Wolves on the Border

by Robert N. Charrette

  “Very well. I will proceed into sector seven-delta-three-three because your coverage there is limited.”

  Changing his 'Mech's heading, Minobu ignored Cameron's protests that he come to the field HQ for his own safety. Minobu was Chief Liaison Officer to Wolf's Dragoons for the PSL. Knowing Wolf's whereabouts was his duty. If no one else had that information, he would have to get it himself. A samurai could not sit idle when his duty was clear.

  Minobu felt a curious relief when growing interference swallowed up Cameron's voice. Was it simply the welcome lack of distraction? Was he glad to be free of reminders that his actions were more becoming to a simple soldier than to an officer, that he was neglecting his real duty in order to prove that he was still a ‘MechWarrior? He concentrated on piloting, trying to ignore questions he did not want to answer.

  The course changes forced upon him by the tortuous terrain brought him near the coordinates of the ambush. The comm frequencies were empty, save for the hiss and sputter of static. He decided to check the site. It was entirely possible that Wolf had returned to learn the fate of his lance. Lacking communications, the last place where they had all been together could be deemed a reasonable rally point.

  The fight had been hard, and the land bore testimony to the fury unleashed there. Minobu studied the ground, envisioning what had happened. The Dragoons had been surprised by a sudden attack. Where it had come was marked by blackened craters and glazed patches of sand from near-misses. Not all the enemy's shots had been misses, however. Chips of armor and fused lumps of metal attested to that. A BattleMech arm lay half-buried in the dirt, severed raggedly by explosive force, but there were no other obvious casualties.

  Minobu observed the ground where it was scarred by the rapid turns and accelerations the Dragoon machines had made to escape the fire zone. He could see that they had scattered in four different directions, probably hoping to lose their pursuers in the maze of the badlands.

  He suddenly realized that he had no idea what type of BattleMech Wolf piloted. Three of the Dragoon 'Mechs involved in the fight had been heavy machines. He could tell their paths from the depth of their tracks. The fourth was considerably lighter, a Wasp or Stinger. It was the owner of the arm left on the field. That one was not likely to be Wolf's. A commander of his stature was too valuable to fight in so fragile a BattleMech. Of the others, any could be Wolf's machine.

  Overlaying the tracks of the Command Lance 'Mechs were those laid down by many other machines as the Snake Stompers followed in pursuit of their prey. The signs indicated that these 'Mechs were lighter but more numerous.

  A call on Dragoon frequencies produced no results, which did not surprise Minobu. Because any of the heavy 'Mech trails could be Wolf's, his decision was easy for a samurai. He followed the one indicating the passage of more enemy BattleMechs.

  The trail soon became difficult to follow. The Dragoon was keeping to harder ground, no doubt believing that this would make his pursuers' job rougher. The enemy's scanners had to be crippled as those of the Dragoons, though that would also make it harder for anyone trying to aid the Dragoon warrior.

  Signs of the Stomper 'Mechs vanished first. They were lighter than the machine they hunted. Then marks made by the Dragoon 'Mech became more scarce. Minobu had hunkered the Vindicator down in order to better use shadows in reading particular marks of passage when his exterior sound pickups brought him the sound of shifting gravel. As he was straightening his machine to a standing position, the new arrival announced his presence over his external speakers of his 'Mech.

  “Move it easy and you don't get cratered, friend.”

  9

  Fire Rift, Quentin IV

  Draconis March, Federated Suns

  17 June 3023

  Keeping his 'Mech's movements slow, Minobu noticed that his rear scanners showed a BattleMech half-hidden in the shadow of a twisted spire of stone. No visible markings betrayed its allegiance, though its type—a fifty-five-ton Shadow Hawk—was clear. The newcomer's autocannon, locked into its firing position, pointed out over the left shoulder. The machine's right arm, bearing an externally mounted laser, was extended in Minobu's direction.

  “At ease, ‘MechWarrior,” Minobu transmitted as he slowly pivoted his 'Mech. “I am Chu-sa Tetsuhara. We are on the same side.”

  Had the pilot been one of the hostile mercenaries, Minobu was sure the other warrior would have fired rather than spoken. Because they knew all their own BattleMechs by sight, an unfamiliar machine had to be an enemy and subject to immediate attack. The Dragoons, being from a far larger and better-supplied organization, were less likely to know all their own machines. That was definitely one of the Stompers' advantages in the maze of Fire Rift. Minobu pointed his PPC at the sky, but kept his finger near his jump jet ignition switch in case his reading of the situation was wrong.

  “Tetsu—” boomed the voice from the Shadow Hawk's speakers. “Whatchu doing out here?”

  “If you care to switch to your radio instead of bellowing all over the Rift, I'd be glad to discuss it,” Minobu answered over his own comm unit.

  “Uh, right.” The other pilot's voice was suspicious. A second or two later, the ‘MechWarrior added, “Colonel.”

  “As to what I am doing, I am looking for Colonel Wolf.”

  “Ain't that a surprise.” The suspicion was gone now. The Dragoons had enough confidence in their communications network that they believed it safe from interception. Only a Dragoon, or an ally, would know Wolf was missing. “I'm Sergeant Dechan Fraser. I thought I was the only one assigned to this sector, Colonel.”

  “I assigned myself. Colonel Wolf must be located soon.”

  “Don't that beat all?” As the Shadow Hawk moved forward to join him, its autocannon slid back into transport position. As the sunlight struck the dark blue 'Mech striding from the shadows, it revealed a stooping golden hawk on the machine's chest and a black wolf's head against a red disk on the left shoulder.

  Fraser crouched his 'Mech and scanned the tracks Minobu had been studying. “Ain't been long. Sun hasn't dried the bottom yet.” The Shadow Hawk straightened up, its left arm pointing. “Looks like he went that way. This ‘Mech's got company. He's gonna need help, with them Stompers on his tail.”

  “We shall be that help.”

  “You know, Colonel, I like your attitude. Let's go.”

  Ten minutes later, their microphones picked up the distant sound of missile fire. They adjusted course and accelerated toward the noise, only slowing when Fraser reported sighting a BattleMech moving through the shade of a ridgeline. He and Minobu took their 'Mechs to cover to observe the situation.

  What they saw were several Stomper machines ahead, stalking a target not yet in sight. Minobu counted four: a Locust, a Stinger, a Javelin, and a Valkyrie—all light 'Mechs with low-power weapons. The machines were moving cautiously, taking full advantage of cover. The pilots were probably worried about the firepower of their quarry. Except for the Valkyrie, none carried long-range weaponry. Any of the missing Dragoon BattleMechs could have outranged them.

  Moving his machine forward, Minobu caught sight of the Stompers' target through a notch in a ridgeline. It was the blue and gold Archer.

  The pilot had tried to cross what he must have thought was an old lava flow, but it was not old enough. The seventy-ton machine had crashed through the crust, falling in to its waist. Steam rose around it, and Minobu could see the glow of molten rock whenever the 'Mech's legs churned in its attempts to free itself.

  He beamed a transmission at the struggling BattleMech to warn the pilot that help was on the way, but Minobu was not surprised that the Archer did not respond. The 'Mech's motions were slow and disjointed, as though the pilot were dazed or disoriented. The heat inside the cockpit would be debilitating, leaving the warrior helpless. If the warrior fired any weapons, he could cook himself.

  “Your comrade is in serious trouble,” Minobu transmitted to Fraser. “The Stompers haven't realized it yet, but he is help
less. He does not have much time.”

  “Then what are we waiting for, Colonel? Let's go get him.” With that, the Shadow Hawk was up and moving, its autocannon laying down a barrage.

  Minobu followed more cautiously. The Dragoon BattleMechs would normally have been more than a match for the Stompers ahead of them, but the light 'Mechs did not carry the heat burden of their heavier brethren. Their activity levels would be set higher, too. Here on Quentin, that might outweigh the armor and armament advantages of the medium 'Mechs.

  The Stompers scrambled for cover at the sudden onslaught, but they fired as they moved. Keeping out of sight of the trapped Archer, they turned to deal with his friends first, the response of disciplined veterans. Even so, one Stamper did not make it to cover fast enough. Shells from Fraser's autocannon burst caught and staggered the Locust.

  In a 'Mech battle, hesitation is death. Minobu loosed a blast from his PPC at the wobbling Locust. His body was bathed in sweat as the sudden heat of discharge threatened to overpower the Vindicator's heat dispersal system. His target had more immediate problems. The hellish energy of the PPC vaporized armor and opened a path to the 'Mech's innards. It crashed to the ground in a shower of sparks and lay immobile. First blood to the rescuers.

  With the Stompers gone to ground, Fraser took his 'Mech to cover as well. With the surprise of the first rush gone, the ‘Mech Warriors began a deadly game of tag amid the badlands of Fire Rift. It was a game that the Snake Stompers had played before. They had the homefield advantage, and had used it to ambush the Dragoons' Command Lance. Now they were going to try to use it to destroy two more Dragoon 'Mechs.

  As Minobu moved the Vindicator along a ravine floor, his microphones caught the roar of autocannon fire and the whoosh of missiles beyond the next hill. Before he could move up, a Locust flying the Stompers' banner from its whip aerial scurried around a bend behind him. The Vindicator was caught in the red glare of its laser. The pulses deeply scarred the 'Mech's rear armor, but Minobu's return blast sent the enemy pounding back for cover.

  Their enemies were again four in number. At least four, Minobu reminded himself. Any number could be hidden among the twisting valleys. From the battle sounds he could hear, Fraser was engaging two of them.

  The new Locust had disappeared out of sight behind a basaltic column. Minobu took the Vindicator over a small hillock to stalk it from the next gully over. As he crossed the ridge, he caught sight of the fourth Stomper 'Mech. The Javelin was climbing a talus slope, scrabbling for a position to fire on the trapped Archer.

  The action at one with Minobu's thought, the Vindicator's right arm lifted. A bolt of blue lightning arrowed toward the Stomper ‘Mech to score on its leading leg. Armor vanished, and with it, some of the myomer pseudomuscles and carballoy structural members it had protected. Off-balance, the 'Mech toppled forward. Missiles arced skyward as it fell, a visual punctuation to the scream that echoed across the open comm frequencies. The Javelin hit the lava crust, broke through, and disappeared beneath the magma.

  With the firing of the PPC, the Vindicator's heat burden soared. Minobu's heads-up display targeting crosshairs flickered and vanished under the heat surge, but he considered it a small price. The Javelin pilot had gone to his ancestors. Every ‘MechWarrior dreaded death by fire, but Minobu thought it a suitable fate for a coward who would strike down a helpless opponent.

  The destruction of the Javelin must have shaken the Stompers. One by one, they broke off stalking the Dragoon 'Mechs. Firing as they went, in retreat not rout, they began to move east. They had lost two, and the situation was now against them. Their BattleMechs were damaged, and the opposition outmassed them significantly. They retreated to fight again, but on a field of their own choosing.

  Though Fraser's 'Mech had taken damage, he pursued the enemy, his autocannon roaring. In the confining terrain, the faster machines had been able to outmaneuver him, to strike and escape lightly. He charged on, seeking a kill.

  Seeing the enemy in retreat before him, Minobu started to follow as well. A warrior did not let the enemy escape while he was capable of destroying them.

  A warrior! The Archer!

  Minobu pulled up.

  A BattleMech's heat sinks could not long cope with the temperatures of magma. An Archer carried almost five hundred missiles at full load. Certainly, many of them would have been expended in combat. Just as certainly, the rising heat would make an ammunition explosion imminent. Even if only a few missiles were still on board, they would probably be enough to rip the 'Mech to shreds. He could not leave the Archer's pilot to that fate. The Stompers could be fought and killed another day.

  Minobu headed for the stranded Archer, which was still struggling feebly to pull itself from the pit. At each attempt, however, more crust crumbled around it. Minobu maneuvered carefully to avoid the same fate.

  “Punch out, warrior!” he called over loudspeaker as well as comm unit.

  The pilot did not eject. When Minobu reached the edge of the lava flow, he could see why. The Archer had taken missile hits on the upper torso near the shoulder-mounted missile launcher. Shreds of armor had peeled away and fouled the hatch. The 'Mech's weight was too great for the Vindicator to pull. The ‘MechWarrior was sealed in a seventy-ton coffin.

  Unacceptable. That was no death for a true warrior.

  Minobu lowered his 'Mech down to the ground and carefully moved it out onto the crust. The skin of the magma dented beneath the Vindicator's weight, but did not immediately crack. Minobu knew with every movement that the next one might be a sudden plunge through the crust into the molten rock below the surface. He edged forward ponderously until the Archer's cockpit was within reach of the battlefist on the Vindicator's left arm. Angling the right-arm PPC to distribute the 'Mech's weight, Minobu raised the upper torso of his 'Mech.

  Ruby light lanced out from the 5cm Ceres Arms laser mounted alongside the Vindicator's head. Centimeter by centimeter, the coherent light chewed through the heavier 'Mech's armor, outlining the cockpit area. Each centimeter was purchased with increased heat in Minobu's cockpit, edging his own 'Mech closer to shutdown. Following in the path of the laser was the battlefist, exerting incredible pressure and peeling back the weakened ceramet armor. It was slow work. Every moment brought the inevitable ammo explosion closer.

  When there was enough space, Minobu closed the fist around the armored compartment that held the pilot. Rocking backward, he tried to pull the cockpit from the foundered 'Mech. The attempt threatened to topple the Vindicator over the Archer and into the magma. The 'Mech would not give up its warrior.

  It took three more tries before the cockpit ripped free. Prize in hand, the Vindicator inched like a giant crab back away from the crack. As soon as he thought it was safe, Minobu brought his 'Mech to its feet and pounded for cover.

  Before he could reach safety, the inevitable finally occurred, and the Archer's missiles detonated. The pressure wave slapped the Vindicator, sending it flying like a rag doll. Minobu brought his 'Mech's left arm in across its chest and curled the machine around it.

  The jar when the 'Mech hit the ground was phenomenal. A restraining strap split, and Minobu hurtled forward into the viewscreen. The neurohelmet kept his skull from splitting open, but the impact dazed him. The control jacks pulled free of their sockets, and the ‘Mech sprawled as limply as its pilot.

  Minobu fumbled the jacks back into place. The 'Mech lay on top of the Archer's cockpit housing. He hoped that it was intact. To have crushed it after rescuing it from the explosion would be a cruel joke of fate. He rolled the Vindicator onto its side.

  The Archer cockpit's metal shell was dented and distorted, but appeared unbroken. Minobu could vaguely see a moving shape within. The warrior lived! Carefully, he began to peel the shards of armor locking the access hatch in place.

  Minobu had snatched this man from death, literally taking the ‘MechWarrior's life into his own hands. If not for Minobu's actions, the warrior would be dead, his future blown to the win
ds with his atoms. From now on, the karma the man earned, good or bad, was also Minobu's karma. The man's words, his deeds, even his life was now Minobu's responsibility. Bushido demanded it.

  The hatch was cleared. It opened with a groan of protesting metal, and the ‘MechWarrior's neurohelmet appeared. Moving slowly, he emerged, battered and with his left arm hanging limp at his side.

  “Looks like I owe you one,” the pilot said, using his good hand to force his neurohelmet free from his head. Finally, Minobu could see the other warrior's face. The man he had saved was Colonel Jaime Wolf.

  10

  Alpha Regiment MHQ, Fire Rift, Quentin IV

  Draconis March, Federated Suns

  18 June 3023

  “BattleMechs coming in from the east, Colonel.” Cameron's voice was quiet, but it caught the attention of everyone in Alpha Regiment's mobile headquarters vehicle. “Not ours.”

  Wolf looked up from the holotank to check the chronometer on the forward bulkhead. “Timing's about right for our guests.” His voice was harsh, still dry from his ordeal in the overheated BattleMech. Wolf sipped electrolyte fluid from the plastic bottle he held. “Put a recon lance out to intercept and confirm, William.”

  “On their way, Colonel. Intercept in ten minutes.”

  “Girard's Company on alert?”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “Then until we get an ID on them, we wait,” Wolf said, returning his attention to the holotank, which displayed the disposition of the combatants skirmishing throughout Fire Rift.

  Observing the mercenary commander through the tank, Minobu thought Wolf looked haggard. He had refused the doctor's offer of a painkiller, citing a need to think clearly. When he moved, it was slowly and with great care to avoid jarring his left arm, held rigid in a preserving sleeve. The white sling was stark against the dark blue fatigues he wore. He was clearly exhausted.