Redburn looked up from where he pressed two fingers to Justin's bloody throat. "He's alive, Craon, and he'll stay that way if we get some evac help in here fast."
All color had drained from Craon's face, and he refused to meet Redburn's gaze. "Do you think we ought to, sir?"
Redburn's head snapped around as though he'd been punched. "Are you suggesting that 'a good Capellan is a dead one?' "
Craon's jaw dropped open and horror showed in his blue eyes, "Oh God, no, sir."
Redburn's brows furrowed together with fury. "Then what the hell are you talking about? Of course, we save him."
"But, sir," Craon pleaded, pointing down at the Major. "His arm."
Redburn leaned forward and looked beyond the tangle of wires and console components that hid the left side of Justin Allard from his view. He swallowed hard and rolled back on his haunches in a crunch of broken glass and debris. "Blake's Blood," he whispered, not even realizing that he spoke. Craon was probably right. It would have been better for Allard if he'd died.
Staring down, Craon was nodding like a robot. "His arm, from the elbow down, sir. It's gone, it's just gone ..."
3
Pacifica (Chora III)
Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
15 January 3027
"I don't like it, Captain." Eddie Baker's quiet voice crackled past the storm-generated static in bits and pieces. Captain Daniel Allard of the Kell Hounds mercenary unit turned his Valkyrie's head far enough to watch Baker's ungainly Jenner waddle out of the river. "The storm's catching up with us fast. I don't fancy being out here in this walking lightning rod."
Lieutenant Austin Brand, his humanoid Commando following Baker's Jenner out of the river, laughed. "If you had a 'Mech with arms, Baker, you could swat those lighting bolts out of the air like the rest of us."
Baker, an ex-Tech who had been given the captured 'Mech as a reward for years of service, grunted in disagreement. "Just more actuators to go out."
"Can the chatter, children," Dan said, smiling to himself. Ease up on them, Dan. Their squabbles are just battle nerves, and you know it. This scout lance works together better than almost any other lance you can name. "Let's at least pretend to have some semblance of military order here, shall we?"
"Roger, Dan."
Daniel Allard turned his Valkyrie's head around to face forward, and headed off toward the Wasp waiting at the crest of the bill. "How does the storm look from up there, Meg?" he asked the Wasp pilot.
Sergeant Margaret Lang paused a moment before answering. "Doesn't look that bad, Captain, but the fiyboys are moving their fighters inside. Must look nasty on the satellite pictures."
Dan sighed. "All right. Let's move it and get under cover. Old Stormy is living up to her name. Brand, you and I are already late for the staff meeting. This patrol is over."
"I wish the same could be said of this tour," Baker told him.
Daniel Allard laughed. Baker's right. This is a miserable world for pulling garrison duty. "Eddie, I'm sure if I express your dissatisfaction to Colonel Kell, he'll pull some strings and get us posted elsewhere."
"No, Dan, that's all right. I could actually come to like Pacifica."
Dan's laughter filled his own neurohelmet. "You'd be the only person in the Successor States to develop that sort of affection for this world."
Chara III, a large, moonless planet in Steiner space, had proved to be one of the most contradictory places in the Inner Sphere. On one hand, the fertile soil readily accepted hybrid plants and produced fruit abundantly. The world had enough water to make it a natural paradise and to warrant garrisoning a full battalion outside the major agricultural center at Starpad. Having arrived on a placid day, the first explorer of its surface had been inspired to name the planet Pacifica.
Yet anyone who spent any time here began to wonder about the peacefulness implied in the world's name. Being a large body and lacking a moon, Pacifica rotated every fourteen TST hours. TST, or Terran Synchronized Time, related the time on any world to a traditional, twenty-four hour clock set to the rising and setting of the local sun or suns. The twenty-four hour clock divided the local day into twenty-four equal periods, with 1200 hours corresponding to local noon. A TST "hour" was, therefore, variable. Depending on a world's actual rotation, a TST hour might be much shorter than a standard, or "metric," hour. Pacifica's fast spin gave it a thirty-five minute hour as well as an unpredictable weather situation. Sudden, unexpected rain or thunderstorms were common. As many of the colonists put it, "If you don't like the weather here, just wait a minute and it'll change."
Dan worked his Valkyrie up the muddy hillside, following the tracks made by Lang's Wasp. When the Kell Hounds headquarters came into view, he smiled. Almost home.
Far ahead of him, Lang's Wasp ducked into the huge blockhouse in between the Shilone and Slayer fighters being pushed into the building. Meanwhile, the dark clouds ringing the horizon had slowly begun to drift in toward the base. To the south, beyond the blockhouse, the two barracks, and the command center, searing white lightning slashed down from distant black clouds. It took a long time for the echoes of thunder to reach the Valkyrie's audio sensors, but Dan could see the storm boiling in swiftly. Bad omen, a storm like this. Justin always used to cite one old Capellan superstition that these storms were demons riding the clouds looking for souls to eat. Dan involuntarily crossed himself.
Turning around, he watched Baker's Jenner crest the hill. It looked ungainly without arms to balance it, and the nickname "Ugly Duckling" seemed more appropriate than ever. The Jenner, at 35 tons, was the heaviest 'Mech in Allard's scout lance, and carried the most firepower. The four launch tubes for its short-range missiles, or SRMs, ran in a line between its shoulders. Its four medium lasers fired from stubby "wings" set just above the hip joints. The way the Jenner's torso jutted forward might have been a laughable sight if its powerful weaponry had not so often turned the tide of a battle. The addition of jump jets meant that the ungainly craft was actually capable of some agile moves in battle.
Compared to the Jenner, or most other 'Mechs, for that matter, the Commando following it up the hill was pure elegance. Humanoid in configuration, it carried no weapons in its open hands. Because of the camouflage patterns Brand had carefully painted on the 'Mech, the six SRM launch-tube openings in the Commando's chest and the four on the 'Mech's right wrist were barely visible. A thickness on the 'Mech's left wrist betrayed the medium laser's location, but most ‘Mech pilots regarded the Commando as nothing more than a scout, despite its weaponry. Having seen Brand pilot his 'Mech in battle, however, Dan counted the Commando as more than capable in combat.
Its long legs eating up the distance in an awkward jog, the Jenner lumbered on ahead of the other two 'Mechs. It reached the blockhouse just as the circle of storm clouds strangled the last of the sunlight and a light drizzle began to fall. Dan reached out and switched on his windscreen wipers. "You did well in the scouting run, Lieutenant. Scared the hell out of Baker when your SRM locked on to his left hip."
"Yeah, I guess I did." Brand's self-satisfaction came intact across the radio, then trailed off as he became more serious. "Lang's got to be more careful in that Wasp. With those SRMs, she's got more firepower than she had in her Locust, but both machines still rely on a medium laser for their main power. She's acting as though that monster makes her invulnerable."
Dan found himself nodding in agreement. "I'll have a talk with her. We could mention it to Colonel Kell, but I don't think the problem is at that point yet. Do you?"
Lightning-sparked static popped through the open radio connection. "No," Brand said, after a pause. "Maybe she's just got to get used to the Wasp's higher profile."
Glad you see that, Austin. Dan gracefully stepped his 30-ton Valkyrie around two bulldozers set at the edge of the makeshift spaceport. Meg's bound to be angry with you because she thinks you cost her the Locust.
Out beyond the bulldozers, the Lugh, an Overlord Class Drop-Ship, squatted like
a gigantic Faberge egg full of lostech wonders. Behind it, as though crouching away from the rising storm's fury, a smaller DropShip, the Leopard Class Manannan MacLir, rested on the cracked ferrocrete surface. More than enough to lift the entire Kell Hounds off Pacifica, both red and black craft were buttoned up tight in anticipation of the coming storm.
Dan trailed his Valkyrie in after Brand's Commando and marched it over to the 'Mech cocoon alongside Meg Lang's Wasp. He disconnected his neurohelmet, popped the canopy on his Valkyrie, and slid down the rope ladder just in time to hear the tail-end of the tongue-lashing Meg was handing out to one of the Techs.
"I don't give a damn if you think it's impossible, Jackson. I know you can make that 'Mech more maneuverable. My Locust could run rings around this pile of junk!" Meg narrowed her brown eyes and brushed some strands of raven hair away from her face. "Fix it!"
Jackson, a mousy man with thick glasses, slammed his clipboard down on the ground. The papers on it exploded into a blizzard of multicolored forms, but that didn't deflect the Tech one bit. "This isn't a Locust, Sergeant! I can't make it do what a Locust can do. Period!" Jackson looked over toward Allard, blushed, then dropped to his knees to gather up his clipboard and papers. "Sorry, Captain, for that display."
Dan Allard, towering above both Lang and Jackson, shook his head. He raked thick fingers through his light-brown hair and plucked a sodden red sweatband from his brow. "No problem, Jackson," he said calmly. As another Tech stooped to help Jackson with his papers, Dan turned to Margaret Lang and steered her away from Jackson. "A word with you."
"Yes, sir."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw Brand waiting for him at the mouth of the tunnel to the command center. He waved his subordinate on ahead, then turned to Margaret Lang. "Sergeant, something's eating at you, and it has nothing to do with that Wasp's performance." As he walked over to lean against the leg of a Thunderbolt, he waved Lang to a seat on the heavy 'Mech's foot.
"Yes, sir." Lang looked down at her boots and scratched at the sensor-pad stuck to her right thigh. "It's Lieutenant Brand, sir. I don't know how to react around him."
Dan frowned. I was afraid of this. But dammit, they work so well together. "Meg, I know Austin feels personally responsible for the fact that your Locust was destroyed. I don't know if you're aware of it, but while you were in the hospital recovering from that broken leg, he pulled extra shifts and even went out with O'Cieran's jump troops to track down the bandits who planted that vibrabomb mine that killed your 'Mech."
Meg looked up into Dan's blue eyes and suppressed a laugh. "He was out with the jump infantry?"
Dan nodded solemnly. "As absurd as it may seem. On top of that, when he learned that the bandits had gotten a Kurita Wasp from Combine agents provocateur, he talked Cat Wilson into trotting out his Marauder to get that 'Mech in a dawn raid on Cat's day off."
Meg's jaw dropped open. "Cat got up before noon on a day he didn't have to?"
"Yeah." Dan squatted and pulled the helmet pad off his shoulders. "Brand's really trying to make it up to you, Meg. Don't you think its time to forgive him?"
Clearly puzzled, Meg frowned. "Forgive him? I think we're not talking about quite the same thing, sir."
Now Dan was confused, too. Sitting beside her, he leaned forward companionably, elbows on his knees. The things they never bothered to teach me at the New Avalon Military Academy . . . "Well, what are you talking about, then?"
Color rose to Meg's cheeks, and a smile stole across her lips. "At least part of his off-time was spent with me in the infirmary," she began. "Brand apologized over and over and promised to make it all up to me. He said he knew how much the Locust had meant to me, and that he really wanted to make amends."
Dan laid his left hand on her right forearm. "The Locust belonged in your family, right?"
Meg nodded. "Both of my mother's parents were once Mech-Warriors. The Locust belonged to my grandmother. She retired, though, to raise my mother and uncle after my grandfather died fighting against Kurita. My uncle inherited his Warhammer, but my mother wanted nothing more to do with 'Mechs. She married young, but my father abandoned us when I was just a few years old."
Dan squeezed her arm. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks." Meg swallowed past the lump in her throat and continued. "Both my mother and grandmother were bitter. Grandma trained me to use the Locust, and told me I could have it, provided I would never get personally mixed up with a Mech Warrior."
She looked up into Dan's open, handsome face. "There's the problem, Captain. Austin's been so nice to me that I'm starting to fall for him—falling hard—and I think the feeling's mutual." She smiled sheepishly. "In fact, every time I look into those amber eyes of his, I know I'm right. But lurking in the back of my mind is the promise I made to my grandmother. I know I'm giving him all sorts of mixed signals, but I'm not that clear myself." Meg sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "On top of that, I know that having lovers in the same lance is not a good idea, so I don't know what to do . .."
Dan shut his eyes and grimaced. Here I am, only 28 years old, and she's making me feel like a grandfather. Eleven years with the Kell Hounds is akin to a lifetime else-where. By the clock, I've only got four years on both Brand and Lang, but if you consider the mileage, it's more like a century.
Opening his eyes, Dan laughed softly. "Listen, you're getting ahead of yourself. First off, the Kell Hounds have got no rules, formal or otherwise, about relationships within the lances or battalions. We want our people to be close and to care about each other. To encourage that, but then to try to prohibit intimate relationships, would be foolhardy and impossible to police. Frankly, you, Brand, and Eddie Baker work so well together that you could start sacrificing rabbits to a full moon—if our next station has a moon—and I wouldn't really care."
Meg smiled and Dan continued. "You and Austin are two healthy, normal MechWarriors living on a world where the weather is crazy and day becomes night after seven hours. Your attraction to each other is normal, and is about the only thing on this mudball that makes any sense at all. Don't push it, or kill it prematurely. Just wait and see what happens."
"But what about my promise?" The fear and pain of betraying her mother and grandmother flickered through Meg's question.
Dan paused, then answered slowly. "I know you don't want to go back on your word, but you said it yourself—both women are bitter because of their experiences. You'll have to make up your own mind."
Meg frowned and Dan saw that she needed just a touch more convincing. "Look, Meg," he said, "my father's first marriage flamed-out for political reasons, and it ripped him up pretty badly.
Even so, he tried it again. And if he hadn't, my older brother wouldn't have had anyone to pick on as we grew up."
"Your brother's a Major in the Capellan March, right?"
Her question called up Justin's image to Dan's mind, which made him smile proudly. "Justin? Yes. He's my older brother and"—Dan rose up to his full height—"I'm his big brother. Everyone else is back on New Avalon, just dreaming of a glorious assignment like this one."
Both MechWarriors laughed. Meg stood and walked a short way with Dan before she stopped to apologize to Jackson. "Thanks, Captain. I appreciate the talk."
"Sure, Sergeant. Any time." At the mention of time, Dan looked at the huge clock on the blockhouse wall. "Damn, the staff meeting! Gotta run."
4
Pacifica (Chara III)
Isle of Skye, Lyran Commonwealth
15 January 3027
Daniel Allard sprinted off toward the Command Center, pausing once to toss his cooling vest to an astech, and a second time to accept a pair of coveralls from Master Sergeant Tech Nick Jones. He pulled on the red coveralls in the elevator ride up to the third floor, but was still pulling up the zipper before he could knock at the door labeled "Lt. Colonel Patrick M. Kell.”
“Enter."
Dan opened the door and recoiled as a blast of refrigerated air struck him full on. The large room ser
ved Colonel Kell as a private office, but had ample space for the center table he'd set up for staff meetings. To Dan's left, a bank of windows looked out on the ferrocrete landing pad, offering a clear view of the lightning bolts dancing down from the dark blanket of clouds. Along the windows was a battered brown vinyl sofa left behind by the last mercenary company to pull duty—or "do time," as it had become known on station—on Pacifica. It provided seating for the only NCO at the meeting.
Ignoring his massive mahogany desk, Lieutenant Colonel Patrick Kell sat facing the door at the round meeting table. With his black hair cropped so closely, the thin scar that ran from his left temple all the way to the crown of his head stood out clearly. The scar might have been ominous if Kell's easy smile, gleaming brown eyes, and handsome features did not instantly create the urge to call this man "friend" in all who met him.
Kell gestured toward the unoccupied steel chair to his right. "As you can see, we began the meeting without you."
"Yes," added Kell's second-in-command, Major Salome Ward, "and I believe it's my bet. I'll see your twenty Kroner and raise you twenty." Though she had the green eyes and fiery red hair that usually accompanied a hot temper, the officers in the room knew Ward to be one of the coolest MechWarriors, in or out of battle, in the Inner Sphere.
"Yipes!" Lieutenant Mike Fitzhugh, the junior officer in Salome's Assault Lance, shot his superior an evil glance. "Forty to me? I'm out." He looked up at Dan and shook his dark curly head. "She's always finding a new way to make me earn my money."
A mischievous look twinkled through Lieutenant Austin Brand's eyes as he casually tossed the forty House Steiner Kroner onto the growing pile of blue-green bills. "I call." Lieutenant Anne Finn, the blond junior officer in Kell's Command Lance, calmly folded her hand. She smiled at Dan as he sat down beside her. "Glad you could join us."
Warrior: En Garde Page 4
