Eyes on her data screen—the better to detect if his verbal answer matched the recorded information—the boarding agent asked: "Final destination?"
"Irian," Green answered pleasantly.
25
Providence Plain
Yaleston, Prieska
Laiaka, former Prefecture VIII
26 January 3136
Nikola squinted through the midday gloom of summer over Providence Plain on Laiaka's southern continent of Prieska and hated it. Not as much as she had hated the surface boat journey that had carried her binary undetected—the Laiaki assured her—across the narrow band of equatorial sea that separated Prieska from Geir, but hated nonetheless.
That the Laiaki shared her hatred of dark places was one of the few things she liked about them. Their subterranean tunnels were Terran noonday bright at all times. Planetary Militia Captain Roost had mentioned, among the hundreds of things he'd mentioned over the last several weeks, the ersatz daylight had something to do with preventing depression. There were also, if she was remembering correctly, recordings of birdsong and running water continuously playing at subliminal levels.
The volume of trivia one acquires through simply standing near a Laiaki is staggering.
The dun-brown plain beneath the churning cloud cover was nearly flat, though folds that appeared gentle concealed sudden arroyos carved by the winter monsoons. Fortunately, the scouting parties had confirmed the accuracy of existing maps. A wide swath of unbroken hardpan undulated from the sea to the Yaleston dome. The hovertanks should traverse the two hundred kilometers from their beachhead with relative ease while—hopefully—staying below the radar's floor.
They were the third task group to arrive on Prieska. though they would be the first to strike. Star Captain Rhodan had arrived four days ago. His infantry and Odin tanks had been working their way toward Yaleston through secondary materiel-transport tunnels from a quarry far to the east. Compared to his trek through subterranean darkness, crossing the Providence Plain was a stroll in a sunny park.
The tanks were moving now on a course oblique to their target, hidden by a final roll of bluffs, at seventy kilometers per hour, their speed determined by the slower Bellonas.
She had her goggles up on her helmet, to better see through the gloom beyond her view slit. She'd either have time enough to pull them down if and when the first tendrils of sulfur announced the vaportight seals had begun to fail, or she'd be killed by the shot that breached the hull. Either way, there was no reason to have them adding another layer of material to obscure her vision.
A ruddy nimbus of heat lightning illuminated a quarter of the sky. No rain. The acid rain that fed the local flora fell only in the wintertime. The sickly yellow vegetation of this region was bundled in tight, moisture- retaining balls for dry-season hibernation.
Nikola keyed her throat microphone and surprised herself by asking Roost: "You okay out there?"
I have become Laiaki.
She had meant to simply warn the LPM captain they were five minutes from deployment. The ugly weather must have affected her more than she'd realized.
"Delighted to be here," came the instant response. Though Roost was on the skin of the tank—clinging to netting just below her view slit, in fact—his voice sounded tinny and distant. Radios were reduced to minimum transmission levels to avoid detection. "The sandwiches are lovely, but the beer has gone a bit flat."
Nikola felt her mouth twist. Laiaki humor was nearly as bad as Laiaki weather. Or maybe it was just Captain Roost's humor; she had not heard anyone else crack wise with quite the same failure rate.
"Deployment in"—she checked the chronometer— "four point five minutes."
"Confirmed."
Tv/o seven-trooper squads of planetary militia rode each of ten Condors—half her assault force, and the swiftest to carry them quickly through the last rush to the dome—clinging to netting lashed to the hulls and turrets. It couldn't be a comfortable ride, but the augmented environmental suits' exoskeletons protected them from any harm.
A binary of hovertanks and the rough equivalent of a binary of lightly armed infantry were not much to bring against the Yaleston dome, but it was far more than the pirates would expect. While the ten carriers delivered the militia to the base of the dome, the other ten would engage the defensive towers, six minarets topped with lasers spaced equally about the dome. That the militia's environmental suits would read like battlesuits would only add to the pirates' alarm.
That initial alarm was important, for the surface assault was only the first of three prongs to the attack on Yaleston.
Already in place beneath the DropShip loading docks should be Star Captain Taylor and Steel Wolf Corps infantry who had infiltrated piecemeal over the last thirty-six hours, concealed among outbound shipments and sympathetic laborers. Timed to coincide with the surface attack, this second prong would rise from below to take the DropShips. With the pirates jamming local communications except on their coded channels, the only way Nikola would be certain the DropShips had been taken was if they did not fire on her tanks when they took the field.
Only when the pirates were defending themselves from two unexpected attacks would the third and final thrust strike home.
The only serious attack the pirates feared was through the main tunnels, and with good reason. All vital controls for the enclosed city were deep underground. They could be reached from the surface, but only by a force willing to fight its way through scores of levels, many of them civilian habitats. Holding the DropShips was a limited victory. The huge ferrocrete-and-steel clamps that held the ships were also controlled from the city's center. Any DropShip attempting to lift off while the docking cradle was engaged would only succeed in tearing itself apart.
The objective of the first and second thrusts was to convince the pirates that the Steel Wolf Corps and Lai- aka Planetary Militia were desperate enough to attack from the surface—that they were willing to batter their way through hundreds of meters of civilian housing to get to them. They had to scare the pirates into committing as many assets as possible to meeting the unexpected onslaught.
For the overall plan to work, Nikola would have to judge when the greatest number of defenders was engaging the diversionary forces. Too soon and it would be easy for them to double back to the tunnels. Too late and the pirates would have the upper hand and too many lives would be lost. This could not be timed in advance and the pirates' jamming signal, while insufficient to block signals at the close proximity of tanks and men in tight formation, made direct communication with Rhodan impossible.
Instead she had devised a two-step signal. When she judged the moment right, she would launch a green flare, which would stand out vividly against the ruddy and dun of the Laiaki landscape. Star Captain Taylor would then detonate a series of placed charges in a specific pattern along the subterranean blast chamber beneath the DropShips. The charges would do no damage to the reinforced ferrocrete and granite, but their concussions would travel through the bedrock.
The seismic signal would release Star Captain Rhodan to lead the bulk of the attack force—Steel Wolf Corps infantry-supported Odin scout tanks—against two secondary tunnel entrances. Conventional Laiaki tactical wisdom held that only the main tunnel entrances were likely to be attacked, since the smaller gates could not be assaulted by massed troops.
This philosophy, which the pirates were likely to share, was predicated on the assumption that no heavy ordnance could be used against the locks themselves. In the minds of the Laiaki. the locks were as inviolate as JumpShips. But this tradition reflected safety precautions that had been obsolete for generations. With modern air scrubbers, negative-pressure baffles, and universal haz- mat suits, a breached lock was now more a matter of costly cleanup than a colony-threatening catastrophe.
The most difficult part of implementing the assault had been convincing the militia riding with them that attacking the dome itself was even thinkable, much less a legitimate target. At last she
had made the point that only their apparent disregard for collateral damage would convince the pirates to pull defenders off the tunnels.
Her difficulty in winning the Laiaki over to the idea of causing even minor damage to the dome convinced Nikola that she would have to employ another Inner Sphere social skill to be able to succeed in liberating Yaleston. Deception. She had explained that the purpose of the Odin tanks in the tunnels was to convince the defenders that they might use them to breach the locks if they did not yield.
However. Star Captain Rhodan's live-fire tests— conducted in disused tunnels of Geir—had proven that Odins in staggered formation could concentrate devastating fire in the confined space of even the most narrow tunnel. The first warning the pirates would have of the tanks' presence would be the air locks being blasted inward. With Odins leading the way to smash through emergency gas seals along the way, the Steel Wolf Corps would secure the central control room in a matter of minutes.
"One minute," Nikola reminded herself and everyone else on her comm link.
The twenty tanks slowed, though there was little danger of their dust plumes attracting attention in the whipping wind. The very weather that made the surface an improbable assault route also covered their approach. The formation wheeled right, facing the ridge that separated them from the dome and the DropPort beyond.
Nikola had considered indirect fire for the first wave of missiles, but discarded the idea. The hurricane-force winds increased the danger of undirected missiles striking the dome or unexpected civilian targets that might be on the surface.
The tanks would crest the bluff in a line, and the Condors and Bcllonas would fire their first salvo deliberately short, edging the dome for maximum psychological effect. They would then race in before the few surface batteries could fully recover and deposit their cargo of militia close to the dome, under the arc of the defender's fire. While the militia made a show of sapping the dome, the tanks would pull off to circle the dome—some engaging the batteries in earnest, others to threaten the DropShips and any loader activity on the surface.
The real battles would belong to her two Star captains, and the real honor would be theirs. But they needed the honor more than she, and sharing it would earn respect.
"Now," she ordered.
The first Bellona crested the ridge—
—and disappeared in a forest of flame and flying earth.
Nikola's targeting computer reported thirty missiles had impacted on and around the fragmented hulk.
" 'Mechs!" a startled voice reported.
A Condor slid to a halt too close to the top of the ridge. From just below Nikola's line of sight a lightning storm of blue-white fire swept high along the length of the tank, scouring it clean of militiamen.
"Get off!" Nikola ordered Roost.
"Get us to the dome!" Roost counterordered.
Nothing cowardly about the Laiaki.
"Condors, make the dome," Nikola ordered—perhaps the last order she'd be able to give before combat carried her command out of range in the radio haze surrounding Yaleston. Beneath her the Condor's fans roared as the 50-ton machine shot forward. "Others engage dome defense towers and BattleMechs at will. Melee. Follow original plan of attack."
Taking fire control, she swung the long-range missile turret left, tracking the nearest BattleMech. Her targeting computer identified it as a Sentry, an inexpensive Inner Sphere design popular with pirates and mercenary units. She cared only that its thermal profile identified it as the machine that had scorched fourteen unprotected men to ash without warning.
She moved her thumb off the firing stud. She could not engage the enemy with defenseless passengers on her hull.
"Someone told the pirates we called for help," Roost stated the obvious. "They hired some heavy guns of their own."
Nikola nodded absently as she assessed the force ranged against them. Three BattleMechs—the Sentry, a Cobra to the right and an Osiris rounding the dome from the DropPort side. The Cobra was cleariy the source of the double flight of LRMs that had immolated the Bel- lona and its cargo of militia.
The Cobra flamed its jump jets, rising above an SMl's ability to track. It lanced twin medium lasers down as it flew over, one of the beams going wide, but the other scoring deeply along the armor of the autocannon housing. If the SMl's commander were wise, he wouldn't fire that weapon until he'd inspected it.
"I'm going to drop you at about ten kph," she told Roost.
"Make it twenty."
She shook her head, not bothering to answer. Risk of injury—or environmental suit tear—was too great at twenty. She respected Roost's willingness to try, but his daring was clouding his judgment.
The Yaleston dome was nearly flat, a low, convex lens covering the vent crater. Despite having seen images, Nikola had expected an upturn of rock, a lip to the crater, where the dome met the earth. Instead, the pale fabric rode the surface of Laiaka like a blister.
The tank approached the base of the dome at speed, both to evade the defensive towers and to preclude Roost and his men jumping early. At the last moment Haret, her Condor's driver, threw the 50-ton machine into a buttonhook turn. For a moment it was almost still, then they were racing back toward the Steel Wolf Corps tanks and the BattleMechs. Nikola did not check her rearview to confirm the militia had jumped at the optimum moment.
Breaching the dome on Laiaka was not a simple matter of cutting a hole in the semiflexible membrane. There were over a dozen layers of gastight fabric stretched over the frame for one thing. Some of the militia would attempt to overcome the wiring and security of existing air locks, a battle of technology and electronic counter- measures as they tried to outthink and outmaneuver defenders within the dome. Elsewhere militia sapper teams were erecting airtight shelters against the base of the dome. Once safely enclosed, they would begin cutting their way in, cauterizing and sealing each layer as they progressed. Done right, their point of entry would be stronger than the dome itself.
It struck Nikola as a needlessly complex process, but that was not her concern.
The assault was.
Three BattleMechs on the field. If the pirates used Inner Sphere protocol, there was a fourth somewhere. Assuming the pirate force was at full strength and not using the more sensible Clan Star configuration.
Would the fourth be on the DropShip field?
As if in answer, the Osiris paused in its advance, turning back toward the DropPort. The DropShips must be broadcasting word of Taylor's attack.
If the field was the Osiris' responsibility, the fourth 'Mech must be in the tunnels. In the main tunnels, where a 'Mech could maneuver easily and where the pirates would expect an attack.
Meaning Rhodan, in using the secondary tunnels, had probably already outflanked it.
A BattleMech in the tunnels would not be coming to the surface fast. All the forces that were going to be committed to repelling the first two prongs of the attack were already in place. No need to delay.
Reaching for the button Pandot had wired for the occasion, she launched the green flare.
"Engage Cobra with autocannon," she ordered, telling Ha ret that he had ballistic fire control.
The Condor swerved, its skirt venting air, and lined up on the medium 'Mech even as it touched down. Haret did not fire the nose-mounted cannon immediately, holding fire until he was within optimum range.
Nikola cranked the missile launcher to its highest elevation. She had observed that the Cobra pilot liked to jump directly over attackers.
The Cobra extended its left arm toward the advancing Condor. Through her viewer the oddly domed missile launcher seemed directed between Nikola's eyes.
Suddenly a blaze of coherent light gouged along the length of the Cobra's arm, flash-melting armor and apparently collapsing two of the missile tubes. A Bellona's extended-range large laser scoring a direct hit.
Nikola bit back a curse. She had ordered melee attack; this was not her foe alone.
Anticipating the Cobra's respo
nse, she launched the missiles even as Haret opened fire with the autocannon.
The pirate 'Mech leaped directly into the flight of long- range missiles, taking seven of the fifteen in hits across its thighs and torso. The multiple concussions threw the BattleMech off its arc, sending it tumbling toward the wind-scoured earth. The Cobra landed hard, one knee buckling; the pilot thrust a missile launcher into the ground to keep his machine from falling over completely. The left, Nikola noted, already damaged; he had the presence of mind not to ruin both main weapons.
However, the Cobra never got the chance to regain its feet. Armor chipped and shattered in ton lots as shells from a second SMI's AC/20 tore into its lower back. The Bellona followed up with another laser score of its own, slagging through the right torso's armor just below the 'Mech's extended arm.
Nikola paused, her thumb over the missile launch as the Cobra seemed to convulse.
The gyro?
Flame erupted from the major joints and gapped the armor down the center of the machine's chest. Nikola realized the 'Mech lacked CASE; its missile magazine was exploding.
The top of the Cobra's head flew away, explosive bolts clearing the hatch, and the command couch rose on the pillar of its escape jets.
Nodding, Nikola swung the viewer, searching out their next target. A scuttle of chrome yellow close to the ground caught her eye. Swinging back and refocusing she made out a squad of the Laiaki militia her people had just dropped running onto the battlefield, away from the dome. A laser blast—'Mech to tank—scorched through the air above them.
"Slow," she ordered, watching the militia. Two of them pulled canisters she didn't recognize from pouches as they ran. None were looking at the battle around them, all were focused on—
The MechWarrior. Strapped to his downed couch, he was thrashing wildly, slapping at his own flesh. His own flesh, red and blistering below his shorts and down his bare arms. Foam from the canisters washed over him, coating him in a clinging gel. Two of the others pulled him from his harness as a fifth shoved the mouthpiece of a small breathing tank into his mouth. Together the seven-man squad stuffed the still-struggling 'Mech pilot and his air tank into a bright yellow pouch that reminded Nikola of nothing so much as a body bag. Once it was sealed, they hooked another of the foam canisters to a nipple and apparently filled the sack with whatever the gel was.
Wolf Hunters Page 17
