Fire at Will

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  “How were you thinking of taking advantage of this?”

  Klaus shifted excitedly in his seat. “Rumor, Lady Steiner. Using loyalists, we circulate a rumor about Nordhoff deliberately seeking to kill the duke and make sure it reaches Vedet. We have a courier JumpShip at the nadir jump point. I send a message to them, they let the word leak out. From what I’ve seen and read, the duke has a powerful ego. The idea that one of his handpicked people is turning against him, possibly even trying to kill him—well, the duke’s not going to sit for it. Causing tension between the two of them will weaken the duke in the long term, with very little risk to us.”

  “Excellent work, Klaus. Make it happen. Every little edge we can create to keep Duke Vedet in check is useful.”

  I only hope it’s enough, thought Trillian.

  LCAF Forward Staging Base Stealth

  McKeesport Proper, Millungera

  Lyran Commonwealth (formerly Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey)

  Security had called General Stephen Harper of the Fifth Lyran Regulars to report to the ’Mech bay where his Mad Cat II was berthed. It had been a short night for him already. There had been an incident at a local bar with those hoodlums of the Broken Swords Battalion. Somehow that bastard Frost had managed to get his troops out of there before the shit hit the fan. Frost was lucky they already were slated to depart for Tamarind—he’d heard their DropShips lift off an hour ago. If they weren’t on their way to the front, hopefully to be destroyed, he would have chewed out Frost till his nether regions were sore. Everyone knew Frost was only where he was because he was somehow friends with Trillian Steiner. After what he had done on Algorab, he was lucky to be allowed to stay in the service.

  The general walked briskly to the ’Mech bay and saw the main door was open. There were five ’Mechs visible as he entered the four-story building. His was in the center of the group. He could see immediately what was wrong.

  His Mad Cat II had been painted for urban warfare, straight stripes of various shades of gray. It wasn’t that camouflage really mattered on a BattleMech; it was hard to hide a three-story humanoid-shaped war machine that moved at sixty kilometers per hour. It’s not like they could pretend to be a tree. But someone had drastically altered the paint scheme of his Mad Cat II.

  Buckets of bright paint had been poured over the front of his BattleMech, completely obscuring the cockpit ferroglass. In other spots, it looked as if someone had deliberately splashed paint onto the ’Mech to deface it. He was so mad that he was shaking. I’m a goddamned general. Nobody does this to my ’Mech. Nobody!

  He walked around the BattleMech, and could see splatters of paint on the floor. A number of soldiers milled about, some pointing up, others fleeing when they saw him coming. He could see what they had been pointing at. Stark black words had been spray-painted over the insignia of the Fifth Lyran Regulars: BROKEN SWORDS RULE!

  Frost! “Get a damn cleanup crew in here right now!” he bellowed. “I don’t know who that little shit thinks he is, but if I get my hands on him, he’s a dead man!” he muttered, loud enough for the other troops to hear. Techs scrambled for painting gear while General Harper contemplated multiple, punishing schemes for revenge.

  21

  DropShip Archon’s Pride

  Orbital Entry Approach to Zanzibar

  Tamarind, Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey

  29 November 3137

  Roderick looked at the massive green and khaki globe of Tamarind below him and felt pleased. He had arrived at a pirate point and slid into the flight corridor without any reaction from the planet below. Even in their heightened state of alert, the Duchy forces apparently had overlooked him—for a few minutes, anyway.

  Communications would be impossible during landing, so he was reaching out to Trillian now. He hoped she had been successful, and that peace was in the offing. More realistically, he assumed he would have to fight. If I were in Fontaine’s shoes, I think I’d roll the dice and try to slug it out.

  “Glove, this is Sword.” His words would be scrambled and beamed via laser directly to the consulate in Zanzibar. “We are on schedule.”

  There was no response for a full two minutes. He waited. Patience was important in this kind of operation. Finally, Colonel Klaus Wehner, Trillian’s aide, responded. “This is Gauntlet, Sword. Glove is indisposed.”

  “Is the party on?”

  There was a pause. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Can you squirt me updates?”

  “On the way, Sword.”

  “Let Glove know we’re in town. Let her know that the party will start on schedule.”

  “Will do, Sword. Godspeed.” Even through the imperfect transmission, Roderick could hear regret in Wehner’s voice. Klaus was a military man. He knew, and regretted, that lives would be lost. He knew the cost of war.

  He switched the comm unit to intercom, and simultaneously broadcast to the other two DropShips, Rogue Star and Sandpiper. “This is Guard One to all units,” he said. He could hear his voice echoing on the bridge and in the adjoining areas. “Diplomatic efforts on Tamarind have not been successful. It looks as if we are going to have to help convince old man Marik that it’s time to toss in the towel.

  “As such, this is going to be a hot drop. We are going for our primary LZ. Assume all forces to be hostile unless I tell you different. We are going to hit our primary objectives and do it smartly.

  “The time has come for everyone to see that a Broken Sword is a truly dangerous weapon.” He toggled off the comm unit and addressed Captain Eddington. “Captain, you may take us down. Set condition one. Prepare for combat ops.”

  Lyran Consulate

  Zanzibar, Tamarind

  “The channel is clear,” said Consul Gustoffson, diplomatic liaison between the Lyran Commonwealth and the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey. Trillian Steiner’s arrival on-planet moved him to a secondary but still important role. Since the beginning of the war between his government and the Duchy, he had struggled to maintain diplomatic dialogue with Fontaine Marik and his government. Without his tireless work, Trillian knew that her job would be much more difficult.

  Though it could not be more difficult than it would now become. With the arrival of Roderick’s force in-system, the Duchy government had leapt into action. The holonews broadcasts consisted of little else than wartime rules for the planet’s population. There was no panic, but it was clear that the atmosphere of Zanzibar and probably all of Tamarind had changed. Rather than negotiating for peace, Trillian now was going to have to try to convince Fontaine Marik of the futility of fighting.

  Trillian nodded for Klaus and the consul to leave the consulate’s tiny communications room. Deep, built-in wood bookshelves lined the walls, containing collections of Commonwealth writings. The room was warm and comfortable, like a library. She settled more comfortably into the cushioned chair and took a deep breath.

  People always assumed that Trillian lived her life with the benefits that naturally accrued to her last name. They presumed that her life was easy; and that was true much of the time. Being a Steiner had many benefits beyond mere recognition. Yet her current task, facing a tough negotiation, was one in which she paid the price for her heritage. Very few people would choose to change places with her now—on an enemy-controlled capital world during a war. This is where I show what a Steiner is made of.

  She pressed the button. The holoimage in front of her flickered to life, and the head and shoulders of Fontaine Marik appeared. The anger he had controlled in their previous talks was no longer held in check. His usually pale skin was red, and he looked years younger. The arrival of Roderick’s force seemed to have breathed new life into him. His long white hair and goatee were the only evidence of his true age as he glared at her.

  “A few minutes ago our defense installations picked up multiple DropShips inbound to Tamarind. Their transponders are Lyran—but you already know that, don’t you, Lady Steiner? Is this how you treat me and my people? You land an invasion force during negotiation
s?”

  “I told you more than once, Duke Marik, that military operations would continue, and that I was not in a position to prevent that. The forces landing on Tamarind are those responsible for conquering Labourgiere, the elite Broken Swords. My recommendation to you is that we conclude our negotiations and prevent further loss of life.”

  Fontaine laughed mockingly. “So this is the Steiner definition of peace. You invade my Duchy, you come to negotiate peace at the end of a barrel of a gun? Well then, it is my duty, as heir to the true line of Mariks, to show you how we deal with such blatant violations of the rules of diplomacy. There will be no peace, Lady Steiner. The liberation of the Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey begins here and now. I will scramble my forces and send them right into your little invasion force. You have confirmed what I assumed—that negotiations are just a trick for you Steiners.” The image disappeared.

  “Well, I guess Duke Marik is done talking,” she said out loud to herself.

  She rose slowly and opened the door. Klaus and Consul Gustoffson were waiting in the next room. “Duke Marik has opted for a military solution. He has broken off our talks.”

  Consul Gustoffson spoke nervously. “Lady Steiner, I expect the duke will move to seize the consulate and take us all into custody. Fontaine would love to hold the archon’s cousin as a bargaining chip.”

  “We need a way out,” Klaus prompted.

  “We dug tunnels years ago, for just such a situation. I cannot guarantee that they have remained a secret from the locals, but I recommend we position you and your aide and a few guards to exit the consulate immediately via that route.”

  Trillian unconsciously touched the Cameron star necklace, as she always did in times of stress. “Send a warning to Roderick that they are going to come right at him.”

  Klaus nodded. “Immediately, Lady Steiner. But you must allow the consul to take you to the tunnels. I will join you shortly.”

  She realized he was staring at her neck, and abruptly became aware that she was caressing her necklace. She reached for the clasp and unfastened it. “We need to destroy our records,” Trillian continued, proud that her voice remained steady. “Leave them nothing to work with if they take this building.” I swore I would never take this off, but desperate times

  call for desperate measures. The necklace was unique, and surely would identify her. She suppressed a grin. Her daddy was a Steiner too—he’d understand.

  “I will do my duty, milady,” Gustoffson replied.

  She followed the guards down the hallway, swearing silently to herself. It bothered her that her negotiations ploy didn’t work. It bothered her that Roderick was now going into a difficult battle. It bothered her most that Duke Vedet had been right.

  Primary Landing Zone

  The Harvison Flats

  South of Zanzibar, Tamarind

  Roderick found the roar of the pair of Stuka fighters overhead reassuring as he deployed his command company from the DropShip. They broke off to the north and angled away, obviously in pursuit of a target. “Come on, people, we need to move. Get to those bridges and blow them quick,” he barked. BattleMechs, vehicles and infantry poured out of the ship and fanned out across the dusty plain. The Harvison Flats were not strictly desert terrain, but were close to it. A shallow-growing, yellow-green grass barely held down the soil.

  He had chosen the Flats for his landing zone because they offered wide-open terrain where he could land his aerospace assets. His VTOLs were being unloaded and prepped for dust-off. A Yasha, outfitted with an autocannon under the cockpit, kicked on its turbofans and rose, sending up billowing clouds of sand and dust. Roderick watched as it moved off to the distance.

  A dozen kilometers away, between the capital city and the Flats, snaked the Zanzibe River, a muddy streak bracketed by lush green banks. Only a handful of bridges crossed the river, and their first objective was to shatter those bridges. Doing so wouldn’t prevent an attack by the Duchy forces, but it would limit how many of the enemy came and how fast.

  The Duchy of Tamarind-Abbey appeared to be spoiling for a fight. A lance of their aerospace fighters, old but still deadly, had swept in to point-blank range against the DropShips as they landed. It took guts to initiate an attack against a DropShip. The Sandpiper took three dozen long-range missile hits and numerous laser and PPC hits in the brutal initial assault, but their courage cost the pilots their lives. The ship turrets chewed up the fighters. Two went up almost immediately; the remaining two tried to break and run, but they both crashed on the edge of the Flats. Roderick could see the rising smoke plume from one, a black grave marker to a brave defender of the Duchy.

  “This is Savage One, alpha objective is toast,” Jamie Kroff reported.

  “Good job. Shift to your secondary and prepare for a counterattack,” he replied as he angled his Rifleman to the west.

  “This is Saber One. We are at beta objective. I have bad guys here,” Trace Decker’s voice said.

  Time to earn my pay. “Roger that, Saber One. This is Sword One. Command Lance, form up on me. We are going to sector three bravo.” He throttled up the massive fusion reactor under his seat and the Rifleman throbbed to life. He jogged the BattleMech in the lead of his lance across the Flats, his cockpit slowly warming around him. The coolant in his vest gurgled slightly as it began to circulate at the rise in temperature.

  His long-range sensors picked up the activity a moment later. The Duchy had sent a strike team, about a company’s worth of hovercraft and lightly armored infantry to the river. They came across the muddy waters and up the shallow grass- and tree-lined embankments. The bridge over the Zanzibe was down; Trace had done his job, but the hovercraft were circling him.

  Roderick activated his targeting computer and swung the sight along the display, locking it on to the lead Marik Pegasus. The sleek craft was emblazoned with a purple eagle with five-pointed stars in each wing, being clutched at the tail by a human hand. A spray of uranium-tipped armor-piercing rounds mauled the Pegasus’ flank and the hovercraft jerked back, swinging wildly, seemingly surprised by the arrival of his lance.

  Another two Pegasuses broke formation and swung straight at him, firing their missiles without waiting for a target lock. He heard a rumble to his left but didn’t look. Sword Two was there, Warrant Officer Juan Praxis in a Sun Cobra. The Cobra’s arm-mounted cannons, slightly modified from the original design, sprayed the middle Pegasus, tearing into her hoverskirt and forcing it to dip low into the grass, the pilot obviously fighting for control.

  Roderick held his target lock on the lead hovercraft. His second barrage was even more effective than the first. The autocannons seemed to purr at his right and left hands as he slowly squeezed the target interlock trigger. His Rifleman IIC held steady as the shells hit in two areas on the Duchy Pegasus. One barrage ate at the rear of the vehicle, devouring the directional vanes, while the second rounds hit in the same area as the first blast, digging deep into the guts of the hovercraft. There was a flicker of red and yellow in the cockpit, an internal explosion and then the hovercraft fell flat onto the sandy soil.

  His command lance poured their fire into the other Pegasus craft, which tried to bank around and make a break for the river. Its maneuver only served to spread the damage across all sides of the hovercraft. One of Decker’s DI Morgan assault tanks finished off one of the Pegasuses, hitting with all three of its massive particle-projection cannons. The other one made it to the river.

  Another wave of hovercraft, tiny Savannah Masters, raced to the rear of Decker’s unit. These hovercraft were mostly annoying. Lightly armored and fast as the wind, they carried only tiny lasers. They did little damage, but excelled at diverting attention from other threats. All four of them formed a line and circled around a Phoenix Hawk, each one nipping a small gouge of armor as they passed. The Hawk fired but couldn’t get a bead on any one of them, its brilliant green laser leaving a smoking trench in the dirt instead.

  “Sword One to Saber One. Good work on the bridge.�
� Roderick glanced over and saw the smoke from the ruins near the roadway. “Get your Sniper online. Have them lay down a barrage all around those Savannah Masters.”

  “Yes, sir!” Decker replied enthusiastically. It was easier than trying to go after them individually. A platoon of Kage troops from Decker’s company fired at the fast-moving hovercraft and managed to hit one of them, but despite the white trail of smoke it sprouted after the hit, the tiny vehicle seemed unshaken. Artillery, that’s the answer to these nasty buggers.

  Thunder rolled across the Harvison Flats, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The first artillery rounds landed behind the Savannah Masters and got their attention. They broke from their formation and started to fan out, a good call given what they were up against. A platoon of hover infantry from his own lance fired at one of the breaking Masters, hitting it and sending it plowing into the ground.

  The roar of explosions from incoming artillery suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once. One of the tiny hovercraft was tossed like a toy. The smoking shell of the previously injured Savannah Master fell in the distance. Flames roared through the burned-out husk of the frame and it flipped twice as explosions went off inside it. He couldn’t see the last of the tiny vehicles through the massive dust cloud kicked up by the artillery, but his sensors told him it was making a wide arc around the far end of Trace’s formation. That’s a damn brave and lucky pilot.

  He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Jamie Kroff reported in again. “I’ve got some bad guys attempting to ford the river in my sector, Sword One. I can bottle them up, but they seem anxious to get over here and are persistent pains in the ass, sir.”

  “Roger that,” Roderick replied. Taking out the bridges was a good start. There were a lot of Duchy troops, though, and they were determined to defend their planet at all costs. He looked in the direction of the capital, and could barely make out the spires of Zanzibar, though the massive communications tower in the center of the city stood out like a beacon.