Blood of the Isle
Page 16
Another full salvo as Jasek continued to trade against the Gyrfalcon’s lasers and autocannon. His Templar staggered backward. Temperatures in the cockpit soared as the fusion reactor spiked under the heavy power draw, straight through the yellow band and into the red.
Sweat stung at Jasek’s eyes, and his vision swam for a moment in the ready-made sauna. Only the chilled coolant passing through the tubes of his cooling vest kept his core temperature down enough. Kept him from heatstroke.
His breath came shallow as Jasek tried to not pull the scorched air deep into his lungs.
Then he adjusted his aim, threw his heat curve to the Fates, and traded full salvos with the Gyrfalcon again.
Something had to give.
Noritomo Helmer had recognized that when taking up his final defensive stand for Longview, and Chaffee by proxy. He had hoped it would be the Steel Wolves, at which he’d thrown some of his strongest forces throughout the day. But Anastasia Kerensky’s reputation seemed well deserved. She’d thrown some of her best back at him.
So had this Jasek Kelswa-Steiner. The Stormhammers had even stood strongly in the face of Lysle’s Elemental blitz, and then shoved it right back down his throat with the aerospace fighters.
Why hadn’t he seen that coming!
At best, he’d achieved a draw so far. Which was still worth a measure of honor considering the shape in which he’d found these cast-off warriors. The truly incompetent were long gone now, tempered from the unit in trial by fire. The best of his warriors remained. But even a finely edged piece of steel could dull if battered against unyielding rock, which was the danger of pushing a bad position.
Something had to give.
Him or the enemy commander, he decided.
Stunned and nearly dropped to the waterfront blacktop by the Templar’s blistering assault, Noritomo wrenched his control stick to lever both arms forward and trade new fusillades with Jasek. His autocannon belted out hundreds of rounds in their extra-long cycles, and lasers cut with ruby efficiency. Jasek’s answering combination of particle cannon and lasers could not match the Gyrfalcon’s impressive damage profile, but the Stormhammer leader had far better armor and a serious advantage with an advanced targeting computer that grouped his shots into deadly clusters.
Both machines staggered back from the blistering trade-off. Jasek with a gimpy knee, limping his Templar counterclockwise to Noritomo’s position. The Star colonel read his damage schematic with a practiced eye, and counted four warning lights on his left arm. Mostly actuators.
He sidestepped, turning more of his right profile toward the other man. He slashed at Jasek with his lasers again. And again.
Jasek pushed forward into point-blank range. His short-range missiles smashed two warheads into the side of Noritomo’s Gyrfalcon.
The battle ground nearly to a halt around the two BattleMechs as both sides recognized the honor match between their commanders. Kerensky’s Ryoken II physically restrained a Kelswa assault tank by holding a foot over its crew quarters. A pair of Steel Wolf Destroyers parked themselves nose to nose with the Stormhammers’ Praetorian mobile HQ.
Noritomo dialed for a common, unsecured frequency. “You will let this be decided by you and me now?” His lasers cut angry wounds into the Templar’s flank.
“Jousting hasn’t quite . . . gone out of style in the Jade Falcons, eh?”
The man had a polished voice and a speech giver’s cadence, but lazy grammar. He also sounded a bit winded. It had to be an oven inside his cockpit. His return fire came in staggered waves now, alternating between the two particle cannon.
“So be it. You and I.”
“Bargained well and done,” Noritomo formally accepted, and pulled into another savage alpha strike.
His autocannon hammered at a crack in the centerline of Jasek’s armored chest.
A tongue of flame licked out of the wound, and dark gray smoke from burning insulation drifted up into the Templar’s chest.
But Jasek had worked himself into optimum firing range for his entire weapons load-out as well, and by alternating fire between PPCs had lowered his heat curve back to reasonable levels. The barrels on his particle cannon glowed with a nimbus of energy; then new lightning arcs snaked their way between the two machines. One missed wide, but the second smashed away the last of the armor protecting the Gyrfalcon’s right flank.
Lasers and missiles probed for critical components.
Missed.
Not a second time, though. Short-cycling his weapons, damning the Templar’s heat curve and risking an automatic, heat-driven shutdown, Jasek blasted Noritomo with everything he had. The Templar’s targeting computer grouped it all into the Gyrfalcon’s savaged right side. The cascade of energy sliced through myomer and foamed-titanium supports.
It ruptured actuators.
Cut into the physical shielding on the ’Mech’s fusion reactor.
Heat sinks exploded and jets of greenish-gray coolant spurted out of the wounds like arterial blood.
The raw kinetic force of so much damage delivered in such short order threw the Gyrfalcon roughly to the ground like a man struck by lightning (twice!). The machine came down on its left side, crushing the last of its good armor against the blacktop. Noritomo shook against his seat restraints, feeling the harness buckle digging into his abdomen, his teeth clacking together hard enough to chip enamel.
He pulled in one arm and rolled the BattleMech over onto its chest, thinking to push himself back up as quickly as possible. But the Gyrfalcon’s right arm would not support any weight. And there was Jasek Kelswa-Steiner. One foot planted near his shoulder, the other next to his Gyrfalcon’s hip, and a host of deadly weapons pointed at the back of Noritomo’s head.
“Yield.”
It did not even come in the form of a request. Jasek knew he had the Star colonel in bad shape, prepared to decapitate the Gyrfalcon and turn Noritomo’s cockpit into a ready-made crematorium. Still, the Clan warrior almost said no just to throw the harsh demand back into his face.
Fortunately, a few seconds’ pause was not enough to prod Jasek into firing. “Yield, Star Colonel. And I will offer your forces hegira.”
Hegira. That put a new face on things. Completely. A Clan term, hegira offered the disadvantaged side of a conflict the option of honorable withdrawal from the battlefield. Whoever had been instructing Jasek Kelswa-Steiner on Clan traditions had not been wholly deficient, it seemed. Noritomo suspected Anastasia Kerensky and her Steel Wolves.
“I accept,” he said at once, “if your offer allows us to retain possession of all equipment and materiel.” Noritomo had spent too much time building up this force to let any man gut it for war spoils. He would rather let his warriors fight to the death. Jasek had to know that.
There was a slight pause. Then, “Any machine that can move under its own power may be removed to your DropShips. One third of all supplies and materiel not already aboard a DropShip can be taken with you. Chaffee, and the balance of your stockpiles, fall to us.”
It was a strong bargain. A tough one to swallow, which meant that Jasek had dealt harshly but not unfairly. Noritomo approved. “Done,” he said, transmitting in the clear so that his people would hear in his agreement the order to stand down.
“Bargained well and done,” Jasek replied. “You have saved a good many lives today, Star Colonel Helmer. That is not something to be ashamed of.”
No. Noritomo was not ashamed. And he would see that his warriors felt no great sting to their pride. The battle had brought them together, forging them into a coherent force from a rabble of so many individual warriors and units. They had acquitted themselves well, and they were mostly intact. Meaning that the core of a strong Clan battle Cluster would survive and be ready to assist Galaxy Commanders Hazen and Malthus in the campaign that truly mattered.
Noritomo’s warriors were not retreating.
They would be heading for Skye.
21
Norfolk
Skye
A few days earlier, Countess Tara Campbell had watched as a newly christened Overlord fired off its massive drive engines for the first time, lifting itself free of the dockyard cradle that had supported it during construction. The ground shook. The thirty-story DropShip trembled with pent-up power. Then, slowly at first, the Star Runner began to rise into the air, as if a titan’s invisible hand had reached down to uproot a skyscraper, pulling it out of Norfolk’s skyline.
Shipil Company had protested her order to launch early, citing all the work left to complete on the weapon systems, the sensor array, the finishing touches yet to be applied to the many offices and living quarters. When pressed, though, they admitted that it was work that could be completed out of dry dock, even if tradition demanded that a new vessel not leave its cradle without all defensive systems on line. So the order stood.
The drive flare had looked improbably bright, especially when it washed over the dark walls of the large facility. White golden fire that hurt to stare at. Even from half a kilometer away, Tara felt the backwash of heat on her face and the backs of her hands. She smelled flash-dried ferrocrete, like damp tarmac baking under an early-morning sun.
Maybe the local humidity bumped up a point or two.
Maybe it was her imagination.
But the Star Runner continued to lift and to roll, and eventually was lost to sight as a faint morning star in an expansive blue sky.
That had been three days ago. And as impressive as the first liftoff had been, Tara could only marvel at the feat of precision piloting being displayed as a different Overlord reversed the process, thundering down out of a cloud-drifted sky like one of the vengeful air spirits that House Liao probably worshipped.
The ovoid shape hung like Damocles’ sword over Shipil Company’s Norfolk complex, a crushing weight that had to sit heavily on the shoulders of those technicians who had drawn the short straw and worked the ground below. The Fanged Terror drifted into place, sitting atop a pillar of golden fire. Then as gently as a feather—a massive feather, nearly ten thousand tons in displacement—it lowered itself over the open cradle. Fusion-driven flames licked down over the carbonized ferrosteel supports and speared the bull’s-eye of the landing pad nestled within, and the DropShip lowered itself as easily as if it had come in on laser-point guidance. With a tolerance of only 2.3 meters—considered the maximum vibrational drift on a launching Overlord—the Fanged Terror threaded the cradle’s eye and set itself down perfectly within the Shipil complex.
It was a few minutes’ drive in a Shandra scout vehicle to get Tara back to the complex and through the series of security checkpoints put in place by Shipil. Leaving the main supply tunnel, her driver took her out under the cradle’s maze of bowed girders and flex-joint couplings, and then up the lowered ramp to meet with the DropShip passengers.
A squad of Elementals met her at the head of the ramp, blocking off deeper access into the main ’Mech bay. Tara disembarked from the Shandra, ignoring the towering infantrymen as she caught sight of her opposite number with the Steel Wolves. Anastasia Kerensky.
The other woman looked angry. Then again, Tara remembered very few meetings between the two of them where Kerensky did not look angry at something or someone. It came with the territory, she imagined, being raised in a warrior society, always having to look over your shoulder for the subordinate with an itch to prove himself.
Physically, it would have been hard for the two women to look less alike. They did share a similar height, but Kerensky’s frame was athletic, while Tara was slightly more curvy. Tassa Kay, as she sometimes styled herself, had long, dark red hair, cream-complexioned skin, and green, predatory eyes. She moved with loping strides, as if ready to jump for the throat at a second’s notice. The countess carried herself with a noblewoman’s easy grace, and if her platinum hair spiked short up top was not quite traditional (or regulation), it was a trademark of hers these days and had inspired many new hair fashions across The Republic.
They were different women. Different warriors. Tara held no illusions on that score. But she also owed a debt of gratitude to Kerensky and her Steel Wolves that Tara perhaps didn’t fully articulate at their last meeting. She decided to rectify that at once.
Holding out her hand, accepting Kerensky’s challenging grip, she said, “Commander Kerensky, you are welcomed back to Skye.”
“Am I?” Kerensky looked around, as if missing someone. “Last time it took three of you to throw me off-world. Where is Duke Gregory and his lapdog prefect?”
The hint of a Germanic accent colored Kerensky’s voice very subtly. If Tara had not known that the other woman had come of age on the Lyran Commonwealth border, she might have missed it.
“I would rather set politics aside for the moment,” Tara finally said. She crossed arms over her chest. “This is about survival.”
“It was last time as well.”
“Last time you were hardly invited to Skye,” Tara reminded her. And last time the enemy hadn’t shown a newfound tendency to throw nuclear weapons into the mix. The two women turned away from some nearby hot metalwork. The acrid stench burned Tara’s sinuses. She held up one hand to shield her eyes from the bright cutting flare.
“In fact,” she said, turning them in a short walk back toward the DropShip ramp and her vehicle, “we weren’t certain at first that you weren’t here to follow up the Jade Falcon assault with an attack of your own.”
“Wolves are hardly scavengers, looking for the Jade Falcons’ battlefield leavings. And I am sure you have seen reports from Seginus by now, so you know how much we gave to the effort on Skye last time and the service we have provided for Legate Hateya since then.” Anastasia looked out at the cradle’s framework. From here, it looked remarkably like a cage. “We did not expect red-carpet treatment, but you could have allowed my warriors the honor of being received in one of your main DropPorts. Not sneaking into the outback like pirates.”
“I would not call bringing your main DropShip in at Skye’s largest shipyard facility ‘sneaking in,” ’ Tara said. At least, not in the way that Kerensky meant it. “We cleared this area specifically for you.”
“Why?” The woman was full of suspicions. Just one of the things that kept her alive.
“Because I felt that you would be able to bring your vessel down here without causing damage.”
Kerensky nodded approval as her nearby Elementals stiffened to attention as they passed. “A nice evasion.”
Tara sighed. They would get into that soon enough. “Let’s just say that there have been some changes since you were here last. It’s a different war we’re fighting.”
“But with many of the same allies, it seems. We almost didn’t make the trip, but Jasek seems to believe that we have something about us which is needed here.” Did Kerensky notice the way Tara startled at Jasek’s name? “At least”—she smiled thinly—“by him.”
Was it her taunt or the familiar use of Jasek’s name that warmed the back of Tara’s neck? She caught her discomfort in both hands, and throttled it.
“I’m sure that Jasek made his desires clear.”
“Very,” the other woman said, layering several meanings behind her simple reply. “I have to admit, I find his boldness very refreshing. Unusual in an Inner Sphere leader. He’s a fascinating man, don’t you think?”
There was no doubt now that Kerensky had caught her hesitation. The mocking tone. Her sudden informality. Tara flushed.
“No, I don’t think,” she said crisply.
“Easy, Countess. No autopsy, no foul, quaiff?” She held her hands apart. Shrugged, as if to say it did not truly matter to her at all. Though obviously it did. “If you have some kind of prior claim . . .”
“I do not.”
“Truly? Well, some of his warriors seem to. There was one who I think was most upset that she was sent on to Glengarry while my Steel Wolves accompanied Jasek to Chaffee.”
“Tamara Duke,” Tara said at once, nod
ding. But Kerensky only smiled cryptically. What was that other one? The commander of the Tharkan Strikers? “Alexia Wolf?” she asked, frowning. The smile did not reach Kerensky’s eyes, and Tara realized that she was being baited. For a woman who was supposedly disinterested . . . damn her!
“I imagine several of Jasek’s officers were displeased with the division of forces.”
Kerensky hedged, as if balancing between desires to continue teasing Tara and to shift over to more serious matters. Serious won. “They were,” she admitted. “Though Paladin McKinnon could not seem to make up his mind whom he’d rather be stuck with.” Her face darkened. “And I hear that the Stormhammers had a hard time escaping Glengarry.”
News of the nuclear weapon had flashed across Skye with dramatic speed after the return of the Glengarry raiders. Not surprising that the Steel Wolves already had it. “It was a tactical nuke. Caught the Freedom’s Fist on descent. With the Friedensstifter taking off, fully loaded, we think there was a mistake in targeting. It could have been much, much worse.”
Not that it wasn’t bad enough. As it was, Tara would be responsible for informing Jasek of the loss of a Union-class vessel, fourteen crewmen, and a dozen embarked technicians. If the leader of the Stormhammers ever returned from Chaffee.
“Where is Jasek, anyway?” she asked, forcing the conversation over to practical matters.
Kerensky pursed her lips. “He sent us ahead almost as soon as he accepted the Jade Falcons’ formal surrender. We had to repair and refit en route. By the time we jumped from Chaffee, he was repairing what units he could from the salvage and stores left behind by the garrison, and after our share.” She shrugged. “Quite honestly, I expected him only a few days behind us. He must have been caught up with something.”
“And Star Colonel Helmer? What of him?”