She saw Reo Jones’ blackened Blade standing in the water of Lake Higgins. Steam rose from both of his legs as his heat sinks vented the extra heat. Her infrared sensors painted the ’Mech as searingly hot. By standing in the water, Jones had been able to push the Blade way beyond its specifications. The BattleMech was horribly scarred, pockmarked by multiple pulse-laser barrages. Her systems showed the ’Mech as operational, but badly damaged. It wouldn’t last more than a couple of shots in a fight.
The culprit of the damage was nearby. Limping, the mercenary Ghost was almost as disfigured and damaged as the Blade. Its right arm was gone, lying nearly a hundred meters from its current location, near the lake’s sandy shore. Thin strands of myomer hung down from the shoulder, some still sparking in a phantom connection. To the left of the Ghost was the still-living remains of the legate’s Panther. The small ’Mech showed no signs of the militia’s repairs. The savagery of the fighting had left it mangled and blackened. Green coolant oozed like blood from an open wound at its hip. Like the Ghost it was fighting, it was in a slow dance of death.
She cycled her PPCs and put one each on a different trigger as the Ghost cut loose with another salvo of short-range missiles at the Panther. Half of the flight missed, riddling the woods and topping a large pine tree behind the Panther. The others hit the hips and legs of the ’Mech, burrowing deep into the internal hardware and frame. It quaked violently, but somehow held up.
Alexi fired her right-hand PPC at the Ghost from behind at the same time the Blade fired another barrage of autocannon fire at the Ghost’s front. All of the shots hit. The Ghost twisted halfway around under the furious assault. The MechWarrior tried to use the momentum to turn and run away, but lost his balance. The machine dropped with a thud on the ground.
“Took your time getting to the party,” Reo’s voice came over the comm channel.
“Any sign of Tucker?”
“He’s in the woods down shore,” Reo replied.
Alexi dropped her head and sighed out a deep breath. “Good.” Then, “We’ve got company coming.”
“So I hear,” he said. Alexi heard a rumble behind her. Twisting Miss Direction’s torso, she saw the MiningMech suddenly bathed in a barrage of laser and PPC fire. The ad hoc fighting machine burst into flames. She watched in horror as one of the lasers burned through the cockpit, killing the MechWarrior instantly. There was no hope of ejection, no system for it in an IndustrialMech. It seemed to sag at the waist joints, then toppled forward.
Reo’s Blade moved toward shore, stirring up more steam. “One thing about this planet, it seems to be popular as all hell.”
* * *
The mercenaries’ Mars assault tank, complete with the ForestryMech’s arm stabbing upward from the rear like a strange standard, fired a wave of missiles. At the closest range possible for the tank, the missiles had little chance of missing the Spirit Cat Black Hawk. They engulfed the squat ’Mech. The Black Hawk emerged from the billowing smoke, a bit worse for the wear. Smoke still streamed from the impact holes as the ’Mech pressed forward. A trio of minigun cycles leapt to the attack, discharging their short-range missiles as the Black Hawk lumbered forward, but their missiles caused more irritation than damage.
Star Captain Cox swung his four large lasers to target the Padilla artillery tank and brought the vehicle into target lock. The Padilla seemed to be ignoring him, instead unleashing a volley over the trees—probably at the militia near the lake. He heard the lock tone and fired. A blast of heat rose in his cockpit, but he watched with satisfaction as three of the four emerald beams found their mark. The Padilla’s armored right side bore the brunt of the assault. It rocked from a secondary explosion, and a second later another one went off, tossing the split remains of the artillery piece into the air on a rising column of black smoke. Molten red globs of hot armor rained down like hail.
The SM1 tank destroyer skirted past him and fired at his Condor hovertank. At first, most of the autocannon rounds went past the front of the Condor, but as the gunner corrected his aim the munitions devoured the front glacial armor. Fire broke out, and the Condor came to a drop-stop on the pavement with a sickening, grinding sound. Two troopers made it out of the vehicle before the missile ammunition on board cooked off, blowing out the back of the tank.
The Black Hawk suddenly stopped and twisted its torso, bringing the Mars assault tank into its scope. In a heartbeat, it fired a pulse barrage from its laser array. The brilliant red burst molested the side and rear of the Mars until the vehicle came to a sudden stop. White smoke rose from every missile tube and from the rapidly opening hatches.
Star Captain Cox smiled. My debt of honor is repaid, money-warriors.
* * *
Tucker and Patricia huddled behind a thick log near the freshly cut roadway. Over the low ridge and through the forests, they could hear the roar of battle still raging. From within the mobile HQ, the fight had been frightening. Outside, in the open, Tucker realized his insignificance against the machines of war. They crouched behind the log and did what they could to avoid drawing attention.
A shrieking sound filled the air as incoming artillery rounds landed around them. The rounds hit near the Sniper artillery piece, tossing up huge rocks and pieces of sod as they exploded. The Sniper’s return-fire rounds had a different, deeper sound. The shells ripped the air over them.
“This seriously sucks,” Tucker muttered, looking at his sister. Unlike him, she didn’t flinch with each blast. Either she wasn’t afraid, or knew something he didn’t.
“We can’t stay here,” she said, looking around. “We should make a break for the south end of the lake.” Corporal Pusaltari leaned in so that he didn’t have to shout. “We should move. Sitting in one spot is a bad idea.”
Tucker poked his head up over the log and saw a fearsome sight. From the roadway that the militia had cut from the forest, a Bannson’s Demon wheeled tank roared in. Running in full reverse, facing the roadway, it blazed away with its side-turret-mounted medium lasers stabbing back at whatever was pursuing it. It rocked over a tree stump and almost rolled over as it came down the shoreline of Higgins Lake, pulling a forty-five-ton, high-speed jackrabbit turn to come about. One thing was for sure, the mercenaries piloting the craft were very good.
Out of the same ad hoc roadway emerged a Clan BattleMech. Tucker recognized it after a few seconds as the ’Mech piloted by the Clan Star captain. It had taken some damage in the battle, but seemed intent on finishing off the fleeing Demon. Its large lasers flared as they fired, sending a streaming beam of emerald energy at the Demon as it fled. Two missed, but two found their mark on the thin rear armor. As the Demon turned, one of the lasers sliced into one of the rear tires, cutting it neatly from the hub and sending parts flying into the air.
Tucker wasn’t sure if he was supposed to cheer or not. Turning back to the ’Mech, he was stunned to see armored infantry, Elemental troops, fanning out across the roadway. Several lit off their jump jets and rose into the air, heading right for where they were hiding. Corporal Pusaltari saw them as well and shouldered his assault rifle, leveling off a shot. Patricia pulled at Tucker to run for it, but he was mesmerized by the incoming infantry.
The Elementals landed only twenty meters away. They seemed like giants. Standing more than 2.5 meters tall in their huge power-armor suits, complete with short-range missile racks over their shoulders, they were the epitome of close-quarters combat soldiers. One hand was replaced by a mechanical grappling-ripping device, while the other was replaced by a laser—which was now leveled at the techs behind the tree.
“Drop your weapons,” a voice boomed, the warrior’s voice amplified by an external speaker system.
Pusaltari hesitated, but Patricia grabbed his rifle and tossed it to the side. The corporal glared at her, but knew there was little his assault rifle could have done against Clan Elemental armor.
“You have chosen wisely, trooper. You are all prisoners of the Pouncers Trinary of the Spirit Cats Purifie
rs,” the augmented voice intoned. “One of you is Adept Tucker, quiaff?”
Tucker thought fast. Perhaps I should lie? He thought back to Captain Chaffee. No. Eventually the truth would come out. Tucker rose to his feet. He thought he heard his sister whisper, “No, Tuck,” but he couldn’t be sure. “I’m Tucker Harwell.”
“Very well. You must meet with Star Captain Cox,” the Elemental said, motioning with his laser arm toward the Clan ’Mech.
* * *
The Spirit Cat Black Hawk rounded the edge of the tree line and found itself facing two BattleMechs—a Blade and a Black Knight. The Blade reacted first, sending a barrage of autocannon rounds into its right side, eating away at the arm and leg of the Hawk as it slowed its pace to get a better firing stance. The armor on that side of the ’Mech was gone, and it moved sluggishly, so that the ’Mech looked more like a drunken sailor than a deadly war machine.
It swung its deadly battery of lasers to bear on the Blade only because it was the closest target, and let go with everything it had. The air seemed to come alive with scarlet bursts of laser energy which bathed the upper portion of the militia BattleMech in coherent light. Five or six of the bursts melted the ferroglass armored cockpit, almost burning through where they hit. The rest tore into the little remaining armor on the upper torso, some digging in deeper into the internal workings of the ’Mech.
The militia ’Mech bent slightly forward at the waist as the MechWarrior fought to keep it upright. Then, without any preamble, it toppled face first into the three-meter-deep water. A flash-cloud of hissing white steam rose into the air from the overheated ’Mech.
The Black Knight pivoted at the waist and unleashed a torrent of particle projector cannon fire down on the stout little Black Hawk. One shot hit the right shoulder actuator, fusing it into a solid part, locking the aim of the arm down at the ground a few meters in front of the ’Mech. The other shot hit the cockpit glass. Unlike the pulse-laser burst on the Blade, the PPC shot gouged the ferroglass like a blowtorch on a thin sheet of ice. There was a brilliant burst inside the cockpit as the blue energy beam seared inward and destroyed the interior of the ’Mech.
The Black Hawk teetered and then, perhaps as a malfunction, the ejection seat charges fired. The mangled remains of the cockpit hatch were fused in place from the PPC hit, so what was left of the cockpit simply exploded as the ’Mech fell to its side.
* * *
The battered Behemoth II, the J-37 transport, the Maxim, the Sniper, a handful of infantry and her own Black Knight were all that was left of the Wyatt Militia when Alexi received an incoming message. She had watched Reo Jones fall into the shallow water and hoped that he had survived, but she was honestly more worried about the loss of the Blade. Likewise, she hoped that Tucker and his team had managed to get clear from the HQ. The incoming signal was sent in the clear from nearby.
“Knight Alexi, this is Star Captain Cox. I urge you to stand down your troops. I have Adept Tucker under my protection. My fight is no longer with you, but we will return fire if fired upon. Let a truce be called between us.”
She sat for a moment. The militia had fought and fought hard. Now it seemed like the war was over. Tucker was their reason to fight, and if Star Captain Cox said he had Tucker, he did.
“Very well,” she replied on the same channel. “Wyatt Militia, this is Miss Direction. Stand down. Hold your fire. I say again, hold your fire. We are under a truce.” The words tasted bitter, but she knew she was doing the right thing. Twice this Clansman has beaten me.
She opened a private channel to the Star captain. “Star Captain Cox, I have complied. What is it that you propose?”
“Come meet with me, Knight Alexi. I need to see this adept for myself.”
* * *
“Confirmed,” reported Captain Casson’s forward scouts. “Multiple elements on the road ahead, weapons signatures from PPC and laser fire. There is a battle ahead, sir, where the highway ends.”
Ivan Casson stared ahead. The end of the road, indeed. “Any indication of how long the fighting has been going on?”
“Comm traffic would indicate the better part of an hour,” his intelligence officer replied.
The Wyatt Militia, already weakened. Bannson’s mercenaries, ambushed once and routed. And the Spirit Cats, trapped once by Knight Holt. Yes, an hour’s fighting would leave very little opposition. He switched to the broadband channel. “Eagle’s Talons, form up in a Pattern V as in Victor formation. Prepare to move out at flank speed. Remember our objective—find the ComStar adept and capture him alive.” He pushed the throttle forward on his Sun Cobra and aimed for the center of the formation. “In battle, timing is everything.” He had learned that a long time ago as a cadet. “Talons, forward—’arch!”
* * *
The small group stood at the feet of the Warhammer IIC as Star Captain Cox climbed down. He and Alexi were dressed in the shorts, coolant vest, T-shirt, and sweat common to every Mech Warrior emerging from his or her machine. The Clan warrior stood tall as he walked over to where Tucker and Patricia waited. Tucker was nervous, but refused to show it. What do they want? Am I now a prisoner of the Clans? He had read about bondsmen and wondered if he was now going to be absorbed into the Spirit Cats. The Knight moved to stand next to him, wiping the sweat from her face onto her sleeve as she strode quickly through the broken sod. Having Alexi nearby gave him strength to face whatever would happen.
What was left of Chaffee’s Cut-Throats had broken and run. There wasn’t much left of them anyway, after having been hammered by both the militia and the Spirit Cats. Most had abandoned their equipment and fled into the forests. Some had surrendered, but only to the Militia. They seemed to have a healthy and reasonable fear of surrender to the Spirit Cats.
Star Captain Cox walked over to where Tucker stood and looked at him silently for a long moment. Reaching out with his right hand, he cradled the left side of Tucker’s face, turning the adept’s head slightly as he did so. Tucker forced himself to do nothing, concentrating on not flinching away from the warm, sweaty hand on the side of his face. Cox closed his eyes, in thought or meditation, Alexi was not sure which, then he let go of Tucker’s head.
“This is Adept Tucker, restorer of the HPG on this world, quiaff?” he asked Alexi.
She nodded. “It is.”
Cox turned his gaze back to Tucker. “You are not the man of my dreams.”
Tucker almost laughed with the relief of the tension, and the meaning of the sentence out of context. “I’m not sure how to take that. I guess it’s a good thing.”
The Star captain was not amused. “I shared a vision with my Galaxy commander that led me here to Wyatt. We saw a star flickering to life, and a man holding the universe in his hands. I thought that you might be that man, and the star Wyatt. I see now that neither is correct.”
“What will happen now?” Knight Holt asked.
Cox turned to her, resting his fists on his waist. “I see now that we were misled into attacking you. These mercenaries of Jacob Bannson, these Cut-Throats, tricked us into believing you had betrayed your rede with us. They have paid the price for their treachery. You, Knight Alexi, have my apologies.”
Tucker was stunned. All of this fighting, all of the destruction—the loss of lives. It was over with an apology? “So that’s it? It’s over?” he asked. Alexi gripped his arm in warning.
Star Captain Cox turned back to Tucker. “Neg, Adept. It is not over. My pickets have detected another force heading for these coordinates. While you are not my people’s salvation, you are still a prize in the eyes of others. My honor has been injured by these mercenaries. It is time to cleanse the wound. We shall join your Knight in defending you.”
Tucker’s mouth hung open. Cox allowed himself a broad smile. “Do not be surprised, pup. We are Clan. Honor is our blood. If your Knight will allow it, we will join you.”
Alexi nodded, her mind obviously already racing to calculate how best to meet this fresh attack. “Yes . . . w
e would be honored.”
“Well bargained and done,” he said, and turning, jogged back to the foot of his Warhammer, then climbed the ladder to the cockpit.
27
Crater Lakes
North of Kinross, Wyatt
The Republic, Prefecture VIII
22 May 3135
“Incoming targets,” Alexi called out on the channel that she now shared with the Spirit Cats. “Sniper, mark targets at maximum range and roll it up to minimum. Prep for fire-for-effect.”
“Roger, Miss Direction. HEAP loaded, ready for rolling thunder max to min, at your order.”
“Turn that highway into slag. Sniper—fire!” she barked. The artillery piece at the rear responded with a deep roar, sending its shells downrange at the advancing force. Alexi watched on her short-range sensors as the Oriente Protectorate forces suddenly felt the brute force of the artillery barrage. They didn’t hesitate or break formation. Instead, they moved faster, to stay ahead of the fire, attempting to punch under the umbrella of shrapnel and explosives.
She bit her lip. These were seasoned soldiers. That was good to know. “Star Captain, they are almost on top of you,” she said on the command channel. “I’m moving up to cover you.”
“Do not worry, Knight Alexi,” responded the cool, confident voice of Star Captain Cox. “There are plenty of them for all of us.”
Alexi charged her PPCs. That was the least of my concerns.
The Oriente forces came on like a wave hitting a shoreline. Alexi targeted a charging Hatchetman with her particle projector cannons. Both shots hit, once again baking the interior of her cockpit. The cobalt energy beams slammed into the legs of the Oriente BattleMech at thigh level, literally melting away all of the front armor. Smoldering black holes from the hits spewed smoke as the ’Mech continued to run up to a Spirit Cats Scimitar Mk II hovercraft. Her last image of the hovercraft was the massive ax of the Hatchetman slicing through the thin top armor and burying itself in the cockpit. Flames bellowed up from the wound as if they came from a blast furnace.
Target of Opportunity Page 27
