The heat scale indicator jumped from green straight into the high red zone as the fusion engine that was the heart of a BattleMech spiked to match the power demands. Temperature in the cockpit soared, momentarily overloading the cooling vest and making Marcus' vision swim as he slapped at the override switch to prevent automatic shutdown of his machine. His eyes burned from the sweat pouring down his face, and he gasped for oxygen as the first few breaths of the hot air smothered him.
When Marcus was able to concentrate a few long seconds later, the JagerMech was already falling. Large chunks of metal poured from the hole in its side. Pieces of its gyro, Marcus thought. It landed on its ruined right arm, crumpling the arm beneath its massive bulk. It finally came to rest face downward and sprawled out as if a puppet master had cut the strings to a giant marionette. Unable to control his machine, the enemy commander powered down all weapons and popped his cockpit hatch in a gesture of surrender.
That has to do it, Marcus thought, beginning to regain a measure of his breath. His cooling vest was cold against his chest, but the rest of him felt utterly broiled. Even if the explosion wasn't enough, this should be.
Even as Marcus was opening a commune to Ki-Lynn, he was already hearing the reports of his lance commanders as Ki passed them along. The bulk of the New Home Regulars were in full flight. Charlene Boske, the Angels' executive officer, reported a full role call. Thomas Faber's Marauder was the worst damaged, with one arm destroyed. He learned also that the infantry had abandoned their hardened positions and were fleeing in an assortment of old vehicles. Charlene ordered one stopped and secured as battle spoils: a 5-ton Savannah Master hovercraft similar to the one the Angels already owned.
Plus the burned-out shell of a Wolverine and a crushed Locust, as reported through Ki-Lynn by other Angels. Plus a half-scrapped JagerMech, Marcus added silently to the list.
And a warehouse full of enough munitions and supplies to repair the Angels' machines and possibly get the JagerMech back on its feet. Marcus smiled to himself. Charlene and Vincent Foley, the two members of Prometheus element, had set off a blast all right, but not in the ordnance warehouse. The Angels were loathe to destroy supplies that could be taken instead, especially when the detonation of a few large aviation fuel tanks would suffice.
"Clean-up time, everyone," Marcus said as the reports trailed off. "Cordon off the warehouse. We don't want any retreating Regular to realize what happened." He called off the names of the four most junior Mech-Warriors. "I want a two-Mech element pursuing the most-rearward stragglers, but only to keep them moving along. I repeat, let the Regulars run."
The Angels had a solid victory, and there was no need to risk a life or a BattleMech in a hard pursuit. Such a loss would hurt the Angels far more than another salvaged enemy 'Mech would help them. "First team to set up watch at a quarter-klick. Second element to break pursuit and establish patrol at half a klick. Everyone else stay buttoned up until the ground forces sweep the place clean."
Marcus watched through his viewport as the enemy commander climbed from his ruined machine and threw his helmet to the ground. "Paula, get your Wasp over here and take charge of guarding our prisoner." Marcus hated to hand over another Mech Warrior for what was sure to be confinement, but the Baron was paying the bills and he wanted any prisoners he could get. Marcus comforted himself with the thought that the enemy commander would be repatriated to the Capellan Confederation once this was all over.
He switched his commline over to the general frequencies again to listen in on some of the chatter among his Angels. Although their DropShip, the Heaven Sent, had yet to touch down, they were already feeling the post-mission decompression. He switched back to his direct channel with Ki-Lynn and left them to it. There'd been little enough rest this last month, and with their coffers still low the unit would be jumping back into the fire soon enough. They deserved whatever brief respite he could give them.
Who knew when the next Angel would fall.
2
Shienze Stronghold
Bastille, New Home
Chaos March
19 March 3058
Charlene Boske walked out to where the Angels had gathered outside the walls of the Shienzfi Stronghold for the post-mission debrief. She wore shorts and T-shirt, normal Mech Warrior attire in the stifling confines of a 'Mech cockpit but now worn merely to enjoy the lazy warmth of the afternoon sun. Her long blonde hair hung down her back in a thick cord, exposing the pale skin of her neck and shoulders. A cool breeze intermittently blew in from the west, off a large inland sea, carrying the hint of moisture and salt and adding to the pleasantness of the afternoon.
Pleasant, Charlene, thought, until the Angels learned of their next assignment.
As executive officer, she usually handled contract agreements with the aid of Jase Torgensson, a Free Rasalhague Republic native and one of the most resourceful men she'd ever met. Even the way he'd joined the Angels had been impressive. Having learned of their mission to raid behind Clan Ghost Bear lines on his homeworld of Utrecht, he'd offered his services if he would be allowed to extract his family. He'd even brought with him one of the Combine's rare C3 computers that allowed 'Mechs to share targeting system information, a feat he put down to clerical oversight at his last command. Jase now operated as the Angels' chief scout and was a fine assault 'Mech pilot to boot.
For this mission, however, he'd been left back on the world of Outreach, the center of almost all mercenary hiring activity in the Inner Sphere. The Angels were still in a precarious position financially, and Marcus knew they needed to have another assignment lined up. Jase had lent his BattleMaster to one of the two dispossessed Mech Warriors currently on the Angels' roster, and he'd remained behind on Outreach with the Angels' other DropShip, the unit's dependents, and most of their technical support staff. The Head of a Pin, or Pinhead as it was affectionately known, was an ancient Fortress Class ship held together with not much more than promises and the skill of a few really good techs. Safe enough as long as it stayed out of combat, the Pinhead normally carried the Angels' dependents and support personnel from station to station. That Jase had been left on Outreach to negotiate a new contract without her sat all right with Charlene. What had bothered her was that Marcus was the only one who knew anything about it and he still had said not a word about it to her or the others.
And now she knew why. The reason was in an HPG message that had just been delivered and which she was at this moment carrying to Marcus.
Just ahead and towering a good eight to ten meters above her were four of the heaviest 'Mechs owned by the Angels. They stood in a tightly spaced row, their backs to the thick, gray walls of steel-reinforced ferro-crete that framed Baron Shienzé's large stronghold. She had ordered them placed there as a courtesy to the baron. The rest of the Angels' BattleMechs were racked into their places in the 'Mech bay of the Heaven Sent, the Union class DropShip grounded not a hundred meters behind her.
The Angels sat or stood around the feet of Thomas Faber's Marauder, the last 'Mech in line. Faber was perched up on the.giant foot of his machine like some improbably massive, dark-skinned sprite, dressed only in cooling shorts and looking placid enough as he lay back to soak up the warmth of the day. Charlene thought of the rumors that Faber had formerly been an Elemental, one of the genetically bred Clan infantry. The black man was almost tall enough, and the way he seemed to live only for combat was as obsessive as that of any Clansman. Charlene knew that Marcus had checked out Faber's past, right back to his birth in the Dieron District of the Draconis Combine, but sometimes she couldn't help but wonder.
The eight-meter-high walls of the Shienze" stronghold cast a shadow that cooled the area around the Marauder's feet. Sitting in the shady half of one of them, Brent Karsskhov leaned back, stealing glances at Charlene whenever he thought she wasn't looking. The other Angels also seemed to prefer protection from New Home's G-type sun, most of them spread out and reclining here and there in whatever shade could be found around the 'M
ech, but Paula Jacobs had spread out a blanket and oiled herself up to take in the deep heat of the day.
Charlene might have smiled at that sight, if not for the message she carried to Marcus.
Marcus GioAvanti lounged just within the area of shade. Shoulder-length dark blonde hair framed a still-youthful face, though Charlene could see where the burdens of command had begun to etch lines around his faded blue eyes and across his forehead. In red jeans and black T-shirt he could have been merely another member of the company, except for the way the Angels had unconsciously arranged themselves around him to make Marcus the center of the group. The light, honey-coconut smell of Paula's tanning lotion drifted up to Charlene, and she wondered if Paula's near-naked posing almost directly in front of Marcus was another of her many unsuccessful attempts to attract the commander's attention. Marcus cared for his people well, but he let very few ever get close to him. Charlene thought that must be a lonely way to live, and counted it as the one flaw in her commanding officer.
" 'Bout time, Charlie," Marcus said, making a show of studying a non-existent chronometer on his wrist. A few of the more senior Angels chuckled outright, though she noted that all junior personnel appropriately hid their smiles.
Charlene stepped into the shade to hand him the message, a folded sheet stamped with ComStar's spiked-starburst insignia. Everyone knew it must be from Torgensson on Outreach, and some couldn't help but shift around as anticipation worked on their nerves.
While Marcus read, Charlene stepped back into the warmth of the sun. As the Angels' executive officer, running such meetings usually fell to her. If she wanted an informal meeting outside, she'd have one. With the text of the message haunting her, she knew she'd better enjoy it while she could.
"First of all," she began, "Baron Shienzé has expressed his appreciation for our work. The commander of the Thirtieth Lyran Guards, Dolores Whitman, also expresses her satisfaction, though she still bargained hard for some of those supplies we liberated from the Regulars."
Technicians and some of the more savvy Mech Warriors nodded. As mercenaries the Angels well understood the difference between professional courtesy and business. "What supplies we didn't keep for ourselves," Charlene continued, "we cashed out to the Baron. That clears the projected costs of repairing our own machines and maybe the JagerMech."
What it did not cover—which Charlene didn't have to say because everyone knew—was one more month of back debts the Angels would be forced to float on the credit they'd built up over the past several years. And then there were the normal operating expenses. As of tomorrow, the unit would begin to accrue more debt as they fueled their ships, paid administrative fees, and ordered supplies not recovered from the warehouse. All this didn't take into account that once again there would be no personal monies distributed. As a unit the Angels were better off, but still under the onus of Arboris. From the way some of them watched Marcus as he continued to study the message, Charlene could tell they were hoping Torgensson had come through for them.
Charlene decided to lighten the atmosphere, and turned to some special notes she and Marcus had taken during the raid.
"Ki," she said, looking around and finding the small Oriental woman kneeling placidly off to Marcus' right. Like Faber, Ki-Lynn Tanaga was a native of the Draconis Combine. Where Thomas had come up from the lowest class and could never have hoped to rise higher in the Combine's rigid social structure, Ki's family was of more fortunate station. Marcus and Charlene knew Ki-Lynn had joined the Angels to escape the destiny her family would have liked to buy for her. She had become a passable Mech Warrior, but possessed a rare talent for communications, which made her an invaluable asset. "Good work breaking the House Regulars' comm channels," Charlene praised her. "If we hadn't been able to identify and distract their commander, our little trick might not have worked."
Dressed in a traditional silk kimono despite the heat, Ki-Lynn shrugged lightly. "They made it easy," she said, her voice soft and with a humility typical of her Combine upbringing. "They used the same general code I'd broken before. It was just a matter of finding the correct frequencies." She paused almost imperceptibly before continuing. "They also used the same specific code words to identify the different elements of their company, much as we do."
Ki-Lynn's comment almost slipped past Charlene's attention. Much as we do, she repeated mentally as she suddenly realized the significance, and reminded herself to pay more attention to Ki's seemingly offhand comments. The people of the Combine often practiced the fine art of indirection to their talk. "See me from now on before any mission. We're going to start changing our designations along with our codes. What we can do to others, they could do to us."
"Faber," Charlene called out, glancing back over her shoulder. "Battle ROMs show that your targeting was up in the eightieth percentile. You missed only one PPC shot and a few laser salvos. Nice gunnery."
Faber remained nearly motionless in his repose. She almost thought he hadn't heard her until he mumbled, "itashimashite." Charlene knew enough Japanese to recognize a sloppy "you're welcome."
"You also soaked up the most damage, again, going point-blank against 'Mechs you should be hitting from long range. It eost you an arm this time."
"Itashimashite," the big man said again, but he nodded once to let her know the message was understood. Not that Charlene expected him to change his style. In her mind, Faber defied the statistical odds. He'd had more 'Mechs shot out from under him, most by catastrophic damage, than anyone she'd ever heard of. Yet he always walked away from the wreckage and always gave out better than he got.
Charlene waited then as Marcus finished reading, folded the sheet back up, and stuck it into a pocket.
"Thanks, Charlene," he said, taking charge of the meeting. She gave him a friendly nod, then walked over and slumped to the ground next to Brent Karsskhov, who nearly jumped up out of nervousness. She smiled as she too leaned back against the Marauder's big foot. Though she was sitting in the sun-warmed portion, she found the scent of lubricating grease more pleasant than Paula's tanning lotion.
Charlene enjoyed the nervous tension she caused in Brent. He was the newest member of the unit, picked up on Arboris after he quit the FFA in protest over their treatment of the Angels. Everyone knew that Brent had a jones for her, but was nervous about approaching his new XO. Charlene found the situation both amusing and frustrating, but had resolved to wait until Brent got over it on his own. When Paula squirmed around in the pretense of stretching, she was glad Brent paid her less attention than did Marcus.
"All right, everyone," Marcus said, sitting up now. "Baron Shienze has invited us to a dinner this evening. It's a reception for some Word of Blake reps who the Baron invited here to discuss New Home's need for military supply. So it's dress clothing or—for those of you who still have them—dress uniforms."
That last was greeted with a chorus of groans and booing, some good-natured and some real. Marcus let it play out until one of the Angels jokingly suggested they strip the sheets off their beds and all go in white robes in honor of Word of Blake. With a wave of one hand, Marcus cut off the chants of, "Toga, toga."
"Dress clothing and/or uniforms," he repeated. "Attendance is mandatory except for those on duty. No switching. Exceptions will be made only for technicians who'd rather be working." That received claps from Yuri Petrovka, the Angels' chief tech, and his subordinates. "The Word of Blake reps are to be treated with courtesy and respect."
Marcus looked to the left and right, as if to make sure everyone was paying attention, but Charlene thought that last order would be hard to stomach. In her opinion, the Word of Blake people were everything bad in ComStar come back to haunt the Inner Sphere.
"Word of Blake is here to stay, people," Marcus continued. "We don't upset a potential employer, even if we don't agree with their politics." He paused. "Especially if we don't agree with their politics."
Vince Foley sat picking lint off his cowboy hat. "So, tell us again why you insulted
the Capellan ambassador on Outreach last year?"
Foley's tone sounded a bit too innocent for the question to be serious, but Charlene decided to take it as such anyway and answered for Marcus. "He made it a personal matter. That wasn't politics, it was"—she paused to consider her words—"an exercise in restraint of courtesy."
That drew a smile from Marcus, which made it worth the effort in Charlene's book. "I don't expect much trouble from the Blakists," he said. "Now that they've taken Terra away from ComStar, they've been busy trying to build good relations with their new neighbors here in the Chaos March. We don't upset that. They were one of the few organizations hiring small mercenary groups when we were last on Outreach, and like ComStar they've got access to Star League-era equipment. So we do not raze the JumpShip, so to speak."
"That isn't who hired us, is it?" Brent Karsskhov leaned forward, doubt clouding his features. "I mean, that message—it was from Torgensson? We got hired?"
Marcus nodded solemnly. "Yes, the message was from Torgensson on Outreach. Good news," he called out in general. "We've got a new employer."
There were claps and whistles of relief at that news. Even Paula sat up to pay closer attention. Charlene heard a deep bass whisper float down from above her—a few lines from one of the ear-splitting songs Faber always played in his cockpit during battle. Only Ki-Lynn also seemed to notice something odd about Marcus. Charlene saw the other woman's dark eyes flick to her for a second before returning to their commander.
Double-Blind Page 3
