Price of Service 5
Breezewood, Kwamashu
Duchy of Andurien
Fortress Republic (+860 days)
Hunter's Shockwave felt comfortable, like an easy chair in his home. Given how long he'd been away from his home and family, it was perhaps understandable: his BattleMech was home. To some the cockpit of the Shockwave was claustrophobic, but to Sir Mannheim it was like a womb.
He led the command lance of the company west toward where the Oriente Protectorate forces had landed. Just beyond sensor range he could see signs of battle; Colonel Daum and the local garrison were already tangling with the raiding force. He did not aim directly for the battle, but off to the flank. Conventional wisdom said to put your firepower on the flanks of a good fight, hit them from the sides and pinch them in the middle.
He commanded a lance of mixed firepower. There was a Goblin APC the Fidelis had modified by stripping off armor in favor of firepower. They called the modified vehicle a HobGoblin; Mannheim appreciated the humor and let it go. The APC was carrying a little surprise in the form of a gun nest and crew, which would have deadly range and wreak plenty of havoc when dropped off near the Protectorate attackers. The HobGoblin was shadowing his 'Mech; the Fidelis troops hoped that the signature of the Shockwave would draw the enemy's attention away from them.
An MHI Hawk Moth VTOL was running on his right flank, hovering right above the ground and kicking up dust in its wake. Lifted by heavy turbofan jet engines, the tiny gunship was painfully effective in a fight. On his other flank was a Kelswa tank, unable to match their speed and drifting farther back each minute.
"This is Rook to"—he checked the comm channels and callsigns Colonel Daum had given him—"Pickaxe."
"Nice of you to drop in," came back the harried but even voice of the Duchy colonel.
"You hold the center and we will move up the flanks."
There was a static-filled hiss so sharp it almost hurt. ". . . atch yourself. They've got heavies on the ri . . ." Again the static cut in.
As he crested the low, sloping ridgeline he saw the reason for the interference. The Duchy force under Daum was being swamped on both flanks, led by an assault 'Mech twice the size of his Shockwave, a menacing-looking Jupiter. He arrived just in time to see the Jupiter pump a burst of autocannon fire into a garrison Firestarter. Flames lapped up the side of the Fire- starter as the stream of shells ripped into it and sprayed the fuel for her flamers everywhere. The 'Mech lumbered around like a man on fire and finally shut down, her 'MechWarrior trapped in the cockpit to slowly cook.
The Jupiter turned to face him.
"Have at 'em, boys and girls!" Mannheim ordered. He sent his Shockwave into a trot and the Hawk Moth kicked up more dirt as it rose from the nape of the earth to a flying gun platform, swinging wide to link up with Colonel Daum's force. "Take down that Jupiter as your primary."
Hunter tied his Republic Thunder autocannon Type 10 and his DO extended-range large laser to the same target interlock circuit. He heard the reassuring click of the missile load cycle completing. The Jupiter had taken a few hits, but not enough to even the odds. That time had arrived.
"Rook Three, deploy to the right flank and drop your cargo. I'll hold his attention for a few minutes." The HobGoblin peeled off. God bless those Fidelis troops, no complaints, no questions.
The Jupiter was obviously lining him up for a shot when he dropped his targeting reticle on it. "Let's see what you've got," he muttered, and fired his autocannon and laser. The temperature in his cockpit rose by a few degrees but the result was worth it. The autocannon rounds peppered the Jupiters legs, pockmarking the armor with smoking white holes where the shells had penetrated deep into the Protectorate raider. His laser lashed out with a brilliant emerald beam that initially missed the chest of the 'Mech but slowly corrected to score on the torso, searing a black scar across its chest.
The Jupiter fired back a millisecond later. Both its extended-range PPCs jabbed the Shockwave with streams of charged particles, like brilliant white-blue bolts of lightning. One shot missed by less than a meter but its arc discharge sent tiny bolts of static energy sparking up his 'Mech's right arm. The other shot hit him in the legs. The Shockwave rocked under the impact, vibrating wildly for a moment as the knee actuator froze and fought to break loose. When it did, he leaned hard to maintain his balance and moved the leg once again—though now with a slight limp.
The Hawk Moth gunship roared in behind the Jupiter, whose pilot couldn't know that the Fidelis had improved its armaments and targeting system. A crimson laser burst hit the Jupiter in the back of its head, and he saw at least two pieces of armor fly off. The Jupiter twisted its torso to look for the threat. Good.
Hunter squeezed the trigger of his second TIC, unleashing a salvo of long-range missiles. The wave of warheads swarmed over the Jupiter, and nine of the ten found their mark. The Hawk Moth peeled away, and the Jupiter turned to face him.
Oh, joy . . .
The Kelswa, still on his left rear, opened up with its pair of autocannons. These shells seemed to spread out more than the missile barrage, but still whittled away at the Jupiter's armor. As it moved, smoke rose from holes everywhere on its body.
Mannheim heard a roar as the quad mounting of DL Ultra autocannons on the Jupiter came to life. These four deadly cannons sprayed a literal wall of destruction. Their target, much to his surprise, was not his Shockwave but the HobGoblin. They caught it dead on as it sped off to the far right flank. The shells ripped and gouged at the armored personnel carrier, tossing it wildly about. The vehicle looked as if it were going to flip under the impacts. Billowing black smoke belched out of the rear of the empty APC as it struggled to outrun the crippling assault. In the distance Mannheim saw infantry moving in to mop up whatever was left of the APC and finish it off. Good luck. That crew is Fidelis.
He fired another salvo with his laser and autocannon simultaneously. This time both found their mark in the battered upper chest of the Jupiter and rocked it back just as it fired. This volley was his to suffer.
Thirty long-range missiles tore through the space between the BattleMechs and plastered his Shockwave with a thunderous roar that made his ears ring. His damage display showed a few small dots of yellow where the missiles had breached his armor. He noticed a black mark on the armored cockpit glass that had not been there a moment earlier, and realized the missile had hit just in front of him.
The gun crew dropped off by the HobGoblin opened fire. Their armor-piercing rounds slapped into the Jupiter's left arm and leg. It didn't seem to notice. It stayed on target and bore straight at the Shockwave—no surprise there. It would be a few moments before they were at pointblank range. If he was even a little lucky, he could hold off the beastlike Jupiter.
The Protectorate MechWarrior was no fool. Pushing his luck and his heat levels, he unleashed his quad auto- cannons at a full run. The shells created a storm the Shockwave had never been designed to take. It reeled under the assault, and Mannheim felt a twinge in his head that turned into a roaring headache with a single beat of his heart. Neurofeedback—the bane of every MechWarrior. He wanted to rip the neurohelmet off, but his training kicked in and he resisted. Staggering, he reversed his Shockwave and began to move slowly backward, increasing the time it would take for the Jupiter to close with him.
The gun crew unleashed a salvo at the flank and rear of the Jupiter, and the missile racks rocked on their mounts. Hunter flinched as the Jupiter got closer. Just enough time for one more . . ,
He fired. The LRM pack emptied with a whooshing noise; the warheads had just enough time to arm before striking. This time there were no misses—it was practically impossible at this range. They exploded in a cloud of shrapnel, and he saw a slick green ooze running down the Jupiter's right chest, a shattered heat sink losing its coolant. It looked like the Jupiter was bleeding. Hunter stopped, set the 'Mech's feet and leaned his Shockwave forward. This bastard is going to run right into me, and I need to be ready to
take the hit.
From the corner of his eye he was stunned to see the mangled HobGoblin shudder into view, aimed at the Jupiter"s legs. It was using its last burst of speed to make a ramming attack. As expected, the Fidelis had beaten back the infantry assault a few minutes earlier.
The Jupiter MechWarrior was not expecting the assault, that much was obvious. The APC caught the 'Mech's feet and it tripped. The APC flipped over twice in front of the assault 'Mech as it fell forward, right on top of the vehicle. There was a sickening crunch as the 'Mech went down, armor grinding armor. Flames burst from the APC as the ammo cooked off and leapt upward at the 'Mech on top of it. Miraculously, two Fidelis troopers scrambled out of the carnage and began running back toward the industrial plant. A hundred meters away they paused and looked back. He couldn't say why, but Mannheim had the oddest sense that they had stopped to confirm that the HobGoblin was burning hot enough to be completely destroyed.
The Jupiter stirred. It was down, but not out—so Hunter finished it off. A blast from his primary TIC sent a laser beam and a steady stream of autocannon rounds into the already battered rear armor. They drilled in deep. Fire broke out on the back of the 'Mech, and he saw the orange glow of the damaged reactor shielding shimmer under the ripples of heat rising from the downed 'Mech.
Occupied by the Jupiter, he had not been monitoring the progress of the battle. Checking his sensors now, what he saw made him sick. The Protectorate forces had driven through the lines of the planetary garrison a few moments ago. The Duchy forces had been routed, and the Protectorate forces were shifting toward Breezewood proper rather than aiming for the industrial plant.
"Rook to Pickaxe," he signaled.
"We are regrouping about two kilometers from the city. They are driving at Breezewood. It looks like they intend to hit the factory complex on the flank. I hope you boys have defenses in place." Daum's voice sounded ragged, like he'd been running.
"I want to keep them out of the city." "I'm not the one you have to convince," Daum snapped back. "The Protectorate is acting like they suspect a trap. You need to pursue while we fall back and reform."
Mannheim twisted his 'Mech's torso and conducted a quick visual assessment. His gun crew had limited movement now that their ride, the HobGoblin, lay burning under the Jupiter, hissing and popping like a bonfire. The Hawk Moth was bobbing and weaving through a ground-based laser attack and took a hit. The VTOL roared away and banked in a long, hard curve then rose slightly, looking for an opportunity to move in again.
Long-range sensors indicated his second lance, designated Victory Lance, was making a controlled retreat in support of the militia. His remaining force was positioned at the industrial plant perimeter. As expected, his plan had not survived contact with the enemy, and now he had to adjust. Now there was a good chance that with the collapse of the militia forces in the center, his company might be taken out to the last man.
Damnation!
"Victory Lance, this is Rook. Move to the edge of the defense perimeter at coordinates"—he checked his tactical readout—"Delta 21. Cut into the city and try to stay on the flank and rear of those raiders. Pickaxe, I need you to reform your elements and move into the same area, swinging east. I need you to hold the line while Victory Lance pushes them into you."
"It shall be done," replied the commanding officer of Victory Lance, a Fidelis lieutenant named Carver.
Colonel Daum was not so optimistic. "Pickaxe on discreet. They are hounding me. I am going to have to fall back to the far east side of the plant. We can move through your perimeter and help shore up your defense."
Through the plant? Not with all of those explosives in place. "Negative, Pickaxe. Suggest you find another way."
"We're on the same side, damn it!"
"I know," he said, adding a lie to the numerous ones he and his people had already told. He was doing Daum a favor. When he was forced to blow the industrial complex, he didn't want any of the planetary garrison to be injured—but he couldn't say that. Still, he needed something that would drive a seasoned veteran away from a course of action. "We have sown mines. Suggest you find another way."
The channel went silent. He knew that the colonel was cursing him six ways to Sunday. Better that than dead.
Interpretation of Duty 7
Metropolitan Gardens
Brandenburg, Callison
Former Prefecture VIII
Fortress Republic (+36 days)
The Metropolitan Gardens, or the Metro as it was referred to by the locals, was a domed botanical paradise just outside of Brandenburg. The domes had been built centuries ago and somehow, miraculously, remained untouched by numerous wars and strife, even the terrorism of the Jihad. Trees and wildlife from dozens of worlds thrived here in perfect conditions. Winding brick paths snaked through the gardens and under the arbors of flowering vines. A manmade waterfall and creek dominated this particular dome, one of the eight linked together to form the attraction.
Governor Stewart had asked Cheryl to join her here. The media had covered the governor's arrival for a private tour of the gardens exactly as they were meant to, describing the scene as "the governor choosing the peace of the botanical gardens—and the reminder of interplanetary cooperation they represented—from which to contemplate the crisis in the city, and to meet with her advisors regarding the unexpected and unwanted Repub- lie military presence in the capital." It showed the citizens that their leaders were calm and in control, not overreacting. Allison Stewart had made only one comment on her way into the Metro: "I hope we can find a diplomatic resolution to this sudden intrusion into our internal affairs."
Cheryl had entered the Metro a short time later, and the media had grabbed shots of her as well. She had little use for the media in her role in the government and a healthy disdain for them in real life. Regardless of her personal feelings, she was closely observing Allison Stewart's technique for controlling the media and felt she was learning valuable lessons.
She passed the governor's security detail, undergoing a quick visual inspection and once-over with the weapon-sensor wands. Cheryl herself had ordered security for the governor to be tightened after the death of Legate Leif; in fact, the governor had demanded it after receiving death threats from Republic loyalists who considered her actions heavy-handed. Internal Affairs had been assigned to rounding up the loyalists in the interest of maintaining civil order. Cheryl gave the governor and the press what they wanted—an occasional arrest. She could have done more, but nothing more was necessary. Ceresco Hancock knew that often the more pressure you applied to resistance, the firmer it became.
She walked along the main path until she found Governor Stewart, who was leaning over a rosebush, carefully smelling the flowers. Cheryl slowed her approach, waiting for the governor to indicate she was ready to talk. Stewart slowly released the flower and turned to her advisor. "Thank you for joining me today, Cheryl."
"I am at your disposal. Governor," she replied quietly.
"I understand that matters have escalated with the protestors."
Governor Stewart had wondered a day ago if it was possible the protestors at the spaceport might somehow find themselves in possession of small arms that were more effective than ordinary rifles. Cheryl, of course, understood the implication: The governor wished to arrange for locals to fire on the DropShip. "Yes, ma'am. There have been no damage or injuries, but I assure you there is a psychological effect on The Republic troops."
The stocky woman crossed the path and stared intently at another flowering bush. "I acknowledge your recommendation for negotiation, and I appreciate your loyalty and capability to follow orders with which you do not necessarily agree."
"I am loyal to Callison," Cheryl replied instantly.
The governor turned to her and smiled. "As am I. Now, this knight errant seems more than willing to play a waiting game with us. From what my public relations people tell me, each day he remains here without taking action costs us support among the population."
"I understand."
"Sir Erbe has not seen fit to tell us why he is here on Callison, and that concerns me, Cheryl. If we knew his goals in coming here, that would be something we could leverage in our negotiations." She didn't say that she would use that information to arrive at a peaceful solution, and Cheryl harbored no illusions.
She must choose her next words carefully; what she was about to say would change her life forever. She had no choice if she was going to fulfill her directive. "I have learned why he is here, Governor."
"You have?"
"Yes, ma'am. His mission is twofold. He has come to secure for The Republic two completed DropShip engines that are stored here in Brandenburg. This was why he escorted a commercial transport."
"What else?"
"His additional orders require stripping the Light Horse of certain hardware for transport off-world. With the massive scope of the Fortress Republic operation, I'm not surprised they would need the hardware."
The governor paused for a moment before asking, "How did you come by this information? Has it been confirmed?"
Cheryl managed to keep her emotions off her face, though she felt sick at her complete betrayal of Sir Erbe and his men. "Governor. I hope you will accept that I cannot reveal my source and risk compromising either you or my source. Suffice it to say that this source is someone I trust completely." It was true. She trusted Kristoff Erbe. That he also trusted her was what hurt.
"They have come to loot Callison," Stewart gloated. "This is marvelous. Do you know how the people will react when they are told? Anyone believing that The Republic still supports our world will see the truth. The Republic as we know it simply doesn't exist anymore."
"Yes, Governor."
"The only thing that would make this perfect is if we knew when he was planning to make his move. If we knew that, we could have troops in position to deal with him."
Surrender Your Dreams Page 21
