“You will have your head handed to you,” Tassa interjected.
Raul downed the last draught of his margarita and waved the empty, bowl-shaped glass at a passing waitress. “Here she goes again,” he whispered, never loud enough for anyone else to hear. Tassa glanced at him from the other side of the table—a coincidence, although Raul still felt a sizzle of heat pass between them.
The back of his neck itched in a guilty flush, remembering his last rendezvous with the MechWarrior, and how he had learned the next day that Jessica had stayed out at the work site pitching in to help. Since then, his fiancée had gotten more involved in civilian efforts to support the military.
If Tassa sensed Raul’s discomfort, she didn’t let on. Instead, she glanced over at Chautec. “No offense.” She paused, then reconsidered, “Well, offense or not, Major Chautec, it is still a bad idea.”
“And why do you think so?” the major asked calmly, too seasoned a veteran to bite back in anger.
Tassa thought a moment, obviously deciding how—or if–she would answer him. With sudden commitment she rocked forward in her chair, her necklace charm swinging from her neck, leaned elbows onto the table and stabbed a finger down into the middle of a knot in the table’s wood grain. “Highlake Basin. Star Colonel Torrent has concentrated his forces here for their proximity to River’s End and the Swordsworn stronghold near Hahnsak. His advantage is that he can strike in either direction at a multitude of targets, carefully allocating his strength.
“But if you go after him where he is strongest, he will commit everything. All or nothing, Major. There will be no middle ground. Are you ready to strip River’s End bare of every last militiaman? Because you will have to. Is Blaire or Powers ready to do that?” she asked, cat’s-green eyes intent on Chautec.
So intent that she missed Kyle Powers’ approach from one side. “No,” the Knight-Errant said, obviously catching the last of her question. “I doubt that we are.”
All five men stood out of respect for the Sphere Knight, who had traded his bright, spotless dress uniform in for more practical gray utilities. His platinum hair looked ivory in the club’s subdued lighting. His only concession to rank was a collar pin that had been shaped like a forked banner, red with a gold clasp around the middle, on which erupted a platinum starburst: the heraldic of the Knights Errant.
Tassa Kay reclined back into her chair again, making a point of not rising. Powers noted this with an amused smile that reached into his eyes. He waved everyone else back to their seats, then turned to pull a chair from the nearby table filled with Aerospace and VTOL pilots. Raul did not miss the way the pilots’ gazes followed the Knight Errant, filled with hope and maybe some hero worship as well. A touch of awe that Powers quickly set aside by ordering them a round and making a point to ask each one something personal. A name. Unit. Hometown. In thirty seconds he had them laughing and joking again, relaxing while they could.
Raul caught himself smiling, warmed by the Knight Errant’s care for men with whom he had never served.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with MechWarrior Kay,” Powers said, returning with his chair, seating himself between Major Chautec and Clark Diago. “Star Colonel Torrent is a trueborn. He’s also of the Kerensky Bloodname. That makes him a most dangerous adversary.”
Raul accepted his new drink from the waitress, tipping her heavily. He turned back to the conversation with renewed interest. Tassa Kay had said something remarkably similar to him after their last tangle with the Steel Wolves, and in a few short days Powers had proven himself of sharp mind and instincts as well. His battlefield analyses were always spot-on. “I’d like to know why you say that, Sir Powers.”
“So would I,” Tassa agreed slowly, drawn back to the table and to Powers as if against her will.
The Knight-Errant had carried over his own tall glass. He sipped at what looked like pale, iced coffee, and Raul could only guess what it really was. Setting his drink back to the table, Powers traced the smooth line of his chin with one finger. “I don’t know as much as I’d like about the inner workings of the Steel Wolves. Kal Radick is much more a student of history than I am, and he seems to be truly invested in returning the faction toward true Clan Wolf traditions and ambitions. But I remember some of the history behind our expatriate Clan population, and I’ve been forced to learn a great deal more since the Blackout.
“In the Clans,” Powers continued slowly, as if dredging up each memory from deep inside, “a warrior is judged mainly on their own accomplishments, but they can also carry a heavy burden of shame or great expectations from previous generations. Star Colonel Torrent is more than a rising star among the Steel Wolves. He comes from Bloodname stock that is most revered among every Clan. Kerensky. General Aleksandr Kerensky led seventy… eighty percent of the Star League army into exile back in 2784. He was the Great Father to his son, Nicholas, the Founder of the Clans. Nicholas organized them into a warrior society unlike anything Humanity had ever seen.
“A later descendant, Ulric Kerensky, led all the Clans at one point as their ilKhan—supreme war chief. His efforts on behalf of the Inner Sphere fractured Clan Wolf, although Katya Kerensky reconciled many of the outcasts when she joined Devlin Stone’s reformation. And of course, the greatest outcast of them all was Natasha Kerensky—they called her the Black Widow and she was one of the greatest Mech Warriors and mercenary officers ever known to the Inner Sphere. She eventually returned to the Clans and was even elected saKhan of Clan Wolf for a time. To a martial people who believe that at thirty years of age you are looking past your prime, her sixty-year career is the stuff of legend.”
“You’re saying that Torrent has a lot to live up to,” Diago summed up in his usual sparse style. “Beyond the usual need to prove himself.”
Powers shrugged. “I’m saying that you should try to imagine yourself descended from Anastasias Focht or Victor Steiner-Davion. The son of Genghis Khan, Erwin Rommel, Michael Cameron, or Takashi Kurita. You start so close to the top, but it’s also a very long fall if you miss.”
Major Chautec shook his head. “So we wait around for him to grow into his role as Dictator-General of the Inner Sphere? Or to prop up Kal Radick into that title? Maybe we should hit him with everything we have, now, and be done with him or us. What are we waiting for?”
“Maybe we’re waiting for the return of Devlin Stone,” Raul said quietly to himself. Not quiet enough, though, as half the heads at the table swung around toward him. He hadn’t realized until voicing the idea how strongly he believed in Stone’s return. “Well, wasn’t that the promise?” he asked the Knight. “When we need him, he will return?”
“Ye-es,” Powers agreed hesitantly. “But do we truly need him—or want him—to save us from our own weakness?” The Knight Errant gazed over Raul’s head. “We need our father because we are afraid of the dark? I think Devlin Stone would be sorely disappointed.”
Raul had not considered such an argument, and found it compelling. But how much of that was the words, and how much the man behind them? And did it matter? Powers knew how to command, and he knew how to create alliances as well as friendships. Raul could see himself putting his trust in this man.
Others were not so charitable. Major Chautec set his stein down hard on the table, wiped froth from his upper lip. “So we sit back and wait for Torrent to gnaw our bones clean and maybe choke on a splinter. Wonderful. Well, if he’s going to scavenge among our forces, I say we should seriously think about returning the favor.”
“We do not need to,” Tassa said. “Not in the same way, at least. Torrent’s warriors are more than content to join our side, according to Star Commander Yulri.”
Raul’s new drink sat untouched on the table. Yulri was the prisoner Tassa claimed out of the fallen Blackhawk. Raul remembered Powers’ first meeting with the man, watching as Yulri all but swore his allegiance to the warrior who had bested him in combat.
Powers had looked at a loss at the time, though now he showed no regret
for having denied the man’s petition without prejudice. “True. The taking of bondsmen is another tradition Kal Radick seems to have revived.” Powers picked up his drink, but simply cradled it in his hands. “Eventually, such prisoners expect to earn their way back to warrior status. And there is no loss of honor. Yulri seems to believe that he belongs to you,” he winked at Tassa. “But I’m not comfortable with the practice.” He hesitated, just for a second. Then he continued, his voice strong, “In truth, I’m not entirely comfortable with giving the man over to you.”
Tassa responded to his blunt statement with an honest shrug. “Why not? I already have two Condor tank crews who are routinely assigned to me at their request. Are you concerned that I will start my own army and take Achernar with a bare lance of men?”
“No. But such…” he trailed off, looking for the right word, “such recruits could do a great deal of damage if they decide to break against us at the wrong moment.”
Tassa scoffed. “I can keep them in line.”
“Yes, but will you put your Ryoken up as a bond on their loyalty?” The Knight Errant sat forward, suddenly very intent on the other MechWarrior. His gray eyes were sharp as splintered slate, and stared unblinking into Tassa’s pause. From comrade to commander just that fast, Raul noted.
“I will put myself up as a guarantee,” Tassa finally said, rolling with the change. “The Ryoken goes where I go.”
“You’re asking me to put a lot of faith in your word of honor, Tassa Kay. Do you have anyone who can vouchsafe your loyalty?”
To her credit, Tassa never once looked in Raul’s direction. Not a glance or even a partial shift in the line of her shoulders. But he felt the question that hung between them. Raul knew she waited for his decision, and his alone. “I will,” he said, speaking up before he could think better of it or argue himself out of the gut-sense call.
Powers raised an eyebrow. “You know Tassa Kay well enough for that, Captain Ortega?” The tone of his voice—a timbre of expectancy—made Raul think that Powers had been waiting for the junior MechWarrior to speak as well.
“I don’t know her at all, Sir Powers, except that she’s about the best damned partner you could ask for in a battle. And if I can trust her with my back on the field, I can give her my support here.” He shrugged, feeling the burden of Powers’ judgment weighing on his shoulders. “And like she said, what can she really do with one lance?”
Kyle Powers seemed less interested in Tassa Kay and more in Raul, as if he could measure the other man’s depth of devotion and empathy in a single glance. “All right, Tassa Kay.” The judgment came down slowly, and with almost ceremonial reverence. “You can have your man. But he does not get anything better than medium armor.”
“He will be a technician on my ’Mech for at least a week,” she said, dismissing any concerns. She tugged at the dark forelock hanging down from her widow’s peak. “Then maybe I will find him an infantry battlesuit.”
Raul shuddered, trying to imagine giving up his Legionnaire for one of the tinman suits enjoyed by ground soldiers. Now that was desperation.
Clark Diago thought so as well, though along another train of thought. “You’re pretty trusting, giving the enemy access to your Ryoken.”
“I can use someone else with knowledge of cutting-edge technology to oversee repairs. Besides,” she shrugged, rising, “I think we are all pretty trusting to give Sandoval access to our plans and stockpiles.” She threw down the last of her drink, then set the glass on the table and used it to hold down her bar payment of crumpled bills. Without another word she left, gracefully weaving among tables and scattered chairs on a path toward the O-club door.
Most of the men watched her departure. More used to Tassa’s cryptic personality, Raul shrugged it aside. Moreover, the same uneasy feeling had plagued him as well, ever since the staff briefing on Powers’ arrival. How could the militia embrace one wayward faction even while fighting off another? “She’s right,” he said, then asked the question out loud for the opinions of the others.
“The Swordsworn aren’t acting nearly as predatory as the Steel Wolves,” Chautec said. Then, hedging, he added, “Yet.”
“Enemy of our enemy,” Jeffrey McDaniels said with a casual shrug. “It’s not like we’re going to suddenly side with Aaron Sandoval when this is all over.”
Powers offered nothing at all, staring at the table but obviously alert to the conversation. Raul pressed forward. “But we are choosing sides,” he pointed out. “With all due respect, Sir Powers, we’ve given the Swordsworn legitimacy, and I’m not so certain that’s a good thing.”
The Knight-Errant glanced up. A shadow of doubt flickered in his gray eyes just for a second, enough for Raul to be sure it had been there, and then was suppressed. The MechWarrior felt certain he had been meant to see it.
“I’m not so certain either, Raul.” Powers voice betrayed nothing of his own doubts, though. He had made his decision, and was standing by it. “It’s a terrible answer to a worse question, though. And the Swordsworn have helped keep Achernar free, haven’t they?”
Raul stood, abandoned his melting margarita. “No sir,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I think they were just here first.”
He gave the Knight and then Major Chautec a respectful nod, and clapped Jeffrey on the shoulder as he stepped away and followed Tassa’s path to the door. He paused there to look back. Powers already had the table turned back toward an upbeat mood, encouraging Jeffrey McDaniels to recount another tale. The Knight Errant glanced his way, once, and saluted him with a noncommittal nod. Raul pushed his way outside.
Tassa waited, standing in a large patch of evening shade, letting the dry, evening breeze tug at her dark red hair. Somehow Raul had been certain he’d catch up with her, though she looked surprised to see him. “Not staying for the party?”
“You know,” he said, answering her in a roundabout way, “you have a knack for throwing water on other people’s fire.”
Tassa shrugged, not agreeing or not caring. Likely the latter. “I need to get Yulri out of dock. Can you give me a hand?”
“It’s going to take Sir Powers’s authority, likely countersigned by Colonel Blaire, to do that.” Raul shook his head. “No way he’ll get to it before morning, so relax, Tassa.”
Hands on her hips and a jaunty tilt to her head, Tassa swung around to regard Raul with a poisoned stare. “You do not like the idea of freeing the prisoner either, do you?” She quickly doused her flare of temper, though. “Still don’t trust me?”
Raul shrugged. “I don’t know you,” he said. “But I’m trying.”
“Yes. Sometimes you are very trying.”
If that wasn’t the Atlas calling the Jupiter overpowered… Raul shrugged, stared up into the pale blue sky. Achernar’s evenings were often mild and beautiful. Only a touch of the day’s heat remained. He suddenly doubted his decision to walk out on the O-club, but wasn’t about to go back inside. “You know,” he said with hesitant strength, gaining momentum as he talked, “it’s still early, and I left my third drink sitting on the table.”
“What of it?” Tassa Kay asked warily.
Another brief itch of guilt, which Raul ignored, having pushed this far already. “So, I have a bottle of whiskey stashed in my room,” he told her. “It’s not reserve label, but it’s true Glengarry stock.”
Tassa considered it for all of ten seconds. “One condition. None of this ridiculous four drink limit.”
He doubted that Tassa missed him wince at the headache he’d have in the morning, but nodded anyway. “Deal,” he agreed.
And Raul would deal with whatever the Fates had in mind for him tomorrow, he promised. Just so long as they didn’t call a military alert this evening.
12
Bait and Switch
Sirens’ Pass
Achernar
1 March 3133
The last high peaks of the Tanager Mountains, the ones that anchored the short march down toward the Taibek Hill
s, had swallowed Achernar’s sun not quite an hour before. A pale sky hung over valleys and narrow clefts now being drowned in shadow. Sirens’ Pass, the last—or the first—major break in the Tanagers, which faded down into the B’her farming valley, swam in an artificial twilight.
The perfect place for an ambush.
Erik Sandoval-Groell waited with his forces inside the lower pass, hands sweat-slick on his Hatchetman’s dead control sticks. Reaching into the storage under his seat, he fished out a pair of neoleather gloves and pulled them on with determined tugs. Better. He wouldn’t let anything betray him here. Not damp hands, and certainly not second thoughts. Five days before he had set himself to watching for a chance to ratchet up tensions between the Steel Wolves and the Republic forces on Achernar. Now was that time. There was no turning back.
Outside, a violent wind cut through the pass, howling and wailing as it brushed past the dark shafts that were an old Taibek Mining venture. The mine openings were such an obvious ambush site that Erik had ordered them left clear. Five MiningMech conversions and his own BattleMech crouched against cold rock, concealed on precarious ledges or half buried in ancient tailings. They would hit first.
And soon.
Through his sweating ferroglass shield, Erik watched as Steel Wolf infantry concluded their sweep of the first few shaft entrances, calling them clear and scrambling to the next set of dark openings even as the main patrol worked their way down out of the knife-edged Tanager Mountains. A converted ForestryMech led the way, flanked by two JES strategic missile carriers. A line of supply and support vehicles trailed behind them in column formation, ready to rape the B’her valley agrocombines of foodstock and machinery, and at sound military positions several infantry carriers and light armor paced the column. The JES’s slowed a bit, no doubt on alert with magres imaging throwing back so many metal-lode returns. Ore, abandoned dump carts, an old drilling rig—there was too much clutter for them to read solid outlines and Erik’s forces had been in place long enough for thermal shadows to cool on everything except his Hatchetman’s fusion engine. That took them several critical seconds.
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