Tactics of Duty

by William H. Keith

  He kept backing away, luring the UrbanMech farther and farther from the Citadel's front gate. The key to taking on any BattleMech one-on-one was maneuverability; if the 'Mech could pin its tormentor long enough to deliver a hammering volley of high explosives, enough to peel open the tank's deck armor and get at the delicate internal systems, the match would be over. Alex simply had to keep one step ahead of the ponderous, thirty-ton machine.

  Alex was surprised, however, and pleased, to note that his combat instincts appeared to be back. There was no hesitation, no confusion or second thoughts as he made each combat decision with a cold, sure edge, unflustered by the heat of battle ... or by memory. He scanned his readouts, then squinted up at the image of the 'Mech filling his forward viewscreen. It looked like the UrbanMech had been hurt by that second volley of SRMs. Blue sparks danced in a gaping crater just beneath the right-arm autocannon. As the heavy weapon continued firing, spraying explosive rounds indiscriminately across the compound, Alex realized that its electronic triggering mechanism had fused shut, that it was continuing to pump out shell after shell in an uncontrollable fusillade. Several explosions banged off the Pegasus's hull, but most ripped into the wall of the keep towering to the vehicle's left and rear.

  Alex skittered back to the right as gravel and spent shrapnel clattered off the deck of his tank. Abruptly, the Urban-Mech's autocannon fell silent, either jammed or out of ammo, but the 'Mech's light laser was still operational, slashing across the Pegasus's bow armor in dazzling flashes of light. Alex's monitors flared and went black as some part of the scanner system overloaded and went down.

  With a curse Alex reached up and forward, palming the driver's hatch release. The hatch slid open and Alex levered himself up, poking his head part way out of the tank's hull so that he could see.

  Viewed directly instead of on the console monitors, the UrbanMech seemed far bigger and more menacing ... as well as closer. A laser beam danced across the Pegasus's starboard turret, and Alex winced and ducked.

  Another missile volley might settle the issue, but Alex— or rather his scout suit's computer—was having trouble finding the electronic code that would tell the Pegasus to reload its empty SRM tubes. The Pegasus also possessed a bow laser as powerful as the 'Mech's right-arm weapon, but he couldn't access that fire-control system either, not while he was trying to pilot the tank at the same time.

  That left Alex only one weapon in his rather limited arsenal, and he decided to use it.

  Still steering by poking his head up through the driver's hatch, he rammed the tiller full forward. The Pegasus accelerated, blasting dirt and dust and small bits of debris as its driver fans howled, hurtling across the vanishing space between the two antagonists at high speed. At the last instant, Alex ducked back inside the Pegasus; a second later, the hover tank slammed into the UrbanMech's legs with a grinding, splintering clash of steel on steel. The jolt slammed Alex into the driver's station console; if he'd not been wearing the Nighthawk suit, he almost certainly would have been killed.

  As it was, however, the impact slammed him forward, then bounced him off the ceiling as the Pegasus canted wildly to starboard. The cabin lights went out, plunging Alex into total darkness. After a stunned moment, he switched on his suit's light, painting a bright white circle of radiance on the cabin's floor overhead.

  The Pegasus had come to rest upside down. Painfully—his ribs were bruised and sore where he'd slammed into that console despite the suit's protective swaddling—Alex crawled along the ceiling in the direction of the driver's hatch. It was partly blocked by the driver's seat, which had been uprooted by the crash, but he managed to wiggle through, using his enhanced strength to lever the seat aside and pry the warped door back and out of the way. Dropping headfirst onto the ground, he rolled out from beneath the wrecked Pegasus and looked around.

  The UrbanMech lay on its back, nine meters of ferro-fibrous steel and carballoy sprawled across a mound of rubble and twisted I-beams. The Pegasus lay halfway across its legs, which had been twisted far out of alignment by the collision. Readying his suit's laser, he staggered toward the 'Mech's cockpit. If the pilot was still alive, he would either be trying to get out and thus a threat, or he would be trying to get his 'Mech's systems back on-line, which would be an even greater threat.

  When Alex reached the 'Mech's cockpit, however, he saw that there would be no threat from this machine, or its pilot, now. It was hard to see past the film of blood inside the armored cockpit windscreen, but it looked as though the instrument console had broken free when the 'Mech fell on its back, landing squarely on the MechWarrior's chest.

  "You okay, buddy?"

  Alex turned at the words, his laser raised. The man, a bald, tough-looking sort with a fluorescent tattoo of a 'Mech on his bare shoulder, wore no armor or uniform, but he was holding a laser pistol, muzzle pointed at the sky. It took a moment for Alex to connect with the realization that this was one of the prisoners McCall had freed, that he'd come back to search the wreckage for survivors.

  "Yeah," Alex said, a little surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Yeah, I'm fine!"

  "Then let's get the hell outta here," the man said, glancing back over his shoulder. "There's more bad guys comin' through, an' your buddy ain't gonna be able to keep 'em pinned for long."

  "More troops?"

  "Yeah, and worse. More BattleMechs."

  The man gave Alex a hand as he clambered down off the wrecked UrbanMech. Together, through thick swirling smoke, they hurried across the courtyard toward the Citadel's front gate. "Did all the prisoners get away?" Alex asked.

  "Yeah, thanks t' you. A few got killed goin' out, and there's maybe eighteen, twenty wounded. But none of 'em would've got clear if you hadn't tangled with that Urbie."

  As they reached the barbican's courtyard entrance, Alex stopped and turned. The court was still empty of Wilmarth's troops—of living ones, anyway—but there were fresh signs of life from the Citadel's keep, new shadows moving against the smoke and flashing alert lights.

  McCall joined them. "You all right, Alex?'

  "I'm fine. Just a bit dinged up, is all."

  "When y' slammed into tha' UrbanMech, lad, I thought we'd seen th' last of you!"

  Alex was still staring back at the keep's open fifteen-meter doors. "My God," he said. "Wilmarth's sending out his reserves!"

  With the steady clank-clank of shifting actuators, a towering shadow emerged from the open door, a ten-meter shape more humanlike, and more menacing, than the ugly little UrbanMech. Alex recognized that heavy-shouldered, round-headed silhouette immediately and wondered where in all possible hells Wilmarth could have found hardware like that.

  The Victor, eighty tons of armor and death, creaked and whined clear of the open 'Mech bay doors. Close behind the first came a second Victor, its head turning as it surveyed the battle wreckage of the courtyard.

  Victors! It had been all Alex could do to take down that single, lightweight UrbanMech. Two Victors ... stopping them was not something a pair of lightly armed humans could even attempt.

  "I think, lad, we'd best get the hell oot a' here," McCall said.

  "Couldn't have put it better myself, Major. Let's move!" But the Victors were crashing toward the barbican as fast as their massive legs could carry them. Escape was impossible.

  17

  Citadel Front Gate

  Caledonia, Skye March

  Federated Commonwealth

  2327 hours, 1 April 3057

  Victors massed eighty tons, placing them squarely in the heavyweight category for BattleMechs, but they were not as heavily armed as other 'Mechs of their size. Weaponry had been sacrificed to give them jump jet capability; each of the monsters mounted paired medium lasers in its left arm, a Gauss rifle in its right, and four SRM tubes set high in the left side of its chest, like a row of military medals.

  Alex, McCall, and the veteran with the laser pistol ducked back from the barbican's courtyard gate just as a pair of SRMs slammed into the
gate tower wall. The blast slammed at Alex and nearly knocked him down. It did send the laser-toting ex-prisoner tumbling. Alex reached down and helped him up. "You all right?"

  "Fine! Fine! Let's get the hell outta here!"

  Together, they ducked through the open outer gate, following the last of the escaping prisoners out and onto the bridge across the canyon beyond.

  Alex was not quite halfway across the bridge when he heard a shrill hiss and the roar of air superheated to white-hot plasma. Turning, he was just in time to see one of the Victors descending outside the Citadel wall on flaring jump jets, landing squarely in the center of the bridge just in front of the main gates. Its left arm came up, and the twin lasers set into the forearm flared. Trees across the canyon burst into flame, and a heavy branch burned through and fell into the gulf with a splintering crack of shattered wood. The second Victor appeared inside the open gate, following the first more cautiously, ducking slightly to slip beneath the open gate's portcullis.

  These were no militia 'Mechs, Alex thought as he watched the first advance across the bridge with ground-devouring steps; they lacked the black and yellow paint schemes borne by Wilmarth's combat machines as well as their marks of wear, tear, and age. There were unit numbers and insignia, but Alex didn't recognize them—hardly surprising given the enormous number of active 'Mech units, regular and mercenary, operating in the Inner Sphere.

  But this was no time to worry about who the Victors belonged to. Clearly, they were both in the service of Wilmarth and the Bloodspillers, and they were moving now to punish the invasion of Wilmarth's domain.

  "Get to the forest, lad!" McCall snapped, facing the advancing giant.

  "Eh? But—"

  "Dinnae argue! Move your ass, damn it!"

  Alex tore himself free of the almost hypnotic view of the advancing Victors, turned, and fired his jump jets, soaring down the length of the bridge and grounding on the road at the edge of the forest. The vet was already there, crouched behind a fallen log, his laser pistol raised and braced against the rough bark of the trunk. "My God," the man said as Alex reached him. "The man's lost his freaking mind!"

  Turning once more, Alex saw Davis McCall lying flat on his belly next to the bridge abutment. He'd thought McCall was right behind him, but the Caledonian was facing down the advancing 'Mechs, his autogrenade launcher pressed to his shoulder as he fired a stream of microgrenades. Explosions crashed and popped and banged around the Victor's lower legs. No grenade—not even a macro—could more than scratch a BattleMech's armor, but it was obvious that McCall had something else in mind than bagging an eighty-ton Mech with a lightweight grenade launcher.

  With a chain of loud, flat bangs, rectangular antipersonnel charges strapped to the Victor's feet and lower legs went off in sympathetic detonation, spraying clouds of steel bearings in broad swaths a meter off the bridge pavement. Smoke boiled around the Victor's feet, partly obscuring the monster.

  Suddenly, McCall was on his feet and running. But he was running toward the lead Victor. . . not away....

  * * *

  Davis McCall knew he couldn't stop both Victors, but he had at least an outside chance of stopping one. If he could manage that, the second 'Mech might withdraw ... or at least pull back to await the arrival of supporting 'Mechs or infantry. BattleMechs, as Grayson Carlyle had proved decades ago, could be vulnerable to infantry attacks.

  "Major!" Alex's voice called in his headset. "Major, what are you doing?"

  "We'll hae no peace an' quiet a' all wi' these bastards clumpin' around," McCall replied. "Keep me covered!"

  The stunt he was trying was deadly, especially without heavy support back-up of his own. Ever since 'Mechs had first begun falling victim to massed infantry attacks, most had begun mounting external explosive packs loaded with steel shot on their lower legs specifically to foil close-assault tactics. Infantry, even infantrymen wearing combat suits, could be torn to bits by the savage, shotgun-blast deadliness of an antipersonnel claymore triggered either on command from the 'Mech's cockpit, or by heat, mass, or radar proximity.

  Davis McCall was an expert at anti-'Mech tactics, however, and had been ready with the counter. The burst of microgrenades from his launcher hosing across the nearest Victor's lower works had wrecked proximity triggers and power feeds, not to mention setting off most of the charges prematurely through sympathetic detonation. Once the charges had been fired, the 'Mech was vulnerable to the Carlyle close-assault tactic known as "kneecapping."

  Leaping to his feet, bending nearly double as he ran, McCall made use of the swirling smoke as cover as he ran toward the 'Mech, reaching up with his left hand to grab hold of the poleyn—the squared-off armor plate protecting the 'Mech's knee—and then vaulting onto its left foot. Timing was critical, for the foot and leg were in motion as he grabbed hold and, in the same motion, unslung his satchel of polydetaline. As the 'Mech brought its leg forward and down, a space opened up behind the poleyn. Davis crammed the satchel home, snatched one of the pull-ring detonators protruding from beneath its flap, and yanked it.

  The entire maneuver, from the time he'd leaped up and charged to the instant he fired the fuse, had taken perhaps three seconds. The Victor's pilot was just becoming aware of his presence, possibly as his companion radioed urgent warnings over their tactical link. The 'Mech's torso whined as it rotated some four meters above McCall's head. The Victor stooped forward, its gigantic, steel-alloy left hand reaching down out of the fog of smoke and darkness, fingers extending to grab McCall and pluck him from its leg.

  Davis triggered his jump jets as he let go of the 'Mech's massive knee and let himself fall backward. The thrust kicked him clear, sending him sailing out over the canyon.

  A laser beam seared past his head—not from one of the 'Mechs, but from a turret high up in one of the spires rising over the Citadel keep. Twisting over in midair, he fired his suit's jets again, angling now toward the woods beyond the rim of the canyon.

  More laser fire snapped and hissed past him, some of it striking the woods ahead with flares of yellow flame. Unlike the confines of the courtyard, here in the open beyond the fortress walls the invaders were in precisely surveyed fire zones swept by the Citadel's main defensive weapons. Turrets atop the keep itself sent slashing beams of laser light spearing through the darkness and exploding among the trees of the forest beyond. One beam reached out of the night, touched Davis's backpack with a flash, and speared through the armor over his left shoulder. Flinching, he felt something like a white-hot wire dragged across his skin, and the movement sent him tumbling out of control.

  In the same instant, the four-second fuse on the pull-ring detonator burned out, and the explosives stuffed up against the Victor's knee went off. The night around the bridge was briefly illuminated by the blast, which was compressed and focused back into the vulnerable knee joint by the armor poleyn like a tamped charge. Shards of metal tore free, whistling through the air. The Victor took one more step, bringing its full mass down on its left foot, and the left knee buckled as drivers, frame, actuator leads, and myomer bundles shredded.

  McCall hit the ground clumsily, on his back at the very edge of the cliff. Loose rocks at the rim gave way with the impact and he started to fall, snagging a trailing length of vine and twisted branches as he slid over the edge. He triggered his jump jets again, but this time there was no response. Either the laser hit or his collision with the cliff had damaged the control mechanism.

  "Major!" Alex's voice yelled over the tactical link. "Major, are you all right?"

  "Aye, lad. I'm fine! Stay put!" Legs flailing over emptiness, McCall clung to his precarious handhold as rocks the size of his head bounced and clattered past his armor. He was a perfect target for the 'Mechs and expected one of them to pick him off at any moment. Twisting about, he could see the Victor just twenty-five meters away, wobbling uncertainly on its damaged leg. With a groan of yielding metal, the 'Mech twisted to its left, gave an unpleasant shudder, then pitched forward as its leg s
upport gave way completely. Its pilot tried to stop the fall, reaching out with both arms, but the 'Mech struck the bridge pavement face down and, unable to control its sideways momentum, smashed through the bridge railing in a noisy spray of ferrocrete and scrap iron and rolled off the edge.

  With an avalanche of raw noise, the Victor plummeted into the moat-like valley in front of the Citadel, scraping and banging down the rocks and bridge pilings all the way to the bottom. Hanging above that gulf, McCall looked down, watching as its pilot tried to right the falling machine so he could use its jump jets, failed, and struck the rocks on the canyon floor, the 'Mech giving a final rag-doll bounce as it hit.

  Laser fire stuttered across the moat, striking rocks and vegetation at the top of the cliff. Reaching up as high as he could, McCall tried to pull himself further up on his precarious perch, only to lurch downward almost a meter as the matted tangle of branches, limbs, and vines he was clinging to partly gave way. Black-and-yellow-armored troops were spilling out of the Citadel's gate tower now, rushing past the stationary form of the remaining Victor, blazing away wildly with lasers and submachine-gun fire.

  Bullets slapped into the back of his armor, screaming as they ricocheted clear. Others struck the tangle of brush and vines he was clinging to, and he felt something over his head give way. With a lurch, he dropped another half meter, his feet twisting helplessly over the gulf.

  Without jump jets, he would be killed by that fall, Night-hawk or no Nighthawk. He felt the vines starting to give way ...

  * * *

  Alex had watched McCall's lone assault against the Victor, had seen him fire his jump jets and arrow back toward the near side of the canyon, only to be caressed by one of the laser beams, tumble over in midair, and strike the edge of the crater. McCall's order to stay put had kept Alex in place for a few seconds, but then the Major hadn't reappeared on hissing jump jets, and militia soldiers had started pouring through the Citadel's gate behind the remaining BattleMech.