Ghost War mda-1

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Before we could begin to even the odds, however, the tide of battle shifted dramatically and I learned why Bernard had not gone directly after Catford. It was, instead, his intention to torture the man. Catford, who likely saw the battle of Obsidian Island as his return to glory, got to watch his dreams evaporate.

  Driving further south and hooking back to the west, Captain Isabel Siwek brought her command lance around and unloaded everything they had into Catford’s ’Mech lance. The bird-legged Catapult just crumpled like a toy hit with a sledgehammer. One of the SM1s blasted the Arbalest with the autocannon, blowing its chest apart. The humanoid ’Mech staggered backward, then crashed into the trees. A small, resilient sapling snapped upward through its missing chest and wavered there for a second before bursting into flame.

  Bernard had bought Siwek and her company of ’Mechs with a hefty bribe. As her treachery became manifest, Bernard’s mercenaries launched more missiles at Catford’s command. They concentrated on the heavier of the remaining two ’Mechs. Missile explosions rippled over the Jupiter but could not bring it to bay.

  “Lead, which is it? Cat or the Rat?”

  “Save the Militia.”

  “As ordered, lead.” The command made sense, as the Militia troops were the only innocents in the battle. I dropped the gold crosshairs on the Black Hawk, got a pulsing dot in the heart of them to indicate a lock, then tightened up on two triggers. Ghost rocked back and down as forty missiles arced skyward, then converged on the ’Mech. Waves of heat washed over me, and watching the damage done sent a chill through me.

  The missiles sowed fire all over and around the Black Hawk, pulverizing armor. It fell in a ferro-ceramic blizzard around the ’Mech’s feet, in some cases sloughing off in whole sheets. The humanoid engine of war wavered for a moment as the smoke cleared. The pilot fought to keep the machine in balance, but the sudden loss of tons of armor and the battering it had taken left him unable to control it. It pitched forward, smashing down on a knee and then its hands.

  Janella used lasers and LRMs to further savage the ’Mech. Missiles shattered yet more armor, then the ruby needles of her medium lasers stabbed into the myomer muscles providing the ’Mech’s strength. The corded fibers in the left arm parted with a snap, flicking little gobbets of artificial tissue into the air. The Black Hawk’s left arm crumpled, plowing its shoulder and head into the ground. Her attack left it struggling vainly to rise again.

  Though clearly surprised by Isabel Siwek’s treachery, Catford reacted swiftly and brutally. He spun his Jupiter with an agility I’d not expected and extended both of his ’Mech’s arms toward Siwek’s Ryoken II. The pair of PPCs mounted on the left forearm crackled with artificial lightning. Their jagged cerulean beams slashed the squat ’Mech. One seared an ugly scar up through the left side of the body while the other danced lightning over the cockpit itself. Melting armor gushed in a torrent down to the ground, where it bubbled and smoked.

  The quartet of autocannons on the Jupiter’s left forearm likewise proved terrifyingly efficient. Two chewed their way into the armor on the left arm and right thigh, leaving stippled trails of granulated armor behind. The other two, however, blasted into the cockpit, obliterating the canopy. Whether it was the hail of glass ripping her to shreds, or the heavy slugs pulping her human remains, Isabel Siwek died as ugly as the treachery she’d been a party to.

  Bernard’s mercenaries again launched on Catford’s command. Missile fire pounded his Jupiter, but he didn’t go down. The Militia blasted back at the incoming vehicles in Siwek’s command. While they showed little coordination in their attack, fortune smiled and their attacks knocked out several of the hovertanks while they only lost one Demon Medium Tank.

  With Siwek down, her company could have buckled, but being professionals they held it together and began to maneuver cautiously to close with their former allies. Catford’s Jupiter exploded a Condor, but took some laser and autocannon fire in return, then another salvo or two of missiles.

  Janella’s Tundra Wolf laced a Scimitar’s right flank with laser fire. The green and red beams turned armor molten and opened a fiery hole into the crew compartment. That hovertank slew around to the side before both fans died. Its burning hulk marked a point past which none of Siwek’s other vehicles advanced.

  This was good for the Militia, but not so good for us. The remaining Scimitar and three Condors began to maneuver to focus on us. I used more missiles to rake one of the Condor tanks. I got lucky and popped the left tread off the tank, which created more of a driving hazard for the others than any serious damage. As one spun to the left to avoid the stricken tank, it plowed into the downed Black Hawk’s right arm. Neither of them benefited from the collision. The Condor remained operational, but the one I’d hit slammed into it from behind, wedging it in place.

  Bernard Germayne might not have been the most politically savvy guy, but as a tactician he had some talent. The battle hinged on finishing Catford’s force as fast as possible before he had to deal with us. We were a wild card and, for the moment, we were being played in his favor. With Catford gone, he’d have his company, Siwek’s company and the remains of the Militia, against which the two of us could not possibly stand. Killing a Knight of The Republic could have repercussions, there was no doubt about it, but if he was in firm control of the planet, the chances of retribution coming swiftly given the current crisis were negligible.

  His Catapult launched two more salvos that laced Catford’s Jupiter with explosions. Armor shards whirled away, shattering further on the hard ground. The Jupiter seemed to hunch down, like an old man beneath a pounding rain, then rose up again, but did not turn to face Bernard. I don’t know if, in that moment, Catford realized he was not going to walk away from this fight, or chose to die in it to avoid the humiliation of being trapped and beaten. I might even give him the benefit of the doubt and suggest he decided to save some of his people. He sent his Jupiter into the midst of Siwek’s company, blazing away with the autocannons and PPCs, laying about with his right arm, smashing the Pack Hunter.

  He did make inroads into their formation, but he never made it all the way through their murderous return fire. With its armor in tatters and right arm melted beyond recognition, the Jupiter fell forward. Fire vomited from the cockpit as the command couch ejection system ignited. The rockets that should have boosted him high into the air instead smashed him into the stone crescent around Blacklake.

  With Catford’s death, the Ff W left wing stopped its battle against Bernard’s Scimitars. The three remaining Jessies swiveled their SRM launchers skyward in surrender, and clearly some intense negotiation went on. When the launchers came back down and the vehicles oriented northward, I figured the negotiations had ended in Bernard’s favor.

  Bernard’s mercenaries and the remains of the Ff W fighters turned toward us.

  Janella’s voice came through strongly and loudly over the radio. “Lord Bernard Germayne, I am Lady Janella Lakewood, Knight of The Republic of the Sphere. You and your people are to power down immediately. You are under arrest for conspiracy to murder a Republic citizen.”

  Arrogance filled Bernard’s reply. “I control Basalt. Your Republic is powerless. Your charges have no validity here. You have no authority here. You are not wanted here. Leave my planet.”

  “Lord Germayne, I ask you again to surrender, for the consequences of your refusal will be most dire.” Janella kept her voice even, but a little bit of an edge crept in. “Surrender, if not for yourself, then for your people. They need not die for your foolishness.”

  “Your arrogance is unbelievable, woman.” I could see the sneer on Bernard’s face as he said that. “A hundred thousand C-bills to the one who kills her.”

  In saying that, he gave Janella no choice.

  She employed Colonel Niemeyer’s surprise.

  39

  Of all the nasty surprises to be had, stumbling into a trap of your own making has to be the worst.

  —Anonymous, quoted posthumousl
y

  Obsidian Island, Blacklake District

  Basalt

  Prefecture IV, Republic of the Sphere

  2 March 3133

  Bernard Germayne had managed to make for himself two enemies, one old and one rather new. The old one, Colonel Niemeyer, disliked Bernard as much as he loved Basalt. I’d seen his love for the world in the first visit he paid me. It never occurred to me that he’d have treated anyone else less harshly than he had me when he became aware of their presence, and he had not. He’d even kept tabs on us as best his resources allowed.

  Which reacquainted him with Bernard’s newest enemy. Alba Dolehide really had not appreciated Bernard’s lack of trust in her, so she ran—right to Niemeyer. She’d correctly guessed that Niemeyer could hide her until things cooled off. She wanted to see Bernard brought down—both for personal reasons and because it was no mystery to her what sort of lousy ruler he’d make.

  As a brake on him she’d even absconded with the location of a mixed lance of Bernard’s toys. Once the confrontation had been set for Obsidian Island, Niemeyer rounded up a group of pilots to man those machines and they were brought to a point in the jungle just west of the killing field. Since Niemeyer’s people were handling perimeter security, all reports of contacts in that direction were edited out of data sent to Bernard.

  Short-range missiles shot from Obsidian Island, corkscrewing into their targets. Their detonations blasted craters in armor, but dropped no ’Mechs. Niemeyer’s people directed their fire at Bernard’s mercenaries and the remnants of the FfW, leaving the Militia untouched. Once they’d launched their missiles, they hunkered down to let pilots waste munitions and hot light on the ancient fortress.

  The long-range shots from Alba’s lance likewise pounded the mercenaries, but with far more effect. She piloted an Arbalest and its missile salvo crunched the aft armor of a Legionnaire. The missiles opened its back and the autocannon ammo in the right side of its chest cooked off. The resulting explosion tossed the humanoid ’Mech to the right, where it clipped the mercenary Arbalest standing next to it.

  Bernard and his people faced some tough choices. While Bernard didn’t fear attacking a Republic Knight, others in his command were more thoughtful, and yet others utterly mindless. The eager but stupid pilot in the Hatchetman launched his ’Mech into the air on jump jets. With the club upraised, he clearly intended to strike a swift blow and earn the bounty on Janella’s head.

  Calmly and coldly, Janella backed the Tundra Wolf and brought the right arm up. The quartet of medium lasers snapped red light at the flying ’Mech. All but one struck it in the right elbow, vaporizing the last of its armor and burning into the joint. Titanium bones glowed red on their way to white, then became fluid. The forearm and club sailed away and the ’Mech, unbalanced, came down hard on the left leg. The hip joint snapped, driving the thigh up into the torso. The left arm flailed, as did the smoking stump of the right, then the ’Mech fell back. It smashed into the ground, shaking it, and shaking the confidence of those who thought the bounty would be easily won.

  The warriors who had been in Siwek’s command hesitated before entering the fight. Catford’s Jessies did come forward, clearly anxious to win Bernard’s favor. With Alba’s people behind Bernard’s position the tactical situation balanced out the forces arrayed against us. It should have been an even fight.

  What unbalanced it, however, was the Basalt Militia. As the commander said afterward, Janella and I had come into the fight and defended his people and planet. Bernard might have wanted to dispute his arrest, but ordering the murder of a Republic Knight wasn’t the way to do that. Being forced to choose sides, they chose for us and laid down a pattern of fire that drove the venturesome Jessies back.

  All these actions happened in the course of five seconds, and I watched them with the same distance I’d watched Tri-Vid dramas while Teyte’s prisoner. I was in the combat, no doubt about it, but I was still detached from it. I knew that was how I had to be as a Ghost Knight.

  I also realized it was wrong.

  My mind flashed to the kitchen where I’d helped serve meals. Quam had said it would become a charnel house, but I saw another vision. I saw it as a prison compound, with Bernard’s enemies, wasted and filthy, warehoused until the whim struck him to kill them. He would do that without question, and with his leadership, others on Basalt would follow him. His poison would infect them and this beautiful world would die.

  Detachment and distance indeed had been my stock in trade, but that was during a time when The Republic had been strong and able to deal with problems like this in a benign manner. My job was to investigate and seek solutions others could implement. The problem now was that Bernard was a force that was accelerating entropy, and the only way to counter that was to inject more energy into the system.

  My energy.

  I discovered that Bernard had made himself a third enemy: ME.

  I brought my crosshairs around and dropped them on the outline of Bernard’s Catapult. Without a second’s hesitation I launched two flights of missiles at him, and he returned the favor. Both of our attacks hit solidly. Heat from the missile launchings flooded my cockpit, then his missiles poured down over me. Ghost shook as if in an earthquake and the explosions sounded as if I were in the heart of a Basalt thunderstorm. Light flashed, shrapnel pinged. Alarms went off in my cockpit and the outline of my ’Mech on the primary monitor went from green to yellow as armor was reduced to dust.

  My Mad Cat III staggered, but I managed to keep it on its feet despite a feeling of dizziness and sweat burning into my eyes. Though my ’Mech massed less than the Catapult, I could hit harder. My only weakness was that Ghost was a bit more fragile than Bernard’s ’Mech. As the smoke cleared around me, I cut to the left, moving perilously close to Siwek’s old command.

  Another barrage from Alba’s lance nibbled at the rear of Bernard’s mercenary formation. Her troops emerged from the rain forest and were angling toward the last of Siwek’s command, but kept their fire on Bernard’s mercs. The implications were clear: they didn’t have to get dead if they didn’t want to. The Militia ripping into their former comrades gave everyone a pretty good indication of the locals’ dislike for them.

  Bernard fired at me again, but as we were both moving, half his missiles missed and the rest just ground armor away. I retaliated by hitting him with some lasers that burned away the last of the armor over his left thigh. Another chunk of damage there and he’d go down.

  Easier said than done, however. He was already moving east, toward Siwek’s company, doubtless exhorting them to enter the fight. With his ’Mech moving that fast, the chances of me getting a specific enough target lock to take that leg out were slim. Each step carried him further from me, but if I pursued, I would trade movement for range in targeting trouble.

  Janella’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Be aware, helping Bernard Germayne will subject you to arrest by The Republic as well. You can never hide. He cannot save you.”

  I keyed my microphone. “Not only that: he’s broke. You’ll never get what he promised you.”

  I must say that is the nice thing about mercenaries: they are loyal to themselves and have a fine grasp of microeconomics. The two SM1s swiveled their turrets and shot, but not at Bernard. Their autocannon fire gnawed through two of the Jessies. The rest of Siwek’s old command focused on Bernard’s mercs as well, making them into an “Oh God why me?” sandwich against Alba’s force and the Militia.

  Bernard flew on toward the rain forest, seeking escape. I punched two buttons on my communications console and tightbeamed a message to him. “Has Germayne blood turned yellow, Bernie? Is it that you’re stupid enough to think that if you run away, you’ll live to fight another day? Teyte didn’t—I saw to that—and I’ll do you, too.”

  I’m not sure if it was just the words, or his recognizing my voice, but sparks flared from beneath his ’Mech’s feet as he brought it around to face me. The LRM launchers on the ’Mech’s shoulders
spat fire. His anger might have made him foolish, but it also focused him. Though my antimissile system whined and picked off a few projectiles, Bernard’s salvos still smashed unerringly into Ghost, ripping the right arm clean off.

  The blasts staggered the ’Mech. I slipped to the left—was knocked to that side, truth be told. Sweat and a bit of blood from my bitten tongue filled my mouth. Struggling with the controls, I kept the ’ Cat upright, then shifted the left foot forward and raked my crosshairs over his ’Mech. Bernie, in what he saw as a moment of triumph, stood there, tall, imposing—his ’Mech mirroring his posture at our first meeting.

  The gold dot on my crosshairs burned bright.

  My missiles streaked out on smoky ropes linking me with him. He had no defense, but even the best would not have blunted my attack. His momentary motionlessness, his arrogance, gave me a better target than he really wanted. The missiles leaped from the ’Cat, then dipped down for a second before all arrowed in at his Catapult.

  Bernard’s ’Mech had lost all the armor from the left thigh. While not all my missiles struck that target, out of forty enough did reach it. Explosions clawed their way through the myomer muscles. They chopped at ferro-titanium bones, knocking great chips from them while other blasts just twisted and warped them. The Catapult, which massed sixty-five tons, shifted to the left as the ravaged bone screamed and parted. The shin fell back and the ’Mech crashed left.

  It landed hard on a missile rack, which exploded and almost managed to pitch the ’Mech back upright. I could almost feel Bernard’s spirit soaring for a second. In his mind, I was certain, he felt victory in his grasp.

  He clung to it the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.