Lieutenant Colonel Kell’s voice followed Salome’s comment quickly. “Truer words, Kell Hounds, couldn’t come from ComStar. Let’s get back to the base. Salome, Dan, executive staff meeting when we get back.”
Patrick Kell leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded. Salome Ward and Daniel Allard sat on the worn sofa by the window. Seamus Fitzpatrick joined Richard O’Cieran at the poker table. Cat Wilson, the only non-officer, lounged near the door.
Kell looked up from a folder. “The computer projections give the best percentage chance that the Kurita force on Pacifica is a company of Panthers. That also complies most with the mass equations relating to the water-for-’Mechs substitution that Leftenant Redburn suggested on his visit. Comments?”
O’Cieran nodded. “I’ve had my men on exercises in the swamp area, but nothing extensive. We’ve seen signs of someone living out there, but Branson’s Swamp has been a haven for yakuza and other outlaws since long before Kurita lost this world. We’ve narrowed possible encampments to some of the larger islands, but we can’t check them out unless we go in forcefully. I’ve not done that because we agreed last time that we don’t want to let them know that we know of their existence.”
Patrick Kell nodded curtly. “That’s a plan I intend to stick with. Just continue your sweeps in the daily exercise schedule you have. Dan?”
“I don’t believe the Panther company was meant to be part of the invasion.”
Kell’s thick brows knitted in concentration. “Explain.”
Dan nodded. “OK. We knew of the other two landing spots through our spy network, right? We didn’t know of this one, and I think Kurita wanted to slip the Panthers in on us secretly. If their attack with the main force couldn’t drive us off, they’d have this other company in place. They didn’t even let their people on Pacifica know what is going on.”
O’Cieran frowned. “What about the other Panther company? The one the aerojocks took out?”
Dan hesitated, then continued. “I think Kurita meant for them to be a diversionary force. If we’d gotten reports of a Panther or two wandering around out there, we’d have sent my lance or your troops to meet them. A dozen Panthers would certainly have overwhelmed such a small force.”
Salome shifted her position on the sofa and looked at Dan. “Why the huge main force?”
Dan shrugged and Cat Wilson levered himself away from the wall. Although Wilson had refused a commission many times during his tenure with the Kell Hounds, the officers considered Cat very much a member of the executive staff. He half-smiled and squinted his dark eyes as though attempting to penetrate the mystery surrounding Kurita’s actions.
“The Dragon never forgets. Takashi Kurita still burns from our last encounter on Mallory’s World. Whenever Kurita decides to come after us, they’ll come hard and try to crush us bad.”
Patrick Kell smiled broadly. “As always, Cat, you make a whole lot of sense. Added to what Cat’s just said, I’d say that Kurita will either evacuate those Panthers, or reinforce them. Until then, they’ll probably stage a few raids on some of the agro-complexes.”
Dan stood. “I think I should point out, Patrick, that Panthers are known for their ability to fight in cities. This spaceport is about the closest thing Pacifica has to a city of any importance in this area. If reinforcements arrive in system, I’d bet they’ll make their move here.”
Kell looked around the room and saw mute nods of agreement. “Good point.” He looked over at O’Cieran. “Rick, have your troopers with SRM launchers replace the missiles with infernos.”
At the mention of those napalm rockets, every MechWarrior in the room felt a slight shiver of horror. Infernos exploded in close proximity to a ’Mech, covering it with jellied fuel that ignited on contact with oxygen. The fuel clung to a ’Mech, leaving it awash in fire. Inferno rockets caused a ’Mech’s heat to soar and could roast a MechWarrior inside his craft in seconds. It was the one infantry weapon that all MechWarriors feared, and ’Mechs seldom carried them as ammo for their own SRM launchers because of the inferno’s volatility.
Jump Infantry Major O’Cieran took the order without batting an eye. “I’ll also put an order through the computer system notifying all the techs and astechs that it’s again time for them to qualify with small arms, just in case the Kurita spy network is still tapped into our system. I can’t imagine the Panthers coming in without some infantry support, and the mass of a company of troopers would be lost as a rounding error in your computer projections. We might as well have the hired help with us as against us.”
Kell nodded solemnly, as he looked around at his staff. “Tell all your people to carry sidearms. Let’s tighten things up, but let’s not make it look too conspicuous.” He looked up and was about to dismiss the meeting when he suddenly remembered something else. “Oh, Dan, whatever happened with the Nick Jones situation? Have you figured out how we’re going to get him off world on the Intrepid? I asked General Joss, but she said she couldn’t speed up the paperwork because we’re in the Isle of Skye. That means Lestrade will be watching everything with a quark-projection microscope.”
Dan smiled and shot a glance at Wilson, who acknowledged him with a bare flicker of the eyes. “Cat and I came up with a plan that ought to work.” He jerked a thumb at the window behind him, which showed the rapidly settling night. “Because Pacifica has this fourteen-hour rotation, and we run on TST, it’s anyone’s guess as to what time or day it is. We thought we’d just, ah, push the official clock ahead a day. May twenty-fifth becomes May twenty-sixth to everyone on the planet, and Jones musters out with his papers all dated properly.”
O’Cieran’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You and Cat have watch duty the night of the twenty-fifth.” He laughed as the two of them feigned innocence. “Don’t give me any of that. Besides, I’m conducting some night operations on the twenty-fifth, and now the day won’t exist.”
Cat’s low bass rumbled like thunder. “Seems to me, Major, that your troopies, who have their alarms tied in with the base computer, will be sleeping secure in the knowledge that they’ll be awake well before you come for them. Won’t they be surprised…”
Everyone laughed, though O’Cieran’s chuckle came a bit lower and more sinister than the rest. “Perhaps this plan has merit, Cat,” he admitted. “Of course, you and Dan will cover the watch for me, right?”
Cat looked at Dan, who shrugged back. “We had that in mind all along, Major, because we knew how important the field exercise was to you.”
Kell laughed aloud. “Gracious of you, Cat, to have thought so far ahead.”
Cat glanced at Dan. “His idea, really.”
Dan glared back at Cat. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Very well. In forty days, we lose one day, and Master Sergeant Jones gets shipped off this wet rock.” Kell looked out the window at the thunderstorm sailing in from Branson’s Swamp. “A fair exchange, I think.”
Sho-sa Akiie Kamekura hunched over his commtech’s shoulder and stared at the flickering amber computer screen. In the corner of the screen, the date and time ticked down with military precision. Across the screen scrolled the hundreds of messages flowing through the Kell Hound base computer. The commtech’s fingers flowed across the keyboard and typed a routine inquiry.
Kamekura straightened up, but avoided bumping his head against the low ceiling of the man-made cavern. I abhor being trapped here like a mole in this bunker. He stared into the dark, where he could just barely make out the sparks made by techs working on the Panthers back in the ’Mech bays. Stuck in this musty cellar amid the swamps, I am being wasted.
The commtech spoke without turning to face his commander. “Here it is, Sho-sa. The Leopard-class DropShip Karasu, the one they call the Manannan MacLir, is due back in two days, and the Victor is scheduled to be transshipped up to the JumpShip Tsunami.”
Kamekura nodded silently and withdrew quietly. Thoughts and plans ran riot in his head, then slowly congealed into a masters
troke of brilliance. I need a victory to prove how worthy I am of a real command. Without the Victor, my Panthers can deal with those enemy ’Mechs. Especially if the jump troops can infiltrate the base and demolish the Kell Hounds barracks.
He breathed in to call his aide, Chu-i Bokuden Oguchi, but the man materialized out of the gloom as though summoned by thought alone. Kamekura controlled an involuntary shiver. “Oguchi-kun, the strike force is scheduled to arrive here on 25 May, correct?”
“Hai, Kamekura-sama.” The man hesitated, then added, “Planetfall is expected 27 May. We strike three different agro-centers that morning to draw the Kell Hounds away, and then the strike force lands on them like a hammer.”
A sly grin tightened Kamekura’s thin lips. “Imagine instead, Oguchi-kun, our launching a surprise attack on the Kell Hound barracks during the early darkness on 26 May. We destroy their barracks facilities with explosives and have our infantry slay any MechWarriors who survive to try to make it to their ’Mechs.”
Oguchi nodded enthusiastically. “Luthien would surely reward such forward thinking. Bold strokes make the Dragon happy. The capture of everything the Kell Hounds have taken from us would please the Coordinator even more than the mere destruction of the mercenary scum.”
Kamekura smiled openly. “Oguchi-kun, from your lips to the Dragon’s ears.”
Chapter 30
SOLARIS VII
RAHNESHIRE
LYRAN COMMONWEALTH
20 APRIL 3027
Justin stared at the screen in Gray Noton’s Valhalla alcove. Sweat pasted black locks to his brow and trickled down to wet his lips with its saltiness. Though he desperately wanted to look away, he could not force himself to do so. “Rewind and show it again.” His voice, barely raised above a fearful whisper, sounded like the sibilant murmuring of a madman.
The screen images blurred, then focused themselves into a Rifleman blazing away madly at an Ostroc. Yes, the headless Ostroc circles as I did in my Valkyrie. The Rifleman slowly spun and tried to bring his autocannons into line with the running ’Mech as it paced around Steiner Stadium. Autocannon slugs churned the dirt behind the Ostroc as the pilot loosed flight after flight of SRMs at the Rifleman.
Justin stiffened as a phantom rose from his memory, raking sharp talons across his consciousness. “Slow motion!” He snarled the command, half to make the computer obey and half to force himself to sit through it again. The Rifleman snapped its recoilless arms up and around, just as had the Rifleman on Kittery! The ’Mech pivoted back at the waist and scythed its deadly fire through the Ostroc’s legs.
Sepulchral fingers walked their way up Justin’s spine. He looked down at his left hand…or where it should have been. He licked his lips and swallowed past the desert dryness in his throat. Trembling like a child, he stared at the screen and the logo painted on the Rifleman’s broad breast. The name echoed unceasingly through his brain.
Legend-Killer.
Gray Noton looked up as Justin sank into the Typhoon’s seat beside him. He looks as though he’s been through hell!
“Hey,” he said. “You all right?”
Justin nodded woodenly, then something sparked in his eyes and he let himself smile. “Sure, no problem. I’m just a bit anxious about this fight.”
Gray mirrored Justin’s smile and punched the vehicle’s ignition code into the dash console. “Did the tapes tell you anything about Wolfson?”
Justin shrugged casually. “Enough. He doesn’t mind running his ’Mech a bit hot. Actually, I reviewed fights featuring Riflemans. You were pretty good, Gray.”
Easy. Noton forced himself to smile despite the pain ripping through his stomach. He concentrated on navigating his way from Silesia before answering. “I did my share. I always liked fighting in a Rifleman.” He looked at Justin, but the MechWarrior was staring straight ahead.
Justin finally nodded slowly and turned back toward Noton. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I lost my forearm in a fight with one.”
Gray stiffened. “No, I wasn’t aware of that. All I remember them talking about at the trial was an UrbanMech.” He steered around to the barricades and sent the Typhoon into Cathay.
Justin laughed harshly. “Vitios probably thought up that little piece of fiction all by himself. It was a Rifleman, all right, and one piloted by a very good warrior. Someone told Wolfson I’d have reason to fear a Rifleman, so that’s what he chose for the fight. Bad choice.”
Noton frowned, telling himself to be careful. “Why’s that? You’re fighting in the Cathay arena. In that jungle, the firepower that the Rifleman packs will be helpful. That machine’s monster, with its ACs over large lasers in the arms and medium lasers on the torso.” Noton smiled. “I know because I sent enough ’Mechs to the scrap heap…”
Justin’s eyes narrowed. “True enough, Gray, but jungle will make target acquisition difficult. The pilot that took my left arm was good. Even as good as you if you’re still up to your game vids. But Wolfson’s a kid with a hate on for me. He’ll make a mistake.”
Noton turned and looked hard at Justin. “Just remember this, my friend. Yen-Lo-Wang is really only packing one weapon. I don’t count the lasers or that modification to the Centurion’s left hand. If your autocannon goes out, you’re in trouble. And Wolfson’s not going to let you punch out.”
Noton slid the Typhoon down the ramp beneath the Liao arena and park. He released the passenger door, which rose up to let Justin out. Justin turned before alighting, and rested his left hand on Noton’s shoulder. “I appreciate the warning, Gray. And while you and Kym are up there in Tsen Shang’s box enjoying the battle, don’t go betting against me.”
Justin settled the neurohelmet over his head. One by one, he plucked the ’Mech’s quartet of connector wires from his dead left hand and snapped them into the helmet’s sockets. As the neural receptors pressed against his skull, the sound of his breathing filled the helmet’s confining closeness. He shut his eyes and forced himself to forget the fear he’d felt while watching the fights in Noton’s alcove.
This isn’t Kittery, Justin, and Billy Wolfson is not Gray Noton. The second that thought formed itself in his mind, he suddenly realized that he’d discovered the identity of the MechWarrior who had maimed him. No, he told himself. Don’t think about it now. There’ll be time later, much later. Dwell on it now, and Billy Wolfson will kill you, no matter how clumsy he is. Use your anger, but against Wolfson first.
“Pattern check. Justin Xiang.” Anger seeped into his voice, though the computer neither noticed nor cared. His nostrils flared as he remembered Wolfson calling him a “slant” and a “bastard.” You’re going to die for those remarks, Billy Wolfson, and I’ll spit on your grave.
Static burst in his ears like thunder from a distant storm. “Voice-print pattern match obtained. Proceed with initiation sequence.”
Justin smiled. “My heart belongs to the woman with hair of gold.” Kym’s image flashed through his mind and banished the last, bitter traces of his fear. I’ve not lost everything. “Authorization code: Ba si jiu ling.”
“Confirmation of authorization. Yen-Lo-Wang awaits to eat the dead.” The computer’s voice, flat and emotionless, died as all the ’Mech’s systems flickered to life.
Justin reached over, took firm hold of the middle and ring fingers on his metal hand, and wrenched them back flat against the back of his hand. That popped open the little cavity in his wrist and let the computer cable dangle free. Justin snapped it into the port on the left arm of his command chair, then folded the metal hand around the joystick.
He raised his ’Mech’s left arm and smiled at the titanium-sheathed blades attached to the last three fingers on the ’Mech’s hand. He’d had them added to Yen-Lo-Wang in honor of Tsen Shang. The jutting, triangular shards of metal looked fearsome and could slice into another ’Mech’s armor, but Justin tended to agreed with Noton’s assessment of the weapons. If I get in close enough to have to use these blades, it will be a very desperate fight
, indeed.
The fingers on Justin’s right hand flicked over the control panel. As he hit one button, the cultivated tones of the arena announcer’s voice filled his helmet. Though the man had probably studied hard to disguise his accent, Justin recognized the rough edge of the announcer’s speech as a sign that the man was from the Lyran Commonwealth. Probably a big-time TBC man brought in for the broadcast.
“Yes indeed, folks, we’ve got a spectacular contest for you tonight. You’re all aware of the sensational rise of Justin Xiang. Just two months ago, he arrived here on Solaris as an unknown. In his first battle, he pitted his Vindicator against a Hermes II, winning that fight easily. Soon enough, he switched to a Centurion, and used that much-maligned ’Mech to stalk Peter Armstrong in his Griffin, the Ares. Yen-Lo-Wang, Xiang’s specially modified Centurion, surprised Armstrong—and he died surprised.
“That night, so we hear, heated words flew between Xiang and Billy Wolfson. Wolfson vowed that he’d kill Xiang. Xiang, meanwhile, defeated certain fighters over the next two weeks, which brought him within challenge distance of Billy Wolfson.”
Justin double-checked his equipment as the broadcast’s color man explained the pyramidal arrangement of fights and challenges among the MechWarriors on Solaris. Justin had, by virtue of his six victories, moved up from the unranked fighters to the sixth of eight ranks. That placed him one rank below Wolfson. Even if Wolfson had not threatened to kill him, Justin’s new rank would have made the Fed vulnerable to a challenge.
“So, you’re saying that Xiang, if he wins this match, might be in striking range of Philip Capet?” asked the announcer.
“Yes, Karl, but that will not be easy. He surrenders much in the way of weaponry to the Rifleman. Though Wolfson has never fought in a Rifleman before, that ’Mech mounts enough weapons to be dangerous even in the hands of an amateur.”
Warrior: En Garde (The Warrior Trilogy, Book One): BattleTech Legends, #57 Page 23
