At one point she might have felt outraged at being ignored, but that part of her no longer existed. Again she picked out the Man-O’-War and fired. More missiles hit, crushing armor on its chest. The large lasers—she hit him with both—ablated armor from over its heart and on its left leg, but did not stop the ’Mech from climbing yet farther.
Will you never go down? Verena shivered. If I cannot stop you soon, I will have no chance of stopping the ’Mechs you are bringing to flank us.
* * *
The Demons, Alaric learned to his chagrin, had not broken and run. They’d pulled back and swung around. Verena’s plan had been simple and quite direct. Had he not sent a force across the river in his own flanking maneuver, the Demons would simply have appeared on the far side of the ravine and been able to fire into his troops as they struggled up the other side.
But since he had flanked her, here they were, two companies. Hardly an even match for his troops, but Verena’s artillery was shifting fire and blew a Thor from his Striker Trinary back off the edge of the plateau. Their fire would buy the Demons enough time to set up in good order and engage in a fighting retreat that could further wear his people down.
Alaric punched his communications wide open. “You are the Demons! I destroyed your command lance. Now I have come for you.”
He settled his crosshairs on a Vindicator in the middle of the Demon formation. Even as the pilot brought the PPC in the right arm to bear, Alaric fired his pulse lasers and PPCs. Heat spiked in his cockpit, but his weapons fired hot and true.
A hail of scarlet laser darts nibbled away at armor over the ’Mech’s chest, left flank and right leg. The PPCs stabbed out with twin forks of lightning that joined in one brilliant white bolt. They evaporated the armor on the ’Mech’s right arm, then melted the artificial muscles and ferrotitanium bones. The limb vanished in a puff of black smoke and the Vindicator spun away, crashing hard to the ground.
Behind Alaric came the rest of his command Star, weapons flashing. Waves of missiles exploded over the artillery and carved through the Demons. The Strikers began to emerge onto the plateau, with one Star intact, and the other formed from remnants of Alpha and Bravo. They started along the ridge, finishing the artillery, while the command Star pushed forward.
Combat did not slow for Alaric, for there was no way to keep track of all the variables in play. Some of the pilots were overwhelmed, of this he had no doubt. He ranged toward the northwest, placing himself on the far edge of his line, then picked out targets at the enemy’s flank. As he hit them, they would move toward the cover of others, exposing new targets to his wrath.
He did not advance unscathed, but the Demons mostly fired into the thick of his men where they hoped their shots would not miss. He took more missile damage and a PPC liquefied sixty percent of the armor on his left flank, but nothing got through. Nothing did him any harm—forever banishing any hints of dismay he felt at missing his first shot.
Alaric shot at a Centurion squaring around to engage him. The PPCs both hit, ripping up armor on the ’Mech’s left leg and over its heart. Only one of his pulse lasers remained on target, delivering a flurry of energy darts that dissolved armor on the ’Mech’s left flank. The damage shifted enough weight that the ’Mech staggered, but the pilot kept it upright and fired back.
The autocannon built into its right arm vomited fire and metal that savaged the armor on the Mad Cat’s right arm. A medium laser whipped over the Clan ’Mech’s left leg, burning a dark scar across the ankle.
The Centurion made no effort to retreat and Alaric felt a pang of admiration for the pilot. The man was brave, and quite probably stupid, but he had accepted the burden of being a warrior. Alaric decided to honor that—which did not diminish his desire to kill the man, but increased it.
The Mad Cat fired again. The PPC disintegrated all but the last bits of armor from the ’Mech’s right arm and right leg, but failed to breach the protection on either one. The single pulse-laser shot blazed through the last of the armor over the ’Mech’s heart, but did no further damage.
Alaric could scarcely believe it. Brave, stupid, and lucky.
The Centurion returned fire. The autocannon’s metal rain ground through the last of the armor on the Mad Cat’s right arm, then ate away at the structures from elbow to shoulder. The laser further slashed at that arm, but somehow neither assault rendered it inoperable.
Very lucky.
Even though his ’Mech’s right arm hung on more by chance than anything else, Alaric continued to shoot. He laced the Centurion with fire one more time. This time his attack had devastating effects. The first PPC beam gutted the Centurion, blowing the half-melted engine out through its back. The other PPC beam took the left leg off at the knee, while the pulse lasers denuded both arms of any ferroceramics. The shower of red darts snapped actuators and weakened metal bones to the point where a stiff breeze would have carried them away.
Not that it mattered. The Centurion’s upper body collapsed, and then the broken remains of the ’Mech clattered to the ground. A second later the ’Mech’s faceplate exploded outward and the pilot ejected.
Alaric watched him go, then glanced at the armor diagram for his Mad Cat on the secondary monitor. He even scored armor with a final shot. I want him. I will make him a bondsman and raise him to glory.
He smiled, then looked to the west. But first, I have a battle to win.
* * *
The Clanners came up over the lip of the plateau, and just for a moment, it appeared as if they had won the day. Their assault had blown through most of the Djinns’ medium company and had eaten badly into the heavies. The Wolves began to curl south to fend off the heavies, and Verena found herself facing the Man-O’-War she had tried to bring down from a distance.
The Man-O’-War’s weapons stabbed at her. Twin PPCs in the right arm spat blue lightning at her ’Mech. One beam devoured armor on her left flank, and the green darts of a large pulse laser finished all but the last of it. The second PPC flensed armor from her ’Mech’s left arm. Angry red needles from a pulse laser further nibbled away at that armor, but nothing got through.
Warning klaxons blared in her cockpit. The instant evaporation of tons of armor so shifted the ’Mech’s center of gravity that she struggled to keep it on its feet. The gyros howled, but the ’Mech stood its ground and Verena, a grim smile baring her teeth, fired back.
Both of her large lasers converged on the Man-O’-War ’s left arm, slicing through the last of the armor. Her medium laser’s molten caress finished the remains of the armor over the Man-O’-War’s chest, leaving its heart vulnerable. The missiles she launched exploited that weakness, blowing out bits and pieces of the ’Mech’s internal structures. More of them slammed into the left arm, rotting myomers, pitting bones and exploding the large pulse laser housed there. Yet more missiles chipped away at armor. Even so, despite the damage done, the Man-O’-War remained upright and lethal.
And would have killed Verena cleanly, but just then the Stormhammers arrived.
Missiles and beams flew so thickly that Verena could have walked her ’Mech on them and risen above the attacking Clanners. The Man-O’-War disappeared in a curtain of laser light. Explosions topped the rim and shrapnel ricocheted from her cockpit. The leading edge of the Stormhammers eclipsed her view of the Clanners as Tucker’s troops sailed in to envelope the Clan beachhead.
Verena cut to the east and raced behind the Stormhammers’ formation. She glanced at her scanners to see if her Djinns were following her. The computers showed nothing. Can they all be gone?
In a heartbeat she knew they were and, there to the west, she knew why. There came a lance of Clan ’Mechs, led by a battered Mad Cat. They were all that had made it through the Demons, and she didn’t need computers to tell her that none of Colton’s troops had survived.
She tight-beamed a message to her counterpart. “Shall we finish this now, you and I?”
“I will fight you, yes, Verena.” Alaric paused f
or a moment. “But you know this will not be the finish.”
It will be if I have anything to say about it.
She spitted his Mad Cat on her crosshairs and triggered her weapons. Missiles corkscrewed out from her shoulder-mounted launchers and pounded Alaric’s ’Mech on the right leg, right flank and left arm. Only one of her two lasers hit, and it likewise scarred the armor on the ’Mech’s right leg. If it had only come up, I would have taken that arm off.
Alaric’s return shots hit hard. The PPCs burrowed into the armor over her ’Mech’s chest and left leg. The trio of pulse lasers unleashed a cyclone of energy projectiles. They melted more armor over her Mad Cat’s heart; then a flurry of them lanced through the weakened armor on the left flank.
Multiple warning sirens sounded as the heat spiked in her cockpit. The lasers had damaged the magnetic containment vessel around the engine’s fusion reactor, allowing novalike heat to fill the cockpit. Worse yet, they’d blown all the control circuitry for one of her missile launchers.
If I don’t finish him now . . .
She fought her ’Mech to keep it upright. Sweat dappled her flesh. Heat sought to suffocate her. Panic began to rise, but she choked it back down. No!
Verena targeted Alaric and triggered one last salvo. Her missiles splashed around him ineffectively. One laser flashed off into the sky, but the other only dissolved armor on his ’Mech’s left breast.
Then Alaric swung his left weapons pod in line with her ’Mech. It seemed for a moment that he did so with the pity and disdain a man might show when dispatching a wounded animal. Save, in this gesture, there is no pity.
The Clanner’s PPC carved through the left side of her ’Mech’s chest, melting every bit of ferrotitanium skeleton. The left arm fell away and the left hip snapped. The Mad Cat wavered for a moment, then slowly fell victim to gravity’s seduction.
“Now this part is done,” she heard Alaric say, almost gently. Then her ’Mech slammed into the ground, her restraining straps snapped, and Verena’s world sank into oblivion.
32
DropShip Jaeger, Nusakan
Former Prefecture IX, Republic of the Sphere
20 March 3137
Anastasia stood in the DropShip’s holotank and smiled as Alaric’s image solidified. “Greetings, Star Colonel. I hope I have not caught you at an inopportune time. With what will you be defending Nusakan?”
“Good to see you as well, Colonel.” Alaric stood tall, cloaked in furs. The way his hair lay, and the red pressure marks on his forehead and cheeks, said he’d lately shucked his neurohelmet. “I will defend it with exactly nothing.”
“I assure you, Star Colonel, I will be attacking with far more than nothing.”
Alaric allowed himself a guarded smile. “And I would defend with something, if I had it. I could take this holocam outside and show you the ruins of the battlefield, if you so desired. You may have already seen images of it from the local media. I would even deign to give you a tour of it, but I will not be defending it.”
She nodded. From the moment the Wolf Hunters had entered the system, they had been sucking up every local news feed. Anastasia had caught enough of Colonel Colton to last her a lifetime, and sincerely regretted the fact that the woman had survived her fight with the Wolves. The images of the Mudana Refuge battle had been horrific, the field littered with BattleMechs scattered, broken and burning. The news helicopter had kept a safe distance, but did manage to capture blurred images of dispossessed MechWarriors limping from ’Mech to ’Mech, looking for friends, checking for salvage—less human jackals than comrades concerned for comrades. But the jackals, they would come, too.
She wondered if Verena was among the survivors, or if she had died in the battle. The news media made it clear that the Wolves had won, but if the Wolves had two Stars available, it was only because those ’Mechs could limp. For all intents and purposes, the 279th Battle Cluster had ceased to exist as a fighting force. The Demons, Djinns and Stormhammers had similarly been pounded. Techs might have been able to cobble together a lance of ’Mechs from the various parts, but nothing from the defenders’ force had been left standing.
You did well, Verena, but you might have done better. Anastasia looked up at Alaric’s image. “You may, of course, deploy the Fourth Wolf Guards. You have that right.”
“And make them feel they are garrison troops? No, Colonel, I would never dishonor them so.”
“Then you are abandoning Nusakan?”
“Do not think I am shrinking from a fight with you, Colonel Kerensky. I would gladly fight you, but I am not given leave to do so. As you once did, I follow the dictates of my khan, and I have been recalled.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then the drive to Terra is finished?”
“I do not know, Colonel, but it would be folly to assume it is.” Alaric shrugged. “Perhaps the khan, in his wisdom, has seen that Nusakan will not be vital to that effort.”
“Of course. And I shall not commit folly.”
“Nor shall I.” Alaric nodded a salute to her. “I regret not being able to meet you when you arrive, but we are preparing our departure now.”
“Pity. I would have given you the chance to ransom back Donovan, as he did you.”
Alaric laughed. “I was worth a Star, but Donovan? Accountants I can find anywhere. Not one of them would be worth a single bullet in trade.”
Anastasia ignored the hiss from the shadows behind her. “I bid you well, then, Star Colonel. I am certain our paths will cross again.”
“I am sure they will.” He smiled, but his eyes narrowed. “I look forward to repaying your hospitality. Alaric out.”
His image faded and she turned slowly to where Ian and Donovan stood. “It would seem, Donovan, that you are not well liked. He called you an accountant.”
The Clanner held himself stiffly. “One day, Colonel, you will give me a single bullet, and I will show Alaric how wrong his judgment was.”
“I suspect it will take more than one bullet, Donovan, but you will get that chance.” She waved him away. “Go to your quarters, plot your revenge.”
She waited for him to vanish, then looked at Ian. “What do you make of the Wolf withdrawal?”
“Strategically sound. They have lost two prime front-line units and have had other forces nibbled to bits. They must know that the entire Inner Sphere is mobilizing against them. They have overextended, and while very few nations have much love left for The Republic, they would be happy to take worlds under the guise of fighting the Wolves.”
“It would seem that is it, truly.” Anastasia smiled. “But just in case there is something else going on, we will take possession of Nusakan and prepare to defend it against all comers.”
* * *
Alaric stalked from the tent that had been set up as a temporary headquarters on the battlefield. A cold breeze had sprung up, blowing smoke and snow through the area. He liked how it obscured the ruins and hid evidence of how close he had come to losing the battle. He had gone in with insufficient strength and had attacked where he perceived weakness. The enemy still had been strong. He had grossly underestimated the depth of guile of which the other side was capable.
But I survived. These lessons are learned.
Other leaders might have seen the lessons. Based solely on the fact that they had won, they would conclude their strategy had been sound. Winning a battle did not confer wisdom or superiority on plans. They might vow to do better in the future, then be happy when they reduced casualties by ten percent.
But a wise commander will know what they are thinking, and destroy them.
The only bright spot in the entire affair—aside from being the victor—was that he lost very few pilots. Machines were easier to replace than people, and most all those who died had been marginal anyway. The fact that the others had survived together would build greater unit cohesion, and they had seen him in battle, so knew he was truly a war leader, not an accountant.
Alaric crunched across the snow
y field to the hospital tent. Elementals opened the flap for him and he ducked his head to enter. Of the casualties, easily sixty percent were from Verena’s force, and they made up the majority of those lying on the dozen cots toward the tent’s rear. Alaric passed through a crowd of people with bandaged heads, bloodstained faces, and blankets clutched tightly around them.
He found Verena seated on a cot, holding a man’s hand. Alaric recognized the man as her aide, Kennerly. He had numerous cuts, a bandage over his left eye, and wrappings over a chest wound. Tubes were draining out bloody fluid.
She looked up. “I would stand, but . . .”
Alaric shook his head. “Will he recover?”
“Your medical technology has an edge over ours. I hope so.”
“I will see to it he has the best of care. Right now, I need to speak with you.”
“I don’t want to leave him in case . . .”
“I understand.”
Verena half smiled, then looked down at Kennerly again. “I do not know if you do. I hated him. He constantly was after me. He would tell me I was a fool. He would tell me that I did not see things. He would refuse to tell me what it was I did not see. Then he stopped.”
Alaric nodded. “After you bargained for Nusakan.”
Her head came up. “Yes. How did you know?”
“You changed.” He pointed to Kennerly. “Do you want to know what he saw?”
“Please.”
“You always wanted to be certain you were right. You studied to make no mistakes. You can never, no matter how hard you try, be completely error-free. Kennerly knew that, and he knew the corollary to that.”
“What? Tell me.”
Alaric laughed and swept a hand from beneath his cloak to point at the battlefield. “After all this, you do not know? After what happened here, you do not know?”
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