Babcock's Shugenja may have been stripped of its sophisticated C3 computer tech—it seemed everything these days had been stripped of something—but the 75- ton 'Mech's extended-range PPC and thirty-tube rack of medium-range missiles would be a deadly combination in the confines of the valley.
"Molly, you come through third and head for the high ground," Jerry said. "This will, a, make you target of choice for anyone not shooting at me and, b, give you clear field of fire on the whole valley."
Molly Lingstrom chuckled over the comm. Down the line Jerry could see her Ultra autocannon turrets independently elevate and depress rapidly. The Sirocco equivalent to waggling her eyebrows, he guessed.
"Moran, Waltra, hold by Babcock until I make the number twelve spot and Lingstrom's in position," Jerry told the two former Steel Wolves. "It's pretty tight in there, Moran. Once you're in the big valley, hot-load your LRMs."
Moran grunted, not exactly an acknowledgment of the order.
Half a second later Jerry realized his mistake. With its Clan tech, the Orion lie's long-range missiles didn't need hot-loading; they were always primed.
Just when I think I'm sounding professional.
"When we're set, you two go around the edges kicking rocks," he went on without acknowledging the slip. "Moran left and Waltra right. We'll stand ready to take down anything you flush."
"Your plan assumes the enemy is concealed in the rocks around the valley," Waltra said from the Predator, her voice thoughtful, devoid of challenge. "Could they not be in the center as well?"
"Unarmed and unarmored, yes," Jerry conceded. "But I'm more concerned about whatever 'Mech assets they brought with them. To hide those, or battlesuits, or tanks, they'll need the sensor fuzz of the rocks."
The lack of answer indicated Waltra had conceded the point.
"Tal Sender, organize as you see fit," Jerry said. "Bring the infantry through so they can do a thorough search of the caves and burrows. Might look to take any trap they spring on us from behind while you're at it."
"I suggest Trainne and Gale take the high ground," Tal said. "They can shadow from above."
Jerry considered. Gale's Havoc made sense—the lightest 'Mech they had, it was fast and loaded with lasers, a natural for the hills. But he would have thought Train- ne's Goshawk S2B too heavy for high-ground work. On the other hand, having her hefty mix of MRMs and lasers looking out from above would be a comfort.
"Make it so," he said, trusting Tal's assessment of Trainne's ability.
Jerry tasked the Zebeneschamali Planetary Militia with probing the hills in either direction, searching for other pockets of surprises. Apparently the militia commander had no problem with orders to avoid the central battle; the ZPM complied immediately.
Don Avison was already leading his heavy-fire-support group along the wide path through the mines, heading for a position from which to lob missiles over the ridge of hills. From the way they were scurrying purposefully about, Jerry surmised he'd set the other vehicles to scouting the plains for evidence of survivor emplacements.
Jerry didn't waste time ordering the marked mines detonated. Moving at its full fifty-four kph, his Sagittaire led a broken-field run through the painted circles. Behind him the wedge opened up as individual pilots chose routes that looked best to them.
As he cleared the last line of circles, an unexpected clang of metal on metal made him jump. A moment later he realized he'd picked up a passenger as an Elemental in battle armor swung past the cockpit on his way to the Sagittaire's broad back. Or her way.
All of the Juggernauts' BattleMechs had been fitted with special handholds, brackets, and hard points to enable the Elementals to attach themselves as needed. The most secure point on the Sagittaire seemed terribly exposed to Jerry—just above his head between the ferro- glass of his viewscreen and his escape hatch. But they'd insisted that once in place they were as secure as a plate of the BattleMech's armor.
The walls of the defile rose abruptly, cutting off the ruddy sunlight. He'd have appreciated that more if the cockpit had been hot, but after only a steady march and a few kilometers' run the cockpit of the massive 'Mech was still chilly. Even the anemic heat of the little sun had been welcome.
That may change soon enough.
More important than the thermal inconvenience, the metal-heavy walls threw back his sensor scans as white noise. His only clear vision was directly ahead, and directly behind, where Moran's Orion lie followed closely. He should have been in the number-four position, but apparently the Clanner had made it through the minefield faster than the others and been disinclined to wait. Jerry shifted as far left as the fissure allowed to give the deadly gauss rifle a clear shot.
The narrow defile gradually widened the deeper they penetrated. Formed by tectonic forces rather than erosion, it angled sharply through a series of turns before opening into a rubble-filled bowl. To Jerry's untrained eye it looked like an underground dome of some sort had collapsed. Long before the refugees—or even the first colonists—had arrived, judging by the weathering and the aged look to the low and twisted trees.
External temperatures climbed quickly; by the fourth step the air was twelve degrees warmer than on the plains. Thin wisps of steam rose from several fissures, testifying to geothermal heat. The heat source added credence to the survival theory. As did the stout doors covering the mouths of many of the caves riddling the cliffs surrounding the bowl.
Stepping up his screen's magnification, he examined a few of the doors. Rusted metal, broken panels of what might have been insulation from the DropShips' interior cabins. Dust-covered. Some tangled with roping vines. They clearly hadn't been used in years, but Jerry dared not take that to mean the entire valley was abandoned.
He also couldn't help second-guessing his plan as he stepped from the shadow of the rift into the orange-red sunlight of the open valley. There were two accepted tactics for taking a circular objective like this. The first was to stay tightly grouped to provide mutual cover and concentrated fire. The other was to separate rapidly, and quarter the circle to provide vectored support. While the separated 'Mechs were more vulnerable to individual attack, the grouped 'Mechs could fall quickly to concentrated combined fire.
Mindful of the weapons that might have been stripped from the DropShips, Jerry was more concerned about the possibility of massed fire. He had no idea how or if the ships' lasers might be powered, but he wasn't taking any more chances than he had to.
He was aware of the disconnect between that thought and his volunteering to be sniper bait.
Now that he was among them, he could see some of the trees were taller than his 'Mech. They were of a light wood similar to balsa—which made sense given the planet's light gravity—with broad leaves widely spaced to catch as much of the feeble sun's light as possible. The leaves were a chocolate brown against the orange of the trees. Jerry suspected that under "normal" sunlight the bark would be white and the leaves a perfect spring green. He wondered how old the depression had to be to have collected enough topsoil to support trees.
The vines and shrubs covering the ground were deceptive. After one step onto apparently level ground almost cost him his balance as the Sagittaire's leg dropped an unexpected meter into a hollow, Jerry slowed his pace.
Among the trees and shrubs were piles of rubble and upthrust monoliths of rock. More evidence of some great collapse long ago. That he could see no recent scars assured him the ground beneath him wouldn't suddenly drop away in a second cave-in.
Of course, there probably haven't been many 95-ton BattleMechs stomping about over the last few centuries, either.
"Lingstrom, take the mound," he ordered as he moved across the midline of the bowl.
The mound was just that, a central pile of barren rubble in the center of the bowl that rose above the thin- leaved trees. From that vantage, a multiple-weapons platform like the Sirocco would command the valley with an unobstructed field of fire. On the other hand . . .
So far no one had taken a shot at Je
rry moving through the woods. Would Molly in her exposed position present a more tempting target?
If Molly had any concerns, she kept them to herself. Acknowledging the order with an "Aye, aye," she moved to the high ground with her 'Mech's lumbering lope.
Even as she took position, the BattleMech's seven turrets turned independently as she covered all directions simultaneously. Not for the first time Jerry reflected that managing a Sirocco's weapons systems required a specialized sort of multiple-personality disorder.
Taking their cue from Molly, the two Clan 'Mechs began their circuit of the perimeter. They moved in opposite directions, methodically probing every nook and cranny as they made their way around.
On his three-sixty. Jerry could barely make out Babcock in his shadowy position just inside the entrance to the valley. With its back to the stone wall, nearly the entire circle of cliffs was within reach of his Shugenja's medium-range missiles. The metal cliffs would fog his targeting system, preventing pinpoint accuracy, but a flight of thirty missiles even approximately on target could do considerable damage.
Watching the rim of the cliffs, Jerry almost missed the flash of movement to his left. The fogged targeting computer confirmed heavy metal in motion, but couldn't make ID, much less get a lock.
"Moran—"
But the former Clan pilot was already on it. The silver streak of a gauss rifle slug connected the right torso of his Orion lie to the center of the mystery machine.
Good free-hand shooting.
Twin shafts of large-laser light responded, followed by a trio of smaller beams. The firing pattern gave the Sagittaire's targeting computer enough data to tag the unknown machine as a Toyama. A heavy workhorse in the Word of Blake arsenal.
Jerry held fire, still not able to get a solid lock. A hail of autocannon fire chewing the rock around the enemy 'Mech announced Molly's involvement in the firelight.
"Watch wide," Jerry ordered, not wanting her too focused on the one enemy they'd found. "They ran six 'Mechs to the unit."
According to his targeting computer's data file, the Toyama should pack a twenty-tube long-range missile rack and an LB 10-X autocannon along with those lasers. Unless the pilot hot-loaded, Moran was too close for the attacker to use his LRMs. But the autocannon . . .
Maybe they're out of ballistic ammo. Jerry thought, dividing his attention between the dueling 'Mechs and the cave-riddled wall in front of him. Trusting his machine's heavy armor, he moved from cover, going for a wider field of fire. Only, what would they shoot at? They're conserving consumables.
"Assume everything works," he cautioned.
"Aff."
Explosions. Jerry slammed against his harness as his 'Mech lurched around him.
The BattleMech's damage-control computer identified five missile blasts along the back of the Sagittaire's right leg and lower torso. No weapons lock, of course; everybody in these hills was firing manually. No sign of where the sixth missile had gone, but five hits in tight cluster meant somebody close. His sensors gave back fuzz.
The wireframe flashed yellow a second time—another hit to the right leg. Jerry felt the 'Mech shift around him as the gyro adjusted for lost armor. The shaft of a large laser, bright in the twilight of local midday on his three- sixty, pointed to a cairn of rubble a few hundred meters behind.
As he watched, a BattleMech, maybe half the size of his Sagittaire, burst from cover behind the pile and charged toward him with an ax upraised. A Buccaneer. The machine was scraped and dusty and moving at something less than the ninety-seven kph his targeting computer told him to expect. But that uranium blade, hitting where the missiles and laser had stripped away armor, could seriously damage the knee actuator, maybe bring him down.
Activating the heads-up crosshairs on the three-sixty, Jerry tracked the oncoming 'Mech visually for a long second, then triggered his rear laser. The medium beam went true, a wonder in this metal morass. It slashed high across the smaller 'Mech's chest, just below the cockpit.
The Buccaneer stumbled sideways.
Jerry grinned, recognizing the stagger had more to do with a startled pilot than any damage his weapon had done. Didn't know I had that.
Snapping the Sagittaire's torso left with the speed he loved, Jerry unleashed his portside weapons. One medium laser went wide, but the other two skewered the Buccaneer midline, while the eye-searing blue fire of the particle projector cannon washed its lower body with destruction.
Temperatures in his cockpit shot from cool to hot with no pause at comfortable as the fusion generator spiked. Lifting his damaged right leg, Jerry completed the turn. The Sagittaire pivoted with more grace than a 95-ton machine should possess to bring its full array of forward weapons to bear.
The Buccaneer pilot—too far from Jerry to use his ax and too far from the cairn to dodge for cover—unleashed an alpha strike. The large laser and two of the five short- range missiles went wide, targeting systems confused by the surrounding ores. But the assault 'Mech shuddered as three missiles and four medium lasers—one with the double tap of a pulse—found targets scattered across the Sagittaire1 s broad delta torso and legs.
It wasn't enough.
Jerry unleashed an alpha strike of his own. At two hundred meters, only one medium laser missed. Three medium lasers, the large laser, and the PPC converged on the 55-ton 'Mech. The uncovered missile rack converted instantly to shrapnel as new rounds, already cycled into place, exploded in their tubes. The concussion threw the left arm up and back at a useless angle, the entire shoulder assembly torn from its frame.
That was the least of the MechWarrior's problems. Jerry's thermal imaging showed the Buccaneer dissolving into a white-hot bloom of light as the shielding around its XL fusion engine ruptured and split.
The viewscreen polarized to opaque, protecting him from the radiant blast, but his targeting computer tracked the Buccaneer pilot as he ejected to safety seconds before his reactor melted completely down.
There was a scrape and bump against the edge of his canopy. The targeting computer reported a second small bogie before recognizing the friend-foe transponder of the Elemental that had been riding just above Jerry's head.
How the hell had he stayed on?
As the ferroglass cleared, Jerry saw his forgotten passenger covering the floor of the crater in low arcs, arrowing toward where the Buccaneer pilot should come down.
Clear of immediate threats, Jerry scanned the wider picture. That Buccaneer had been in bad shape. One missile tube and one laser out, it had come apart too easily. But it had still been a viable threat and there were probably other snakes under the rocks.
On the mound, Molly pumped fire from three of her Sirocco's lasers into a twisted hulk of heavy metal Jerry's targeting computer couldn't identify.
"What have you got?" he asked.
"Tank," Molly answered. "Used to be. No power readings. Sensors said it had a target lock. Probably a scanner ghost, but why chance?"
Jerry grunted.
To his right now that he was facing the gap through which they'd entered, he could see Moran standing over the fallen Toyama. A more impressive victory than his, given how evenly matched the two heavy 'Mechs had been.
"Colonel?" It was Waltra. Jerry could see her Predator facing the cliff face some eighty degrees from his position. "You should see this."
Keeping his eyes on the three-sixty—trusting it more than his sensors—Jerry made a careful study of the terrain he traversed as he made his way to her side. No telling where the next surprise would come from.
In this case, it came from the ground in front of Waltra.
A 'Mech, maybe forty tons, overgrown with vines and shrubs, lay supine across the entrance of an alcove of sorts—a small box canyon in the wall of the circular valley. The 'Mech's left leg, twisted back and sideways at the knee, was wedged in a pit that had—from the looks of the surrounding debris—been covered with a thin layer of brush. There were faint blast marks, pale with time, around the broken knee and the ank
le of the other leg. Measuring the soot streaks and damage by eye, Jerry guessed commercial-grade demolition charges.
Jerry couldn't place the downed 'Mech's design, though it looked familiar. It looked to be forty to fifty tons, with arms ending in multiple laser barrels and a missile rack above where the cockpit had been. But its most interesting feature by far was the boulder—at least four tons—where the cockpit had been.
"Cavemen brought down a mammoth," he said.
"I believe so," Waltra agreed. "The pit trap immobilized it, the placed charges felled it, and the boulder was dropped from the rim of the cliff."
She pointed with her left arm laser to a rock of similar size, nestled in a ring of earth and overgrown with the groundcover vines.
"That last took two tries."
Looking up, Jerry saw a scuttle of brown movement against the cliff face. The figure didn't hold still long enough for a detailed examination, but . . .
"Colonel Jamison, we are approximately halfway to your position," Tal Sender's voice crackled with foothill- induced static. "Infantry has encountered no resistance."
"Jameson to Juggernauts," he broadcast wideband. "Infantry, be advised quarry has low-tech weapons. Have observed one hostile armed with longbow."
No one scoffed. In the hands of an expert—and anyone who survived with one would have to be an expert— a longbow could be as deadly as an assault rifle.
Jerry wasted a second wondering what the bow had been made from; the local wood was useless. Anything from herbivore ribs to salvaged spring steel, he decided, dismissing the speculation.
"Have also found a—"
"Initiate." supplied Waltra.
"An Initiate brought down by a pit trap and boulder dropped on the cockpit," Jerry added. "It looks like it happened at least a decade back, but stay sharp. Tech like this will not show on scanners."
Jerry stepped up the magnification on his screen, examining the cliff face within the box canyon in detail. Definitely caves with doors. Well camouflaged, not easy to see, but there. And intact.
"Everybody do a visual on the cliffs," he said. "Look for caves with working doors."
Wolf Hunters Page 23
