24
Shaw River Valley, Barlow's End
Draconis March, Federated Suns
3 October 3026
“Dom, watch the left!” Dechan Fraser called, while himself firing on a Commando that had broken cover to close for a missile volley. His Shadow Hawk's Martell laser grazed the Eridani 'Mech. Though Dechan could see no real damage, the enemy Jock scurried his machine back for cover.
Heeding Fraser's call, Dominguez pounded 90mm shells and laser fire into a pair of hostiles trying to advance in the shadow of the embankment.
The retreat up the river valley had been underway for the better part of an hour. The Light Company and Captain Stane's people had been leapfrogging each other, by turn firing then running. Having found some cover, Light Company was providing covering fire for Stane's unit.
Early on, Captain Laskowski's 'Mech had gone down when its leg collapsed. With the Eridani 'Mechs pressing forward, Dechan had been forced to abandon the Captain or lose the company. If the Captain survived, she could surely be ransomed from the Horsemen. In the meantime, Dechan was in charge of the company.
“Yo, Fraser!” Sergeant Tennler called over the taccomm. “Where's the help?”
“How the hell should I know? Ask Major Chan. He's in charge of this operation.”
“Tried to, sweetheart. Comm channel's full of static.”
“Great.” Dechan hoped that didn't mean that Chan and the rest of the Dragoons had gotten caught. He tried to tell himself that it was just the Unity-forsaken rocks eating the comm frequencies.
The Horsemen were pressing hard and not giving him much time to worry about the others. Dechan recognized the pattern. The Eridani 'Mechs stepped up the pressure just before they got support from the high ground along the banks of the dry river bed, which meant that the White Witches, trailing along the south bank, had caught up again. He looked up. Sure enough, the pale blue Zeus that had been spearheading the Witches all along appeared on the lip of the embankment.
“Cover, troops. Hostiles at two o'clock high!”
The Zeus and its companions concentrated on the easy prey of Stane's Company as the Dragoon 'Mechs hurried to reach the meager cover that the Light Company held. Fire poured down on the fleeing machines. Like its namesake, the Zeus hurled down thunder and lightning.
A full spread of missiles caught Stane's Phoenix Hawk, sending it crashing to the ground. The 'Mech hit hard and lay still. Stane's troops reacted instantly, closing in to cover their leader. Forgotten now were the crates they had been sent to acquire. Hurrying toward their fallen Captain, a Griffin and a Wolverine grabbed the P-Hawk and dragged it away while the rest of the company returned fire.
“Give 'em cover,” Dechan called.
The Light Company responded with a blistering sheet of fire that drove the Horsemen back. All the 'Mechs on the embankment, except the Zeus, pulled back as well. The battered machines of Stane's Company made it to Fraser's position. Once its prey had gone to ground, even the Zeus pulled back rather than be the sole target for vengeful Dragoons.
Silence descended over the valley, giving both sides a respite and a chance to vent the crippling heat buildups incurred in the last furious exchange.
Dechan used the time to count up the surviving Dragoons.
The Light Company still had eight functional 'Mechs, while Captain Stane's company had nine, including the Captain's own. A check by one of Stane's troopers told Dechan that the Captain's 'Mech might still be capable of fighting, but she was out of it for the duration. That left sixteen battle-capable 'Mechs. No, seventeen. At some point, one of Captain Waller's men had become separated from his own company and had joined the group. Every machine had been mauled.
Dechan, who had dreamed of commanding a company, was now senior officer for two companies. Instead of a dream come true, however, this was a nightmare.
The BattleMechs of a unit could fight for some time before their numbers were appreciably reduced. Eventually, the cumulative damage would begin to tell. Machines would fall and men would die. The term Combat Loss Grouping came unbidden to Dechan's mind. He had learned the formulae used to calculate CLG in the academy. Those harsh mathematics stated that, given an even volume of fire, BattleMechs of the same weight class were likely to reach dysfunction at, for combat purposes, the same time. An unpleasant thought, but one he could not avoid, faced with the battered remnants of his two companies. They were not far from devastating losses among their lightest members.
The ammunition situation was even worse. Dechan knew his own SRM ammo bay had run dry, and a quick check with the others revealed that all were low on expendable ammunition. Some had only one or two rounds, which would soon reduce them to energy weapons. All in all, the balance sheet had too many zeroes on the bottom lines. If the battle went on much longer, they would be into red ink.
To make matters worse, the unit was out of contact with Major Chan's team and Captain Waller's Company. They were on their own.
“So, where's the help, Fraser? We're being slaughtered!” Tennler again.
“Unity! How should I know?” Dechan shouted into the taccomm. “Maybe they got caught by the Horsemen, too.”
As soon as he had spoken, Dechan bit his lip. He was losing his cool. The other Jocks looked to him as the only officer left. Shouting wouldn't solve anything and could only make morale worse. When he felt calm enough, he said, “I think we're going to have to get out of this on our own.”
“What about the loot?” asked a voice Dechan didn't recognize. It had come over Stane's Company's frequency.
“We could make another grab for it,” Corporal Rand suggested halfheartedly.
“We could get our asses shot off, too,” Tennler objected. “Why don't we just jet out of here and head for the D-Ships? The Feds will let us go if we leave them their toys.”
“I don't think so,” Dechan said. “Once we're back on the plains, we'll be an easy target for the Witches. Our CLG is too high, we'll be leaving bodies behind before we can clear their range. Besides, the Horsemen have enough jumpers to keep the pursuit hot.”
“Why should they bother?” Tennler countered.
Corporal Dominguez cut in to answer her. “We're Dragoons. Right now we're easy meat. The Witches remember Quentin. They could use the rep of having swatted us. The Horsemen don't need the rep, but they're more trouble. They got pride. They got memories of Hoff, too. None of our friends out there are going to want to see us leave this party before they've had their fun.”
“And since our real friends haven't shown up,” Dechan interjected, “we're left with the emergency escape plan. We have to keep falling back along the riverbed. The river banks get lower to the west and the land rougher. When we get there, we can use the terrain as cover for our retreat without worrying about anybody targeting on our naked backsides.”
There was some grumbling, but no one offered a better idea. Dechan had started to sort the survivors into short lances when missiles impacted near them. Two caught his Hawk and another one hit Donal Cameron's Javelin. Most shattered only the rocks above the 'Mechs, sending fragments clattering down on them.
Dechan looked up to see the Zeus, its arm swinging to track the target for its next volley. Other 'Mechs joined it in firing down on the startled Dragoons. The Witches had worked their way around behind the Dragoon position. From the height of the embankment, the Fed mercs had a clear field of fire down to the crouching 'Mechs.
Dragoons started down the riverbed, looking for better cover. Dechan stood his ground and tried for a target lock-on. He wanted to pump a few LRMs into their nemesis. Before his target reticule flashed green, the enemy 'Mech staggered back from the brink, its armor dissolving under heavy laser and PPC fire. The Witches pulled back.
Dechan didn't understand what was happening until a massive BattleMaster loomed up on the opposite bank. The 'Mech's glittering reflective coating dazzled his eyes, but not before he had seen the grinning wolf's-head.
“You guys need a ha
nd?”
The BattleMaster continued to fire on the retreating Witches while its pilot spoke to Dechan. Then an Awesome appeared on the Master's left and a Stalker rumbled up on the right. Zeta Battalion had arrived.
“What took you guys so long? We thought we were orphans.”
“A little trouble with a hardheaded Snake.” The frivolous words were delivered in a grim tone. “Hold it. Colonel Jamison wants to talk to you.”
There was a delay while the pilot set up the relay.
“Who's commanding?” Jamison's gruff voice barked.
“Guess it's me, Colonel. Lieutenant Fraser, sir. I've got Light and Stane's Companies here, sir.”
“What happened to Major Chan and the others?”
“They took off through other channels to try and draw off most of the Horsemen. We lost contact with them an hour ago. Captain Laskowski went down and is presumed captured. Captain Stane's with us, but she's unconscious.”
“Unity!” Jamison was quiet for a moment. “Where's the prototype?”
“Down here on the riverbed, out in the open where it was dropped when Stane got hit.” Dechan hesitated, then resolved to give the Colonel the full situation. “Nobody wants to go get it. It's a killing zone out there, and we're on the edge of a CLG. Even with cover from Zeta, we'd lose at least half our people in the attempt.”
Dechan was cut out of the circuit while Jamison checked in with his subcommanders.
“I've got contact established with Chan and Uchimaya,” Jamison announced as he cut Dechan back in. “They're thirty-five klicks down river, but Waller's unit is still unaccounted for. The situation stinks.
“Fraser, its time to cut our losses. Get ready to move out.” The link stayed open while Jamison spoke to his Captain in the BattleMaster. “Lucas, blast that damnable piece of junk to atoms. If we can't get the prototype out, we won't leave it with the Feds. Then give cover for Dechan's troops to get out of there.
“We're going home. Let's hope we find Waller's people on the way.”
“What about the Ryuken?” Dechan asked.
“They left you folks to the Feds, so we'll just return the favor.”
25
Ryuken Field HQ, Barlow's End
Draconis March, Federated Suns
4 October 3026
“Kantel's Recon Lance reports that the Dragoon ambush force has joined Zeta Battalion and is continuing to move north toward the landing zone,” Michi reported. Tai-sa Satoh only nodded.
Michi stood staring as the unresponsive Tai-sa remained slumped in his chair. Could he not understand what that meant? Most of the fighting force that had landed on Barlow's End was now retreating from battle. The Ryuken was in danger of being surrounded, especially if Federated forces broke off pursuit of the Dragoons and turned toward Landova. Davion troops were forcing the Ryuken out of the city. Before long, their advance forces would reach the command camp's perimeter.
Something exploded outside the command hut, followed by more detonations. Time had run out. The Davion forces had arrived. The guard 'Mechs fired in response to the assault.
Satoh started at the first noise, but then slumped into list-lessness again. His lack of reaction set off a wave of alarm through the Kuritan Techs and troops manning the command post. With the sounds of battle growing ever nearer, a panic began.
Michi waited for Satoh to give orders for the defense of the camp, but others did not. Tai-i Wakabe, commander of the Headquarters Lance, ran to direct his ‘Mech Warriors; the rest scrambled in all directions. Some took it on themselves to grab weapons and join the support troops firing on the enemy. Others simply dispersed in terror, a few to temporary salvation and ultimate capture in the wilderness, while most merely ran into the arms of death. In moments, the hut was deserted except for Satoh, Michi, and a single commtech.
“The Davion forces are surrounding us,” Michi said to his unresponsive superior. “We must pull back to the Drop-Ships, Tai-sa.”
Satoh slowly turned his head to look at Michi for a long moment, his eyes dull and face slack. Then he said, “It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was promised.”
The Tai-sa's comment seemed disconnected from the drastic situation at hand. Michi ground his teeth in anger at this poor excuse for a commander.
“Brace up, Tai-sa,” he exhorted. “We are not beaten yet. You must take command of your troops.”
Michi caught the commtech looking nervously from him to the Tai-sa. The man had something to say, but he didn't know to whom to say it.
“Speak up, man,” Michi snapped. “What is it?”
“A call from the commander of the Eridani Light Horse, sir. He wants us to lay down our arms and surrender.”
“No surrender,” Satoh mumbled.
Michi looked at him in disgust. A surrender refusal should be made with force, to impress with determination.
“The Tai-sa is right,” Michi told the commtech. “We will not surrender. Tell the Eridani commander that we refuse his request.”
“I can't, sir. All frequencies are being jammed.”
“Then he really does not want us to surrender.”
Michi glanced at Satoh to see how he took that news. The man was listlessly pawing through the maps, seemingly oblivious to what would be a death sentence for the Kurita forces on Barlow's End. If the Davions could not accept a surrender, no one could fault them for killing all the Kuritans they found. They would claim that any attempts to give up were merc tricks to get closer before attacking.
The end was in sight.
Michi turned to the commtech, “You can no longer serve here. Find a rifle and join the brave soldiers defending the camp.”
“We must hold here,” Satoh mumbled softly. “We must complete the plan ... the plan ... the plan will succeed.”
The commtech had not moved, despite Michi's order. His face was a study in fear, his eyes begging salvation from the young officer.
“You have an order, soldier,” Michi said harshly. “Now move!”
The man almost ran into the door in his haste to leave. Michi watched Satoh as the Tai-sa shuffled through his maps—maps that were hours out of date. Satoh was lost in his own mind. Unnerved by the disaster unfolding around him, he began to give orders to subordinates who had been reported killed or captured in the fighting with the Davion forces.
Satoh's failure of will and his retreat from reality betrayed the men under his command, his last order condemning each of them to a useless death. Minobu's carefully nurtured troops would be wasted, thrown away uselessly.
This could not be considered good service to Lord Kurita, Michi decided. His face hardened into a grim mask as he saw what needed to be done.
Against the roar of the battle outside, the sound of a single pistol shot was lost.
26
Office of the Commander, Galedon City, Galedon V
Galedon Military District, Draconis Combine
2 November 3026
“Warlord, the ComStar Precentor of Galedon requests an audience.”
The aide stood at rigid attention, his right fist over his heart in the formal Kurita military salute. Speaking to Jerry Akuma, Samsonov ignored the aide. “That is an interesting reversal. I usually have to visit with a battalion at my back to get a moment of the Precentor's precious time. What do you make of it?”
“Perhaps the venerable Precentor Phud is motivated by something more impressive than three dozen BattleMechs.”
Samsonov coughed a rough laugh. “There is little more persuasive than that, unless it is more 'Mechs.”
“Even ComStar Planetary Coordinators are men, Warlord,” Akuma said, face lit with a knowing smile. “Most men find self-interest to be a powerful motivator. Perhaps our Precentor desires a favor.”
“You may be right. If he wanted to make trouble, he would have barged past anybody in his way, wailing about the sanctity of his office. He must want something.” Samsonov thrust out his lower jaw and stroked it with his hand. “Whatever it is, i
t'll cost him. Let him start with a wait.”
Samsonov's eyes speared the aide. “Bring the Precentor here in an hour.”
“Hai, Warlord.”
Exactly an hour later, the Precentor was ushered into the Warlord's office, but the man who walked through the door that Akuma held open was not Jhi To Phud.
The formal robes of office swayed around a man taller and thinner than the fat old bureaucrat they had dealt with in the past. Light gleamed from the expensive fabrics and ornaments the man wore, as well as from his bald head. The passage of many years was evident on his face, but the new Precentor's firm step gave no sign that advanced age had brought him infirmity. His motions were those of one assured of his own dignity and power. He approached the Warlord's heavy teak desk, bowed, and said, “The blessings of the Sainted Blake be upon you, my son.”
Samsonov gave the man a cold stare. The unannounced change in Precentors was clearly an attempt to discomfit him. Two could play that game, he decided. Rather than reply to his visitor, the Warlord indicated a chair with a wave of his hand. The Precentor showed no outrage at this latest petty insult. He sat where indicated and said no more.
Silence stretched, each man waiting for the other to buckle under the tension. Curiosity piqued and temper rising, it was Samsonov who broke the silence. Smiling coldly, he said, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Precentor?”
“The honor is mine, Warlord. I regret to inform you that Precentor Phud has been called to other duties.” The Precentor paused for a moment, a look of formal sadness on his face. “He had reported to the First Circuit that his relationship with you was smooth and beneficial to all concerned. That is a pattern I believe to be worth preserving.
“I am Alexandre Kalafon, his replacement. I have come to establish my credentials. All the proper documents are contained in the weekly message pouch that my secretary is holding in the outer office.”
Wolves on the Border Page 20
