The Centurion raised the giant that was its right arm—no more and no less than an LB 10-X autocan-non—and fired at Masters. The shell slammed into the Phoenix Hawk's right arm and tore off the lower half, sending the large laser to the ground. He checked the status screen. One medium pulse laser had gone off line.
Gainard, meanwhile, took a clean shot at the Centurion's torso with his large and medium pulse lasers. The shots, combined with the damage Masters had done, pierced the right torso and ripped into the ammo housing for the Centurion's autocannon and long-range missiles. The Centurion's center exploded with a fiery bloom, sending the 'Mech wheeling around before it froze in mid-motion, poised on the brink of a terrible fall.
"Leave it, sir?"
"Of course. It isn't doing anyone any harm. Let's deal with the Wolverines on Osaka and Sullivan."
But as Masters turned his 'Mech, something in the distance caught his eye. At the edge of the field he saw a group of six ATs drive up, each mounted with what looked like missile launchers. They kept driving until they found shelter from sight behind bushes and heavy cloth camouflage, apparently planted sometime earlier.
So that's what Deraa and the GFL had been up to for the last three days!
He remembered the devices on these ATs as those he'd seen in the GFL weapons depot. But what were they doing here? What effect could they possibly have on a battle waged by BattleMechs?
And then, in a flash, he remembered the label half-hidden by the cloth and the single word "Davey" that he'd been able to make out.
He jabbed his communication button and set up an open channel to all 'Mechs, both friend and foe. "Atomics on the battlefield!" he said, unable to refrain from shouting. "Tactical nukes on the field!"
Thomas' voice came over the speakers. "Paul, are you sure?" But Masters was already bringing his 'Mech about toward the ATs. Although he had just seen them a moment ago, their camouflage kept them hidden amid the smoke and flames of the battlefield.
"At the eastern edge. GFL ATs. Davey Crocketts! They've got old tac nukes on those ATs."
Deraa's voice now broke into the communications. "Colonel Roush gave them to us for use in our war, and now we gladly give them back to him. We suggest the Marik MechWarriors clear the area immediately."
"Knights of the Inner Sphere, stay true to this order!" said Thomas Marik, "We will not desert Mech Warriors to those who would use atomics."
A barrage of chatter filled the background of Masters' headset as everyone around him—Knights of the Inner Sphere, Blake troops, and Regulan warriors-tried to determine what was happening.
Masters spotted one of the ATs now aiming the Davey Crockett toward the battlefield. He jerked his joystick left, and as the cross hairs dropped onto the AT, he fired his remaining pulse laser, desperate to shake the gunners up enough to prevent them from launching the tac nuke. The bolts ripped up a long stretch of grass alongside the AT, sending dirt into the air and spraying over the gunners. Some of the gunners dove for cover, but others kept the missile turning toward the field.
"I've got them, Sir Masters," Gainard said, and he fired his large laser. It slammed into the AT and the vehicle exploded hot white. Their clothes on fire, the surviving guerrillas rushed away to roll on the ground.
Masters twisted his 'Mech's torso, looking for the other five ATs. He spotted another one behind a large cluster of bushes. Still disregarding heat concerns, he fired his laser again, this time hitting the AT directly. It too exploded.
"Flash! Flash!" screamed Deraa, and Masters saw a puff of white smoke near some trees and then a missile arc high into the air. He turned and saw it heading for a lance of Regulan heavy 'Mechs that had been patiently working its way around the field to flank Marik's MechWarriors. His hand instinctively grabbed for the joystick, and then he realized it was too late. He slammed the controls to turn away from the flash, closed his eyes, covered his face with his arms, and doubled over, straining against his seat's straps. Over and over again he screamed into his microphone, "Stay away from the blast. Don't look! Turn away!"
A moment later the air around Masters glowed bright white, and he heard a horrible high-pitched whistle. A deep roar followed. The noise and light overwhelmed his senses so fiercely that in that instant it seemed he had always lived doubled over, tight against the world, a terrible rumble passing around him forever.
Then suddenly a silence fell. Unable to resist, he turned his 'Mech back and saw a crater of glass three hundred meters wide. Three of the 'Mechs had simply vanished. Only half of one of the lance's 'Mechs remained; it had crashed into a red and silver Knight of the Inner Sphere 'Mech some five hundred meters away from ground zero, and the two 'Mechs lay motionless now, sprawled on the ground.
Over his speaker he heard the screams of blinded MechWarriors who hadn't turned away in time or hadn't known what to do with tacs on the battlefield. It had been so long since anyone had used them.
A terrible scream tore at Masters' throat. He rushed toward the area where the Davey Crockett had launched, his gaze darting left and right. Before he spotted the AT, another white plume drifted out of the trees. This time he brought up his cross hairs over the AT and jabbed both thumb triggers, letting loose both the pulse laser and the short-range missiles. The pulse laser fell far short, but the missiles struck home and tore the AT to shreds.
He slammed his head down into his knees and once more saw bright light through his closed eyelids. His 'Mech trembled against the mighty energy unleashed by the bomb. Before the rumbling ended, he lifted his head to find the other ATs.
There—another one in a small group of trees.
He ran toward the it, dropping his cross hairs over it as he closed ground. His hands shook so much from fury and panic and heat that the lock faded in and out. He growled, and fired the pulse laser. Missed. Again. Missed.
He felt warm and feverish as sweat poured down his body. He fired his missiles, the shots exploding ten meters to the right of the AT.
The cockpit got hotter.
He brought the cross hairs right on top of the AT. They glowed bright yellow. A lock . . . and then suddenly his Phoenix Hawk froze up.
He hardly needed to glance at his status board to know that the 'Mech had overheated. Sweet and simple. Roaring his anger, he punched the roof of his cockpit.
Looking back at the AT, Masters was close enough now to see Deraa manning the Davey Crockett. The nuclear missile pointed right at him.
Deraa smiled at him.
Masters checked the display again. He could not do anything that would create any heat.
That left only the MGs. Machine guns didn't use heat.
He slapped the weapon configuration toggles, and grabbed the joystick.
Deraa picked up a radio microphone. "I'm sorry you didn't appreciate our help, Sir Masters."
He pulled up the cross hairs.
Deraa leaned down to fire.
Masters squeezed the trigger, and machine gun fire ripped Deraa's body into scarlet scraps, his crew along with him.
The missile was still in place.
"You said there were six, Masters," Osaka said. "That's it. We got them all."
Masters sat for a moment in the command couch, trembling. Then he brought up the open channel and started shouting, "Roush? You gave them tac nukes!
You gave them tac nukes!" His voice was high-pitched, as frightening as a madman's.
Thomas cut the tirade short. "Sir Masters."
Masters fell silent, and Thomas said coolly, "Colonel Roush, Precentor Martial Arian, I suggest we truce now, to tend to the wounded and dying."
"I. . . Yes, we should do that," said Arian, dazed, drunk with disbelief.
"No," hissed Roush. "Arian, no. We've just lost too many of our 'Mechs. If we take the time to regroup, they will win. WeVe got to get into the city now, take up defense. ..."
"What?" asked Arian.
"Take up defense in the city. It's the only way to secure a victory."
"You would
have us go into a city? After this?"
"There is no choice."
Arian sounded distracted, as if someone else were speaking to him on another channel. Masters heard him say in a tired, faraway voice, "No, Precentor Blane, we cannot do that. No, I know what Colonel Roush just said. ..." Then his voice became alert and strong, "I don't care, sir. We will not take up a defensive position within the city. We will not'do what we must to win.' We will simply do what we must."
Roush clicked off the channel, and a moment later all the Regulan 'Mechs began to move toward Portent. Arian's voice came back on the open channel. "Colonel Roush, if you attempt to take the city, I will direct my men to work with the Knights of the Inner Sphere to stop you."
The Regulan 'Mechs stopped.
"Do you surrender to me, then, Precentor Martial Arian?"
A long pause followed, and then the man said, "I do. You are the most honorable warrior I have ever met. I swear myself and all the Word of Blake forces to you, Captain-General Thomas Marik."
"And you, Colonel Roush. Do you surrender to me?"
"If I do not, my men will be slaughtered."
"True. I take it then that you surrender."
"Yes."
"Do you swear loyalty to me?"
"You must be joking."
"I take that as a no. You and your forces are free to go, though your 'Mechs will remain. The battle is done. But know that someday, perhaps in the not too distant future, the same question will be posed to you. The answer will have more serious implications on that occasion. The city is ours. The war is done."
"But . . ."
"There are no buts. You swore to defend Countess Dystar and Principal Hsiang. You have failed at this. The attempted coup is finished. They are deposed. The world is still mine. Sir Paul Masters will become Count of Gibson. It is done."
* * *
The ceremony drew a great crowd, for the time of oppression on Gibson had come to an end. Masters would replace the Countess, and for this the people were grateful. Hsiang was removed from office, and Masters declared that his first act would be to arrange legal, secure elections for a new Principal. For this the people were even more grateful. He assured them that Word of Blake would not acquire undue influence in the government of Gibson, but that the group would remain on the planet. Some grumbled about this, but that is the way of it. It would take time. But the war was over, for Captain-General Thomas Marik and Masters had stood by the people against their oppressors, and this impressed everyone most of all.
At the door to the great hall of Castle Masters, formerly Castle Dystar, Sir Paul Masters stood at attention while Kris and some servants busily fussed about him, arranging his scarlet robe so it hung off his shoulders just so. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said to Kris.
"What—and leave the staff on their own on a day like this? No, this will be my last duty, and then I leave the castle." She looked into his eyes, and he saw the same sadness that had been there since the day of the battle. Most of the GFL had not known about the atomics, and a deep shame lived in their hearts.
Precentor Blane came over and looked him up and down. "You still look too much like a soldier. If you want to be a statesmen, you should seem somewhat less sure of yourself, ready to equivocate at a moment's notice."
"Soon the soldiers will be the statesmen and states-women."
Blane nodded. "I suppose you're right. Word of the Regulans handing out atomics is putting more and more of the Free Worlds League into Thomas' camp. Even though Roush did it without the authorization of his superiors. With the realization of how far civilians can go if properly armed, the Knights of the Inner Sphere are growing every day."
"There's still a lot of resistance to the idea."
"Oh, Thomas hasn't unified the Free Worlds League under his rule yet. But I can see the day. ..."
"It will take work."
"No, doubt. The stars may be safer, but only at the expense of freedom, and most people won't give that up easily. The Free Worlds League has always been torn between rule by parliamentary democracy or by a feudal warrior class. Now one side or the other is clearly going to win."
"I think I know how it will work out," said Maid Kris, and brushed a speck of dust off the robe. Although she said the words with pride, he caught something in her eyes, a small, secret threat. He knew that if he failed to fulfill his responsibilities, the people of Gibson would rise up again, and Kris would once more be a leader among their ranks. Good. He could think of no better prod than having Kris' fire at his back. Trumpets sounded and she stepped back. "Sir Masters, your liege awaits you."
The great doors opened, and Sir Paul Masters turned to look into the hall. A thousand people stood on either side of a long red carpet that led up to Captain-General Thomas Marik. All heads turned to look at Masters, with many nobles and warriors from distant stars among the guests. But many more, especially those near the front, were peasants from the farms of Gibson and professionals from Portent. Masters had made a point of sending the invitation far and wide on his own world, the world of Gibson. A feudal system did not cut the people out of society, it gave them a strong place within it. They no longer had the right to bear arms, true, but then they need not fear slaughter from the arms anymore, either. He looked at the people, and saw their eyes alive with the excitement of pageantry and a passion for nobility.
He stepped onto the carpet and felt a kind of vertigo. Red stretched out before him, for a moment seemingly endless, was a path that led both backward to his arrival on Gibson and forward into the future he was forging with Thomas.
Standing along the aisle he saw the farmer who had hidden him and the man's daughter and wife. The farmer held the girl-child in his arms, and she waved her small hand as Masters passed. Further down he saw Chick and a few of the other men who had escaped. They were civilians now, for Thomas had outlawed all mercenaries on the worlds he ruled. He believed they promoted the attitude of war through attrition and of lives as fodder. Chick smiled and bowed his head as Masters passed.
As each step carried him past people he had met on Gibson, Masters saw Thomas, tall and regal, waiting on ahead. His old friend smiled at him, and Masters felt drawn forward. So much hope in the man.
As his thoughts carried him on, he spotted Precentor Martial Arian. Their eyes met, and Arian bowed his head slightly. In that moment Arian once more lightly touched his ruined shoulder, the wound acquired while fighting the Clans on the other side of the Inner Sphere. A chill passed through Masters. He looked back at Thomas, so full of ideals but still piloting by his heart. Would that be enough? Where would this dream lead?
It would be difficult. There would be problems. But if it worked, the stars would finally know peace. . . .
At last Masters reached the steps where Thomas stood waiting. His friend and liege spread his arms wide, and raised his face to the crowd. But before addressing all present, he said softly, without looking down, "Do you think it will work?"
"Yes, my liege," Sir Paul Masters whispered, closing his heart against doubt. "Yes, I think it will." And in that instant his spirit buoyed, rising to float amid all the stars of space and all the souls that had gone before him.
Ideal War Page 22
