There was a burst of static in his helmet earphones as someone sought his combat frequency. Then he heard the electronic voice of his opponent.
"We knew you would come, Carlyle. We were ready for you."
Grayson did not answer. Giving his weapons systems a last check, he stepped up the feed from his power plant a notch. Control, Grayson told himself. Don't lose control and attack without thinking. He's trying to rattle you. Control...
"My name is Vallendel," the Marauder said. "And I've been waiting for you. I'm going to enjoy smashing you and your machine into scrap and bloody pulp. Just like I did to your father..."
At 150 meters, Grayson triggered his autocannon, a long, rolling burst that splattered explosive shells across the Marauder's back and torso armor. Then he shifted his aim slightly. A Marauder's 'weak' points were its head and its legs, but only in comparison to the massive armor of its plastron and arms. Swinging his cannon down, Grayson probed for the complex machinery and control mechanisms at the point where the Marauder's legs joined to the body. Shells hit home in smoke and flashes, but the Marauder was moving swiftly now, turning to present a heavily armored profile that deflected Grayson's high-explosive shells with little more than scars and scratches to the plate.
Grayson shoved the control stick all the way forward, feeling the throbbing pound of the Hawk's feet against the ferrocrete. Suddenly, the Marauder spun to face him, both arms up. As white fire seared close above the cockpit, Grayson dropped and rolled. His cockpit canopy momentarily went black with polarization.
Then he was up and moving again as cannon shells stitched across the ferrocrete where he had been. He opened fire as he ran, letting the stream of shells sweep across the Marauder's plastron like the rush of water from a hose.
Autocannons and particle projection cannons had a serious disadvantage in close combat. At ranges of less than about 90 meters, it became increasingly hard to keep their fire trained on rapidly moving targets. If Grayson could get in close to where he could use his head-mounted SRMs, he might be able to hit without being hit back — providing, of course, he could keep from being smashed by a physical, 'Mech-to-'Mech attack.
The Marauder's PPCs fired again, and the Shadow Hawk staggered as the armor plate on his left arm took the full brunt of the blast. Grayson fired his laser in reply, snapping off two quick shots that the Marauder merely seemed to absorb without harm to its arm and torso.
The range was down to 50 meters now. Both 'Mechs fired, both missed as they circled searching for an opening. Grayson waited until the Marauder was facing him full on, then triggered a salvo of SRMs, and loaded and fired again. The heavier 'Mech was snapped back by the blast, but its broad feet lashed out for purchase on the ferrocrete, stabilizers cut in, and somehow the giant remained standing. Twin laser beams boiled steel where earlier damage had reeled back the outer armor of the Shadow Hawk's torso. A red light signaled the loss of another heat sink, and Grayson realized that the 'Mech's interior temperature was already far higher than he could stand for very long.
Circle... fire... miss... fire... hit... circle... The bizarre dance between giants continued, neither machine able to find or win advantage.
Grayson knew he could not continue the dance much longer. Even though neither machine was yet seriously damaged, it was certain that the Marauder could continue to move and fight longer than could Grayson's Hawk. And when the Shadow Hawk failed, the end would follow very quickly.
He scanned his console lights, tallying damage. The armor on his left arm was almost gone, some bad holes pocked the Hawk's torso, and the earlier hits to his backpack had knocked out his jumpjets. The worst difficulty was the heat build-up. He'd lost a full quarter of his heat sinks, and the temperature in the cockpit was over 40 degrees. By now the shielded power core must be like an inferno.
The Marauder charged. Grayson snapped off two shots, then swung around and away, beyond the monster's reach, ripping off an autocannon burst as it thundered past.
"It was stupid of you to come in here alone," Vallendel said, as though the conversation had not been interrupted by brutal bursts of fire. "We've got you right where we want you, now."
We? Grayson stepped back from the Marauder, frantically scanning his imaging screens.
Another huge and humanoid shape was moving alongside a storage warehouse. Zooming in for a telephoto enhancement, Grayson recognized the bulging forearms, the scored and pitted armor of the Crusader. Singh had not been put out of action after all. He had been hiding there all along, waiting for the Marauder to maneuver Grayson into position.
Short-range missiles arrowed in, fragmenting the ferrocrete around the Hawk with the fury of hellfire. The Shadow Hawk waded through boiling smoke, tracking this new threat and laying down a pattern of SRMs in reply.
The Marauder caught him dead center in the lower torso with a blast from one of its PPCs. Grayson's 'Mech staggered forward toward the Crusader, as warning lights screamed of failing systems and dying circuits. He half-turned, struggling for balance, and a pair of missiles smashed into the already damaged backpack.
Grayson and his Shadow Hawk toppled helplessly to the pavement
* * * *
Lori felt a strange and almost peaceful sense of detachment as she watched the black water close over the Locust's cockpit. The air inside the cabin was still stifling, sour with the smells of sweat and fear, but the internal temperature of the 'Mech dropped rapidly in the cold water. She wished she could leave the cockpit to swim in the icy currents, wished she could rid herself of the layers of sweat and grime that caked her body. She didn't dare, though. The enemy would attack again very soon.
Her 'Mech cooled, she guided it sluggishly through the depths and brought it up onto the beach, water cascading from its flanks in imitation of the falls that boomed and roared farther back in the depths of the Rift.
On the beach, astechs swarmed over the carcass of the Wasp. She opened an external speaker. "Ramage? What's the verdict?"
The Trell sergeant looked up at her, touched his ear, and shook his head. The background noise from the waterfall was too loud to permit voice communication, even when amplified. The men on the ground outside had all stuffed clay into their ears, a trick Grayson had taught them during the planning session. Though it made communications difficult, it would save the men's hearing.
She didn't really need Ramage's report anyway. Even from the Locust's cockpit, the damage looked severe. Lori knew it would not fight again — at least not without a major overhaul. The Marauder's blast had savaged delicate internal systems and control circuits.
Astechs had already stripped the hulk of its laser and missile packs, however, and of every SRM left in the Wasp's reload packs. Meanwhile, a detail of soldiers was working at the mouth of the cavern, trying to set up a simple fire control system that would let them add the Wasp's salvaged weaponry to the firepower they still mustered. Troops and hovercraft had already dragged back the laser from the disabled Stinger at the front line.
"Sergeant! This is Yarin!"
Exhaustion dragged at Lori, made her slow in responding. None of them would be able to hold out much longer.
"What is it?"
"Heat readings... I think."
"The Locust stepped up alongside the Stinger. She shifted through the IR frequencies, the Locust's computers picking up fragmentary and inconsistent readings.
The air outside was still cool, though the day was rapidly getting warmer and was already well above freezing. Still, the heat of engines — or of living bodies — ought to be readable enough...
And then they were there. Troops, dozens of them, leaped down from the rocky crags and ridges on either side of the ravine, weapons at their shoulders, firing wildly. Bullets spanged and whined from Lori's armor as she wrenched at the machine gun controls and brought her antipersonnel weapons chattering to life.
They had crept close behind the boulders, she realized, wearing special insulated black combat suits that trapped and masked
body heat so that they could sneak close without detection. Almost before she could give the alarm, dozens of enemy soldiers were swarming through the Lancers' defensive perimeter, battling with the Lancer troops at the Locust's feet.
Her machine gun fire swept through a line of attacking infantry as they scrambled down a rock escarpment, pitching them into the troops struggling below..She kept firing, but clear targets were hard to find. The black-clad attackers were everywhere, mingled with her own troops too closely to risk a shot.
A missile caught the Locust high up on its hull. Reflexively, Lori brought the machine crouching back on its legs, absorbing the shock and keeping the 'Mech on its feet. She took several quick steps backward, getting clear of the fight There had to be a target... had to be...
One lone, black-clad soldier in a heavy, visored helmet stood ten meters away, a heavy, double-barreled weapon at his shoulder. Lori sat rigid in the grip of a paralyzing fear. That trooper was carrying a portable inferno launcher, the same weapon that Grayson had once threatened her with, so very long ago.
She willed her hands to move, to take the machine gun controls and fire. She willed them to move, but failed. Paralyzed, she watched the soldier's finger tighten on the trigger. As the inferno missile fired and exploded, its white fire poured across the Locust's hull in a jellied wave that struck and clung, burning furiously.
Panicked, Lori began screaming, and it was Grayson's name that she shrieked again and again. Then her voice failed as the air inside the cockpit seared her lungs. Smoke curled from the instrumentation, and the hull pinged and sang as violently heated metal plates warped at the center of a fire that approached 1000 degrees.
Her fist slammed down on the ejection switch. Nothing! The circuit was dead, melted by the heat! She hauled around on the con stick and set the Locust running. The motion, the blast of air across the burning surfaces, only fanned the flames brighter and hotter.
35
The shock of impact jarred Grayson violently against his seat, but the restraining straps and mercury-core piston mounts absorbed the worst of it. One moment there was a searing pain in his side and head. The next thing he knew, it seemed that time had passed unnoticed. Had he blacked out?
The Hawk was lying on its side, and Grayson could see the strutting, back-canted legs of Vallendel's Marauder close beside him. What were they waiting for? He craned his neck to look up through his canopy at the Marauder towering above him. Vallendel must have thought him dead.
His fingers found a set of hand controls on the arm of his chair. He grasped and hauled them back in a savage, swift motion. The Shadow Hawk's upper leg snapped out in a whistling kick that smashed into the Marauder's right leg with steel-denting force, knocking the heavier 'Mech to the side in a drunken stagger.
The Shadow Hawk rose to its feet as the Marauder toppled over in a kind of graceful slow-motion. Grayson fired the laser into the downed 'Mech's leg twice, then swung to cover the Crusader, which was lumbering toward him as fast as it could travel. He fired a salvo of SRMs that missed, but that turned the Crusader's charge.
It might have been possible — just barely possible — that he could have taken on the Marauder in single combat He was realist enough to know he would never survive if he tried to face both 'Mechs at the same time. Revenge could not be sweet if he didn't live to taste it.
The damage to the Shadow Hawk was extensive, especially in the back. He worked such repairs as he could manage from the cockpit. Punching the fuel dump, he felt the surge as his supply of liquid mercury reaction mass cascade onto the ground in a spray of silver droplets. Firefighting foam surged through molten circuits, and damaged life support circuits were killed and bypassed as he brought backups on line.
With 200 meters between himself and his enemies, Grayson turned and brought the Crusader into his HUD sights, then triggered his autocannon.
But nothing happened. He couldn't tell from his board whether the cannon was destroyed or the ammo feed was fouled, but the mechanisms for both were stored in the Hawk's shattered backpack. He fired his laser instead, catching the Crusader close by the damaged section of its upper left arm.
The Marauder was on its feet again, apparently not seriously damaged. Even at 200 meters, however, Grayson could see the dent the Hawk's foot had left in the Marauder's right leg, just below the knee. It made the monster move with a distinct limp as it broke into a steady jog in pursuit of Grayson's 'Mech.
Then he too was running, twisting and dodging from side to side as both enemy 'Mechs loosed bolts and missiles at his Hawk. Suddenly, Grayson collided with the side of a storehouse, sending half a wall sliding down in dust and debris as he brushed past. What he needed now was cover, a place where he could separate his foes. A few hundred meters away, the squat, gray-green fuel tanks at the southeast comer of the spaceport beckoned.
The port was not deserted by any means. Black-uniformed soldiers ran singly or in small groups, and numerous hovercraft and wheeled vehicles slipped among the buildings on unknown missions. The only direct threat, however, was the pair of 'Mechs following him now among the orderly rows of storage tanks and the spaghetti tangle of pipes and feeder lines used for refueling grounded ships.
They'd stopped firing at him, but it was no wonder. Grayson had seen the result of laser bolts fired into a tank of liquid hydrogen. The shots left a crater three meters deep.
Could he perhaps trap his enemies in the blast of a hydrogen tank? Though he liked the thought of it, common sense rejected the idea. Burning hydrogen rose very quickly into the sky, restricting its range of destruction. And, though the blast could be enormously destructive, the two 'Mechs were unlikely to stand still while Grayson blazed away at a storage tank close beside them.
Ah, but here was another possibility. On the north edge of the field was a storage tank different from the others. Long and low, it had unusual pump fittings and none of the bulky refrigeration machinery required for storing liquid H. Grayson knew what had been stored in this tank before the raiders had come: aviation fuel for helicopters and the other light aircraft used for transport between the cities of Trellwan. He turned, searching among the H tanks. Though neither 'Mech was visible, he knew they were close, working their way toward him, probably moving along either edge of the hydrogen tank field in hopes of catching him between them.
Grayson slipped his hand into the snug warmth of the gauntlet controls. Flexing his fingers against the light resistance, he watched as the great fingers of the Shadow Hawk flexed and moved in response. BattleMechs equipped with gaundets were capable of considerable dexterity. They could pick up vehicles, crates of supplies, and even people without damaging them.
He closed the gauntlet into a fist, then rammed it home against the fuel tank. The shock of the impact shuddered through the 'Mech's hull. As dark amber liquid gushed from the hole, he stepped back quickly. Aviation fuel was highly flammable, even explosive under the right conditions, and he did not want a chance spark to set it off. He turned and began sprinting northward.
Grayson's rear imager picked out his two pursuers as they emerged around the sides of the tank farm, but well clear of the leaking fuel tank. Both opened fire as soon as they spotted him, apparently unconcerned about the fuel tanks behind them. Though any stray shot of Grayson's might hit one, it took quite a bit to puncture one of the heavily armored H storage tanks.
Were they close enough? Grayson thought. The Crusader was moving in now, and was perhaps 20 meters from the tank. But was the Marauder near enough? There is only one way to find out, he thought, and fired his laser at the aviaton fuel tank.
The fuel on the ground took fire first A wall of flames raced across the ferrocrete, engulfed the tank, then sent an angry orange and black fireball boiling into the morning sky. The impact of the explosion smashed the Shadow Hawk to the pavement, and for long seconds, the ground seemed to tremble with repeated reverberations. When Grayson was able to lift the Hawk part way up on its arms, he saw that several of the hydrogen t
anks had blown as well. The entire northern section of the tank farm had collapsed in a crater of rubble and flame, and the sky had become a dark pall that turned day to an eldricht night lit only by the orange flicker of burning fuel.
The Crusader lay on its side, one arm torn from its body, its head missing, and the torso shredded like a shoved-in plywood box. The Marauder had been much farther away from the blast. Though lying prone, it appeared otherwise undamaged. Grayson brought his laser up to cover the inert machine, and began closing the range.
The Hawks computer targeted the Marauder's head, locking the laser through the slowing HUD display.
The static of an open channel rasped in his ear. "GRAY! I'm burning! Gray!"
It was Lori! That was enough to stop Grayson's charge. He hesitated, the Marauder his for the taking in his HUD sights. In an agony of indecision, he watched the machine stir, sliding one massive forearm under its body.
Again, Lori's screams came through on the Hawk's combat frequency. Clear and shrill, she cried out, "Grayson! Grayson! I'm burning... Gray!"
The Marauder's pilot was obviously stunned. The giant 'Mech remained down, partly raised on one arm as it tried to get its legs folded enough to bring them under the body to stand up. Grayson could pepper away at the machine all day with his medium laser and might never penetrate that armor. But if he charged, he could batter the Marauder down, smashing it to pieces the way it had smashed his father's Phoenix Hawk.
He took ten more steps, and picked up a tree-size length of jointed, wire-tangled metal. It had been the Crusader's arm. With that as a two-handed club, Grayson would batter the Marauder until the plastron cracked. He would smash and kick and destroy...
Decision at Thunder Rift Page 29
