Surrender Your Dreams

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  She hesitated. "My brother Albert just entered training on Northwind. I have sent him a written letter that will take weeks to reach him. By the time he receives it, there will be no chance to respond. I prefer it that way. Albert is the only family I have left. He is training as a MechWarrior and will understand." I hope . . .

  "And you. Captain Paulis?"

  Paulis wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin before he spoke. "Major Greene, I have a large family, but have been away from them for the past two years. My brothers and sisters and their children will receive a holovideo that I prepared, but it will not ship until after we leave. My sisters will have a meltdown, but they'll accept my choice after some time has passed."

  "And you, Captain Boyne? What about your family?"

  Boyne shrugged. "I will be with my family."

  "You have family in your command?"

  "No. The Fidelis are my family. As long as one Fidelis lives in my command, I am with my brother or sister." "A band of brothers, eh?"

  Boyne was obviously puzzled. "I am not familiar with that phrase."

  "Shakespeare," cut in Crystal. "Henry the Fifth."

  The Fidelis officer shook his head. "On the Road of

  Pain, my people lost much of the literature that was not of a technical nature. We have little in the way of entertainment that is not martial in nature."

  Road of Pain? It was a clue, but to what, Synd was not sure. Like so much else about the Fidelis, this clue was shrouded in mystery. She knew the troops in her command were running several pools guessing at the origins of the Fidelis, and she had to admit she was as curious as they. But this was not the time for probing into this mystery. This was an occasion for remembering the past and hoping—no, praying—for the future. It was best to change the subject before Paulis pressed further.

  "I have completed my review of the attack plans, specifically your suggestion, Captain Boyne, to destroy the two buildings along the John Cabin Parkway to obstruct the road." She cradled her wineglass and stared at the last sip of liquid for a moment, then drank it. "After much consideration, I am going to approve your suggestion. with a few caveats."

  Boyne seemed amused. "I am pleased only because I believe it will help ensure our success. What restrictions are you contemplating, m'lady?"

  "You must evacuate those buildings before they're destroyed."

  "I believe that will be impossible to accomplish—not in the time frame we have to work with."

  She shook her head. "This is not subject to interpretation or debate. It will take a minimum of twenty-five minutes to place the charges on the right structural points to drop the buildings in the direction you want. You can activate the fire alarm and let the people evacuate the building while you're setting the charges."

  "This may tip our hand to the Jade Falcons."

  "I contemplated that possibility. It is a risk we will have to accept." The waiters came in and refilled the wineglasses, creating a pause in the discussion of the operations on Ryde.

  Major Greene spoke up as soon as the door closed. "M'lady, I find myself respectfully siding with Captain

  Boyne on this. Even if you evac those civilians, they might end up in the wrong place when the charges go off. Anytime you drop a skyscraper there's dust, debris and death, in that order. You'll have rescue equipment there on the scene and some of those people will be killed, too. It may prove too problematic to be practical."

  She refused to accept that saving lives should be labeled as "problematic." She lightly tapped her fist on the table for emphasis. "I swore to protect the citizens of The Republic. That includes citizens under occupation by the Jade Falcons. Some will die: I understand that and accept responsibility for that. 1 am a knight, and there is no shirking the duty of our mission. We have a responsibility to reduce the loss of life as much as humanly possible. This mission may force me to compromise some of my beliefs, but I will not cross the line and become a cold-blooded killer. I owe that to The Republic—owe it to myself. We all do."

  A tense silence followed her declaration. She made eye contact with each of the officers. Boyne bowed his head. "It shall be done, Lady Synd. By doing so, we honor Devlin Stone. I will give the order as you have requested: I also find waste of life distasteful."

  "I appreciate that, Captain." She regarded them solemnly. "Gentlemen, even with the extreme measure of destroying property, we are still outnumbered and outgunned. This action will buy us time that we will desperately need. Our losses are going to be high. I have reviewed the terrain and the force we are taking in, as well as those we will be facing, and there is no way I see to mitigate our losses any further. This will be a bitter fight." Paulis bowed his head for a moment at her words. Sir Greene gave a single slow nod of understanding. Boyne regarded her steadily. Again, she found it strange that he was the one to break the silence.

  "All 1 ask is for your orders, m'lady."

  * * *

  "Service! She is mad . . . asking for the evacuation of these buildings." Morella slammed her fist into the table, but Boyne was unmoved by her gesture. He had seen it all before, the tantrums. It was what held her back in her service to the Order. Even in the small conference room buried in the bowels of the training facility, he knew her anger reverberated.

  Moreover, he discovered that he did not agree with her. He was beginning to know Crystal Synd, Knight of the Sphere, and found her interesting. Boyne understood her. She was upholding her vow, just as he upheld the vow he had taken as a warrior of the Fidelis.

  "She is our commanding officer, and you will learn to control your words and temper," he replied in a level tone.

  She growled in the back of her throat. "This knight places our people at risk unnecessarily," Morella countered. "Evacuating those buildings will cause confusion and congestion and will signal our plan to the blood- taint-accursed Falcons. It is not necessary for the successful completion of the operation. You know I am right!"

  Boyne listened to her and waited. He had learned years ago that it was the best way to calm her down. "This is not about being right or wrong. She has command. Part of service is knowing how to follow orders, Morella."

  "I know how to follow orders. I welcome a chance to repay these Jade Falcons for what they did to our people during the Great Betrayal. I simply do not wish to die before I get a chance to spill their blood. Needless deaths are the most feared of all—you know that." She was not afraid to die: None of those in the task force from the Fidelis ranks were afraid. They were precision tools of war and wanted to be used with the care accorded such tools.

  "Our plight has been long. We are the first of our generation to serve in the Cause and we will be the ones who release our people from the bonding oath. I, too, wish to draw the blood of the Clans in memory of the Road of Pain and the Great Betrayal. To do that, I will honor the memory of Devlin Stone and his representative, as will you. We will follow her orders because that is what is required. She is a knight. I am learning that means something more than simply commanding a military unit."

  Morella sneered at him with an icy glare. "I believe your feelings for her cloud your thoughts—but I will do as you say."

  It was Boyne's turn to fight back a ripple of rage. How dare she accuse him of having feelings for Lady Synd? "Morella, you cross many lines. It is what holds you back. Do as she commands, as I command, and I assure you that you will find the salvation we all seek."

  She reached across the table with her fist pointed at his heart. He curled his own hand into a fist and punched her knuckles. Solidarity. It was what had saved the Fidelis all of these years. Now it would serve them on a field of battle.

  Interpretation of Duty 11

  Brandenburg, Callison

  Former Prefecture VIII

  Fortress Republic (+37 days)

  A shower of short-range missiles hit the building with little discrimination as to their target. Three found the floor where the squad had been hiding. Five slammed into the lower floors, blasting
off the brick facade of the old warehouse and setting countless fires inside. A full wave of missiles hit above the floor where the infantry were stationed, sending bits of ceiling and flooring raining down. Gray dust filled the air and obscured the view. The infantry disappeared from the window, and Kristoff was pleased, because it meant they were on the move, shifting position again.

  The Callison Light Horse was no longer a green militia unit led by a handful of veterans. They were all veterans of the fighting against his hardened Republic troops. The planetary militia was taking its mission seriously. The soldiers were driving back the Republic forces one building at a time, blasting and charring any structure from which they encountered resistance.

  Sir Erbe maneuvered his Hellstar back a few steps and angled behind a building. His tactical display told him that the Light Horse was pressing hard to the west and south, ensuring that he could not attempt a breakaway rush to the spaceport. He was picking up the signature of a small craft, a Tamerlane strike sled, attempting to turn the flank. It had tried that a few minutes ago, and the Fidelis troops had discouraged it. Now it was attempting to swing around behind his Hellstar again. He charged his medium-pulse lasers and jerked his BattleMech out into the open.

  Sure enough, the Tamerlane was charging right at him at flank speed. It had been hoping for a rear shot; now it was going to get a taste of real firepower. It opened up first with its Marlin Mini-SRM pack—a pair of short- range missiles that were more irritating than dangerous. Kristoff shrugged off the hit. Aiming just in front of the vehicle, he fired a stream of coherent light. The laser attack looked like a miss, but the hovercraft couldn't simply stop mid-charge. Sir Erbe had hoped it would turn to avoid the attack that was devouring the street and only suffer minor damage. The driver must have frozen at the controls, because the Tamerlane charged right into the center of the burst.

  The laser pulses charred a series of burn scars and holes right up the front of the stubby scout craft. It dropped hard to the ferrocrete, skidding as it ground to a halt about half a block from him. He checked his fire, his eyes stinging from the sweat running down his forehead to the corners of his eyes.

  The Tamerlane exploded as something inside cooked off, most likely the SRM ammo. A sickening black cloud rolled into the air.

  Blast it! He was trying to not destroy the craft. He had deliberately aimed so as only to injure it. Kristoff wanted to drive it away from the fight, scare the crew, shatter their nerves. He had given his word to Lady Hancock that he would try. She had warned him that the Light Horse was going to come at him with a vengeance, and she was right. More citizens of The Republic were dead and dying. Dead and dying by his hand.

  "Harbinger, sit rep." He spoke calmly into the mic built into his neurohelmet.

  "Squirrel, we have armed citizens on this front. I have scattered them several times, but they are moving up along with militia troops. They have figured out that we will not shoot innocent people, and are using that against us." Colonel Adamans paused. "Do you have new orders for me, sir?"

  He knew what the Fidelis officer was asking. He was asking for permission to open fire on the civilians. They were armed in insurrection against The Republic. He was within his rights to order the attack. But the citizens of Callison were defying The Republic because they had been misled by their governor. As tempting as it was to fight fire with fire, Kristoff Erbe was not going to give in to the temptation to change his orders.

  "No change in orders, Harbinger. Lay down a pattern of suppression fire. Spray them with debris from the buildings and road, but do not fire directly on the noncombatants."

  "Acknowledged."

  Erbe sidestepped across the intersection, intent on locating a prize he knew was operating to the south. While the infantry dealt with the JESII missile carrier, he was in pursuit of an SMI tank destroyer. While SMI was its formal designation in the warbook on the battlecom- puter, the troops in the field referred to it as a " 'Mech Buster" or "Crotch-Kicker." It had a well-deserved reputation for being able to pry open a BattleMech with only a few salvos. This one had only appeared a few times in the battle, darting in, firing and running. Its crew was using its firepower wisely, wearing down his troops. It was time the hunter got a taste of its own medicine.

  Kristoff intended to take the vehicle out of the fight, and he reminded himself of that as he closed on the flank of the hovertank, now only a few blocks away. At the next major intersection they would come in line of sight and the deadly game could begin.

  He came to the next roadway; the SMI had already turned the corner and was waiting for him. Even moving at trotting speed, his 'Mech was a massive target. The SMI unleashed its big gun, the Ultra autocannon 20. A spray of shells hit the legs and lower torso of his Hellstar. The 'Mech lunged back and to one side as he fought hard to keep it upright. He ignored the amber warning lights flickering on his tactical display—a stress warning for a hip actuator, a few holes in his armor and other minor damage. He paid closer attention to the indication of friendly transponders down the block near the SMI. That meant governing his fire.

  He angled the large lasers in on the SMI as it headed for the next street over—its usual game of shoot-and- run. Not this time. Kristoff fired both the large lasers, jabbing sustained beams of jade light into the hovertank. One hit the skirt and tore away a long swath as the tank moved, resulting in the tank dipping down on that side so that it almost touched the ground.

  The other laser beam hit the side of the tank and burned a mark parallel to the damage on the skirt. Armor plating held but turned black, then one plate popped out of place and landed in the street with a clang so loud he could hear it. The SMI continued its move out of the line of fire. He moved along a street parallel to it. This time when he came to the intersection, he paused. He had fallen for the trick once. His sensors were having a hard time distinguishing the tank from all the infrastructure, but he could tell that it was there; slowly, methodically making its way down the street toward him, hunting him like a wild animal.

  He cycled to his secondary target interlock circuit and angled the boxy arms so that his pulse lasers were set at the right range. Kristoff's plan was to step out quickly then duck back, hopefully startling the SMI crew into firing. They would miss, then while they were reloading, he would rip up her hide with his pulse lasers.

  He juked into the street and immediately pulled back. The SMI fired and the shells sprayed down the street and angled at his right arm. Five or six rounds tore into the Hellstar's right arm. The impacts jerked back the arm hard against the actuators. The Hellstar didn't have humanlike arms, and the designers had not intended the 'Mech to move that way. The actuator overextended and locked up, and he couldn't pause to try to adjust it.

  Jumping back out again, he fired. One salvo of energy darts struck the front of the SMI, savaging the armor there and causing the hovertank to come to a dead stop. The driver belatedly figured out that he had been tricked into the open, and now realized that he had come too far forward. There was no place to hide.

  The second shot from the Hellstar"s badly damaged arm was almost laughable. The laser sprayed upward into the skies over Brandenburg, alerting everyone in the city to the battle—as if they didn't know already. The heat in his cockpit rose as he pulled back and assessed the damaged arm.

  His comm channel activated. "Squirrel, this is Infiltrator Four. Hold your fire, we are engaging. Move out for cover fire if we fail."

  It was the first pleasant surprise of the day. He paused for a moment to let his 'Mech cool slightly, then he once again burst into the intersection. Kristoff watched as the last of the Fidelis troops in Kage battle armor dropped on top of the tank. Apparently they had been moving along with him, parallel to the SMI but at rooftop level. The stubby wings on the upper shoulders of their armor guided them right down on top of the SMI: The crew never saw them coming.

  Sir Erbe knew when the SMI crew realized something was wrong. They rammed the hovertank into the nearest building bu
t could not shake the infantry from the roof. Two of the troopers used their chainguns to hit the driver's bubble on the right side of the tank while the others worked the hatches. He saw the flash of satchel charges going off, but still the Fidelis held on. The driver turned away from his Hellstar and tried to make a break for the Light Horse lines, moving fast enough for Kristoff to follow him with several running steps.

  The SMI dropped unexpectedly to the ferrocrete roadway. The thudding noise reached him in his cockpit. The driver's bubble had been compromised. He could see smoke rise inside the ferroglass bubble as something burned. Hatches opened and the crew was pulled out one at a time. They raised their hands slowly in the air as one of the Kage troops shed his armor and entered the tank.

  "Good job. Infiltrator Four," Erbe signaled.

  "Service! Infiltrator Four has added a new call sign, sir," replied an unfamiliar voice. "Infiltrator Five reporting for duty, sir." With those words, the SMI rose unsteadily on its damaged skirt and turned full circle in a victory dance.

  "Very well, Infiltrator Five and Four. Get those prisoners back to the base," he replied. In the distance he saw his favorite annoyance coming down the street once more—the Yasha VTOL was back for what seemed like the twentieth time. Kristoff paused for a second and stared at his damage display, which had a blinking red arm actuator. He stepped close to the nearest building and snapped his torso around in a tight turn. The boxy arm assembly slammed into the building. Bits and pieces of the old warehouse shattered and sprayed the street. The frozen actuator shifted from blinking red to yellow. He tested it, and it responded to his moves, though with some reluctance. There are some things you learn that they never taught in basic training. One was how tough a BattleMech really was, and that it's sometimes possible to bump and grind something back into working condition.

  We have to be thankful for our victories, even the small ones. Kristoff Erbe fell back another block. The battle for Callison was far from over. He only hoped that the last victim wouldn't be his faith in Ceresco.