"Yes, Kolarasi," the ex-Saurimat said, his voice taut with excitement "Allah akbar!"
"Right O.K., let's show ourselves, Lori," Grayson said. "I want them down here, out from under the guns of that Leopard."
The Shadow Hawk stepped fully from the jungle, and the enemy
‘Mechs hurried their pace. Missiles and beams lanced out from the DropShip, but flew either too high or else splashed close by the Phobos, searching for the range. In ground combat, DropShips depended on a high volume of fire rather than accuracy to protect themselves from advancing ‘Mechs, and they suffered the same fire-control problems at long ranges that ‘Mechs did. The Leopard's fire should not prove too dangerous unless they ventured nearer.
The Phobos returned the fire. BattleMechs on both sides began shooting, too, though neither unit expected to do much more than keep the other side cautious at this range of over a kilometer. With most ‘Mech tracking units being centuries old and all cobbled together from other, even older units, they were not up to pinpoint accuracy across more than a few hundred meters.
The Gray Death's ‘Mechs held their ground while the Kurita ‘Mechs closed. By this time, the Draco scanners would have identified all three visible ‘Mechs and tallied the odds in favor of the attackers, four ‘Mechs to three, 190 tons to 170. The Kurita machines proceeded even closer.
At 500 meters, they were within effective range, and McCall's Rifleman began scoring hits on the Marauder with his autocannon. Each flash and bang of an impacting shell gouged heavy armor, sending bits and flakes of metal flying back over the Marauder's shell. Lori joined in, firing the Hawk's autocannon in a long, ragged volley that stitched shells across the Marauder's port side and arm. Delmar Clay, meanwhile, turned his Wolverine's SRMs and autocannon on the Orion.
The two Kurita light ‘Mechs hung back, shielded by the bulk of their comrades.
Cannon fire thundered. The Dracos were probably surprised that they'd stood and fought, Grayson thought. Rebel forces, or the mercenary units helping them, could not afford to stand up to a Kurita line unit and slug it out The Combine had plenty of ‘Mechs on Verthandi, plus an unending pipeline of tools and repair parts from offworld. Each of the Grey Death's ‘Mechs was priceless, and spare parts would be tough to come by. Delmar Clay's Wolverine staggered back a step as autocannon fire opened craters in the big ‘Mech's chest.
"Keep moving, everybody," Grayson ordered over the battle circuit. "It's a long way to the nearest friendly repair facility!"
"Cap'n! McCall here. It's gettin' a wee bit warmish in here. Ah'm goin' for a wee dip!"
"Right We may join you."
As the exchange of heavy cannon and laser fire continued, the Hawk's cockpit was rapidly becoming stiflingly hot Grayson wiped at the perspiration beading his forehead and flicked it to the deck, then grabbed for a stanchion as Lori tilted the machine sharply in response to a laser burst that scorched the Hawk's right side. He wished he could take his off uniform jacket, but there was no room. Anyway, the Orion was charging now, its lumbering gait heading straight toward the mercenary ‘Mechs.
"Watch him," Grayson barked. "If he gets in the middle of us, we won't be able to fire at him without firing at each other!"
McCall, his Rifleman now waste-deep in the surging, incoming tide, swivelled his ‘Mech's torso and hosed fire across the charging Orion, but it was Lori who thought to direct autocannon fire at the big ‘Mech's feet Craters gouged the sand, filling immediately with dirty water. One of the Orion's broad feet came down into a shell hole with a splash, overbalancing the ‘Mech and toppling it forward into the foam.
As McCall's lasers scorched low across the sand from the sea, wet sand by the fallen Orion sizzled and exploded in gouts of steam. Lori brought the Hawk's right arm to the point, its medium laser fanning white hot-destruction across the Orion's backpack electronics. Firing its jump-jets with a rushing hiss, an enemy Stinger leaped, balanced, and then descended in steam and smoke. Cradling its right-hand laser like a pistol, it fired at the Shadow Hawk's cockpit as it touched down.
Grayson had already averted his eyes. Without the shielded visor of the neurohelmet, the laser's monocolor pulse would have blinded him, even through the mirrored surface of the Hawk's shielded vision slits. He felt heat, intense heat, wash through the cockpit, and then the thunder of the Hawk's shoulder-mounted autocannon smacked into the lighter Stinger and sent it tumbling backward into the sand.
Shellfire streamed across the Marauder, which had halted at the fall of the Orion. The Stinger at its side exchanged laser fire with the Rifleman, which was now striding out of the sea, foam streaming from its legs. The Hawk's battlecom circuits garbled strange, shouted words. "Droch annailed sassanach! Oed an sluic!"
"McCall!" The Caledonian was totally absorbed in his firefight with the Kurita ‘Mechs. "McCall! Behind you!"
"Rach gus sluic!" The Rifleman continued its inexorable advance, autocannons stuttering, shell casings spilling into the water. Low, skimming the water behind McCall's ‘Mech, the AeroSpace Fighter that had fled skyward earlier was returning, its nose lasers and autocannon twinkling in deadly synchronization.
Founts of water gushed and sprayed on either side of the Rifleman, and explosions blossomed along its back. The flat antennae of the D2j tracking system burst into fragments, and the ‘Mech's right arm went suddenly limp, the autocannon barrels swinging down to point into the water.
The lasers aboard the Phobos swung heavily to track the new, unexpected target, but too slowly. Lori brought the Shadow Hawk's laser into line and triggered a rippling pulse of coherent light flat across the beach, scant meters above the Rifleman's head and into the onrushing fighter. Shellfire and laser bursts were tracking past the toppling Rifleman now, blasting sand, mud, and steam into the sky in an impenetrable curtain. Lori just kept firing at where she thought the target to be, tracking higher, then straight overhead as a shadow blackened the sky and thunder pealed. Then the Phobos fired, sending streaks of light burning through the sky.
Red lights winked on Lori's console. "Damn!" she said. "A shell took out our autocannon on that run!"
Grayson had not even felt the impact. He studied the battlescreen. The fighter was continuing its flight due south. "I think you hurt him, Lori...or Use did. He's not going to stop until he hits Regis!"
"Now, if we could just convince them."
The Rifleman was down, partly submerged in the swift-rising tide, braced half-erect on knees and gun barrels. Its fall had signaled a general advance for the Kurita ‘Mechs.
Clay's Wolverine laid down a blistering salvo of laser, autocannon, and SRM fire. Missiles wove between the Kurita ‘Mechs, flashing with sudden, sharp impact, raining the enemy with mud, pocking their armor with shellbursts and the charred, black slashes of laser strikes. Suddenly outnumbered four to two, the Wolverine and the Shadow Hawk stepped closer together, almost side by side, spraying their attackers with concentrated fire.
The Stinger was down again, not moving. Before Grayson could react to the sudden turn of events, three more ‘Mechs had stepped onto the beach from the jungle two hundred meters beyond the attackers. Grayson almost pointed out the new targets to Lori, then shouted in pure joy as he realized that the newcomers were the Gray Death's own light ‘Mechs. Hassan Khaled in his Stinger was snapping shots into the rear of the Marauder with vicious abandon. Both Wasps had joined Clay's Wolverine in a wicked crossfire that trapped the Orion and had the heavy machine reeling.
The Kurita ‘Mechs wavered. If they broke and ran, they would run right through the light ‘Mechs closing in behind them.
"Khaled!" Grayson cried into the com circuit "Scatter your force! Clay! You follow us!" He urged Lori forward with a hand on her shoulder as though he were propelling the Hawk itself. Lori's sweat-soaked T-shirt was wringing wet under his fingers. The Shadow Hawk fired its jump jets, causing Grayson to clutch again for the overhead stanchions. The machine crashed to earth on the far side of the fallen enemy Stinger, but then rec
overed its balance and continued its advance toward the foe.
The remaining Stinger turned and fled, crashing headlong into Khaled's Stinger, which was charging from the other direction. Both ‘Mechs went down, arms and legs flailing. The Orion was limping heavily. The heavy, oily green sheen of coolant was smeared along its left leg like blood and also gushed from a shattered knee joint Smoke boiled from a scar in its left side.
The Marauder held its ground, buying time, perhaps, for its fellows. Both the Hawk and the Wolverine concentrated their fire on the Marauder. For a full thirty seconds of blazing, fire-licked hell, the three ‘Mechs exchanged laser fire at close quarters. The Hawk's cockpit was an oven, an inferno that brought Grayson to the point of collapse. Heat overload alarms were shrilling as red lights rippled across Lori's board. Four times he saw her slap the override switch when the on-board computer threatened shutdown. After that, he lost count.
Lori guided the overheated machine through ankle-deep water, working toward deeper water where the sea would act as shield and coolant. The Marauder crabbed sideways. Though still firing, it was retreating now toward its DropShip.
Grayson spared a glance for the grounded DropShip and stifled a yelp of surprise. There were two Kurita Leopards there now. The second must have grounded unheard and unseen during the battle. There was a stir of movement below the second ship, but he couldn *t make out what it was.
"Let me have a magnification of the landing site," he said, and Lori punched a combination of buttons. The combat screen lit up with a magnified view of the base of the newly grounded DropShip.
Galleons.
Grayson knew the GAL-100 from his ID lectures of years before. The tank was a fast, light tracked vehicle designed to support ‘Mechs or infantry, or both. Instead of a full turret, a medium laser on a universal platform mount rotated on its broad, flat back, and a pair of light lasers were set in vertical shell turret mounts on either side just above the leader wheels. The Galleon was fast, faster than any ‘Mech, though the sand of the beach might slow them some here. Its single disadvantage was its light armor, but the tanks were small and relatively cheap to produce. Most battlefield commanders could afford to lose three or four Galleons to kill a single ‘Mech.
This latest turn of the battle made Grayson curse bitterly under his breath. The enemy ‘Mechs were beaten, broken, but he could count at least six Galleons moving down the beach. And there could be more behind, masked by their fellows. Those were the support forces he'd thought the enemy had neglected to throw in.
Grayson was gripped by a momentary indecision. His ‘Mech force could not be pushed for much longer. One of his heavies was down, and both the Wolverine and the Shadow Hawk had been squandering ammunition in attempts to overwhelm their targets with raw firepower. Worse, the Hawk could not withstand its current heat load much longer, and each discharge of the laser made things worse. He was sure that things were just as bad aboard Clay's machine. It was time to retreat, now, while they could. Yet it was wrenching to think of abandoning the field like this, with victory so close...
The Galleons were racing across the beach now, their tread kicking up spray behind them. Lori began firing with her laser, snapping shots off slowly and with great deliberation. Her heat alarms were shrilling again. Grayson had another thought. Would they be able to escape? The Galleons were racing to cut them off on each side from jungle and sea. With their high speed, they were devilishly hard to hit.
A flash of light snapped across Khated's Stinger as a laser struck home. Light flooded the Hawk's cockpit and Grayson covered his eyes. When he looked up again, purple blotches danced before his eyes, almost totally obscuring his vision. Briefly, he knew sharp panic, but the fear subsided as his vision cleared. The beam that had caught the Shadow Hawk's head had not struck the vision screens squarely. It had been partly reflected laser light that had so dazzled Grayson's eyes.
Lori stabbed off the last of the Hawk's head-mounted SRMs. "I don't think we can hold them, Gray!"
Explosions echoed across the beach, cracks and hollow-sounding booms under flame-shot clouds. A tank died horribly, flame boiling from its engine vents and its turret. A crewman struggled to free himself from an escape hatch, looking tiny and pitiful against the consuming blaze.
The tanks slowed and stopped, their lasers tracking new targets.
At first, Grayson had thought the explosions were the Hawk's missiles, but it was something else. Small containers, possibly glass, were being hurtled from the jungle's edge, breaking over the tanks' backs or on the surface of the water. When they broke, fire billowed skyward. Where the fire touched the water already lapping at the tanks' treads, it spread, burning furiously.
Skimmers burst from the jungle, just clearing the mud and shallow water. Men rode those skimmers. Some carried guns, but most were hurling containers at the Galleons, then ducking low to pick up and light another.
Grayson recognized the weapon. It was a glass bottle filled with a mixture of gasoline and oil, the neck stuffed shut with a strip of cloth soaked in the mixture. When the cloth was lit and the bottle hurled, it became an effective grenade. Such weapons had been used by resistance forces against tanks on Terra long before man ventured to the stars.
"Go, Lori! Go! This is our chance!"
Brasednewic's rebels splashed among the trees near the water's edge, firing steadily to keep the crewmen buttoned up tight inside their vehicles. The skimmers circled, hungry. Another tank was alight The others were retreating, and all but two had strayed into muddy ground already meter-deep in the incoming tide. One struggled, its engine racing. The other sat motionless with its deck already awash.
The Shadow Hawk's last LRM sighed from its tube, the weapon status light for that tube flashing green to red. A Galleon exploded Fragments of armor rained into the water in a widening circle around the tank. Smoke mushroomed from it, casting rippling shadows across sand and jungle.
Firing into the retreating enemy forces, Debrowski's Wasp and the Wolverine strode through smoky water that was knee-deep on the ‘Mechs.
"All ‘Mechs!" Grayson said, his voice unnaturally loud in the close, hot cabin of the Hawk. "All ‘Mechs! Break off pursuit!"
Jaleg Yorulis protested from his Wasp. "But Captain! We've got 'em running!"
"They're running, all right, right back under the cover of those DropShips. Break off!"
Grayson fought down his own surge of battlelust Their victory was complete, or as complete as they were likely to manage with a pair of heavily armed DropShips backing up the enemy. Missiles ratcheted overhead from the enemy landing zone, exploding in sand and fury behind them.
Grayson gave the order to withdraw.
11
Clay in his Wolverine was already helping McCall's Rifleman to its feet. Grayson winced when he saw the damage the Rifleman had sustained, and his mind began cycling furiously through what he would say to McCall. He had ordered the Caledonian to watch for aircraft, but the man must have been so absorbed by the ground battle that he'd completely missed the Kurita SL-15's strafing run from his rear. That mistake could have been fatal. It might well have ruined the unit's heaviest ‘Mech.
A muted roar from the east warned of the Kurita force's departure. Both DropShips hovered on laboring thrusters, then turned and arced slowly off toward the south above the jungle. Explosions and a rising pall of smoke marked where supplies unloaded during the battle had been destroyed lest they fall into rebel hands or tempt a rebel attack during reloading. As the sound of the Leopard's departure faded, a new sound began rising from the beach and surrounding jungle growth. It took Grayson a moment to recognize that it was the sound of men and women, cheering.
Grayson touched the Shadow Hawk's canopy release panel, and swung it open. The outside air, tropically hot and damp, rushed into the Hawk's cockpit like an autumn wind, dry and deliciously cool compared to the hothouse humidity inside. He hung against the overhead stanchions a moment, gulping the air, suddenly aware of how good fresh a
ir smelled compared to the stench of his and Lori's sweat and fear. The sharp scent of scorched armor also flavored the fresh air. Pings, pops, and creakings of hot metal rose from the Shadow Hawk's weapons tubes and from scarred and scorched patches of armor where, briefly, megajoules of laser energy had touched.
The cheers continued to sound around him, clearer now than when he'd heard them through the ‘Mech's external pick-ups. Both rebels and mercenary troops were emerging from the jungle, splashing through the shallow, high-tide water, or standing in animated knots among the boles and roots of beach-edge trees and jungle plants. Some exchanged slaps on the back or vigorous handshakes, and many were engaged in animated discussion of the battle just past. Sergeant Ramage and Tollen Brasednewic were trotting side by side at the head of a mixed squad of troops in the direction of the nearest stranded Galleon. The tank's crew was already climbing out, moving clumsily with their hands in the air.
Lori locked the Shadow Hawk in place and cracked her helmet, letting Grayson help her swing it off her shoulders and into its rack above her seat Her hair fell in lank, damp strands across her shoulders. She shook her head and wiped wet hair from her eyes.
"Pretty good for someone who was sure she would fail," he said gently. In truth, he'd completely forgotten his concern about Lori's fears once the battle had begun. She had acted coolly, professionally, without hesitation.
She replied with a smile, though her eyes were guarded. Lori, too, reveled a moment in the cool breeze moving through the open cockpit before fishing a towel out of an equipment locker under her seat to sop the sweat from her face and neck. When she had finished, Grayson used the towel himself. His own uniform was as soaked as her brief attire, and far less comfortable. It didn't cool as the air blew over it, but bunched, chafed, and sent sudden rivulets of sweat tickling down his spine and sides. The water below looked inviting, and he longed for a swim. For the moment, he was too weak to do anything more than hang on and breathe.
Mercenary's Star Page 10
