Target of Opportunity

by Blaine Lee Pardoe

  “Point taken,” she replied. “But trust me. Jones won’t turn against us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “if he does, I will kill him with my bare hands.”

  Tooley said nothing for a moment, only shifting the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Well then, sir, as long as you have a plan, I’m comfortable with it.” He turned with perfect military precision and made his way to the forward hatch. Alexi Holt turned and saw Tucker watching her. They said nothing, but it was clear Tucker had heard every word she’d said. It was also clear that she meant them.

  25

  Crater Lakes

  North of Kinross, Wyatt

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  22 May 3135

  Only a thin screen of trees concealed the newly cut road from Highway Seven. The militia forces that were dug in a quarter of a kilometer distant from the end of the cut kept low and powered down, watching as the last of the Cut-Throats passed. Each squad or vehicle that passed was tagged with an ID number and fed to the mobile HQ. Alexi Holt watched them from the powered-down cockpit of her Black Knight and nodded to herself.

  “All right,” she said into her mike in a low whisper. “Fox, on my mark, cut down the last trees and rush through. Your target is the Mars assault tank. Infantry, go for that Padilla. Capture or destroy. I’ll take out the MiningMech and the Ghost.” Alexi switched off the comm channel and her eyes swept the cockpit. The confines of Miss Direction had become her home—no, more than that, her universe. “One more time, old girl,” she muttered to herself, patting the targeting console.

  A voice rang over the command channel. “Contact!” called out Lieutenant Foster. “Anchor force has contact.”

  This was it. “Captain Irwin, mark.” She gripped the controls and throttled up Miss Direction’s reactor. “Command One, send to all units. Fire at will.”

  * * *

  The mobile HQ was positioned near the center point between the two militia forces. Anchor force under Lieutenants Foster and Tooley was at the end of Highway Seven. Their job was to blunt the mercenary assault. Tucker hadn’t seen the Blade in the last two hours, but he knew that Reo was out there, somewhere, too. Most of the prisoners had been taken to a hovertruck, but the legate was still in the back of the HQ. He sat there sulking.

  Outside, the roar of the Sniper artillery shook the entire mobile HQ. The jarring rock of the blast was enough to get his attention. Standing next to Adept Kursk, he looked at the long-range sensors and saw the mercenary force along the road suddenly disburse, fanning into the forest on either side of the road seeking cover. Their point force drove right into the dots of green light that represented the Anchor force. From where he sat, it didn’t look like Knight Holt’s forces were moving at all.

  Tucker was suddenly nervous. His palms began to sweat. The Sniper artillery fired again, rocking the vehicle. He heard a distant roll of thunder from the impact. He switched his attention to the sensor screen his sister was monitoring and immediately saw a problem. The enemy was punching through at the head of the highway. “What’s the situation, Patricia?”

  “Our Knight needs to get moving or we’re toast,” his sister replied bluntly.

  He flipped to the command channel. “Knight Holt, the enemy is punching through up here. You need to get moving.”

  There was no response for a few seconds. Then a frustrated, angry voice came through. “The forest was a little thicker than we thought, Command One. Help is on its way now.”

  * * *

  Knight Holt stepped out of the forest and saw the rear line of Bannson’s Cut-Throats. Somehow, miraculously, they had not noticed the signatures of her force powering up. A Mech Warrior could not hope for a better angle—a rear shot at an unsuspecting enemy. She toggled her PPCs to the same trigger and carefully centered her targeting reticle on the back of the MiningMech. The mercenary ’Mech was hugging the edge of the forest, attempting to avoid the incoming artillery fire blasting up the ferrocrete roadway. She zoomed in the angle and targeted the bulky industrial diesel engine that powered the ’Mech. It was a perfect shot. She squeezed the trigger firmly, and brilliant blue energy beams ripped the space between her and her target.

  They hit with such force on the thinly armored rear of the ’Mech that it seemed to leap forward to land on its face, plowing into the sod and knocking down several saplings. Brown smoke rose from wicked-looking gashes. Her Black Knight had been modified to accommodate the extra PPC by sacrificing some of her armor, and today she saw that as a good trade-off.

  One of Chaffee’s Cut-Throats turned, a JES missile carrier. “They know we’re here,” she said out loud. She watched as the Mars assault tank, a low-riding missile launching platform, spun in place to face them as Captain Irwin charged it. The roaring blades of his ForestryMech came down like a scythe, slamming into the rear corner of the Mars tank and shredding armor plating. It was a good hit, but not good enough to take out the tank. A Demon skated up to cover its comrade, firing its lasers into the underarmored sides of the ForestryMech. Irwin struggled to stay upright against the force of the attack, and in that moment of distraction the Mars broke free and put distance between them.

  She caught the movement of an SM1 tank destroyer sweeping into the mix. Alexi raised her arms and heard the whine of the charging PPCs. In a second, she could ravage the SM1. But it didn’t need a second. Its turret cut loose with a stream of autocannon rounds. Two missed to her right, but the rest slammed into the chest of Miss Direction. The recoil dug her restraining straps into her shoulders, and she grunted in pain.

  * * *

  The Anchor force seemed to melt away under the onslaught of the Cut-Throats. The patchwork Behemoth II came into range of the mobile HQ’s armored viewports. Tucker could see that the militia tank was running in full reverse, firing wildly as it fell back. Then he saw the salvo of missiles come snaking after it. Two hit, some missed. The Behemoth paused long enough to cut loose with a blast from its gauss rifle. The silvery nickel slug hit a Galleon tank, tearing a long nasty gash up the side of the vehicle and rocking it heavily to one side, but the shot didn’t punch through the armor.

  Behind it, the legate’s Panther attempted to fall back to the edge of Lake Higgins. It began a running arc to the shore as a mercenary Regulator hovertank locked onto it. Tucker stared in horror as the Regulator disgorged a gauss rifle slug at the Panther. The shot was a whitish blur as it slapped into the right leg of the militia BattleMech. The Panther reeled under the kinetic force of the impact, twisting violently at the hip and knee. Chunks of armor splashed into the lake behind it and the Panther fought to stay upright.

  The Galleon joined in, its lasers stabbing into the Panther as the MechWarrior wrestled for control of his machine. The mercenary Regulator spun slightly and its turret turned toward the mobile HQ. For one, terrifying moment, Tucker felt as if he were looking right down the barrel. Someone yelled, “Blast shields,” and the armored doors over the cockpit of the HQ dropped into place. A millisecond later the entire vehicle was pushed violently backward. Tucker lost his footing and went down on the floor between Adept Kursk and his sister. The lights inside the HQ flickered. He tasted something salty in his mouth and realized it was his blood.

  Dizzily, he rose to his hands and knees and smelled a tang of ozone in the air from damaged circuits. Damn, we’ve been hit. He felt hands on his arms, helping him up. His brain slowly prodded him to wonder how bad was the damage. Then the lights came back on full strength, and he saw for himself.

  * * *

  From the edge of her vision, Alexi watched Captain Irwin use the massive mechanical claw of the left arm of the ForestryMech to grapple with the Mars assault tank’s torn armored surface, punching downward like a pile driver. It seemed like she could actually hear the grinding of the mechanical fingers gouging in deep, tearing up internal systems, digging deeper into the guts of the tank. The Cut-Throats’ vehicle attempted to pull back but
Irwin held on. There was a rumble from inside the Mars, secondary explosion, probably one of the missile racks.

  The SM1 was no longer locked onto her, but was targeting Irwin’s machine. Alexi swept her lasers into play. Even at long range, the green beams of laser light were deadly, playing up the side of the tank, sending hot splatters of melted armor into the air like silvery sparks.

  It was too little, too late.

  The SM1 fired. Its autocannon rounds hit not just the ForestryMech, but also the Mars tank it was supposed to protect. There was an eruption of black smoke and orange fire as the rounds cooked off in quick succession. The IndustrialMech was never designed to survive this kind of punishment. Its claw arm, still digging deep in the Mars tank, broke off at the elbow joint, spilling hydraulic fluid all over the enemy vehicle. The ForestryMech collapsed to the ground, furrowing into the ferrocrete highway with a scraping thud. The cockpit hatch popped, and a dazed Fox Irwin crawled out.

  In the distance, the MiningMech she had hit was slowly rising to its feet, which were actually tanklike treads. Her PPC hits had left an oily black spray over the back of the ’Mech, and a charred hole just above the engine. One of the exhaust vents had been blown, and the ’Mech was generating an unintentional smokescreen as it moved forward. It was unbelievable that the IndustrialMech could take such damage and still function.

  Alexi’s HUD showed an image at extreme range, near the Padilla artillery tank that was still slugging it out with her infantry. It was the Ghost. Fifty tons of firepower centering the opposing formation. Great—at least I have a choice of targets. Using instruments only, unable to see the ’Mech clearly through the smoky haze of the fighting, she acquired target lock at maximum range and fired.

  The cockpit heat soared as the pair of PPCs fired. The bright blue bolts crackled downrange. One hit the Ghost in the torso, but the other went wide into the forest, sending up white smoke. The Ghost sagged from the hit, turned and started away, back up the road.

  She was about to break into a run after it when her comm unit signaled. “Command One has been hit!”

  Oh no . . . “Command One,” she called. “Tucker, are you there?”

  * * *

  Tucker wiped the blood from his lip as his sister scrambled to regain her seat. “Patricia, what’s the sitch?” As if in answer to his question, the mobile HQ rocked from another impact. Sparks flew from the console behind him and the power to that system went down. The reek of ozone filled his nostrils and something was burning that coated his throat with a coppery taste.

  She stared at her display, which now flickered every few seconds. “We’ve got to get out of here,” she said, jumping to her feet. Tucker saw in her face that there was no argument. “Another hit or two and this vehicle is a goner.”

  Patricia reached over to the long-range communications system and fed in a small data disk. Tucker saw a transmission confirmation signal and asked, “What was that?”

  “No time to explain,” she said. “Everyone out of here!” The remaining techs started up from their seats and quickly moved to the back of the mobile HQ. The first tech swung out the egress hatch. Tucker took two more steps and another explosion rocked the HQ, spinning Tucker into the side of the vehicle. He looked up and saw smoke and flames break out in the front, and hoped the men in the cockpit had managed to escape.

  His sister pulled on him, shouting, “Come on, Tuck, time to go.” He started for the hatch again, then saw Legate Singh, immobilized and with his bonds tied to a hook in the floor. He was crying with fear, calling for help. “Harwell, you have to save me!” he gabbled.

  Paula Kursk grabbed the egress bar over the hatch and kicked back, swinging her legs through and letting go. Tucker could hear the Sniper fire again and the staccato of small arms fire erupting everywhere. He started toward the legate, but Patricia pulled at his arm again.

  “Tucker, don’t leave me here to die,” the legate pleaded.

  A hand grabbed Tucker from outside the hatch. Tucker resisted. He hated the legate for betraying his men, but no one deserved to die like this. Patricia pushed and a strong set of hands pulled him out of the mobile HQ. His sister jumped out right behind him, pushing him forward. Tucker turned and saw Corporal Pusaltari standing over him, obviously the one who had pulled him out of the burning vehicle. “You?”

  The corporal smiled. “The Knight never countermanded my orders. Your safety is still my responsibility.”

  “We have to save Singh.”

  He took a few unsteady steps back toward the mobile HQ. Flames roared out of the cockpit. Smoke poured from the rear hatch. Suddenly, the entire vehicle was engulfed in crimson and orange flames. Tucker thought he heard a scream, almost not human, over the roar of battle.

  With a sick feeling in his stomach, he pulled his eyes away from the burning vehicle, blinking to ease the afterimage of the fire. His line of sight was interrupted by the mercenary’s Regulator turning to engage the militia’s Sniper. Past that fight, the water of the lake stirred slightly, then seemed to erupt. From the cool waters, a figure rose, almost three stories tall. It was the Blade, the huge Mydron Excel LB-10X autocannon in its right arm trained on the Regulator’s light rear armor. The Cut-Throats’ hovertank never suspected that the ’Mech was waiting in the lake.

  It fired a barrage of armor-piercing rounds. The Regulator dipped down under the weight of the impacts as the rounds dug into the armor, hammering the rear exhaust fans and armor. One shot penetrated the top of the turret, sending up a plume of pressurized gas.

  The Regulator broke off its attack, turning to face its new foe. Then another ’Mech appeared at the end of the highway, a massive beast, a Ghost. The Ghost cut the air with its shoulder-mounted pulse lasers. Crimson dots of light bored into the Blade, the shots that missed hitting the surface of the lake and sending up clouds of steam where they struck.

  “Let’s move,” shouted Corporal Pusaltari, holding his assault rifle up and ready as he pulled Tucker with him. Half running, half stumbling, Tucker headed for the forest just beyond the Sniper artillery tank. The Regulator completed its turn just in time to face the Blade’s lasers. The wider medium beam hit the tank right at the turret, while the narrower small laser dug into the front cowling of the hovercraft skirt. The Regulator dipped down nose-first into the shore, furrowing a long trench as it ground into the sod. Its engines whined loudly as the rear of the tank lifted into the air; then there was a grinding sound, metal against metal, then the Regulator dropped to a complete stop.

  Tucker glanced back. All that was left were the Ghost and the Blade. The Blade simply stood in the water, cycling through its weapons systems without pausing. The Ghost moved, then fired, groping for some sort of advantage.

  “We have to take cover,” Patricia yelled.

  “We have to help them,” Tucker yelled back, struggling against Pusaltari’s grip.

  “Adept,” shouted the corporal. “If you don’t take cover, I’ll knock you out and drag you there.” As if to emphasize his words, a mortar round went off nearby. It was targeting the Sniper, but it was enough to shake Tucker back to his senses.

  “Right,” he said, and ran.

  * * *

  “Are you sure?” Star Captain Cox asked.

  “Affirmative,” came the voice of Point Commander Barton. “The battle is two kilometers ahead, sir.”

  “Very well,” the Spirit Cat replied. “Pouncer Trinary, full assault. Now is the time for redemption!” He jammed the throttle full forward on his Warhammer IIC and broke into a run. “Find Adept Tucker and secure him!”

  26

  Crater Lakes

  North of Kinross, Wyatt

  The Republic, Prefecture VIII

  22 May 3135

  Alexi Holt’s short-range sensors suddenly came alive with lights, red ones, heading for her. Her tired brain had trouble making sense of what she was seeing. As her PPCs recharged, she glared at the display. The IFF transponders finally identified the incoming threat as the S
pirit Cats. They were moving up Highway Seven at full speed, and her console was already chiming the tone signals of enemy weapons lock.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  “Militia units,” she called. “Break off. Fall back to the lake. We have Spirit Cats closing at Grid Coordinate 185, flank speed.”

  She turned Miss Direction up the highway and broke into a run. The enemy SM1 must have thought that she was charging at him. Likewise the Padilla artillery vehicle, which dove for cover off the side of the road as well. The hovercraft rose high on its skirts as its engines revved and it rushed past her, probably to get a shot from the rear as she passed. Go ahead—in just a minute you’ll know why I’m heading this way. The SM1 banked around, then must have checked its sensors and seen the wave of Spirit Cats heading toward them. It turned to face the onslaught.

  “Jones, you out there?” she signaled on the channel she had designated for Reo Jones in the Blade.

  There was a hissing sound, but no return signal. “Jones, damn it, the Spirit Cats are heading this way. I’m closing on your position.” She reached the end of Highway Seven and saw the Militia MiningMech standing like a sentry on the last bit of paved roady. The IndustrialMech was badly disfigured, pockmarked everywhere from missile and autocannon hits. Its left leg was a gnarled, twisted mess, which explained why it was stationary. Under its machine guns lay a pile of empty shell casings. “You have incoming ’Mechs,” she told the pilot. “Hold them here.”

  “Roger, sir,” came a weary voice.

  As she rounded the edge of the forest, the carnage she saw was appalling. Several vehicles lay burning, including the mobile HQ, which was a hollow tube of roaring fire. The solid tires in the front had melted to the ground. There was no hope that anyone inside could still be alive. For a moment, her entire body slumped deeper into the command couch.