Tactics of Duty

by William H. Keith

  Captain Duane Gallery, "Shooter" to his friends, and the CO of the battalion's Third Company, pointed out a low rise on the plain between town and hills, nesded in against some woods to the west. "Look," he said. "This would be a goodplace for a supply dump. Let's say I come through town, set up camp over here. I'd need a dump somewhere near Falkirk, because I know I'm going to run up against the dreaded Gray Death Legion in the next hundred kilometers or so. It's only two hundred klicks more to New Edinburgh, and I know the Gray Death is out there somewhere."

  "Right," Frye said, nodding. He looked up at Grayson. "This whole area would be a great spot for an advance base, before launching the final strike toward the capital. It's a bit far, but the Third Davion has a reputation for moving fast. Whoever is in command could feed his front lines from a supply dump here easily enough, and it would provide a lot of flexibility if he was forced to fall back to the defense."

  "I concur," Grayson said.

  He'd arrived at much the same conclusion back at the Command Center, but he'd found that the planning went more smoothly when his subordinates came up with the answers for themselves. It wouldn't do to train them to simply wait for him to make his pronouncements. In fact, he'd first spotted that line of hills that Captain Warfield had noted the night before. Their arrangement, two groups of low, bare-topped hills anchoring a long ridge stretched between them, reminded him eerily of the terrain he'd fought over at Gettysburg, in his sim match with Jaime Wolf.

  The terrain was different in detail, of course. The hills and ridgeline formed more of a round-ended crescent shape than a fishhook, and it ran east-west instead of north-south, but the topology was similar enough that he'd immediately considered it both as a potential defensive position and as a potential objective for an assault. The ridge lay across the road coming north from New Edinburgh, which passed over it through a saddle at its eastern end, in the shadow of two large hills.

  "Just in case you need confirmation," Gray continued, "our recon forces have reported seeing Third Davion 'Mechs in the area. Light stuff, so far, Locusts and Mercurys. But they may be scouting the terrain. They spotted a Mercury up here on this hill early this morning, apparently taking laser survey sightings of the ground."

  "You know," Alex said, "we should probably have names for some of these features to avoid confusion."

  "Is there anything in the data base?" Shooter wanted to know.

  "The forest to the west is called the Tanglewood," Lang said. She worked the table-top keyboard in front of her for a moment, and the name appeared above the holographic trees in glowing white letters. "This open area south of town is called Meadow Grove. We don't have anything for that ridgeline, though. There's probably a local name that never made it into the data base."

  Grayson gave a wry smile and reached for his own keyboard. "I suggest this...."

  Typing quickly, he entered his own names for the features. Culp's Hill and Cemetery Hill to the west. Big and Little Round Top to the east. And stretched between the two, crossing through the saddle close to the Round Tops by the New Edinburgh Road, Cemetery Ridge.

  "Looks familiar," McCall said with a grin, and the others laughed.

  Grayson keyed in some more commands, and red lights appeared on the ridgeline, on the rise between the ridge and the town, and inside the town itself. "Here's our best guess so far," Grayson said. "Zellner—I'm assuming the force will be under Zellner's command until we know differently—will put his main force up here on the ridge and the hills. He'd, be an idiot not to. Supply dump, back here, probably on this rise at the western end of Meadow Grove close to the ... what's the road?"

  "Tanglewood Road," Lang said.

  "Right. We won't count on the dump being here, though. Could be anywhere in this general area. Observers and probably a command post up here in the town." More colored lights appeared on the map, this time in blue. "We will advance from the south, along this road. We will deploy for frontal assault when we meet them ... as they would expect us too."

  "Uh ... Colonel?" Lieutenant Aleksanyen said, puzzled. "Did you say, 'as they expect us to'?"

  "That's right, Grigor. We need to keep them busy. Keep them occupied." Grayson flicked his laser pointer across the map to the west, indicating the Tanglewood, which started two kilometers south of the ridgeline, ran parallel to it to the west, then took a sharp swing to the north, edging Meadow Grove and very nearly reaching the town itself.

  "Our scouts report that in places these woods are damn near impenetrable," Grayson said. "Tanglewood describes it perfectly. Swamps. Trees so thick that BattleMechs wouldn't make it through in a year. But there are also thinner areas, as well as a number of roads, especially the Tanglewood Road, which crosses the forest from southwest to northeast on its way to Falkirk. The important thing is that a strong column of 'Mechs could move through here undetected from the air."

  "If our people don't know the ground, though ..." Captain Lang said, her forehead creasing.

  Grayson gestured at McCall, who was standing at the other side of the table. "Major McCall over there has already volunteered to seek out some locals who'd be willing to serve as guides. Major?"

  "Aye. We'll hae help from our Reiver contingent as well, sir. Some of them know this area, or have relatives nearby who do. We'll get through all right."

  "So," Grayson continued, "we'll have civilian auxiliaries who can lead our flanking force through the woods ... looping around the enemy's right flank, to here." His pointer touched the rise and its supply depot symbol with red fire. "They will emerge somewhere along this treeline. With luck, the enemy won't see them coming, won't have a clue they're even in the area."

  "We'll have to allow for the possibility of pickets thrown out along the Tanglewood Road," Alex pointed out.

  "If the unit moves fast, though, that shouldn't be a problem.

  "Now, the flanking force will have two primary goals. First, and most important, when they come charging out of these woods they'll be squarely behind the enemy's right flank, or close to it. The attack will cause considerable confusion in the enemy's ranks, maybe enough to rout him if we can drive him forward into the main body's rear. It will certainly be enough to create openings along the front that the main force will be able to exploit, as Zellner turns to meet this new threat to his rear and flank.

  "The second goal, of course, will be the disruption of the enemy's supply lines. If they do establish a supply dump in this area, our flanking force should be able to capture or destroy a large quantity of expendables ... expendables the enemy will have to send clear back to Stirling and their DropShips to replace. Whatever we can destroy in the supply dump, he can't use against us on the field."

  "How big a flanking force did you have in mind?" Alex asked.

  "Captain Frank? What's our TO looking like?"

  The Gray Death Legion's senior Tech officer consulted his ever-present hand computer. "We have thirty-seven 'Mechs up and on-line, Colonel," he said. "That includes the four Command One-one 'Mechs, with five Third Batt 'Mechs downgrudged. We might be able to get two of those running, if we work all night and cannibalize from the others."

  "Get on it. For now, we'll assume thirty-six, a full battalion. The main thrust of our offensive will be this left hook, so that's where we have to concentrate our power. I'd say two companies, twenty-four 'Mechs."

  "That's going to leave us damned thin on the line south of the ridge," Frye pointed out.

  "I know. We'll have just twelve 'Mechs, plus whatever Captain Frank can scavenge for us, to make a noise like an army."

  "General McBee's people can help there, Colonel," McCall said.

  "I'm counting on it, but we'll be sending most of them with the flankers. Our armored infantry too, I think. I want this flanking force to materialize out of thin air, squarely behind the enemy's main body, across his supply lines, and between his front lines and his command staff. They're going to need enough muscle to make a quick kill, then hold on against all comers while the rest o
f our force moves up from the south."

  "So who's going to lead the flanking force, sir?" Captain Warfield wanted to know.

  Grayson had been weighing that very question for some time. "Normally, the choice would be obvious," he said. "Major McCall has the experience and the confidence of the entire battalion. That arm of his, though, is going to keep him out of—"

  "Sir!" Davis said, shocked. "If I can wear a Nighthawk, then there's nae reason I can nae pilot m' Highlander?"

  "Sorry, Major. You'll be in your 'Mech, but I want you with me. You won't be able to move or fight as freely with that arm immobilized as you would otherwise."

  "But, sair—"

  "No arguments, Major. I can't afford to lose you because you can't sidestep or pivot as fast as you need to. Major Frye? I'll want you with the scouts. We're going to need to carefully coordinate our operations south of the ridgeline, and you know your people better than I do."

  "Yes, sir." The major nodded understanding, but there was a twinge of bitterness in his voice. Frye's inner ear had been damaged in battle. As a result, he couldn't wear a neurohelmet—and could no longer pilot a 'Mech. In battle, Frye commanded his battalion either from a DropShip Ops console or from the deck of one of the legion's Pegasus scout tanks.

  Grayson wondered how the man had held on. To tell a MechWarrior he couldn't strap into a BattleMech was telling a bird it could not fly.

  "I want to leave each company commander where he or she is," Grayson continued. "I don't want to disrupt formations or unit integrity." He looked up, picking his son out from among the other faces watching him across the table. "Alex, I guess that leaves you. You want the job?"

  Grayson watched various emotions chasing one another across Alex's face. None of those emotions, though, appeared to be doubt.

  "Yes, sir!" Alex said. He grinned.

  "I think the flanking force will consist of Third Battalion's Second and Third Companies. Warfield's Warriors and the Gray Raiders. Any questions? Problems? Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

  There were some low-voiced murmurs among several of the assembled officers, but no one spoke up.

  "Good. Provisionally, the First Company, Major Frye's Firestormers, will demonstrate along this front south of the ridge. If it seems advisable, Major, we may shift east and north to threaten the Round Tops. We might even be able to move with the Round Tops for cover if we can sweep hostile observers off their crests."

  "Kind of like what you did at your Gettysburg sim on Glengarry, eh, Colonel?" Frye said. "A flank around the enemy's left, up and behind the Round Tops."

  Grayson smiled. "Hell, who knows? Maybe Zellner saw the broadcast of that match. If so, he'll be thinking about that ... and not about Captain Carlyle coming through the woods."

  "What about timing?" Captain Lang wanted to know.

  "It's almost thirteen-thirty hours now," Grayson said. "Sunset is ... what?"

  "Twenty-forty-five hours, this time of year," Lang replied.

  "So, seven hours of daylight left. Alex? How long for you to get around that flank?"

  "That depends a lot on what the terrain is really like out there," Alex replied. "I don't like trusting the projection data base. But I'd think four hours ought to be plenty. Four hours from when we move out."

  "Let's plan on a departure by fourteen-thirty hours, then," Grayson said. 'That puts you in the woods west of Meadow Grove at eighteen-thirty hours, with better than two hours of daylight left. That sounds good to you?"

  "Perfect." Alex was studying the woods to the west and the faint network of roads and trails he would have to negotiate. "One thing, though, Colonel. Suppose we come charging out of the woods and no one's there? I mean, this whole plan is based on our assumptions about what Zellner might do."

  "Aye," McCall added. "An' we all ken vurra weel tha' th' enemy never does just what y' expect him to!"

  "In that case," Grayson said with a shrug, "we do what we do best. We improvise. The plan is subject to revision at any time, of course, should we learn the enemy is out of position ... and of course field commanders have full freedom to make new operational decisions if they feel it necessary. But this"—he waved a hand across the holographic landscape— "this is good ground, the best in the whole area. If I was running the Third Guard south, I would certainly make use of that ridge. I'd be stupid not to."

  "How would you deploy differently, Colonel?" Shooter wanted to know. "Or would you?"

  "Good question. I probably wouldn't trust those woods on my right. To maintain operational flexibility, I might dig in on the hills with a minimum of 'Mechs, one company, say, and hold the main body in reserve closer to the town, ready to shift in any direction. Of course, I could be biased here, knowing what the Gray Death is planning ahead of time." The others chuckled. "Encamping my main body up here in Meadow Grove, though, would put me in position to defend against an attack either from the woods to the west, or from behind the Round Tops to the southeast." He studied the new dispositions for a moment. "Even if Zellner does it this way, though, he'll be in a tight position. When Alex hits him from the west, he'll have to shift that way to meet him with his full force ..."

  "... and First Company comes charging over the ridge and onto his left flank," Frye completed. "Neat."

  Grayson hesitated then, considering what to say next. "Now, people. Humor me for a short lecture, please. I don't usually go in for pre-battle pep talks. You know that. But this is a bad position we're in right now, fighting against a tough unit with decent leadership, and it's a unit that, until recently, anyway, was on our side.

  "I know how some of you people here feel, and how many of the people under your command still feel, about House Davion. Hell, when I was growing up, the Federated Suns and the Lyran Commonwealth both were always, I don't know, a kind of icon for me. The good guys. The heroes who were holding the line against the Draconis Combine.

  "But politics change, people. Alliances change, leaders change, whole nations and worlds and empires can change their very characters ... especially if there's rot from within. I don't need to remind any of you of your duty. I will remind you, though, that some of our people may find themselves having second thoughts when they stop and think that these are Davion 'Mechs in their sights, instead of Dracs or Liaos or Clanners.

  "I still hope we can stop this fight. Battalion Commo has been transmitting requests for a parlay for the past twelve hours, and it was my hope that we might convince Seymour and Zellner to talk, maybe stand down, instead of fight. But we haven't heard a peep in reply, so we've got to assume that Folker and Wilmarth have joined the Guards, that they're operating under what they believe to be legitimate orders, and that those orders are to bring the Gray Death to battle and destroy it.

  "I want all of you to impress upon your people that it won't make any difference tomorrow that we're fighting FedCom troops. They'll be playing for keeps, and so will we."

  "Hell, Colonel," Davis McCall said, rubbing his bad shoulder. "When has it been any different? Th' bluidy Sasunnach aye want our heads on sticks, but we're going t' gie 'em their own back, medium rare!"

  The others cheered and applauded that, and Grayson knew his people were ready.

  All that was needed, he thought wryly, was for Zellner to do what he was supposed to do....

  * * *

  The hilltop, partly wooded, partly rocky and broken, rose to the west of Advance Deployment Base Delta, providing an excellent view of the terrain in all directions. South and east, in the direction of New Edinburgh, the land was rolling and heavily wooded, all the way back to the slopes of the Mount Alba. On the northern horizon, the Grampian Mountains rose purple against a clear blue sky. Falkirk, of course, was invisible at this distance, as was the collection of ridges and hills that was the Gray Death's objective.

  Much closer by, almost in the shadow of the knobby hill, the Gray Death's advance camp, the dome of the headquarters building, and the mobile gantries for the 'Mech service array nearly filled th
e forest clearing. BattleMechs were already out and moving, slipping along a road toward the west in single file.

  Captain Alexander Carlyle and his flanking force, heading into the depths of the Tanglewood.

  Grayson Carlyle had been dead right about one thing in the briefing, the man standing on the hilltop thought. This terrain would make any major 'Mech fight a real bitch. Falkirk would be the battleground, without a doubt.

  Swiftly, he knelt on a flat slab of a boulder and opened a small case. The antenna unfolded by itself, the dish unfurling and automatically swinging toward the southern sky, like a dayflower seeking the sun. In this case, though, the target was not the local sun, but a reconnaissance and communications satellite in synchronous orbit with the planet. He waited ten seconds for the unit to come to full power. When a green light winked on the small console, he pressed a button, and the coded message, already stored in the unit's memory, was fed through an intense burst of laser energy fired into the sky.

  Undetectable, untraceable, lasting only a fraction of a second, the message would be relayed to Marshal Felix Zellner, revealing to him everything that had transpired in the briefing just a hour earlier.

  Alex Carlyle would be in for a bit of a surprise when he emerged from the woods some four hours from now. The ambusher was about to become the ambushed.

  When the transmission was completed, Captain Walter Dupré, currently assigned to First Company of the Third Battalion, folded up the equipment, checked the area to make certain he'd not been observed, then started back down the hill.

  26

  Observation Post One

  Falkirk, Caledonia

  Federated Commonwealth

  1940 hours, 16 April 3057

  "All right, Marshal Zellner," Marshal James Seymour said, hands on hips and an I-told-you-so look in his eye. "Where the hell is it?"

  "I don't know," Zellner admitted. "I just don't the hell know."

  They were standing in the bell tower of the First Caledonian Church of the Cosmic All, the tallest structure in the town of Falkirk that afforded a decent view of the terrain to the south. Four broad, tall windows, one in each wall encircling the single, massive bronze bell, offered a good view of the surrounding terrain, one better than battlefield teleremotes in that it could not be jammed.