Grayson had in fact been considering ordering his line to melt back into the woods, to avoid contact together, but that would have risked the serious danger of the twelve Legion 'Mechs becoming separated in the treacherous labyrinth of the Tanglewood, and the even greater danger being fired on by friendly 'Mechs in that wilderness.
Seeing Alex's signal had decided him, however. With Alex attacking their rear, by now the Guards had other things to worry about than how many 'Mechs were in Grayson's tiny command. The thought was reinforced by a glance toward Cemetery Ridge. A greasy black pall of smoke was rising now against the evening sky, red-lit from beneath, and the sound of multiple explosions could be heard in the distance.
"Get 'em, Alex!" he breathed softly.
The Davion 'Mechs were much closer now, less than two hundred meters away. They were picking their way slowly through the torn and ruptured ground in front of the woods, an area plowed by dozens of high-explosive shells and rockets from the Davion artillery base.
The Locusts and the lone Mercury trod mincingly across the broken ground, now within one hundred meters. The others hung further back, possibly sensing a trap, possibly receiving new orders from their command center. Much longer, and they might be ordered back.
But now they were close enough.
"Fire!"
As one, the Gray Death BattleMechs hidden in the woods opened fire on the advancing 'Mech company. Grayson had carefully passed the word to the others to hold their fire, deliberately luring the approaching patrol well into the killing ground of the waiting 'Mechs interlocking fields of fire. One of the Locusts went down almost at once, its slender leg shot through by a laser burst from a Legion Marauder. An Assassin was pinned in the intersecting laser beams from Lang's Shadow Hawk, Gonzalez's Guillotine, and Sharon Kilroy's Vindicator. Thomas Vandermier's Hunchback began the steady slam-slam-slam of heavy cannon fire from his Kali Yama autocannon. The shells slashed viciously into a Centurion, driving it back step by step, shredding armor from its shoulder and side in great chunks that spun smoking through the air.
So devastating was that first volley that there was no immediate response from the ambush victims. Two of their number were down ... then three ... then a fourth, a second Assassin, hammered down by rocket fire from the two big Catapults. Finally, the survivors began returning fire, but slowly and with evident confusion, sending rounds and laser beams searing through the trees, but for the most part firing high or between the lurking Legion 'Mechs.
Grayson concentrated his fire on the biggest enemy 'Mech, a Victor that might have been an identical twin to Grayson's save that its armor looked newer and less scarred, the paint was brighter, the hull numbers fresher.
No matter. Grayson slammed two Gauss rounds into the other Victor at close range one after the other, then followed up with a barrage from both lasers and a salvo of SRMs. The other Victor, staggered by the sheer, devastating power of the Gauss rifle onslaught, stumbled and went down. Rising, it brought up its own Gauss rifle, seeking a target, then firing with a shattering thunderclap that felled a tree three meters to Grayson's left.
Grayson fired his Gauss gun again before the enemy Victor could recharge, striking the other high in its right shoulder, tearing away a chunk of its heavy pauldron.
The other Davion 'Mechs, those that could still walk, were scattering, running back the way they'd come, their formation broken. Grayson strode from the woods, firing at the retreating Guard 'Mechs. The enemy Victor, still holding its ground, fired both lasers, the coherent light washing across Grayson's armored torso in a scintillating burst of reflected light. The other 'Mech seemed to be having trouble with its Gauss rifle, however. Twice, it raised the heavy muzzle of the weapon to aim directly at Grayson's cockpit, then twice lowered it again, as though the pilot had tried to trigger the weapon and failed. Abruptly, the enemy 'Mech turned, flexed its knees, and leaped into the air, jump jets shrieking, leaving a swirl of superheated air and burning grass to mark its passage.
"Forward!" Grayson called. "General advance!"
It was Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg again, with Grayson advancing up Cemetery Ridge with eleven BattleMechs strung out to either side and behind him, the enemy already in complete rout, streaming away and up the slope of the ridge. He could see other 'Mechs atop the ridge, wavering uncertainly. From that vantage point, they must be able to see both Grayson's small line to their front, plus the large number of 'Mechs in Striker coming down on their rear. The explosions flashing and erupting along the crest of the hills ahead indicated that Alex must be hitting them from the far side with everything he had.
An old-fashioned charge, right now, right here, just might break the enemy's will to keep fighting.
A salvo of SRMs streaked across the intervening space from the ridge, angling toward the torso of Grayson's Victor. Grayson flexed his 'Mech's knees, then leaped, triggering his jump jets in a fiery burst of superheated steam. He rose into the sky as the missiles howled past. One exploded harmlessly against his side armor; the others missed, passing beneath him. Slowly, majestically, his Victor soared across the plain toward the top of the ridge. He would never make it all the way, of course, but his first jump ought to take him about a quarter of the way out from the woods. This, at least, was one advantage the Victor had over the Marauder. It could jump, though Grayson often thought that the weight and control systems devoted to the jump jets could have been better spent on additional weapons for the Victor.
To left and right, others of the company charged forward, those with jump jets using them to vault ahead, those without breaking into a lumbering run up the gentle slope. The company was widely scattered now, the better to avoid making a tempting target for enemy gunners on the ridgetop.
The Victor was losing energy, starting to descend. Grayson positioned his legs for a landing, spreading them slightly apart, knees flexed ...
He hit and heard a sharp bang from somewhere below in the same instant. Red lights flared across his console, warning of a critical failure in his right-leg hydraulics. He was losing pressure down there, and fast.
He recovered from his landing, took one step ... and suddenly the ground was rushing toward his 'Mech's cockpit. He crashed into the ground, the impact jarring him, hurling him forward and down against the straps that pinned him in his seat.
Right-leg hydraulics and control systems, down. The Victor's knees had been giving it trouble for years, but never anything like this. He must have blown the whole hydraulic pressurization system and shorted out the myomer cyclics. Warning discretes announced catastrophic failure of his right leg. Hell, as near as he could tell, his 'Mech didn't have a right leg anymore.
His Victor, lying full length on the ground, began bucking and thumping with multiple impacts. There was a devastating slam as something big hit him in the back, and suddenly, miniature lightning bolts were dancing across his console.
Grayson gasped, then screamed as an electric charge surged through his body. The pain was mercifully brief, cut short when the power to his cockpit systems failed, but it left him numb, feeling bruised all over. He couldn't move his legs. Another thump, more violent this time, and fresh lightnings arced past his cockpit window.
A PPC round ... from behind? Desperately, Grayson tried to engage one of his monitors to get a view in that direction, but nothing was working, nothing! The Victor's cockpit was dark save for the glow of emergency battery-powered lights and the erratic wink of dozens of red warning lights on his console. "Warning, warning," a computer voice said with grating calm. "Fire in capacitor bank three...."
Grayson was hanging facedown, dangling from the safety harness of his cockpit seat. Smoke was filling the cockpit, and one of the few operational readouts on his console was the ominous red bar showing 'Mech internal temperature, next to several flashing discretes warning of fire.
Damn! Who had attacked him? All primary systems were out, dead. He couldn't eject, not lying flat like this. He would have to scramble clear through the e
scape hatch. Would his legs hold him? Feeling was returning, a hot tingling sensation, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to stand up.
"Warning, warning. Fire in the cockpit. Fire in the cockpit..."
He would crawl if he had to. The smoke was becoming so thick he could scarcely see his console in the hesitant light, but there was a growing warmth to the smoke, and a hint of a flickering yellow glow. His helmet was not airtight, and he began choking on the acrid fumes. After struggling to disconnect his neurohelmet cables and then unhooking his seat restraints in the close space of the cockpit, Grayson twisted around and yanked on the emergency hatch release. There was a small explosion, and the hatch popped open, admitting a rush of cool, sweet, fresh air. He pushed himself through, his legs dangling uselessly behind him as he hauled himself halfway through the small round hatch.
A 'Mech loomed up out of the rear darkness just thirty meters away. In the gloom, he could still make out its outline easily against the pale twilight sky: a Zeus.
Walter Dupré's Zeus.
With a harsh whine of servomotors, the fearsome assault 'Mech raised its left arm to aim its massive particle projection cannon directly at him.
28
Meadow Grove
Caledonia, Skye March
Federated Commonwealth
2054 hours, 16 April 3057
The Davion 'Mechs were on the run, streaming away from the point at which Task Force Striker had burst out of the woods in a ragged flight in the general direction of the Round Tops, about three kilometers away. Dozens of 'Mechs were scattered about the maintenance area or close by, slumped dead and vacant on the ground in huge, metallic sprawls, or burning furiously as their internal ammo stores cooked off.
Surprise had been complete, and victory was assured if they could keep the pace of battle moving along at its current fast clip. Fully half the Davion force was in all-out retreat. And, best of all, it was retreating in the direction of the other half of the Davion force. A collision would reduce both to a helplessly milling mob. Alex knew that the key to victory was for the Legion forces to keep up the pressure and to maintain coordination as they drove the enemy forward.
He glanced toward the south. His father should have seen the flares, should be on his way now. Once the rest of the Gray Death swept over the ridge, they would have the retreating wing of the Third Davion Guards trapped and funneling toward the Round Tops.
Still, Alex saw no sign of his father's force. Where were they?
* * *
Davis McCall landed his Highlander in a fiery burst of superheated plasma as the 'Mech's jump jets cushioned his touchdown near the top of Cemetery Ridge. A laser beam stabbed against his center torso, boiling armor, and autocannon shells splashed across his legs and side. Shrugging off the volley, McCall recovered from the landing, strode forward three steps, and swung his 'Mech's right arm in a savage, flat arc, smashing the side of an Enforcer's head.
A Davion Blackjack pivoted its torso to face him sixty meters away, and McCall triggered his 'Mech's left-arm Gauss rifle. The hypersonic round struck the lighter 'Mech low in the torso and to the left, punching straight through the armor in an explosion of shrapnel and scattering bits of internal circuitry. The Blackjack twisted, as if in pain, and its legs folded beneath it as smoke began spilling from the wound in its side. McCall followed his first shot with another, sending along a salvo of six SRMs as seasoning. Half the missiles struck home, while the Gauss round smashed the lower half of the Blackjack's right arm to metal shards and splinters. As the top of the Blackjack's blocky head disintegrated in a small explosion of smoke and blown-off panels, the pilot's ejection seat rocketed into the sky on a dazzling trail of orange fire.
McCall urged his ponderous mount forward, taking the last twenty strides up the slope and cresting the top of Cemetery Ridge. He was the first one from the Legion to make it to the objective, though Caitlin's Griffin and Frye's Pegasus tank were close behind. Now that he'd eliminated the Blackjack and the Enforcer, the ridge was swept clean of Davion 'Mechs. Most had turned and fled with the survivors of the Davion patrol, which had come bolting up the slope from the south, smashing through their own lines as they kept on going. The 'Mechs in position atop Cemetery Ridge had taken one look at the line of Gray Death mediums and heavies advancing up the hill out of the twilight, loosed a few ineffectual shots, and then turned and followed their fleeing comrades.
More Firestormer 'Mechs joined him, Aleksanyen's Catapult and Lang's Shadow Hawk, the latter advancing steadily with its big shoulder-mounted autocannon barking steadily as it hurled shell after high-explosive shell after the retreating enemy. Where was Grayson?
McCall glanced at his tactical display, then turned, searching the darkening slope behind. He saw movement and the orange smear of flame. Shifting his HUD optics to enhanced imagery, he could pick out the broken lines of a fallen Victor, the menacing angles of a Zeus aiming its PPC at the pilot. ...
"No!..."
* * *
There was no time to wriggle free of the Victor's escape hatch, no time for anything save throwing both arms above his head as Grayson Carlyle stared into the blackened muzzle of the Defiance 1001 PPC.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," came Dupré's voice, booming from the external speaker of his Zeus. "I can't accept your surrender."
Dupré! The assassination attempt on Glengarry ... The son of a bitch must have been part of that, a plant, a mole in the Gray Death, placed there to feed intelligence to whoever was behind all of this—and to kill its commander at a critical moment.
And I thought I was a good judge of people! Grayson thought with stark bitterness. Right!
"Who are you working for?" Grayson shouted at the giant looming above him. Keep him talking! "I mean, maybe we could make a deal...."
"No deals, Colonel. I'm afraid I have my or—"
The thunderclap was a shattering explosion of raw noise, the detonation of a lightning bolt striking scant meters away. Grayson's first thought was that the PPC had loosed its artificial lightning, but the Zeus staggered back a half step as a portion of its upper torso flared white at the bull's-eye center of an expanding smoke ring.
Instantly, Grayson dropped back down through the narrow mouth of the Victor's escape hatch. There would have been no time for him to wiggle all the way out, and with his legs still numb and tingling, he could not have run for cover. The only cover he could reach was to return to the temporary— and burning—shelter of the Victor's head.
But as he dropped through the hatch, his left sleeve snagged on a projecting shard of torn metal. For one horrifying instant, he hung there with his arm still on the rim of the hatch as he struggled to pull it free.
Suddenly the near darkness of the Victor's cockpit exploded with light. Again, Grayson felt the jolt and the numbness of a violent electrical shock as lightning sparked and snapped across the open hatchway. The eerie and frightening part of the assault was that it was all happening in a total, wool-muffled silence. Grayson could see his left sleeve on fire, see the skin underneath blistering, yet he felt no immediate pain or any other sensation at all save the numbing effects of the shock. And the silence lent a dreamlike quality to what was happening, almost as though he were watching it all happen to someone else in a trivid.
Then the burning sleeve tore free and Grayson tumbled back into the cockpit, half his clothing in flames. He was starting to feel the pain now and he could feel himself screaming, but he still could hear nothing save the vibration of his own cries transmitted through the bones of his skull to his ears.
Somehow, thrashing about the close confines of the Victor's cockpit, his right hand closed on a manual fire extinguisher and yanked it free of its mounting bracket on the curving wall. Turning it on himself, Grayson bathed his burning arm and side in a white blast of carbon dioxide vapor, still screaming as the pain seared out of his arm and invaded his chest and head. And all the while he still did not hear a thing even when the extinguisher ran empty and the metal bottle dropped f
rom spasming fingers and bounced off a metal console. Collapsing against the cable and power feed-covered wall next to the display monitors, console, and forward viewport that now formed the cockpit's floor, Grayson stared up at the circle of sky visible through the still-open hatch. The pain was terrible ... yet distant, as though the nerves of his body had overloaded somehow or simply been seared into total unresponsiveness. He felt as though he'd been wrapped in cotton wool, as if he were floating. The silence that still embraced him together with the awful pain, he decided, must be the result of that final thunderclap.
What, he wondered, his mind starting to drift as his body slid inexoraby into shock, was going on outside?...
* * *
Davis McCall fired again, sending a hypersonic round from his Highlander's Gauss rifle slamming into the Zeus, striking it in one bulky shoulder and spinning it halfway around.
"This is McCall!" he shouted over the tactical frequency. "Th' Colonel's down!"
The Zeus raised its left-arm PPC, loosing a bolt of charged particles that smashed into the Highlander's left leg in a searing burst of man-made lightning. McCall fired the Gauss rifle a third time, striking the Zeus in its lower torso. The earlier hits had savaged the other 'Mech's armor, reducing large parts of its torso and shoulder to half-fused areas surrounding gaping craters. As smoke now poured from the hull of the Zeus, the pilot was obviously having trouble focussing on McCall's Highlander.
Seeing his chance, McCall triggered his jump jets, and the ninety-ton Highlander soared clumsily into the air.
Tactics of Duty Page 32
