. Raiders are attacking at company strength. We've sent Bravo Company to intercept."
At those words Hawkes shot out of his chair, and the only reason he didn't dart out the door at a mad run was the desire to hear the rest of the report. That was his company, his unit. Here he was sitting in a tavern in town and they were out there being attacked. Damnation and hellfire!
Aleixandre's voice was terse. "Any ID on the attackers?"
"Unconfirmed, Iron Maiden. Visual contact shows them as Free Worlds League—Knights of the Inner Sphere." In the distance came another roar of explosion. The barkeep had gone to the door and opened it to look out. Glancing over, Hawkes saw people in the street stopping to stare off into the distance, finally realizing what he already knew, that it was not a thunderstorm but war coming to Valexa.
"General ... my unit ... I must join them," Hawkes said, his heart racing. His hover car was outside, but his 'Mech was a full five kilometers away. Aleixandre was also on his feet.
"Watch yourself," he called out to Hawkes, who was by now out the door. "Bravo is the only company in the area. I've got two others nearby, but it will be at least thirty minutes before they're close enough to help."
"By then it'll be too late," Hawkes shot back over his shoulder. "In thirty minutes this will be all over." One way or another ...
* * *
Hawkes's Caesar seemed to throb with life and energy as the 'Mech sprinted across the hard-packed soil of the Aux-Huards Plain, throwing up a cloud of dust as he closed on the path Bravo Company had taken a mere fifteen minutes earlier. Though a fairly heavy 'Mech, the Caesar moved as if it were much lighter. He pushed its seventy tons of myomer and steel to near-maximum speed, but he was racing into the fight blind. Whoever had hit Bravo must be running electronic countermeasures, making communications and long-range scanning nearly impossible.
His sensors fanned out across the rolling plains, but the smoke rising beyond a low hill easily told him the location of the battle. The short-range sensors showed several different readings, some of 'Mechs active and running, others hot from battle but shut down. Kills. The Caesar's battle computer read in the sensor data and fed in the telemetry from the battle area, but Hawkes didn't wait for the readings. Instead, he switched over to his primary target interlock circuit and ran the pre-charge sequence on his Poland Gauss cannon.
The screen was activated in less than a heartbeat and he saw the story unfold. Seven enemy 'Mechs were operational nearby and Bravo Company only had two. Running on pure adrenaline, he switched his heads-up display to target mode and swept the nearest target, a Banshee. The Banshee was a gigantic assault 'Mech with twice the firepower of his Caesar, but for now Hawkes had the tactical advantage of surprise. He closed the distance, locked on and fired.
The Gauss rifle used a series of magnets to accelerate a nickel-ferrous metal slug ten centimeters in diameter. The payload burst almost silently from the barrel, but the violent kickback rocked the Caesar back slightly. Moving at incredible speed, the Gauss slug streaked like a line of silvery light at the Banshee's right leg. Even from this distance Hawkes could see the dust rise as bits of the Banshee's shattered kneecap fell to the ground.
The wave of static that had filled his communications channels suddenly cleared to the chatter of the combat zone. Lynn Martinson was on the line, obviously in a panic. "Where in the name of Gaffa's Ghost did that shot come from?" she gasped.
"Who cares as leng as they're shooting at our guests and not us," came the voice of John Volks. "Give me some cover, Bravo Six. If I don't fall back I'm gonna get my metal ass blown to bits."
Hawkes activated his own channel. "This is Bravo One," he said as another Gauss round cycled and loaded. Once more he let fly at the Banshee, this time tearing a gash across its chest and arm. The hit mauled more armor, but enough still remained to protect it. "Give me a status report."
"They hit us bad," Volks said, the pulse lasers of his Hatchetman opening up with a torrent of fire at the Banshee and the Grasshopper closing in on him. Some of the shots went wild, but even those that found their mark didn't slow the attack. "First and Second Platoon took out one of the them before withdrawing. We've lost three 'Mechs and two tanks. Leftenant Marrow's dead, sir."
Hanna Marrow had been Hawkes' second in command, the officer who'd led the company into combat instead of him. The weight of her death was heavy. "Fall back on my position. We're outgunned. Help is on the way, but we've got to buy some time."
"Easier said than—" Martinson's words were cut off by a wave of fire from two enemy 'Mechs, a Dervish and a Clint. The Clint's PPC sliced into the right leg of Martinson's War Dog.
With the distance closed, Hawkes switched to his medium pulse lasers and again fired on the Banshee. The heat in his cockpit rose as the bursts of laser light blasted away at the red-and-silver-painted 'Mech. There was a crackle of sparks as internal structure was hit, giving Hawkes some encouragement.
Martinson's War Dog pivoted to break away, but it was too late. Four Streak SRMs from the Dervish tore into her 'Mech, three of them mangling the Dog's arm, tearing myomer and sending coolant flowing like green blood down its side. The last missile severed the already-damaged right leg, tumbling the 'Mech into a mangled heap of debris and certain death.
The Banshee broke off its pursuit of Volks' Hatchetman and turned toward Hawkes in his Caesar. It fired its own Gauss rifle at the same moment the Caesar's battle computer squealed a warning of weapons lock. Hawkes tried to brace for the impact, but the silvery slug was already striking with such force that the impact tossed him hard against the restraints of his command couch. Recovering, Hawkes felt his head aching from the feedback of his neurohelmet, but he was still in control of the 'Mech.
Then, suddenly it was over.
The silver and red 'Mechs turned as if on cue, and began to pull back. They could still have pressed their attack and taken Hawkes and his people out without any trouble. Maybe they detected reinforcements approaching, or maybe it was something else.
Hawkes sped toward Martinson's War Dog. "Volks, cover me. I've got to get her out of there." He stopped the Caesar near the fallen 'Mech and checked his sensors one more time to be sure that the attackers were indeed
fleeing.
Then he opened the cockpit hatch and half-fell, half-climbed down the footholds to the ground, his cooling vest snagging on one of the pegs and the medical pack digging into his thigh as he went. Passing where the Gauss rifle slug had hit, he tried not to notice how much damage had been done. Once on the ground, he leaped over some scrubby brush and came to where the War Dog lay, lifeless but for the occasional electrical pop and sizzle.
Martinson's 'Mech had crashed down onto a pile of jagged rocks that had driven straight into the cockpit. Hawkes could only stand and stare. Blood ran down the rocks before being quickly sucked up by the dry clay of the Mesa. Inside the cockpit were the disemboweled remains of Hammond Martinson, impaled on a jagged rock. It was a freak accident. A meter in any other direction and she would have walked away from the fall. Instead she hung there, hair matted with blood and torn lung tissue. Hawkes felt anger and guilt well up within him like a storm.
He should have been here, with them, with her. They trusted him. He was their commanding officer, but was out having a drink instead of here where they needed him. He was to blame for all that had happened. He looked at one of the fallen enemy machines nearby and strode over to it, only half-conscious of his actions and intention. His mind was awash with dread and guilt. He could not shake the image of Martinson in her War Dog.
He walked over to the other fallen 'Mech, its red and silver paint scheme charred and twisted from the damage his company had done. It was a Stinger, an older model that had not been refitted with improved weapons or armor. Viewing the damage, he fought the urge to spill his gut, hoping maybe he'd wake up suddenly and discover it was all just a terrible nightmare. But the smell of fried coolant and insulation told him it was no dream—the nightmare was real.
What the hell was going on? Thomas Marik had no reason to attack the Federated Commonwealth. Especially with his son Joshua in the hands of the doctors at the NAIS. It just didn't make sense. The Stinger's cockpit was as blasted as the rest of the machine, but the tears in the armor had not come from any outside attack, but from an explosion within. The armored and polarized glass was pushed outward, as was the side hatch.
Blown up from within. The Knights of the Inner Sphere were elite, not barbaric. This MechWarrior had blown him or herself up rather than be taken prisoner, and not even the Clans were known to do that. What are we facing here? These couldn't have been the Knights. But if not them, then who?
Hawkes looked back at Martinson's mutilated War Dog and bit his lip at the memory of her mutilated body in the cockpit. He was shaking now, shaking with anger. Anger at whoever had done this and anger at himself. If he'd been here, perhaps none of this would have happened, perhaps they would still be alive. This was my command and I failed them. Their blood is on my head. But I will see them avenged. In that, Garth Hawkes promised himself, I will not fail.
Kalma Estate
Marik
Marik Commonwealth, Free Worlds League
General Harrison Kalma, Retired, stood waiting at the door to his study, and drew in a deep breath as he vowed to hold his anger in check. His temper had always been the problem in dealing with Duncan. Half the problem. The other half was that his son seemed to know exactly what it took to bring his father's temper to a boil. This time he would maintain his dignity, would not be the one to lose control.
There came a knock at the door and he opened it slowly. Standing there was a young man of about thirty, his hair as fair as Kalma's own had once been. The face, though, was not a mirror image, but more like a holo of his beloved Cynthia. How she'd hated seeing them argue, and Duncan's startling resemblance to her suddenly calmed the elder Kalma. The memory of his wife would give him the strength he'd need for the inevitable confrontation.
"Welcome home, Duncan." Harrison Kalma reached out to clasp his son's hand.
"The prodigal son returns," Duncan said dryly, as he stepped through the door. Kalma tried to fill in the awkward moment by busily taking his son's cape and hanging it on a silver-tipped hanger in a small coat nook.
Duncan stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, legs spread combatively. "I understand you're the one who decided to 'rescue' me, Father."
"If you're referring to the fact that you were bankrupt and about to be tossed into a debtor's prison, then, yes, I did rescue you."
Unfazed, Duncan glared at his father. "And now you expect me to thank you?"
Kalma knew that tone all too well. Their many arguments of the past echoed in his mind like the tolling of a distant bell. Again he pulled himself up mentally, determined not to lose control. "A thank you is customary."
"Father, I appreciate your gesture, but it wasn't necessary. I incurred the debt all by myself. And I'm not ashamed to say I gambled the money away. But even if you hadn't transferred funds to my account, I had a plan." It wasn't his father bailing him out that irritated Duncan, but that he'd done it in such a meddling fashion, hadn't even asked if Duncan wanted his help.
Harrison Kalma didn't answer immediately, but merely gestured his son into the study.
"Well, Duncan, to set the record straight, let me say that I did this for me, not for you. Once upon a time I wouldn't have lifted a finger."
Duncan seemed startled. "I don't understand."
Kalma sat down in a comfortable old chair that seemed to wrap itself around his aged body like a warm blanket. His son sat across from him, his attention distracted briefly by the lively flickering of the fire. Kalma smiled, apparently pleased to have caught his son off guard. "As you know, I proudly served the Free Worlds League for years. Indeed, I still enjoy the Captain-General's confidence, and he often consults with me on a wide range of matters. But politics is politics, and anyone with power has enemies. Not just people whom I may have crossed in the past, but those who are jealous of the trust Thomas Marik places in me. Perhaps they would like to step into my shoes and have his ear. Tarnishing my reputation would serve their purposes only too well."
Duncan smiled thinly. "You're talking about General Milik, I presume?"
Harrison Kalma nodded, impressed that his son had kept up with political struggles going on halfway across the Inner Sphere even while roaming the distant Periphery as gambler or mercenary—or whatever he'd been doing these past years. "Who else? The old goat learned of your troubles and would have had a field day using the story to smear me personally at Court. So before you get angry at me for acting like an honorable father trying to rescue his loving son, the truth of the matter is that I was saving my own old skin."
Duncan burst out laughing, genuinely amused. That's the most open you've been with me in years."
The General's expression was hard to read in the flicker of firelight "And this is the first contact we've had in more than two years."
Duncan's smile faded and he nodded, acknowledging their rift. "Touché."
"No, Duncan. This isn't a verbal fencing match. Things are changing here in the Free Worlds League as well as in the rest of the Inner Sphere. The League is stronger man ever before, and that will attract us enemies. We need good MechWarriors like you, son. You graduated at the top of your class at Allison. And I can imagine that making your own way in the wilds of the Periphery has taught you some things you could never learn in school."
"Like my gambling skills ... ?" Duncan said slyly.
It was the elder Kalma's turn to throw back his head and laugh. "I've followed you carefully, son—one of the advantages of close contact with the intelligence community, you might say."
Duncan Kalma knew that his father's passing mention of "the intelligence community" was no small understatement Though recently retired, the General had been Director of Military Intelligence of the LCCC, the League Central Coordination and Command. Ranking even over SAFE, the state intelligence agency, the LCCC enjoyed wide-reaching influence and power in military circles. From the hint his father had just dropped Duncan guessed that he hadn't truly retired at all, but was still deeply involved in LCCC oper
ations.
"Why can't Thomas Marik use his Knights of the Inner Sphere to make whatever special gestures he thinks necessary? People admire them, look up to them. Why should anyone want the help of a renegade like me?"
The gray-haired General leaned forward, his face taking on an almost stony appearance in the yellow glow of the fire. "A man like you is exactly what's needed, son. Somebody raided Shiro III a few days ago, and whoever it was, they were impersonating Knights of the Inner Sphere. The LCCC received a Class A Priority message a few hours before you arrived that indicates these impersonators have also been involved in the ambush of a commercial transport in the Capellan Confederation. The last thing the Free Worlds League needs is for our own military to think Thomas is sending the Knights against them or for Sun-Tzu Liao to think we're using the Knights to attack his ships.
"Someone apparently has a burr up his or her butt and is trying to make trouble for Thomas Marik by tarnishing the image of the Knights."
Duncan leaned forward and met his father's dark eyes. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Dead serious, Duncan."
"Any idea who's behind it?"
Harrison Kalma shook his head. "Not yet. But I do have another idea, son. And it's one I need a renegade Mech Warrior to help me carry out."
3
Kolmar Lowlands
Cumbres
Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
5 April 3057
The warrior activated a wide-beam communication system tied into her DropShip as it lifted away. "Hail and tremble at my batchall, for you stand against the Fourth Viper Guards and your destiny awaits you. Twenty-fourth Lyran Guards, this is Star Captain Dawn of the Steel Viper Clan, upholders of the true heritage of the mighty Kerenskys, keepers of the honor of the Clans. With what forces do you defend?" Star Captain Dawn did not really expect an answer from these Inner Sphere barbarians, but issuing a formal challenge, or batchall, was the time-honored Clan way.
Star lord Page 3
